AN AUSTRALIAN ECLOGUE.
"The Pastoral, as a feature in English poetry, has long ceased to exist. The Arcadian characteristics, however, of our Australian colonies—recently brought to light—afford every excuse for its revival. Pope says something very clever about pastorals in connection with Theocritus, for which see his works, and find out the passage, if possible. A great many other writers have alluded to the same subject."—(See British Museum Catalogue, Vol. 1 to 398.)
A FAMILY EPISTLE,
FROM A CHINESE EMIGRANT TO HIS WIFE.
According to my promise, oh, apple of my eye! I dip my brush in the ink-dish of love, to communicate my adventures in the land of the barbarian. Tee-Tee! think not I have forgotten thee—nor yet that it was those little domestic differences (which I look upon as gnats in the bright sunshine of our wedded happiness) which made me join that tremendous movement—now threatening the Celestial Empire with depopulation—and presenting to the imagination the terrible possibility of the Brother of the Sun and Moon (may his stomach extend!) being compelled to brush out his own pigtail!
Blame me not for leaving thee in the night secretly. I could not have borne a parting. I know thy love for me is such that, hadst thou known my intention, thou wouldst have become frantic—and I should have been quite overcome. My heart failed me as I stole past thy bedchamber door on tiptoe; my shins quivered with emotion when I thought of thy tiny gold-shodden foot; my cheek burned as thy delicate hand seemed to press against it; and when I pictured to myself thy long and graceful nails, I was as a man without eyes!
Enough, oh, Tee-Tee! This comes hoping you are quite well, as it leaves me at present—Fo be praised for the same!
Our labours have not yet been crowned with success. I speak not of the vulgar seeking after gold—to which motives the opponents of progress and light have basely attributed the Great Chinese Emigration Movement which has shaken the barbarian world to its foundation. Thou knowest better. If thou dost not, after all I have told thee, all I can say is that it is just like thee, for a stupid obstinate mule as thou art.
Our mission was to civilize the whiskered and shirt-collared heathen. The light of wisdom had been too long concealed from the outer world by the Great Wall. Thou mayst remark it was odd we never thought of civilizing them till we heard of their finding gold—gold limitless as the glories of the empire! here and in their other settlement of Aus-tra-lee-ah.
Such a remark, oh, Tee-Tee! would be just about as sensible as thy remarks usually are.
It was because the barbarians had found this gold they stood in need of our assistance more than ever. Could such people be expected to know the use of wealth; I ask—could they? And as for once in my life in addressing thee, I can have all the talk to myself—without waiting for thy doubtless illogical reply—I answer, No, they couldn't.
It became our duty, at all hazards, to teach them. We resolved, even at the pain of leaving our homes and wives (it's no use thy getting into a passion, oh, Tee-Tee!), to go forth amongst them, and accept the presents of gold and treasures they would doubtless be too glad to lay at our feet, in exchange for that intellectual wealth which we alone are capable of dealing out with a layish hand. At any rate we could prevent their doing much mischief—by taking the treasures from them.
But they are such a set of fools!
Our words of wisdom they receive with mocking laughter, or by calling on their idols to send down curses on our eyes and limbs. So ignorant are they, that they have no fear of the Emperor before their eyes; and tell us, if we want gold we must dig for it.
And this is our reward! Of course digging, for a true-souled Chinaman, is out of the question. In the first place, we should have to cut our nails. In the second place, we should have to exert ourselves. In the third place, one process indispensable to the work of gold-seeking is called washing—a revolting idea!
The result is, that did we not, in our superior wisdom, know the value of rat and puppy (which the barbarians despise), the chop-sticks of your Poo Poo and his companions would be unoccupied.
We are not alone, however, in our misfortunes. There are several men here of a superior tribe—which I think I have heard called Dan-dees—who, like ourselves, have been trained in the ways of wisdom, to despise mere physical labour, and think only of Man's superiority as evidenced in their own persons; who came like ourselves, expecting to be received with rich gifts and open arms by the drudging savages, whose wilderness they had condescended to enlighten by their presence. These men are reviled and neglected because they do not like to soil their hands—and have never learnt to do anything!
My paper is out; and as, I dare say, thou hast already forgotten me, and taken up with that atrocious rascal, Tom Tom—to whom thou wilt probably hand this letter for a pipe-light, without having even looked at it—I need add no more than the signature of the unfortunate
TRAY AND THE DEUCE.
THE CHANGE IN THE WEATHER.
The English, climate, so long considered a capital joke, is becoming a very serious matter. They were not Dog-Days last summer; they were Hyæna, Kangaroo, Elephant, Boa-Constrictor days.
If so unnatural a state of things is to be repeated, England will no longer occupy her present position in the world. She will be somewhere else. There will be no place like home. Home itself will not bear the slightest resemblance to it. We shall be all abroad—every British child will be born a foreigner.
Nationality will be at an end. With the loss of our climate, on which the British Constitution so closely depends, it is impossible that we should continue to be the same people.
What will avail the boast that Britons never never shall be slaves, when there is such an immediate likelihood of their becoming niggers?
Our isolated position makes the prospect all the more alarming. The country must be in a continual state of hot water.
The Comic is not, strictly speaking, a Weather Almanack. Still the heat of last summer made us so uncomfortable (we do not mean merely in a physical sense), that we thought it our duty to inquire into the matter. We have, therefore, condescended on this occasion to look into futurity with a weather eye, of which we hasten to present the reader with a few "shoots,"—such, we believe, being the term usually applied to the natural emanations from the eyes of a Murphy.
We regret to say our worst fears have been confirmed. The page in the Book of Destiny that has been opened to our inspection is closely printed, and presents the aspect of a number of the Times, dated August 2nd, 1980. We leave our readers to form their own opinions on the following extracts:—
The Weather and the Crops.—The season continues to be unusually backward. The plantains in the neighbourhood of Wolverhampton have scarcely passed the flower. The cotton fields, however, of the West Riding are in a healthy condition—several trees being already in pod. It is feared that there will be a great loss in consequence of the dearth of labourers. It is true that immigration from Iceland, Nova Zembla, and the manufacturing countries generally, continues to a great extent; but nothing can atone for the impossibility of arousing the native slave population to exertion. The prospects of sugar are far from satisfactory, the siroccos of the last month having completely devastated the plantations—the canes on Clapham Common present a disastrous spectacle! The bread-fruit trees on Blackheath promise an abundant supply of half-quarterns.
"Taking care of Number One"—or—
A Gentleman endeavouring to keep "Number One"—out of "St. Paul's Church Yard"
Frightful Accident.—On Wednesday last, Mr. Edward Jackson, landlord of the "Cocoa-Nut," Tottenham Court Road, having had the imprudence to bathe in the Serpentine, was attacked by a ferocious alligator, who devoured both his legs so as to make amputation, we regret to say, unnecessary.
Enormous Palm Cabbage.—A gigantic specimen of this national plant grown in the open air by a native slave named Higgins, in the little garden attached to his shanty, was exhibited on Tuesday at the meeting of the Agricultural Society. It measured six feet in circumference, and weighed twenty-three pounds four ounces. A medal was awarded to the grower, and was accepted by the Rajah Simpson, his owner, whose family subsequently dined off the cabbage, expressing themselves highly gratified.
Sporting Intelligence.—His Majesty's elephants threw off yesterday from Richmond Park at four o'clock in the morning (the absurd old-world custom of sporting and transacting business in the heat of the day having, we are happy to say, exploded among the intelligent classes); a fine tiger was scented in the jungles of Slave Common, and soon broke cover. The run was a short one. "Puss" was brought to bay among the bamboos of Isleworth swamp, and speared by Coolies Walker and Smithers (eating, by the way, a considerable portion of the latter). His Majesty was in at the death, and returned to tiffin at 8 A.M.
Health of the Metropolis.—The deaths in the metropolis during the last week, as certified by the Registrar-General, are as follows:—
| Yellow Fever | 1640 |
| Black do | 870 |
| Green do | 651 |
| Ague | 923 |
| Coup de Soleil | 130 |
| Eaten by personal acquaintances (cannibalism being, we regret to say, rather on the increase among the benighted lower orders) | 24 |
| Eaten by savage animals, stung by reptiles (including a family of six in Judd Street, devoured by the house tiger, who had broken his chain, and was unfortunately not muzzled), &c. | 18 |
| Influenza (old English complaint) almost obsolete | 1 |
| ———— | |
| Total | 4257 |
| ———— |
Altogether a most satisfactory return, showing a marked improvement since last week.
THE MONSTER SWEEP.
We beg to propound the following question for the consideration of the members of the Peace Society. Is the Cannon who has lately created such a sensation in London, one they would like to see let off?
ELECTION INTELLIGENCE,
WITH THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN RECOGNISED.
Sir Charles Darling (the Ladies' Candidate), presented himself on the hustings amidst a general waving of handkerchiefs, and spoke as follows:—
Ladies and—(with a smile)—need I say gentlemen? (Titters and "Droll creature!") I think not. Gallantry forbids my recognising their existence—in any light other than as the devoted slaves of that divine sex, of whom I am proud to esteem myself the humblest. (Cries of "How nice!")
Ladies, then, angels, goddesses ("Oh!" from an elderly bachelor, who was removed by the police), for the thrilling position in which I am placed, how can I be sufficiently grateful to that glorious reform in our electoral system, which has partially recognised the true position of lovely woman? ("Partially!" in a tone of sarcasm, from a member of Mr. Screwdriver's committee). My honourable and gallant friend objects to the adverb. I say partially, for by admitting the ladies to the Franchise with the gentlemen, they are but recognised as equals, instead of superiors. (Great sensation.) Yes, ladies, and it shall be my earnest endeavours as your representative ("Yah!" and "Not yet!" from Mr. Screwdriver). My honourable and gallant friend observes "Not yet." It is true I have a formidable rival to contend with. The charms of his person, (screams, and "the Old Fright!") his known politeness, above all his taste in dress (here the laughter and clapping of kid gloves rendered the speaker inaudible for some moments)—compared with such claims, mine are worthless ("Do listen!" and "The Duck!"), extending no farther than a willingness, I may say a downright anxiety, to die in the cause of the fair creatures, who, I believe I may say, have done me the honour to elect me as their champion ("Yes! Yes!") With the ladies' voices in my favour, I believe I need not fear those of the gentlemen being exerted against me. (Cries of "We should like to see them," "Speak up, Alfred, do," "I'm ashamed of you," &c.) I thank you, gentlemen—or rather I do not thank you; I honour you for your—may I say obedience? ("Oh yes!" in a rapturous tone, from the engaged gentlemen), though, after all, I don't see how you were to help yourselves. (Great applause, and numerous bouquets thrown.)
The Honourable Mrs. Poser stepped forward, and begged to be allowed to address a few questions to the candidate.
Mrs. Poser. What are Sir Charles's views with regard to the existing Excise regulations?
Sir Charles. My first measure will be to bring in a bill legalizing the smuggling of laces and French ribbons. (Rapturous cheering.)
A Voice. About the Sanitary Movement?
Sir Charles thought every family should leave town at the end of the season. It was his opinion, that all husbands paying the income tax should be compelled to take their wives and children to the seaside for the autumn months. It should have his earliest attention. In answer to another speaker, he considered that Assembly-rooms should be maintained in every town by the public purse.
Mrs. Poser. What Foreign Policy will you advocate?
Sir Charles would advocate peace with France at all hazards, that nothing might endanger the immediate importation of Parisian fashions. (Cheers and bouquets.)
A Young Lady. About the Army?
Sir Charles. I am for keeping up a standing army, to consist entirely of regiments of horse-guards, composed exclusively of officers. (Immense sensation.)
Mrs. Poser. I should like to hear your intentions as to the tobacco duties.
Sir Charles. To prohibit the importation and cultivation of that objectionable plant altogether, so that there may be no more smoking.
A show of parasols was demanded, and Sir Charles Darling was declared duly elected.
SCRAP FROM A NEW "SEASONS."
By Thompson, of the London Daily Press Generally.[11]
11. The amount paid for this short contribution may be ascertained by a simple process of linear enumeration—and reference to the pence table.
FULL DRESS.
Will you be—our Vis à Vis?——
A GREAT MISTAKE.
To suppose that the American heroes, planning the Lone Star expedition against Cuba, have any deeply-rooted antipathy to Spanish.
A Pack of Knaves, or A "Packed" meeting of the "Knowing Cards" of the Betting-Shop interest to consider & adopt the best Shuffling Tricks to carry on their Game! A humble attempt in the "Pre Raphael" Style by George Cruikshank.
MYSTERIES OF PARIS,
Totally Unexplained, by a Regular Briton.
In the first place, I should like to know what they mean by wearing those enormous fur hats? They may be an intelligent people. All I know is—I never saw such a set of muffs as they look in all my life. And such tight trousers! reducing the legs of Young France to next to nothing, and presenting an appearance of top-heaviness that is absolutely uncomfortable to contemplate. They talk of their stable government! The heads of the nation could never have been in a more tottering condition than they seem now—and I don't see how things can possibly go on long on such a slender footing.
Why should such a difference exist between the civil and military states? I have heard a great deal of the admirable discipline of the French army; but in a great many regiments there appears to be no recognisable head worth speaking of. Quite the contrary. Are we indeed to believe the scandal that all the boasted cares and energies of the saviours of France have only been directed to the basest ends?
This is the baker! The circular article he holds in his right hand is a loaf! So is the longitudinal ditto in his left! I am at a loss to account for the singular expedients resorted to by the French for making their bread. It is true that one species possesses the great recommendation, to the heads of families, of going a very long way. But, on the contrary, the other is a description of food which the smallest child could get through in no time.
This gentleman is supposed to be conducting himself in this remarkable manner from an excess of enjoyment and high spirits; the French, generally, being supposed to be a gay and light-hearted people. Does a close inspection of the expression of the gentleman's countenance, in the height of his hilarity, warrant either supposition? Would it not rather be thought that he is performing a terrible act of penance for some sin that can never be wholly expiated?
They have policemen in Paris, I suppose. Indeed I know they have. Why, then, is so strong a detachment of the military necessary to conduct that little boy to prison? Is it that the civil officers are less to be trusted with a service of danger than our own gallant Blues, or that juvenile delinquency exists in France to an extent unknown in our favoured clime?
Who is he, I wonder!!!
I should like to know why the French can't allow their trees to grow as they like, instead of cropping and clipping them, like so many whiskers on the face of Nature. These singular-looking ter-restrial spheres, planted in square tubs, in the Luxembourg Gardens, I am told are orange-trees. Very good. Their resemblance to oranges is certainly striking. I should be happy to accept their appropriate rotundity as a precedent for the invariable rule (as having an instructive tendency), but that, on inspection, I do not find the neighbouring groves to consist of pear-trees as, judging from appearances, I was induced to imagine.
The French, I am told, down to the lowest grades of society, are proverbial for their gallantry and consideration for the fair sex. Appearances are certainly deceptive; but there is no trusting to them in Paris. For instance, these individuals, I have ascertained, belong to the class ouvrier:—
To avoid the slightest mistake, I have hunted up the dictionary meaning of that word. I find it to be homme qui travaille—industriel.
They are certainly a strange race. How anybody can sleep, with gentlemen parading the streets about a hundred at a time, before daybreak, and continuing their what's-his-name's tattoo every ten minutes, is a puzzler.
How anybody can sleep with these gentlemen—is another question!
HARMLESS ACCOMPANIMENT TO MR. CRUIKSHANK'S
PLATE ON THE OPPOSITE PAGE.
A friend of ours (had we been writing in the last century, we should have said a wag), was expressing himself in terms of the highest indignation with, or rather without, respect to his shoe-maker for presuming to emigrate to Australia, on the pitiful plea that he (our friend) was the only customer he had left. We remarked that we could see nothing reprehensible in his conduct—especially as all his former patrons had deserted him. "What are his former patrons to me?" exclaimed our friend; "I am the only one remaining to him—and a cobbler ought to stick to his last."
We laughed. Gentle reader, drop a smile if you can possibly manage it.
WANTED, A DIBDIN.
Apply to the First Lord of the Admiralty.
We hear a great deal of the prevalence of discontent in the navy. It is said that the sailors are constantly grumbling at the way they are treated, in the matter of unwholesome food and unsafe ships.
A great many suggestions have been offered as to the best remedy for this evil. Some weak-minded practical persons have proposed fresh provisions and new ships.
We propose a Dibdin!
It is a notorious fact, that the late Charles Dibdin, during the war, did the State great service by his sea songs, which had the effect of persuading the British sailor that fighting was a very jolly thing; that Frenchmen ought to (and might easily) be exterminated; and that all the unpleasantness of a tempest might be satisfactorily overcome by climbing up into the rigging and thinking of an absent Sue or Polly.
Why not employ a competent person to do something of the same kind in the present day? It would be much better to reconcile the British seaman to existing hardship, than to encourage a mutinous and dissatisfied spirit. Of course, we put removing the difficulty out of the question, as totally opposed to all precedent.
We annex a specimen or two of the sort of thing on which the proposed salt-water laureate might be advantageously employed.
Or in this style:—