The Comic Almanack, Volume 2 / An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities

NOVEMBER.

The month for committing suicide; avoid it, however, for yourself. Give your friends presents of rope; if you give them enough, the sage sayeth, they will hang themselves. Fogs are thick; but the wise man sees through them. Roads are muddy; but the rich man rideth in a cab. In this month your hair will grow. Do not be alarmed. Buy the Comic Almanack.

DECEMBER.

Winter commences. Bills come pouring in. Trust yet to the stars. Do the Income Tax—so saith the moral philosopher. All flesh is grass—but beef is not water-cresses. Make moral reflections, and pay no bills. A bad month for paying bills. Give no Christmas dinner; but go to some one's who does. Receive presents of turkeys, geese, pickled salmon, and cod, with oysters for sauce. Look out for Saturn in the ascendant in the house of Mars; and when you see a comet with a green tail, send an express to the astronomer royal, with a lock of your hair.

The Sun will be eclipsed the whole year round by the brilliance of the work the reader holds in his hand. Visible to all the inhabitants of Her Majesty's dominions, of the United States of America, and of every other country where English is understood.

The Moon will be eclipsed, during various portions of the seasons, at the Princess's Theatre, by a set of opposition Moons to be got up by Mr. Grieve. Visible to the audiences each night.

Jupiter has been so completely eclipsed by the crack boat of that name belonging to the Gravesend Star Company, that he has drawn in his rays in disgust, declined upon his axis, assumed a mean—in fact, a remarkably mean distance, and generally shut up shop.

Pallas will be eclipsed by Mr. Barry, whose new Palace will approach within eighteen or nineteen years of completion. Visible to the inhabitants of Westminster from dawn to dusk, and to the population generally, through any dull medium—say the Estimates.

Other Astronomical Information.

To convert Astronomical Mean Time into Mean Civil Time.—Beating being the shortest way to make mean people civil—beat time.

To find the distance of Terrestrial Objects.—Take a yard measure, and measure it. Another way, useful if the object be a window, a friend, or a public character, is to throw a stone at it, and if you hit it, you may be sure it is within a stone's throw.

To set a Sun Dial.—Dig a hole in the earth, and set it. Sun dials are, however, seldom known to thrive much. The Seven Dials in London grew up in a soil composed of old clothes, Irish, onions, Jews, and Gin; and the population is still literally celebrated for knowing what's o'clock, with occasional rectification by the police.

Directions to know the Stars.—Notice whose names are printed largest in the play-bills, and precede the largest sums in the schedule of a manager when he goes up to the Insolvent Court. Another way is to notice who play or sing most carelessly when the house is bad, or look sulky when applause doesn't come.

To calculate Longitude from the Meridian of Greenwich.—Ascertain how often a person has eaten whitebait that season.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

A charming songster of this species warbled its nightly music from a high tree in the corner of my garden. It generally began its jug-jug just after sundown, when it distinctly whistled the bass solo, "Now nurse and child are fast asleep," from Guy Mannering. The formation of the larynx prevented the lower notes from coming out with full effect, but the performance, in other respects, was perfect. Truth, however, compels me to add, that the bird did not, as has been asserted, whistle the words. The same nightingale, when he saw over the garden wall a gentleman staggering along, after a convivial party, used to whistle "We wont go home till morning," with great glee. I only observed it make a change once, when the air selected was, "Jolly companions every one."—William Kiddy, in the Gardeners' Journal.

The Height of Impudence.—Stopping a railway train to ask the Guard what o'clock it is.

This colony is a remarkable colony. The ancient gentleman (we forget his name, and there isn't a Lemprière nearer than Cochin China), who turned everything he touched to gold, must have called here on his way to Hades. Gold, gold, nothing but gold. Let us calmly review what Australia has done since Christmas, 1851.

Although she has separated from the mother country, it was not in anger, but only as a rich child's establishment is naturally apart from that of poor parents. We did not neglect Old England; we paid off her national debt, and we deposited in the hands of trustees (the Emperor Jullien I., King Abbott-Lawrence, and Sultan Abd-el-Kadr) a sufficient sum to render taxes in England unnecessary for two hundred years. Having thus done our duty as a child, we leave the old lady to amuse herself her own way. But we shall not forget her, and each Christmas we shall delight in presenting her with a new Fleet, a box of palaces, or some other tribute of affection.

We laid down the Cape and Algiers Railway, as also that from Gibraltar to St. Petersburgh, and the eighty thousand miles of line in India. We cut through the Isthmuses of Suez and Panama, and lengthened the grand canal of Venice to the Black Sea.

We bought up all the opera singers in the world at their own price (the largest drain our exchequer has known), and we founded the Australian Opera. Meyerbeer received 100,000l. for his opening work—Le Kangaroo, and the "Hopping Chorus" is worth the money.

We arranged a financial system for ourselves, the leading feature of which was, that there should be no fractions, no change, no bargaining (this nearly drove the women out of the colony), and no tick. The lowest price of anything was to be a guinea.

We have an electric telegraph communication between our new capital, Aureopolis, and every other metropolis in the world. Painful as it is to hear the needy creatures of other continents squabbling about miserable loans and wretched subsidies, when, perhaps, the whole sum at issue is not fifty millions, and disagreeable as it must be to regard one's acquaintance as paupers wrangling over halfpence, the lessons are not without instruction.

Such are some of the achievements of Australia. But she is not all-powerful. We have a failure to record. All her proffered treasures could not buy one of the writers in the Comic Almanack. Yet it must be done. Gird up thy loins, young nation! The rest were trifles, but here is a task worthy of thee. Thy mines of wealth against the mines of wit; for one of those priceless men thou must have. To the Diggings! to the Diggings!

[Private and confidential letter from Mr. Jemmy Bullseye, Professional Burglar, M.S.M. (Member Swell Mob), P.P.P. (Professor Pocket Picking, &c.), T.C. (Transported Convict), to Ikey Moshes, Esq., R.S.G. (Receiver of Stolen Goods), F.R.F. (First-Rate Fence), Deadman's Court, Filch Street, Whitechapel.]

Giv us yer congraterlations old chap, for luck as turned at last. Thank evings I'm now a maid man, and a real transported conwict, and no mistake. Ha! ha! No more bissines—no more senter hits, nor kro bars, nor skillington keas, nor dips into pokkets with nuffin in 'em—nor puttin old ladis on the grate when 'ot, to make 'em tell vere the spoons is—no more rows with them ere Peelers, nor interwiews with the Beaks—nor no more pollis wans, nor Hold Baileys, nor Middlesects sesshuns, nor Surgeon Adamses, nor Recorders, nor Ballantines nor Clarksons. As I said afore, in one wurd, no more bissines. I'm a-coming out in the respictable line, and I'm a-goin to keep a gigg. I've made my lucky, and I can afford to pass the remaneder of my days a-doin' nuffin but enjoying on myself.

In two wurds, Ikey, I've maid my fortin. I've 5 portmanties chok full of gold. How you'd like a grab at 'em, eh? The rigglar stuff; shinin' like sufferings, and worth never so much more, bekase more purer, and no allhoy. You remember the littel Jobb for which I got into trubbel—the plate down Hackney way, which we didn't find out to be Britania Mettle till jist as it was in the meltin' pott, and the pollis had me by the choler. Well, I staid in Pentonwill too ears, and then we kum out here, a hole ship lod on us, rigglar outanouters as ever stood in a dok, and then they set us to make rods, and me and Bil Smuth, and Jerry Gibbs—him as knocked the old lady on the 'ead for pleasure, arter the bissines was over, and the swag sekured—and half-a-dozen more, was all tyed to one chane, with a lot o' sogers ready to shoot us if we layed doun our piks or spaids for a minit. But let me tell yer, as things 'as turned out, the praktise was kapital, for suddenly one mornin' there kame word, that about a dosen of miles from us, there was a bed, a rigglar bed of gold made up in the earth, and that noboddy had anythink to do but to stupe down and pik hup the peaces. By gom, Ikey, when the sogers heard this, off they cut, and set to work at the golden sand with their baggynets, and, as you may be sure, also off we kut arter them; and there we wos, the hole wak of us, konwicts and no konwicts, pickin' up the yaller metal like 1 o'clock, and mindin' nuffin else. And now we found out the hadvantage of our rod makin praktise, for, for every ounse of gold the rest piked up, we got a £. So we soon had the chane off, and, in less nor 6 wheeks I had for my share at least 50,000 lbs. worth—which, by-the-by, I am grieved to say, that disonest skoundrel, Bil Smuth, tryed to pilpher from, but a dig from the pik axe settled his ash, as so it did Jerry Gibbs's, whose and I found in my pokkits—the unprinsipaled thif, who had no more respect for reallysed property than nothink at all. And so, to make a long storey short, here I am, a-goin' to sale for Urope by the next ship with all my gold, and quite sartin of being reseaved accordin to my merrits, as weyed by the hevvyness of my Koffers.

I have hardly maid up my plans yet, but I think I'll by an andsome ouse somewere near Tyburnia—I like the name; and I'll call it either "Burglary Lodge," or "Felony Villa," or "The Fence," and I'll furnish part on it quite slap-up like the nobses; and part on it like Newgate, and part like Pentonwille, and part like the Pennytenshiary, just to keep hup a scentimental rememberance of the old Times. I'll get a Kot o' arms too. The Herralds' Offis will soon find that for me, but there must be a dark lantern in it, and a skillington kea, and for a mottar, "Sucksess to Swindlin," in a dead langwidge, which is more genteeler nor a livin one. In course I'll have an ouse-warming, when I'll ask the Rekordor of the sitty of London, and the Kommon Surgeon, and Surgeon Adams of the Middlesects, and the Kommishners of Pollis, and Dannal Wittles Arvey. I should think they'd come. I don't bear no mallis, and I'll give 'em good wittles. "Sirkmstances is altared, my Lords," I'll say after dinner, when I'm a-standing with a glass of champagn in my 'and, "And I forgive you for having sent me out to Bottiney Bay, konsidering wot's come of it, and if any of you would like to try your luck akross the water, I'll give you a letter to a hold pal of mine that worked on the same chane as me for five ears, and he'll put you hup to the time o' day if anybody will." I shood think, Ikey, as that would be a 'andsome way of doing the thing, and letting bygons be bygons. I wudn't be surprised arter that if they made me a Middlesects magistrate, or a visitin Justass, or summut o' that kind, and when I goes to a Pollis offis just for old assossiashun's sake, you'll read in the papers how the Honorable Genlmn was akkomodated with a seat on the bench beside the worthy maggistrate, Ha! ha! Ikey, the gold will do it al. I wouldn't be surprised if I get a testymonial, or if there be a subskription to raise a monyment to me—or a lot of amsouses for dekayed prigs, to be called "Bullseye Amsouses," with the names of the churchwardens of the Parritch karved over the entrance door. In course I'll keep a carridge, which is more convenient than a wan with V. R. painted on the side; and I'll have the deerest pue in the most fash'nable chapple—Parritch churches is low—and I'll shubscribe to the societies for the purtection of property and the shuppression of voice. Its wot is looked for in men in a sartin position.

Sutch then, Ikey, are my present plans. I wud ask you to my ouse warming but fear you mite not like to meet some of the Gents allooded to, you being still in the old line of bisiness, and not unkimmon well of. Howsoever, we'll have a quiet tawk when we meet, over a glas of grogg and a pype.

P.S. In coorse I'll go into Parlyment, but representing nyther St. Alban's nor Harwich. No, no, dang it, not so low yet as that kums to nyther.

OUR OWN "NOTES AND QUERIES."

PIKES AND ASSES.

Mr. Samuel Flopp presents his compliments to the Editor, and begs to propound the following question:—

Mr. Flopp, passing the other day through the Camden Town Turnpike, observed written upon the gate—

"For every horse, mule, or other animal, not being an ass, the sum of 1½d."

Mr. Flopp wishes to know whether it was owing to the last reservation, that he was allowed to pass toll free.

Perhaps some of our correspondents will answer the question.

BLACK'S THE WHITE OF MY EYE.

"There is a proverbial expression, 'You can't say black is the white of my eye.' How ought a person to vary the phrase to suit his own case, supposing his eyes to be blue? An answer will oblige.

Digging in my garden, I found a flat stone with the following inscription—

Can you inform me what language this is? I have submitted the question to both Universities, and a fortune-teller in the New Cut, but I can get no satisfactory reply. I am myself inclined to think it either Phœnician, Chaldee, or ancient Cornish."

"The following very curious fragment of an epitaph is to be found in a churchyard not a hundred miles from Biggleswade:—

Cætera desunt. Can any of your readers inform me of the name and profession of the deceased, what he died of, and whether the undertaker was paid for his funeral?"

THE OPERA HABITUÉ.

Mr. John Bull, suddenly impressed with the excellence of water, demanded that his town mansion should forthwith be supplied.

"Bless your soul, Sir," cried nine of his servants, "the house has water enough, and very good water, brought twice a week."

"Bring me a glass of it," said Bull, and while they were fetching the glass (for John's servants are the dreariest dawdles on the face of the earth, and are as long opening a door, cleaning a passage, or doing any little job, except a money job, as the servants of Monsieur le Nez, over the way, are in throwing his whole house out of windows), Mr. Bull took up a Blue Book.

"Colourless, transparent, inodorous, and tasteless; such are the conditions of purity in water," read John. "O, here you are at last, you lazy rascal; give me the glass. What do you call this stuff, you scoundrel—pea-soup?"

"Capital water, Sir, stunning tipple, sir," said the fellow audaciously; "your steward pays me a shilling a pint for all I bring in."

"Does he!" said John, glancing across the room, to be sure that his stick was in its corner. "Where do you fetch this stuff from, tell me that?"

"Nearest place, in course, Sir. Thames-ditch, Sir."

"That all my drains run into! Take that, Sir!" roared the old gentleman, kicking him down stairs.

Another servant, smirking, ran in with another glass.

"Less colour," said John, "but smells like the end of a gas-pipe." And the bearer went over the bannisters. A third tried his luck, declaring that the water he brought came from a beautiful tank near Sadler's Wells.

"Full of live things," said John, shuddering.

A fourth rushed up, "Try this, Sir; a dodge of my own, Sir, a pipe from a tan-pit, Sir—tan very healthy."

"Tastes of animal decomp——I'll tan you, Sir," thundered John, planting his fist between the rogue's eyes, "put that in your pipe!"

Well, all the other servants came with glass after glass of dirty water; for fetching which, John Bull's steward was, they said, in the habit of paying them enormously, besides encouraging them to beat anybody who came to the house with a filter, or offered to bring cleaner water at a cheaper rate. John waxed furious, declared they were all rogues and cheats, and commanded his steward, one Wood, to contrive that he should have decent water. So Wood, who is the merriest, most goodnatured bungler in the world, proposed that they should all pour their different supplies into one great tank, which he thought would make the water pure. John Bull didn't quite see how eight quarts of dirty water would, by being mixed, make two gallons of clean; but this plan is going to be tried. It seems most likely that John will never get a Glass of Clean Water.

To be sold by Public Auction, next Wednesday, the whole contents—furniture and appurtenances—of the late Editor of this Journal's Office, consisting of—

1. Five Tomahawks (warranted).

2. Eight Colt's Revolvers (have each shot their man).

3. Two Sword-sticks.

4. Three Gouging Forks (patent).

5. Seven Nigger Whips (loaded with lead, and highly recommended).

6. A Horse Whip (same with which Editor said he flogged General Dodge).

7. Another Horse Whip (same with which General Dodge said he flogged Editor). These two will be sold in one lot.

8. A Cask of Tar—good for Abolitionists.

9. The Feathers out of Four Feather-Beds—ditto, ditto.

10. Curious Recipes for Brandy Cocktail, Whisky Stingers, and Gin Trumps.

11. A Pair of Bloomer's Pantilettes.

12. A Bad Dollar, and

13. A Worn-out Pen.

Sale to commence at noon, and no revolvers allowed till a quarter past.

TABLE OF THE PROBABLE DURATION OF LIFE.

The following queries are proposed for solution by some of our ingenious readers. Answers must be enclosed to the publisher on or before the first of April next. Fifty copies of the Comic Almanack (equivalent to a permanent provision for the receiver for life, with handsome reversions to his posterity), will be presented to any one who shall answer the whole correctly. We might have hesitated in making so stupendous an offer, but felt that the world required for the year 1852 some universal excitement, rather superior to that occasioned by the Exhibition of 1851.

CHARADE.

ANOTHER.

A THIRD.

REBUS.

An electrical agent, an over-ripe pear, a wooden leg, Mr. Dickens' best novel, half a dragon, a scapegrace, a young frog, an easy-chair, a French divine, a celebrated map, part of a lady's dress, a London club, and the sixth of a Knight of the Garter. The initials describe what the reader is, the finals what he may be if he likes, and the middle letter what he can never be, though his father was, and his child must be.

ANOTHER.

A man, a can, a fan, Ann, to scan, a plan—their equivalents represent the four elements in agitation, and spelt backwards, describe the most pleasing object in the Great Exhibition. Omitting Ann and the fan, the equivalents prophesy what theatre will next be burned down.

I am engaged to a young lady, who will not tell me her age, but says that if I measure her arm (which is a very pretty one) above the elbow, and multiply the number of inches by the number of the Royal Family (in 1851), and then divide by the number of perfection, I shall discover her age. As I know a shorter way, I hand over the puzzle to my readers.

CONUNDRUMS.

What is that which if you stamp upon it, appears above your head, and if you blow upon it, vanishes?

Why is the late Lord Mayor like the Crystal Fountain?

Why must John Knox have been the last man in the world to eat a lobster?

Why is the Earl of Zetland (the Grand Freemason of England), when he wears a waistcoat which his family think unbecoming to him, like a postage stamp from which the adhesive stuff has been licked off by a tortoiseshell kitten?

If you went through the Lowther Arcade in company with the inventor of the Marine Telegraph, and saw an old lady's back hair coming down, why would you be obliged to ask him to tell her of it in Arabic or Chinese?

If Peeping Tom of Coventry were to put on the Bloomer Costume, and be carried in a sedan chair, by two black men, from the Marble Arch to the Menai Bridge, why would he resemble Mr. Macaulay, on a snowy day, and with an achromatic telescope in his left hand, taking shelter about eleven o'clock in a pastrycook's shop anywhere in the City?

ANAGRAMS.

TRANSPOSITIONS.

Transpose "Jos. Paxton, Knight, Gardener," and you may describe what he would have been if Mrs. Graham had smashed the transept with her balloon.

A transposition of one of the Prince of Wales's titles will give the three prettiest Christian names for ladies.

You may transpose a line in the second verse of the National Anthem, until you make something which Dr. Bull little dreamed of when composing it.

FINAL BLAZE OF GLORY.

DEPRESSION IN THE LEGAL PROFESSION.—In consequence of the opening of the County Courts, the undersigned begs to state that his charges will be found strictly moderate, and if his speeches be not approved of, the money will be returned. Come early. This is the shop for cheap Law! Now's your time! No reasonable offer will be refused.

JOHN TICK, Clockmaker to the King of Loo Choo (by appointment), and Watchmaker to the heir apparent of the King of the Cannibal Islands (by appointment), begs to call attention to his Ne-plus-ultra never-say-die Watch. Goes for ever without winding up—the glass can't break—it strikes with a cathedral tone, and plays the Row Polka, and the Dead Waltz in Saul, every alternate quarter of an hour—never needs cleaning, and the general idea of the whole is so bright, that the dial can always be seen distinctly in the dark. N.B. This Watch would have carried off a Council medal, had it not been for the maker not sending it to the Exhibition.

FURNISHED APARTMENTS, within five minutes' walk of the Bank, the Horse Guards, the Lambeth Union, and the Small Pox Hospital. The lodger would have the use of the mangle. Partial Board if required. Half a slice of bread for breakfast, and the run of the cruet-stand for dinner. No attendance, but the lodger will be allowed to ring the bell as much as he pleases. Apply to Mr. Smith, London.

TO THE BENEVOLENT.—An appeal is confidently made on behalf of a Young Gentleman, whose cruel and unnatural father allows him only £100 a year until he does something for himself. The merest trifle—30s. a-week—will be thankfully received, and gratuities above £20 will be acknowledged by a dinner at Verey's, to which the donor will not be asked, but at which his health will be drank. Address Hex Why Zed, Cyder Cellars.

TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.-The thinnings of a rough young Birch Wood are on Sale. Also a cargo of Bamboos, just arrived from the Mauritius. Tawse of superior Leather, with the ends of the tails carefully burnt, are also constantly on Sale. Apply at Floggum Hall, Clapham.

TO THOSE AFFLICTED WITH DEAFNESS.—The Advertisers offers comfortable Board and Lodging to Ladies and Gentlemen suffering as above, in his own private family circle. The great advantage to be found in the arrangement will be, that neither he, his wife, his eight daughters, or his seven sons, ever say, or can be expected to say, anything.

FRENCH IN A QUARTER OF AN HOUR, AND GERMAN IN TWENTY MINUTES.—Cram's NEW Method. "Do you understand French?" "I understand it, but do not speak it." How often do we hear this reply. Professor Cram assures his Friends and intending Pupils that in fifteen minutes he will make them speak French as perfectly as they understand it.

The shadow of a coming event has fallen upon the opposite page and stayed there. It represents the triumphal entry into Paris of M. Jullien, chosen as President of the Republic, Leader of its Armies, Composer of its strifes, Conductor of its Bands, and in general, National First Fiddle.

The French having tried all manner of governments and all classes of rulers, and not liking any of them, will naturally, in their pursuit of harmony, turn to one of its most celebrated professors. M. Jullien, on the 1st of April, will issue two public manifestoes, expressive of his political creed:—"The Universal Suffrage Polka, with ballot-box and kettledrum accompaniment;" and "The Liberté, Egalité, et Fraternité Quadrilles," in which all the second and third fiddles will play the first parts, the piccolos will produce the sound of ophicleides, and any instrument will be at liberty to play anything it pleases; all this in token of the equalization of society, and the freedom of action to be accorded under the new régime. The time in which this Quadrille will be arranged is the Good Time Coming, which may be reckoned a very slow movement, seeing how long it takes to arrive.

These magnificent political morceaux having been duly considered by the people of France, whistled by all the boys, and danced to at all the casinos—the cry of "Jullien for President" will become all but universal. The Elysée will be frantic, the Orleanists furious, and the Legitimists in despair. Louis Napoleon's friends will meditate a coup d'état, for the purpose of securing all the silver plate in France; but which will be defeated by the counter operations of a conspiracy for the abolition of taxes, and for giving every Frenchman, above the age of twenty-one and untainted by crime, a salary of 5000 francs per annum, to be paid quarterly by the government. In the midst of these conflicting movements of party, the grand day of election will take place, and the following will be the state of the poll:—

Each of the three latter gentlemen having voted for himself. France will be immediately thrown into a state of rapturous delight, and the new President will land at Boulogne from four steamboats, the band playing the Row Polka, which will be adopted, till they get another, as the national anthem of France. What the triumphal entry into the capital will be, is made manifest on the opposite page. Welcomed by the universal voice of Paris, in one grand concert monstre—the democrats the basses, the quondam Buonapartists the tenors, the quondam Legitimists the counter tenors, and all their wives and daughters the sopranos and contraltos—then there will commence in France the harmonious reign of M. Jullien—the President without a precedent.