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

"Well, Sir! it is my duty to inquire into your intentions towards
Miss 1853."

Taking into consideration the hourly increasing inquisitiveness of the Age, and, above all, the restless desire to pry into the secrets of Futurity, as evinced by the feverish agitation, on all sides, of vitally important questions, such as the following:—

we have resolved on considerable improvements in the Prophetic department of our publication.

This feature indeed may be said to have been (in proof of which we are going to say it) hitherto the only unsatisfactory one of our otherwise complete work—having been confined to the prediction (in six neatly printed pages at the commencement of the yearly volume) of the particular week-days on which each day of the month would fall; the number of days to be contained in each month; the periodical changes of the moon, &c., &c.—predictions which have invariably been verified; but, from the comparatively uninteresting nature of the events foretold—considered as a supply to the enormous demand for Prophetic Intelligence alluded to above—may be open to a charge of inadequacy.

For the Future we intend to be more explicit as to it; and will foretell events of a more general nature, calculated to set at rest all the throbbing questions of the day, to which an answer will oblige—only stipulating that, in the case of any prediction not appearing to be satisfactorily fulfilled, the reader will withhold his judgment till such time as he shall have purchased our next number.

Our extra amount of foresight has enabled us to present the reader with sixteen pages of matter more than he has been in the habit of receiving. The usual blank pages for the purposes of journal and cash entries will be no longer necessary, the accounts of the year being already made up for him by ourselves.

JANUARY.

On the 1st of January, two elderly gentlemen (having dined together on the previous day) will meet in New Oxford Street. One will poke the other in the stomach, and remark that he has not seen him since last year. The other will reply that it is very odd; but that he is glad to find his friend so little altered. Both elderly gentlemen will laugh and adjourn for something to drink.

About the 11th a rapid thaw may be expected.

Several young gentlemen home for the holidays being informed that if they eat so much Twelfth Cake they will make themselves too ill to go back to school on Monday—there will be an extra demand for that article.

FEBRUARY.

A country gentleman will be attracted to Westminster by an erroneous conception of the Queen's method of opening Parliament in person.

The rival opera houses will open for the season. Increased exertions will be made on both sides to secure the public patronage.

On the 14th one of our readers will meet with a severe disappointment in love.

Winkinson cannot stand this sort of thing any longer. He has made up his mind, and will go to Australia—with the best of them!

The materials for gold-washing, however, come expensive, and some time is necessarily occupied in Winkinson's getting a supply.

January derives its name from the Roman deity Janus. It is the first month of the year—following December, and taking precedence of February. It contains thirty-one days.

We have been induced to make the above remarks by the conviction that no work, however brilliant, has a chance of success in the present day, unless containing a certain amount of really sound and valuable information. Considering we have established our powers in that line triumphantly, we will proceed to foretell the principal events of the month.

On second thoughts though, the month is so absurdly near at hand, and the events themselves will so soon happen, that it is hardly worth while. It has even occurred to us that it would be an insult to our readers—the very notion of which makes our blood run cold! Of course, under the circumstances, we cannot think of anything of the kind.

Directions for Beginning the New Year Well.—Go out to dinner on the 31st of December. Select the best house you know for the purpose. Eat and drink of the best, and spend the evening cheerfully. See the new year in, and accept your host's offer of a bed. Breakfast with the family; be in excellent health and spirits, and have a legacy left you.

Family Receipts.—Those given by the landlord on the 26th ultimo are the most appropriate to the month, and should be taken care of in case of accidents.

To avoid Chopped Hands.—Have your meat properly jointed by the butcher, and don't attempt to chop it yourself.

SCRAPS OF INFORMATION,
USEFUL AND ORNAMENTAL,

CHRONOLOGICAL NOTES FOR THE YEAR 1853.

ECLIPSES OF THE SUN AND MOON IN 1853.

FEBRUARY.

An influential inhabitant of a provincial borough will take a party of friends with him to the House of Commons, to show them how intimate he is with the new member, whose return to Parliament he was mainly instrumental in effecting, and who has professed the greatest attachment to him and his family. He will lie in wait (bidding his friends to look on) in the strangers' lobby for the new member. He will see the new member entering the building with conscious dignity. He will rush at him with extended hand, addressing him by name. The new member will suddenly see somebody he wants to speak to, and rush madly away in an opposite direction. The influential inhabitant will return to his provincial borough with altered politics.

On the 14th, exactly 1,098,276 valentines will be delivered in the United Kingdom.^[10] Out of these, 9,765,007 will commence with "The rose is red, the violet's blue;" 6,000,821 will be written on sugar-paper and sealed with thimbles; 1,098,275 will contain faults of orthography and syntax; 890,782 will be illegibly directed; and 3 prepaid.

News will arrive of the fitting out of an American squadron (by private enterprise) for the invasion of England—the grounds of attack being that the island was discovered, some centuries back, by a Roman ancestor of Mr. Julius Cæsar Chollop (of Connecticut, U.S.), and by right should become the property of his descendants.

The formation of volunteer rifle corps, with a view to the protection of life and property, will be strongly recommended.

The rate of cab fares of the metropolis will continue at 4s. 6d. per mile. Drivers, as heretofore, will be encouraged to enforce its payment from a parsimonious British public.

Greenwich Fair will present the usual endless variety of intellectual recreations.

APRIL.
GREAT SELLS OF THE FIRST.

A gentleman, invited out to dinner, will wait patiently in the belief that his tailor really means to send home his new coat by four o'clock.

The same gentleman's bootmaker will wait patiently in the belief that his debtor really means to call and settle that little matter by four o'clock.

The printer's boy will be sent to our residence to ask for copy.

Our boy will be despatched on an errand to the printer's to inquire for proofs.

The strictest discipline will be enforced among the Railway Companies' officials.

He hears, moreover, that the gold lies twenty-five feet below the surface of the soil, and thinks he had better try if he could dig a hole that deep. He takes up two flag stones in the back kitchen, and makes the experiment.

Nor is he quite sure that his constitution will stand living in a tent. He judges it expedient to contract for a month's residence with a distinguished Egyptian family on Blackheath, by way of probation.

MARCH.

An Irish Fête will take place on St. Patrick's Day—established in successful emulation of the annual Scottish Fête in Holland Park.

The following national sports will form a portion of the programme:—

And (in effigy, out of consideration for Saxon prejudices)

There will also be a general run of excisemen and tax-gatherers for their lives. Prizes will be awarded, which the losers will be at liberty to contest with the conquerors after their distribution.

On Easter Monday, Greenwich Fair will offer its attractions to an intellectual British public. A great falling off will be observed in this time-honoured festival. The shows will be found stripped of their brightest pantomimic and melodramatic ornaments: but Richardson will not give up the ghost!

Parliamentary business will be suspended for the Easter vacation. Much curiosity exists as to what statesmen do with themselves on such occasions. A slender middle-aged gentleman, of Jewish aspect, with an immense quantity of glossy ringlets, will be seen enjoying three sticks a-penny in the park on Easter Monday. A much shorter gentleman, wearing a pasteboard nose, and blowing a penny trumpet, will be robbed of his handkerchief, in the same locality, whilst getting into a round-about, in company with an elderly gentleman in plaid inexpressibles and a retroussé nose. That handkerchief will be found marked J. R. with a coronet. For once, we decline being definite, and say nothing.

APRIL.

The excellent working of the convict system will be summarily displayed in Australia. The convicts, by a decisive coup, will succeed in obtaining the upper hand. The colonial executive will be vanquished and replaced by a provisional government on an entirely new principle. A new and original code of laws will be organized, by which honesty will be made criminal, and rascality rewarded. No man will be allowed to claim any property, unless he can prove that he has stolen it, and no documents whatever will be considered binding except forgeries. The Gold Fields will be at the disposal of the government, who will grant licenses (to be paid for in counterfeit coin) for the assassination and plunder of the individuals who have been sent out (officially) to rob the diggers.

Emigration will, however, continue unchecked. Labour will be at an incredible premium. £400 a year will be refused by a groom, because he is expected to attend to the stable, and refused the use of the piano. Desertion in the army will be carried to such an extent that Lord Hardinge himself will be compelled to mount guard at Folkstone, to keep out the French invasion—his only hope of the safety of the country being derived from the knowledge that all the soldiers of the Emperor Napoleon III. have deserted too, and that that potentate is constitutionally opposed to the ordeal of single combat. There will be no policemen left. The magistrates themselves will be compelled to assume the uniform in case of any malefactors remaining in the country. Mr. Norton's beat will be Westminster Bridge; that of Mr. Broderip, Vauxhall Road and its environs; whilst the safe custody of the Borough will be entrusted to the vigilance of Mr. A'Beckett.

At about noon on the day succeeding the Derby race, several gentlemen will call at a popular betting office, and will be surprised to find that the proprietor and clerks have not come yet.

The portrait of a gentleman will be exhibited at the Royal Academy.

Additional accommodation will be afforded for the hanging of pictures.

JUNE.

The international copyright treaty with France having come into action, several dramatic authors will be thrown out of employment.

The umbrella manufacturers of the metropolis will felicitate themselves on the prospect of a brisk demand for their merchandise.

The omnibus drivers, blasés to the excitement of unchecked racing on level ground, will avail themselves of the repairs in Fleet Street for the purpose of a steeple chase.

He is also nervous about the sea voyage. There can be no harm in a trip as far as the Nore, to set him all right on his sea legs.

There is no use in doing things hurriedly. Winkinson intended starting by the next packet, but he has just learnt that it is impossible to stand the fatigues of the diggings without drinking an enormous quantity of peach brandy, by way of fortification. It would be madness to commence the journey till he has seasoned himself a little to that sort of thing.

N.B. Beards are worn at the diggings. Winkinson has allowed his to grow, and, in consequence, forfeited his situation.

MAY.
The Derby.—Our own Prophecy.

After the announcement of our prophetic intentions, the most thrilling anxiety will doubtless exist in the sporting world, to know what we have to say on this important subject. To oblige so large and so respectable a class of our readers, we have given it our closest attention.

The only matter of any importance connected with the Derby, we decline saying anything about at all, is the name of the winner. This comparatively slight reservation is made solely from a disinclination to interfere with vested interests.

On the great day, Members of Parliament will insist upon a holiday, claiming it as their right as Britons. The Right Honourable Mr. Disraeli will remark that it is all Race.

The members of a crack regiment will amuse themselves on their return from Epsom, by throwing brickbats, vitriol, &c. at the foot passengers. The blame will be laid on a respectable stockbroker, who will be imprisoned for the offence, the military gentlemen proving an alibi. A weak-minded young ensign of the party having expressed some regret that the innocent should suffer, and hinted that the real offenders ought to give themselves up like men—will be cashiered, with a severe reprimand from the commanding officer, for his want of esprit de corps and true gentlemanly feeling.

Several shop tills and betting-office stools will be found vacant on settling day.

Turf Maxim.—Never look a gift horse in the mouth without taking care of your fingers.

JUNE.

Balloon ascents on a scale of peril hitherto unattempted will be the features of this month. Madame Poitevin will go up from Cremorne Gardens attached to the bottom of the car of the Globe Balloon by six penn'orth of wafers only. The veteran Green, by the announcement of his 8000th ascent, suspended by warranted unsafe cords, will prove that, in spite of his vast age and experience, he is not yet old enough to know better.

A gentleman from one of the East-end gardens will be indicted by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals—for attempting an ascent on a live donkey. The Magistrate will dismiss the case, very properly, by sending both parties to the pound together.

The principles of aërial navigation will not yet be discovered. A man of consummate genius, however, will turn the invention of the balloon to considerable account. He will hire one as a family residence in order to dodge the Income Tax. He will send down ironical messages to the commissioners by means of parachutes.

The usual cheap excursion trips will commence for the season—the competition between companies leading to still further reduction of fares. Passengers will be booked through to Paris and back, first class for eighteenpence (half the fare to be refunded in case of sea-sickness); with the privilege of speaking to the man at the wheel; hotel expenses for a week; the use of a courier; tickets for all the balls at the Tuileries; instruction in the French language; the cross of the Legion of Honour; and the right of smuggling.

The air being charged with electricity, all wives of well-regulated minds will insist on their husbands promising not to ride in any omnibus unprovided with a lightning conductor.

The great demand for sherry-cobblers will completely exhaust the metropolitan supply of straw. Livery-stable keepers will be driven to singular expedients for the nocturnal accommodation of their lodgers.

The demand for whitebait will be unusually brisk at Greenwich.

AUGUST.

The wild sports of Smithfield market being abolished, there will be comparatively little doing in the accident ward of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

Not that it matters to your poor wife, but if you had the feelings of a man, you might see that the dear children are dying for a little sea air.

You will naturally wish to prove that you have the feelings of a man, and will treat the dear children to a little.

The thing is to keep your gold when you have got it: there are so many unprincipled characters about the diggings. Winkinson, anxious to test his powers of defending his life and property, visits a suspicious neighbourhood after dark with two sovereigns in his pocket.

By the way, if he doesn't start till next month, he will get out to Australia in the most beautiful season of the year—and first impressions are everything. Winkinson will make himself comfortable and devote a month to his friends.

JULY.

July will be a very hot month. Several cases of hydrophobia will occur. In each instance the dog will be killed as soon as he has bitten a sufficient number of people to amount to a conviction. The theory of prevention, by muzzling or chaining up, will be suggested by many people, but will continue to be disregarded, as entirely opposed to the spirit of the British Constitution.

A terrible act of injustice will be committed. A very sensible dog indeed will be killed as mad—for refusing to drink a drop of Thames water.

The Emperor Napoleon III. will issue a decree fixing the number of dishes to be contained in the dinner of every Frenchman who, after so many months of an enlightened and paternal government, may be able to afford one; the quality of pomatum to be used for his whiskers; and the number of antibilious pills he may take in the course of the week.

The Humane Society will be very active. Baths and wash-houses will be instituted for the benefit of individuals who may have been imprudent enough to bathe in the Serpentine.

M. Jullien will be engaged at the Surrey Zoological Gardens for a series of Concerts d'Eté. The feature of the season will be an entirely new set of quadrilles, entitled Les Bêtes, in which (in addition to the usual performers) all the animals of the menagerie will be introduced. It will make a very great noise indeed. As none of the animals will be muzzled or chained up, several members of the orchestra may be expected to make their last appearance on the occasion.

AUGUST.

Several Parliamentary reporters will begin to let their moustaches grow, from which the speedy close of the session may be expected.

The metropolis will be threatened with a fearful amount of sickness. Children, hitherto the models of rude health, will be discovered by their anxious mammas to be looking pale. Husbands who never had a day's illness in their lives (and are in the habit of boasting to that effect) will be assured by their better halves that if they continue to stick so closely to business, they will be dead in a month—and with so many depending on them, they should show some regard for their precious healths. They themselves (the poor wives) are used to suffering; but even they would like to be spared for a short time, if only for the sake of their families. It will also be discovered that, being out of town, and having no appearance to keep up, you can live at the seaside for next to nothing; so that it will be a downright saving.

The heat of the weather will increase in intensity. Considerable modifications of the national costume will be found necessary. The fashions of the month (male) will be confined to a gauze shirt and a pair of light crochet inexpressibles.

An astute theatrical manager will pocket a considerable sum by announcing—"Glorious unsuccess! Anything but crowded houses!! Not more than three people in the pit!!!" Large numbers will flock to the establishment in hopes of coolness and ventilation, and will be refused their money back.

One of our married readers will leave home for a couple of days' shooting, promising faithfully to send his wife some birds.

He will keep his promise faithfully.

You will meet your Oxford Street tailor on the pier at Boulogne, but will not recognise him, albeit the inefficacy of the British code on an alien soil would enable you to do so with impunity.

OCTOBER.

In the dearth of Parliamentary intelligence, the newspaper reader will be startled by the appearance of an enormous gooseberry!

He will, moreover, be interested in the remarkable longevity of three old gentlemen resident in Stoke Pogis Workhouse, whose united ages amount to 190 years; and in the singular coincidence of their all three having been born in the same hemisphere.

He will also be induced to remark upon the peculiar mildness of the season. One of the phenomena attendant on which will be a shower of frogs.

The fact is, Winkinson has been going it rather, and the idea of commencing three months' voyage in such a shaky state is out of the question. It isn't every day a man leaves his mother country, and when there's no prospect of your seeing each other again for years, it is certainly excusable.

You must consider that Winkinson's grandmother brought him up, and in the ordinary course of things she can't last long, and his farewell must be a final one. It would be downright cruelty not to spend a month with the old lady previous to his departure.

Several genteel establishments will be closed, the blinds drawn down, and the drawing-room furniture enveloped in brown holland. In answer to inquiries, the visitor will be informed that the family has left town for Baden-Baden, Palermo, the Continent, or Brighton. Baden-Baden is a small watering-place on the coast of Kent, known to the inhabitants as Ramsgate; Palermo is an adjacent settlement, familiarly termed Margate; "the Continent" and "Brighton" are synonyms for the two-pair back, with the use of the attics for sleeping apartments.

The annual Scottish fête will take place in Holland Park. Several distinguished chieftains will appear in the national undress. An attempt will be made by some energetic female missionaries to distribute Bloomer tracts among the assembled Celts, and bring them to a sense of their trouserless position—but will not be attended with any great success. In order to eclipse the daring achievements of former years, a magnificent prize will be offered to any Scot who will perform the herculean feat of returning to his own country. There will be no candidates.

All London being at the seaside, there will be a greater quantity of donkeys seen on the sands of Brighton and Ramsgate than usual. Speculators on the Chain Pier will realize large fortunes by letting out telescopes to hire during the hours devoted to bathing by the ladies.

On and before the 29th, the great question of Tenant Right will be set at rest. The tenant, generally speaking, will remove his goods in the night, and leave the key (not wishing to deprive the landlord of his property) in the door. The tenant will be—all Right!

OCTOBER.

A great many things will happen in October on various days of the month, at different hours of the day, whose influence will be felt in numerous quarters of the globe. Nothing, however, of sufficient importance to be noticed in this department of our publication will take place. Should anything of the kind inadvertently transpire, it shall be faithfully noticed in our next number. We cannot possibly say fairer.

The fact is, October is a very uninteresting month. It takes place at the very slowest period of the year. It comes after the excitement of quarter-day, and before we have begun to trouble ourselves about winter. Nothing whatever is seasonable to it, as it belongs to no season whatever. Nothing can be done with it, and anything will do for it. We will therefore do nothing whatever.

Theatrical anecdote (quite good enough for October).—We overheard a stage-manager apply to a gentleman who was just going on to the stage to represent the Ghost in "Hamlet," the singularly inappropriate exhortation of "Now, then, old fellow, look alive!"

Aphorism for Emigrants who have paid their Passage-money.—There is many a slip between the tip and the ship.

One of the great National Theatres will be opened for the débût of a distinguished tragedian from the provinces.

The dignitaries of St. Paul's Cathedral will avail themselves of the rush of visitors on Lord Mayor's day to turn an honest penny.

The most appropriate additions will be made to the Lord Mayor's procession.

DECEMBER.

The most elegant and appropriate objects will be suggested by advertising shopkeepers as Christmas presents.

An enthusiast for the manners and customs of his ancestors will burn the Yule Log.

An individual of great mechanical acquirements will fairly earn the 200l. offered by Messrs. Chubb, as a prize to any one who will open one of their patent locks.

At last Winkinson has taken his passage, and got his luggage on board. The ship starts at half-past four in the morning. This, however, is no reason why he should not enjoy a parting glass with his friends, who have come down from London on purpose to see him off.

All things considered, Winkinson is very comfortable where he is, and doesn't think he'll go.

NOVEMBER.

We candidly confess that we are again somewhat thrown back in our prophecies—November being generally a month in which it is difficult to see your way clearly.

We have not, however, entirely lost our way. On the 5th, all foreign refugees wearing beards and extraordinary hats will find that England does not offer that safe asylum from persecution they had been led to imagine. They had better keep out of the way, for fear of being arrested, or, as the familiar Saxon expresses it, "smugged," in order that political and religious intolerance may be displayed in the most awful Guys! The wearers of ponchos, tartans, wide-awakes, and railway rugs, will incur similar perils.

A calamitous fire will take place in the pocket of a young gentleman who has incautiously been entrusted with sixpence, which he has laid out in squibs. The young gentleman will be very much put out indeed.

There will be a heavy fog on the 9th. The guardian angel of London will kindly throw a veil over the metropolis, so as to conceal as much as possible a pageant calculated to give a very contemptible idea of city intelligence.

High Water at London Bridge in November may be ascertained by calculating the cubic space occupied by the thousands who are induced by the national complaint of the spleen to throw themselves into the river during this dispiriting month.—From a French Serious Almanack.

This month will be characterized by the general issuing of dinner invitations to dine all classes, exclusive of those to whom a dinner is really an object.

On Christmas Eve, Watkins will bring several friends home with him to partake of egg-flip, assuring them that he always makes egg-flip on Christmas Eve, because his father did so before him, and there is nothing like keeping up those good old customs. The egg-flip will be made—its component parts being table beer, gin, butter, eggs, sugar, nutmeg, and other bilious materials. The friends will be compelled to drink an immense quantity of it, and, when quite ill, will be dismissed by the host calling on Heaven to bless them, and wishing them a merry Christmas. The friends will think Watkins the best fellow in the world, and not see for a moment the bitter mockery of his parting wish.

The Sowster family will spend Christmas Day admirably. Old Sowster likes to have all his family about him on this occasion, that they may be cheerful and united, without the interference of strangers, at least once a year. He will go to sleep immediately after dinner, and not wake up till supper time. Jack and Bob Sowster, disgusted at having had to refuse so many nice invitations, because the old boy insisted on it, will sulk for the whole day. The Misses Sowster will pick quarrels with them, having nobody else's brothers to talk to in a more agreeable manner.

Other people will spend Christmas in a more jovial and agreeable manner. We will for one; and we are sure that the intelligent reader, holding this volume in his (or her) hand, will for another.

MORE RAILWAY ASSURANCE,

We have received official information respecting a new bill about to be brought into Parliament, for the protection of Railway Companies. The following are among the clauses enacted:—

That the directors of any company announcing the departure of a train at any particular time, may start it an hour later—or two hours earlier—or when they like—or not at all.

That trains announced to contain third-class carriages shall consist exclusively of first-class carriages; and that any passengers made to wait by these arrangements, shall be compelled to pay for the use of the waiting-room.

That it shall be legal for the officials of any company to stop a train when half-way towards its destination, and refuse to take the passengers on till they have paid their fares over again—in which case the engine-driver need not proceed unless it suits him.

That in case of collisions, all injury done to the line, carriages, &c. shall be made good by the passengers—the train having been run for their accommodation. In case of fatal accidents, the directors may come upon the representatives of the deceased parties for damages, as compensation for the loss of traffic likely to be caused by the report of such unpleasant affairs.

That no passenger shall exercise any control whatever over his own luggage; and that no director, chairman, station-master, policeman, guard, porter, engine-driver, or stoker in any of the companies' employ, shall be responsible for anything whatever.