THE OXFORD ARMS.

I set up all Knigt to set down to rite u a bout a horrit deed that has put all the grate Law yers to work, and has been a drawin Thiers from the Nayshuns hies. It is a shock King crime, no less than a shoot in at the Queen. The assassin-hating will-in was quite in low life—nort but a pot-boy! (not as that is any dis-a-peerage-ment; for I here there is Potts a arch deecon, and Fill pots a Bishup;) but he did not ware his best to go before her Mad-jest-i, but own lie his work-a-day close, which I think was tatterd and torne, for I hurd mast her say he went there with ragged Side intenshuns. One thing is de-litefull to no, that the Queen got off as well as the pistoll, witch the will-in tuk. From the way he prescented the weppon, it is thort he is one of the leveling classes, though it is won-durd what his aim could be. Sum say he wos like Sir Wall-ter scots True Bar door,

which I cant see, as that true bar door came "beneath his lades windo;" but this pot-boy went into the O pen park, and turn'd the Queen quite pail, a shoot in thru the pail-ings! The Public in dig Nashun nose no bounds: the Public Houses of the People, with their benches and their bar, are to Congrat tulerate the Queen on her he scape from the pot-boy. He was a errand will-in; and as he was tuk in one Park, i understand he is to be tried by another, wot is as good a Judge as he. His name is oxford, and a hug lie feller he is, tho no feller, I am tolld, of the Oxford wot has a call edge on the banks of the Ices, which is a river, you No, and, I spoze, is all ways froze. They say the grand jury cant help find in a true Bill aginst him, which reminds me of my own true Bill, who lives with farm her Constant. Give my luv to him, and all so kep it for yourself; and so for the present good buy. Yours till deth,

11. Bacon died. 1294.

19. Queen Victoria's Accession.

AN UNDERTAKER.

Pray, sir, what has been your largest undertaking in life?

Why, I once took ten shillings in the pound on a debt of ten thousand, and that was the largest undertaking I ever had.

The dinner of the Licensed Victuallers is better to them than the wisdom of Solomon, or the ore of lore: it is their feast of literature, for they consider it in the light of a splendid annual—magnificently bound in calf for society—with the cloth edition especially reserved for themselves. It is a pleasure to behold their spread, the chairman soaring into Epicurean sublimity, like the spread eagle, or feasting like the golden vulture upon quid vult. See, they have gathered in the strength of their conviviality. Every one of them is a landlord, if not a lord of the land; how they labour at their vocation of cram! Their festive board has become a board of works; and they are all busy about the pleasantest half of the trade of carver and gilder. Every man, like a tailor, is taking his full measure; their whole vision is given to the pro-vision; and they are now, more than doctors and lawyers, among the feed. Pollok's "Course of Time" is nothing to the course of victuals now produced. All the creatures that figure on their sign-boards have been brought up and dressed for the nonce. Rarities are here, which it must have required a new edition of "Cook's Voyages" to procure. The Goose with the Gridiron, the Magpie without the Stump, the Swan with two Necks, and the throttle of some youthful Boniface acting Lad-lane for the luxury: a joint from the Pig in the Pound; the Blue Boar done thoroughly brown; the meek Lamb sent saucey from the Mint; the Dolphin, by off-slicing process, changing its size and not its dyes; the "Cock" with exquisite stuffing, so that it emulates a firm of city silversmiths, and becomes "Cock Savoury;" the Hen and Chickens, quite a gentle brood, roasted for food; "the Salmon," accustomed to swim, now beginning in consequence to sink; and last, not least, the Peacock assisting at the spread! Sure here is food for reflection, and the great body of Licensed Victuallers may rejoice in the victuals thereof.

Dinner is now over. The "Queen" is disposed of; the "Royal Family" are settled; the "Army and Navy" are dispatched. Although it is not an ordinary, they have gone through the ordinary toasts: the business of the evening is about to be commenced; the Chairman is on his mettle, and on his legs. He is a wit and a wittler; a patriot on the side of the public-houses and the public. Bodily, as well as oratorically, he is a great speaker, and his eloquence is now let loose. He informs the company before him of the great importance of the humane and intoxicating society to which he belongs. He tells them that the Licensed Victuallers are connected with all that is elevating (spirits for instance), civilizing, and admirable, in town and country. They are identified equally with the lush and the literature of the land; for he is prepared to contend that whatever has been great in literature is deducible from lush. Every author of eminence has been more or less inspired from the tap, the bin, the cellar, or the bar. The Edinburgh Castle has never been a Castle of Indolence; and taverns must be regarded as the fountains of the mind. Vehement cries of "bravo!" and "draw it mild!" here interrupt the speaker; but he declares he cannot draw it any milder, and that it would be stale, flat, and unprofitable if he did. He would prove his case. The poet who quaffs British brandy is filled with patriotic spirit, and writes nobly for native land. The wit confines himself to what is rum. The nautical novelist sticks to port. Gin inspires the great delineators of human life. What, for instance, but gin-twist could have brought Oliver Twist to light? He would repeat—that lush and literature were indissolubly connected, and that the press and the punch-bowl were one. Yes, the very press was nothing but a great punch-bowl. Its thunder, devilism, and vituperation, were the spirit; its bland praises were the sweets; its sarcastic truths and stings were the blended bitter and acid; its pleasant news was the aroma from the lemon-peel; its quarrels were the hot water; its sneers were the cold: it sometimes created a terrible stir; but then punch was nothing without that; and, finally, the newsmen were the glasses, and when all was done, the editors were the ladles—he said ladles emphatically, lest they should be taken for spoons—that doled it out to the eager-swallowing community. (Loud cries of "capital," and incessant cheering.) All these things incontestably proved that the kings of the lush were the kings of the literature of the land; and, therefore, the Licensed Victuallers were at the head of the civilization of the empire. It was said that "knowledge is power;" very well—then the public had to thank them and their brewers. They might talk of their cheap periodicals, but, he would ask, would there be any circulation of instruction in this kingdom if it was not for the respectable firm of Read and Co.? Another gentleman was a Whitbread—he might say, a wit-bred and born: but there was no end of illustration; and, if knowledge was power, it was a brewer's dray-horse power; it passed to the public through the cellars of the publicans, and all he could say was, if it came up "heavy," it went down light. "He should, therefore, give—Prosperity to the Licensed Victuallers' Institution."

The toast is drunk with applause—the Chairman shortly after follows its example, and by two in the morning the company have got under the table over their wine.

DID YOU EVER?

Did you ever know a sentinel who could tell what building he was keeping guard over?

Did you ever know a cabman, or a ticket-porter, with any change about him?

Did you ever know a tradesman asking for his account who had not "a bill to take up on Friday?"

Did you ever know an omnibus cad who would not engage to set you down within a few yards of any place within the bills of mortality?

Did you ever know a turnpike-man who could be roused in less than a quarter of an hour, when it wanted that much of midnight?

Did you ever see a pair of family snuffers which had not a broken spring, a leg deficient, or half-an-inch of the point knocked off?

Did you ever know a lodging-house landlady who would own to bugs?

Did you ever know the Boots at an inn call you too early for the morning coach?

Did you ever know a dancing-master's daughter who was not to excel Taglioni?

Did you ever know a man who did not think he could poke the fire better than you could?

Did you ever know a Frenchman admire Waterloo Bridge?

Did you ever know a housemaid who, on your discovering a fracture in a valuable China jar, did not tell you it was "done a long time ago?" or that it was "cracked before?"

Did you ever know a man who didn't consider his walking-stick a better walking-stick than your walking-stick?

Did you ever know a penny-a-liner who was not on intimate terms with Lytton Bulwer, Capt. Marryat, Sheridan Knowles, Tom Hood, Washington Irving, and Rigdum Funnidos?

Did you ever know a hatter who was not prepared to sell you as good a hat for ten-and-sixpence as the one you've got on at five-and-twenty shillings?

Did you ever know a red-haired man who had a very clear notion of where scarlet began and auburn terminated?

Did you ever know a beef-eater go to the play in his uniform?

Did you ever know a subscriber to the Anti-Cruelty-to-Animals Society who didn't kick the cat?

Did you ever know a lady with fine eyes wear green spectacles?

Did you ever know an amateur singer without "a horrid bad cold?"

Did you ever see a cool fat woman in black in the dog-days?

Did you ever go to see Jack Sheppard without feeling a propensity to run home and rob your mother?

Did you ever know an author who had not been particularly ill-used by the booksellers?

Did you ever know fifty killed and fifty wounded by a railroad accident, without the fifty who were not killed being congratulated by the directors that they were only wounded?

Did you ever know a man who did not consider that he added ten years to his life by reading the "Comic Almanack?"

THE USHER OF THE BLACK ROD.