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

The tides have baffled the ingenuity of some of our greatest philosophers, though Halley was more successful than any one else in his attempts to get to the bottom of them.

If we were disposed to go deeply into the tides, we should require the reader to follow us through a variety of mysterious hieroglyphics, which we are sure would be unintelligible to the majority. Dashes, crosses, circles, and triangles would be scattered over the perplexing page in profusion, while the only result might be, that as 0 is to a hyphen, so would be a couple of asterisks.

We, therefore, prefer leaving the study of the tides to those whose taste for the subject would lead them to a practical acquaintance with it, which may be picked up anywhere up or down the river.

THE ECLIPSES FOR 1845.

On the 6th of May there will be an eclipse of the sun; but whose son it is to be the almanack does not mention.

On the 24th of March there will be a total eclipse of the moon, only visible in London. A rabid leader will appear in the "Nationale," and the feelings of the editor will quite run away with him, on account of Paris being eclipsed on this occasion by le perfide London.

On the 30th of October there will be a total eclipse of the Horse Guards' illuminated clock by a tremendous fog. This eclipse is expected to give such satisfaction, that it has already been announced for repetition on the following evening; but after the 31st the fog will be dropt.

On the 13th of November there will be a partial eclipse of the sun—that is to say, the eclipse will show its partiality by being only visible to those in a high station, who look up to it. It will first show itself to Primrose Hill about four seconds after eight, A.M. It will look in upon Professor Airy at the Greenwich Observatory about five minutes after nine.

There will be a number of eclipses in the political world next year; but we do not intend to throw any light upon them. No doubt Lord John Russell will do his best to eclipse Sir Robert Peel, and that eccentric planet, Brougham, will strive as much as he can to eclipse Campbell, and throw him completely into the shade.

FACTS THAT DO NOT COME WITHIN THE RECOLLECTION
OF THE OLDEST INHABITANT.

Of course every one knows that horoscopes are divisible into twelve classes, and that one of the twelve Signs of the Zodiac is at the head of each class. With this information any one with the aid of the following learned treatise will be able to cast his own nativity or that of any other person.

The first sign of the Zodiac is

LIBRA,

Which formerly belonged to a person of the name of Themis, but was taken from her for using false weights, and hung up, as a warning to tradesmen, among the constellations. Who at present holds them Lemprière omits to say. The Libra are uppermost in the Zodiac from the 22nd of September to the 21st of October; consequently, any one born during that period is put into the scales and weighed accordingly. Churchwardens who cannot balance their accounts, and Ramo Samees who can balance anything, are generally born under the sign of Libra. It favours also young ladies who hear from Joseph Ady, and are blest with a large balance at their bankers.

The second on the list is

SCORPIO,

Whose malice and sting come into play from the last-mentioned date, and penetrate everywhere up to the 21st November.

Sheriffs' officers, lawyers, stage-door keepers, and anthropophagi, are always born under this constellation.

SAGITTARIUS

Comes next. Old Chiron, the Nimrod of his day, dwells at this Sign of the Zodiac. He was put in possession of it by Jupiter for having taught Achilles how to pull the long-bow. He favours Derby sweeps and the Epping Hunt, but his patronage cannot be of much value to the latter, as his influence is only good from the 22nd of November to the 21st of December.

The protégé of Sagittarius is generally fond of hunting the slipper and shooting the moon. He is known by his carpet bag, stuffed with bricks and straw. He sports a moustache, but never shows any tip.

The fourth sign is

CAPRICORNUS,

Who was originally Jupiter's wet-nurse. His lease of the Zodiac extends to the 21st of January, after which he is obliged to pull in his horns.

This constellation is noted for the number of stupid people who are born under it. They believe everything they see advertised, and put their trust in pills and Moses and Son. They are mostly called "Gents." They spend their money in Coal-holes, and smoke a kind of cabbage called "cheroot." They abound at promenade concerts, and on the tops of omnibuses and paddle-boxes on Sundays.

Capricornus, when he has finished going the Circuit of the Zodiac, is succeeded by

AQUARIUS,

Or the Watering-pot. Aquarius is only allowed to reign till the 21st of February. The former name of this Sign was Ganymede, who was taken up for sheep-stealing by an eagle, who was noted for being the first beak of his day. He was carried before Jupiter, who condemned him to pour out the nectar at a free-and-easy, of which he was chairman, in Olympus; but upon being detected mixing the grog of the gods, who always took their liquor neat, Ganymede was, in consequence of his foolish propensity to cold water, sentenced to take the sobriquet of Aquarius, which, before the Flood, was the Latin for Father Mathew.

Aquarius is the patron Sign of Vauxhall, which he makes his residence during the summer months. Temperance and Teetotal people are born under his benignant favour. Doctors, too, are his children owing to their liberal use of aqua pompaginis. One half of the London milk is supplied to the metropolis by Aquarius.

PISCES

Makes up the half-dozen of the constellations. Fish in the Zodiac, it seems, comes into season about the 22nd of February, but will not keep after the 22nd of March. Very little is known about the private history of these strange Pisces; they are supposed to have been a couple of John Dorys, who, Neptune having advertised in "Lloyd's List" for a wife, introduced Amphitrite, a Wapping lady, to share his oyster-bed with him. Neptune in return, gave the Pisces the entire swim of the Zodiac, where, if Aquarius did not brandish his watering-pot right and left about him for a month before them, they would have nothing but currents of air and thorough drafts to swim in. This would have made them feel very much like fishes out of water. The Pisces look after picnics and ministerial white-bait dinners.

ARIES

Makes his triumphal entry into the circus of the Zodiac on the 20th of March, and keeps on the move till the 21st of April. He was the original proprietor of the Golden Fleece, but having, from his hasty temper, got into Chancery, he was fleeced, and then locked up for life in the Zodiac. He encourages the breed of April fools, and looks after Chancellors and lawyers that they may have abundance of clients.

TAURUS

Is the prototype of John Bull, who crossed the British Channel with a pair of corks, and, landing at Calais, carried off Europe, or Europa. Young France has often attempted to take this bull by the horns; but, as Old Moore quaintly expresses it, "Y^e puppyes aint yett buorn thatt can baitte y^e Johnn Bull." Taurus looks after the Spanish Legion and the Lumber Troop, and gives them their indomitable valour. Sir Robert Peel was born under this constellation, which accounts for his having offered his constituents at Tamworth a Bull. Taurus superintends the bulls that are kept in the Vatican at Rome; and all Irishmen who are born between the 22nd of April and 21st of May, are under his influence. Taurus frequently shows himself at fairs and market-days, when, if the weather is at all hot, he will toss any one for a cool hundred at heads or tails.

GEMINI

Are nine, though properly only two, in the order of Signs. Castor and Pollux are the twins alluded to. Their berth in the constellations they received from Jupiter, and very naturally too, as he was their father. Their mother was Leda, a regular Spartan, but no relation to the present member for Westminster. The saying of "What a shocking bad hat!" was first applied to Castor. Beggarwomen, who exhibit two children on a door step, very unlike one another, are relieved under the lucky star of the Twins. Castor and Pollux go on very well till the 21st of June, when, as it is longest day in the year, they generally get tired of one another's company, and do not come together again for a twelvemonth.

CANCER

Is a very bad Sign, indeed. It first attacked Hercules when he was attempting to come Van Amburgh over the Hydra. Hercules did not take the Cancer very much to heart, however; but, with one blow, packed him off to Heaven, where, there being a place vacant at the time in the Zodiac, the Cancer was sworn into it, and has filled it very creditably ever since. Cancer sometimes puts the seasons out of order, by thinking he is a crab, and walking accordingly, which is always the case when the summer is a little backward.

LEO

Is the next that comes upon the tapis of the Zodiac. It is the same Leo whom Hercules got over in the forest of Ardennes, by means of animal magnetism, having thrown him into a state of coma, with a few passes of his club. This made the second candidate Hercules returned to the Zodiac Parliament. England (not the Young—but the Old) was born under the protection of the Lion, who, for this reason, is always called by orators the "British Lion," and painted on signboards, giving his paw to the British arms, in friendly confab with the British Unicorn. Mr. Carter, the greatest Lion tamer since Hercules, was born during this month; and young dandies and authors, who patronize tea-parties, are called "Lions."

VIRGO

Comes last. She rises every year on the 22nd of August, and goes to bed, in her golden palace of the East, on the 21st of September.

FOR A BRITISH TAR.

The lubber who would strike a lovely woman in distress is unworthy of the name of T. P. Cooke.

FOR A PRIMA DONNA.

Ah, Ferdinand! when treading the field of battle, when reaping laurels for thy noble brow; when in the hour of triumph or of revelry, thou art far from her who loves thee, still thou wilt think of Carolina, and madly recollect, "She wore a wreath of roses." Sings—

FOR LORD COLLINGWOOD AT ASTLEY'S.

Go, tell Admiral Tomkins to spare no time in bringing the enemy's ships to surrender! Go, tell Ensign Sir Hildebrand Smith instantly to board the 90-gun frigate; and let the memorable words of our noble admiral ring with electric shouts through the entire British fleet, that "England expects every man this day will do his duty."

FOR A HEROINE OF DOMESTIC DRAMA.

Take thy gold, base lord, and know that the heart which truly loves, though beating in the humble breast of a housemaid, would sooner die on the rack of the Inquisition first, than wear the velvet robe of infamy. From my heart I spurn you.—[Throws purse at his feet.]

FOR A GENEROUS BROKER.

Come dry up your tears, Missus; and as long as I have a crust, or a roof, in the house, you are welcome to share it with me—for the man who is not affected when a lovely woman cries is a heartless wretch, who deserves to walk through life branded with infamy.

FOR A CONSCIENCE-STRICKEN STEWARD.

Ah! that picture. It reminds me of a long-lost daughter. In moments of darkness it has smiled upon me, and seemed to say, "True happiness is in our own minds. It is not purchased by riches, or dependent on fraud. It is only acquired by virtue, but shrinks abashed from vice." Ah! the picture smiles again! The eyes beam on me—the nostrils dilate—the mouth speaks—everything counsels me to be good. Yes! I will return my ill-begotten wealth, and henceforth strive to become that noblest work of Nature, an honest man.—[Falls down before the picture and weeps.]

LONDON IMPROVEMENTS.

NOTE ON THE NAVAL FORCES OF GREAT BRITAIN.
BY A FRENCH ADMIRAL.

This note is avowedly designed as a companion to the pamphlet of the Prince de Joinville, which was intended to show how easily England might be taken by the French; but omitted to say how the matter might have been taken by the English. The note is written with the same exactitude as to facts, the same knowledge of the subject, and the same spirit of candour by which all recent French works on England have been distinguished. We give an abridgement of the note, which, in its original state, is extremely full, and at the same time particularly empty.

"In looking at the state of the English marine, I turned my attention to the depôts for marine stores, which of course comprise the whole of the naval resources of perfidious Albion. To judge of the British marine from the state of the marine stores, nothing can be more contemptible than the former, because nothing can be more insignificant than the latter. I asked one of the marine-store dealers how he would provision a man-of-war with beef for a long voyage, and he had nothing to show me but a quantity of beef bones, which he valued at five pounds for twopence. The English sailors, it is well known, cannot fight unless they are maddened with grog; and I looked over the marine-store dealer's establishment for the exciting liquid. I looked in vain; for he had only an enormous quantity of empty bottles, some of which he told me he had that day been purchasing. I must do the English the justice to say that they provide well for the dressing of the wounds of their sailors, for the marine stores include vast heaps of linen rags, some of which I observed were brought from persons casually coming into the depôt to dispose of them.

"Being desirous of avoiding any feeling of partiality or prejudice, I determined not to be satisfied with a mere examination of the stores, which must constitute the true strength of a nation's marine; and I resolved to see her vessels afloat on the Thames, for which purpose I made for the river. I made directly for Hungerford, one of her richest ports, and found a considerable fleet of steamers, several of which were manned, and at work, so that I could well judge of their capabilities. They seemed for the most part well officered, but there appeared a want of enthusiasm among the men; and a great deal of quarrelling went on among the various captains, which proves that the British navy is not in that state of union which the English flag—the Jean d'Amitie, or Union Jack—is emblematical of.

"Determined to give a fair trial to the merits of the British marine, I asked of the perfidious Britons themselves which was the best boat, and each began vociferating loudly the praises of the vessels before me, on the deck of one of which, L'Homme pas marié (the Bachelor), I soon found myself. She had no guns with her, and when I asked the captain where they were, he laughed in my face, knowing, of course that the French Cabinet would submit to any humiliation rather than undertake a war with his, the captain of the Bachelor's, Government. At Chelsea, which is to London what Havre is to us, there was a flotilla of two vessels, and there was a great deal of small craft lying about, which as I passed appeared to assume an insolent attitude. On leaving the vessel I was made to produce a portion of the ship's papers, which I had been made to hold in my possession, and pay fourpence for before I was permitted even to embark on board the vessel. If England still avoids a war it is not the superiority of her craft, which is wretched enough, but it is something more than her craft—it is her astounding cunning."

QUARTER DAY.

In some remote parts of England there exists an absurd notion, that tenants are bound by some obsolete law to pay rent four times a year. As I always entertained very opposite opinions on matters of Dr. and Cr. to the mercantile portion of my fellow-creatures (having entered the army at the early age of sixteen), I was preparing on the 25th of June, 18—, to avail myself of the loveliest moonlight night that I ever witnessed, to transport the few valuables that several years of half-pay had left me, when I was presented with a short note from the sheriff of Middlesex, in which the worthy functionary expressed a strong desire to avail himself of any trifles I might possess to the amount of 48l. 9s. 6d.

This circumstance so utterly disgusted me with the world that I determined to put an end to my existence, and having communicated my intention to my wife, she not only concurred in the policy of my determination, but expressed her willingness to assist me in its perpetration. It was to the hands of that once-excellent woman that I owe as respectable a death as ever terminated the chequered life of a captain of Foot, for on the 18th of July, 18—, the following announcement appeared in the Times newspaper, under the head of "Deaths:"—

"On the 16th ult., of decline, Captain Herbert Reginald de Courcy, of the —— Regiment of Foot. His loss will not be easily supplied in the corps, of which he was a distinguished and respected member. He served a considerable time at Birmingham, where he was quartered for eight months."

The next day I laid aside my wig, shaved off my moustachios, and removed a false front tooth, which I had worn since infancy, and the metamorphosis was so complete, that having one day imprudently ventured into the park, a tailor, to whom I was indebted a considerable sum, actually inquired of me the way to the Colosseum.

Mrs. Captain de Courcy shortly after obtained her pension as an officer's widow, and for some years I enjoyed my ghosthood without a single unpleasant interruption; but

but death and quarter-day. About a month ago I discovered that Mrs. Captain De Courcy had presumed upon my decease, and actually considered herself in a state of widowhood, for ever since she has admitted to her table a very uncomfortably good-looking fellow, of the name of Briggs. What can I do? She defies me to interfere. I am only her cousin from Yorkshire. Should I say a word, the authorities at the War Office might object that I was "returned killed" by a decline, and possibly be mercenary enough to deprive me of my hard-earned pension. Again, I say, what am I to do? As an officer and a gentleman, I ought to resent the injury. I will—I swear it, come what may—I will throw off the mask. I will kick Briggs, and uphold the honour of my profession, but not till this day has passed, for this (I blush while I write it), this is quarter-day, and I can't afford it.

It was May! the merry month of May, and bees from flower to flower did melodiously hum, when a traveller, wrapped in an old weather-stricken Macintosh, wound down the little hill that enters the little village of Somerton. The old clock had just struck the hour of sunset, and the lark retired to his nest; the screech-owl was beginning to tune his voice for his nocturnal screeching; while the bat, wrapped in contemplation, kept his keen eye steadily fixed on the setting sun, which had begun to gild the highest peak of the distant mountains. Alas! it is ever thus: man in his haughty pride, like the mountain holding its head high above those by which it is surrounded, only acknowledges the smile when it is too late to take advantage of the warmth; or, to use a more homely illustration, we cherish the ray, though we may have neglected the meridian.

By this time the stranger had reached the bottom of the hill, and in a few minutes he was seated before a foaming tankard of ginger-beer, and a generous plate of captain's biscuits, in the parlour of the little hostelry of Somerton. The host of the "Blighted Ash"—such was the name of the hostelry—was a man a little above the middle stature, with firmly-knit knees, a pair of shoulders slightly rounded, a forehead bronzed by repeated exposure to an autumn sun, a capacious chest, and an upper lip with that peculiar curl which is the sure sign of native aristocracy. The traveller eyed him with searching interest, and the landlord returned glance for glance, as he replenished the invigorating pot, at the desire of his customer. At length the latter invited the former to partake of his cheer, and the stranger having pushed the captain's biscuits towards the host of the "Blighted Ash," both of them fell into a profound silence, which was only disturbed by the ticking of the clock, or the loud laugh of revelry in another room in the hostelry.

Nearly an hour had elapsed, when the stranger, drawing his chair close to that of his companion, looked steadily in his face, and throwing off a flaxen wig, discovered a natural head of hair, in which Rowland seemed to have combined with Oldridge, for the hair displayed all the gloss of the Macassar, added to all the vigour of the Balm of Columbia. It was but the work of an instant; and in another moment the stranger was locked in the arms of the innkeeper, while the latter murmured out "My son!" and the former shrieked—"My father!"

Both of them, a few days afterwards, left the "Blighted Ash," never to return; and many a legend did the village gossips relate, of how the landlord of the "Blighted Ash" at last found a balm for his seared bosom.