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Title: Curiosities of Street Literature

Author: Various

Release Date: June 3, 2015 [EBook #49128]

Language: English

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: This e-text has been prepared in accordance with the Introduction’s explanation that the papers are presented verbatim et literatim, “word for word from copy”; all apparent errors are as printed in the original.

CURIOSITIES
OF
STREET LITERATURE:

LONG-SONG SELLER.

(From a Daguerreotype by Beard.)

CURIOSITIES
OF
STREET LITERATURE:

COMPRISING

“COCKS,” OR “CATCHPENNIES,”

A LARGE AND CURIOUS ASSORTMENT OF
STREET-DROLLERIES, SQUIBS, HISTORIES, COMIC TALES IN PROSE AND VERSE,

Broadsides on the Royal Family,

POLITICAL LITANIES, DIALOGUES, CATECHISMS, ACTS OF PARLIAMENT,
STREET POLITICAL PAPERS,

A VARIETY OF “BALLADS ON A SUBJECT,”

DYING SPEECHES AND CONFESSIONS.

TO WHICH IS ATTACHED THE ALL-IMPORTANT AND NECESSARY

AFFECTIONATE COPY OF VERSES,

AS

“What hast here? ballads? I love a ballad in print, or a life; for then we are sure they are true.”—Shakespeare.

“There’s nothing beats a stunning good murder, after all.”—Experience of a Running Patterer.

LONDON:
REEVES AND TURNER,
196, STRAND.
1871.

NOTICE.

The “Execution Paper” of John Gregson, for the Murder of his Wife, at Liverpool—page 235 of Contents—is CANCELLED, and Eight Pages, “The Heroes of the Guillotine,” supplied instead.

196, Strand, December 30th, 1870.

CURIOSITIES
OF
STREET LITERATURE.

Purchased by ______________________________________
Of ____________________________________________
On the __________ day of ______________ 187

GUARANTEED ONLY FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX COPIES PRINTED,

Namely,—

EACH COPY OF EACH EDITION NUMBERED.

INTRODUCTION.

In selecting and arranging this collection of “Street Papers” for publication, every care has been taken to print them verbatim et literatim. They all bear the printer’s name and address were such is used, and, in many cases, the wood-cuts have either been borrowed or purchased for the purpose of presenting them in their original style. The real object being to show, in the most genuine state, the character and quality of the productions written expressly for the amusement of the lower orders by street-authors. The general instruction given to our printer has been to “set up word for word from copy, with the exception of sɹǝʇʇǝʃ pǝuɹnʇ (sic) and those of a WROng FoNT (?)”—it being thought quite unnecessary to repeat these convenient and at that time compulsory “Errors of the Press” and which were very common in former days with the printers and publishers of street and public-house literature; arising alike from a want of skill in the art, a deficiency of capital, and the hurried manner in which they were prepared and worked off to meet the momentary demand.

Old “Jemmy” Catnach—whose name is ever associated with the literature of our streets—was a man who hated “innowations,” as he used to call improvements, and had a great horror of buying type, because, as he used to observe, he kept no standing formes, and when certain sorts run short, he was not particular, and would tell the boys to use anything which would make a good shift. For instance, he never considered a compositor could be aground for a lowercase l while he had a figure of 1 or a cap. I to fall back upon; by the same rule, the cap. O and figure 0 were synonymous with “Jemmy;” the lower-case p, b, d, and q, would all do duty for each other in turn, and if they could not always find roman letters to finish a word with, why the compositor knew very well that the “reader” would not mark out italic.

At the time Catnach commenced business. “Johnny” Pitts,[1] of the Toy and Marble Warehouse, No. 6, Great St. Andrew Street, was the acknowledged and established Printer of Street-Literature for the “Dials” district; therefore, as may be easily imagined, a powerful rivalry and vindictive jealousy soon arose between these “two of a trade”—most especially on the part of “Old Mother” Pitts, who is described as being a coarse and vulgar-minded personage, and as having originally followed the trade of a bumboat woman at Portsmouth: she “vowed vengeance against the young fellow in the court for daring to set up in their business, and also spoke of him as young “Catsnatch,” “Catblock,” “Cut-throat,” and many other opprobrious terms being freely given to the new comer. Pitts’ staff of “bards” were duly cautioned of the consequences which would inevitably follow should they dare to write a line for Catnach—the new cove in the court. The injunction was for a time obeyed, but the “Seven Bards of the Dials” soon found it not only convenient, but also more profitable to sell copies of their effusions to both sides at the same time, and by keeping their own council they avoided detection, as each printer accused the other of buying an early sold copy, and then reprinting it off with the utmost speed, and which was in reality often the case, as “Both Houses” had an emissary on the constant look-out for any new production suitable for street-sale. Now, although this style of “Double dealing” and competition tended much to lessen the cost price to the “middle-man,” or vendor, the public in this case did not get any of the reduction, as a penny broadside was still a penny, and a quarter sheet still a halfpenny to them, the “street-patterer” obtaining the whole of the reduction as extra profit.

The feud existing between these rival publishers, who have been somewhat aptly designated as the Colburn and Bentley of the “paper” trade, never abated, but, on the contrary, increased in acrimony of temper until at last not being content to vilify each other by words alone, they resorted to printing off virulent lampoons, in which Catnach never failed to let the world know that “Old Mother Pitts” had been formerly a bumboat woman, while the Pitts announced that—

At length Catnach, from the possession of greater capital and business acumen, became—to use the words of our informant—“the Cock of the Walk,” and continued so until his retirement in 1839. In his Will—or Last Dying Speech—which was proved April, 1842, “James Catnach, of Dancer’s Hill, South Mimms, in the county of Middlesex, gentleman, formerly of Monmouth Court, Monmouth Street, printer, bequeathed the whole of his estate to his sister Anne, the widow of Joseph Ryle, in trust, nevertheless, for her daughter, Marion Martha Ryle, until she obtain the age of twenty-one years. Witnesses—William Kinsey, 13, Suffolk St., Pall Mall, Solr. Wm. Tookey his clerk.”

The present street literature printers and publishers are Mr. W. S. Fortey (Catnach’s successor), of 2 and 3, Monmouth Court, Seven Dials. Mr. Henry Disley (formerly with Catnach), 57, High Street, St. Giles’s. Mr. Taylor, Brick Lane, Spitalfields. Mr. H. Such, 177, Union Street, Borough; and Mr. J. Harkness, 121, Church Street, Preston. From whose “establishments” upwards of two thousand street “papers” and “ballads” have been obtained, and from which—together with a private collection—we have made our selection to form “The Curiosities of Street Literature.”

With such a vast amount of “material” to hand, it is somewhat difficult to know which to retain and which to reject. It being utterly impossible to reproduce the whole, the only thing to be done is to make the attempt to divide them into something like classes. We have, therefore, arranged our collection into four divisions, which may be briefly alluded to as—I. “Cocks,” or “Catchpennies.” II. Royalty and Political. III. Ballads on a Subject. IV. Dying Speech and Confessional Papers.

During the progress of our “Collection” through the press, we had, by a special appointment, an interview with Mr. John Morgan, a street author, and who may be said to be the oldest of his peculiar class. “I’m the last one left of our old crew, Sir,” he observed during our conversation. He is now upwards of 70 years of age, and formerly wrote for “Old Jemmy” Catnach, with whose personal history he is well acquainted, and still continues to write for the “Seven Dials Press.” A street ballad from his pen will be found at page 103 of our work. In allusion to Mr. John Morgan, the writer of an article on “Street Ballads” in the National Review for October, 1861, makes the following remarks:—

“This ballad—‘Little Lord John out of Service’—is one of the few which bear a signature. It is signed ‘John Morgan’ in the copy which we possess. For a long time we believed this name to be a mere nom-de-plume; but the other day, when making a small purchase in Monmouth Court, we were informed, in answer to a casual question, that this is the real name of the author of some of the best comic ballads. Our informant added, that he is an elderly, we may say old, gentleman, living somewhere in Westminster; but the exact whereabouts we could not discover. Mr. Morgan followed no particular visible calling so far as our informant knew, except writing ballads, by which he could not earn much of a livelihood, as the price of an original ballad, in these buying-cheap days, has been screwed down by publishers to somewhere about a shilling sterling. Something more like bread-and-butter might be made perhaps by poets who were in the habit of singing their own ballads, as some of them do, but not Mr. Morgan. Should this ever meet the eye of that gentleman (a not very probable event, we fear), we beg to apologise for the liberty we have taken in using the verses and name, and hope he will excuse us, having regard to the subject in which we are his humble fellow-labourers. We could scarcely avoid naming him, the fact being that he is the only living author of street ballads whose name we know. That self-denying mind, indifferent to worldly fame, which characterised the architects of our cathedrals and abbeys, would seem to have descended on our ballad-writers; and we must be thankful, therefore, to be able to embalm and hand down to posterity a name here and there, such as William of Wykeham, and John Morgan. In answer to our inquiries in this matter, generally we have been told, ‘Oh, anybody writes them’ and with that answer we have had to rest satisfied. But in presence of that answer, we walk about the streets with a new sense of wonder, peering into the faces of those of our fellow-lieges who do not carry about with them the external evidence of overflowing exchequers, and saying to ourselves, ‘That man may be a writer of ballads.’

With regard to illustrations, a ballad-printer is in the habit of buying up old wood-cuts which have been engraved for any other works, and of applying them to his own purposes; disregarding alike their age, rudeness, and condition. Most of those adopted are repeatedly employed over and over again. The printers of “broadsides” seldom care whether an ornament of the kind used is, or not, appropriate to the subject of the ballad, so long as it is likely to attract attention. Many examples will be found in this collection, and we are indebted to Mr. H. Disley and others for the use of the same.

“The authors and poets who give this peculiar literature, alike in prose or rhyme to the streets, are all in some capacity or another connected with street-patter or song; and the way in which a narrative or a ‘copy of werses’ is prepared for the press is usually this:—The leading members of the ‘schools’—some of whom refer regularly to the evening papers—when they hear of any out-of-the-way occurrence, resort to the printer and desire its publication in a style proper for the streets. This is usually done very speedily, the school—or a majority of them—and the printer agreeing with the author. Sometimes an author will voluntarily prepare a piece of street-literature and submit it to a publisher, who, as in case of other publishers, accepts or declines, as he believes the production will or will not prove remunerative. Sometimes the school carry the manuscript with them to the printer, and undertake to buy a certain quantity to insure publication. The payment to the author is the same in all cases—a shilling; but sometimes if the printer and publisher like the verses he “throws a penny or two over.” And sometimes also, in case of a great sale there is the same “over-sum.” The “Dials” and its immediate neighbourhood is the chief residence of these parties, as being nearest to the long-established printer they have made it the ‘head meet’ of the fraternity.

“It must be borne in mind that the street-author is closely restricted in the quality of his effusions. It must be such as the patterers approve, as the chanters can chant, the ballad singers sing, and—above all, such as the street buyers will buy.”[2]

We have recently met, near the Strand, the street ballad singer of our youth, and, from whom we procured, “Wait for the Turn of the Tide,” and “Call her back and Kiss Her,” and the following information—“Oh, yes, I remember you, remember you well; particularly when I see you down at Brighton; when you treated me to that hot rum and water; when I was so wet and cold, at a little snug public-house in one of the streets that leads off the main street. I don’t remember the name on it now, but I remembers the rum and water well enough; it was good. You said it would be, and so it was, and no mistake. How old am I now? Why, 59. How long have I been at it? Why, hard on fifty years. I was about nine or ten year old—no, perhaps I might have been 12 year old, when I come to think on it. Yes, about 12 year old; my mother was a widow with five children, and there was a boy in our street as used to go out singing ballads, and his mother said to my mother, ‘Why don’t you let your boy (that’s me) go out and sing ballads like my boy.’ And I said I didn’t mind, and I did go out, and I’ve been at it ever since, so you see it ’aint far short of 50 year. How many do I sell in a day? Well, not so many as I used to do, by a long way. I’ve sold me four and five quires a-day, but I don’t sell above two and three dozen a-day now. That’s all the difference you see, sir—dozens against quires. How do I live then? Why, you see I am now so well-known in different parts of London, that lots and lots of people comes up to me—like you always do—and says—‘How do you do, old fellow? I remember you when I was a boy, if its a man, and when I was a girl, if its a woman.’ And says, ‘So you are still selling songs, eh?’ Then they give me a few coppers; some more and some less than others, and says they don’t want the songs. Some days—very often—I’ve had more money giving me than I’ve took for the ballads. Yes, I have travelled all over England—all over it I think—but the North’s the best—Manchester, Liverpool, and them towns; but down Bath and Cheltenham way I was nearly starved. I was coming back from that way, I now remember, when I met you, sir, at Brighton that time. I buy my ballads at various places—but now mostly over the water, because I live there now and it’s handiest. Mr. Such, the printer, in Union-street in the Borough. Oh! yes, some at Catnach’s—leastways, it ain’t Catnach’s now, it’s Fortey’s. Yes, I remember ‘old Jemmy Catnach’ very well; he wa’n’t a bad sort, as you say; leastways, I’ve heard so, but I never had anything of him. I always paid for what I had, and did not say much to him, or he to me—writing his life of him, are you indeed? No, I can’t give you no more information about him than that, because, as I said before, I bought my goods as I wanted them, and paid for them, then away on my own account and business. Well, he was a man something like you—a little wider across the shoulders, perhaps, but about such a man as you are. I did know a man as could have told you a lot about ‘old Jemmy,’ but he’s dead now; he was one of his authors, that is, he wrote some of the street-ballads for him, and very good ones they used to be, that is, for selling. Want some old ‘Dying Speeches’ and ‘Cocks,’ do you indeed; well, I a’nt got any—I don’t often ‘work’ them things, although I have done so sometimes, but I mostly keep to the old game—‘Ballads on a Subject.’ You see them other things are no use only just for the day, then they are no use at all, so we don’t keep them—I’ve often given them away. You’d give sixpence a piece for them, would you, indeed, sir; then I wish I had some of them. Now I come to think of it I know a man that did have a lot of them bye him, and I know he’d be glad to sell them. I don’t know where he lives, but I sometimes see him. Oh! yes, a letter would find me. My name is Samuel Milnes, and I live at No. 81, Mint-street, that’s in the Borough; you know, Guager is the name at the house. Thank you, sir, I’m much obliged. Good day, sir.”

It will be seen that our street-ballads and “papers” come down to the latest period, several being issued during the printing of this collection; in fact, any public affair seems of sufficient importance to write a ballad about. We have, therefore, placed some blank leaves between each division, for the purpose of mounting other examples that may be from time to time published by the printers of Street Literature.

CONTENTS.

A COLLECTION
OF
“COCKS,” OR “CATCHPENNIES.”

“The common people are to be caught by the ears as one catches a pot by the handle.”

DIVISION I.
A COLLECTION
OF
“COCKS,” OR “CATCHPENNIES,”
STREET DROLLERIES, SQUIBS, HISTORIES,
COMIC TALES IN PROSE AND VERSE.

“Cocks—fictitious narratives, in verse or prose, of murders, fires, and terrible accidents, sold in the streets as true accounts. The man who hawks them, a patterer, often changes the scene of the awful event to suit the taste of the neighbourhood he is trying to delude. Possibly a corruption of Cook, a cooked statement, or, as a correspondent suggests, the Cock Lane ghost may have given rise to the term. This had a great run, and was a rich harvest to the running stationers.”—Hotten’s Slang Dictionary.

“Few of the residents in London—but chiefly those in the quieter streets,” says Mr. Henry Mayhew, in his exceedingly amusing work of “London Labour and the London Poor,”—“have not been aroused, and most frequently in the evening, by a hurly-burly on each side of the street. An attentive listening will not lead any one to an accurate knowledge of what the clamour is about. It is from a ‘mob’ or ‘school’ of running patterers, and consists of two, three, or four men. All these men state that the greater the noise they make, the better is the chance of sale, and better still when the noise is on each side of the street, for it appears as if the vendors were proclaiming such interesting or important intelligence, that they were vieing with one another who should supply the demand which must ensue. It is not possible to ascertain with any creditude what the patterers are so anxious to sell, for only a few leading words are audible, as ‘Horrible,’ ‘Dreadful,’ ‘Murder,’ ‘One penny,’ ‘Love,’ ‘One penny,’ ‘Mysterious,’ ‘Seduction,’ ‘Former crimes,’ ‘Nine children,’ ‘Coal-cellar,’ ‘Pool of blood,’ ‘One penny,’ and the like, can only be caught by the ear, and there is no announcement of anything like ‘particulars.’ The running patterers describe, or profess to describe, the contents of their papers as they go along, and they seldom or never stand still. They usually deal in murders, seductions, crim.-cons., explosions, alarming accidents, ‘assassinations,’ deaths of public characters, duels, and love-letters. But popular, or notorious murders are the ‘great goes.’ The running patterer cares less than any other street-sellers for bad weather, for if he ‘work’ on a wet and gloomy evening, and if the work be ‘A COCK,’—which is, a fictitious statement,—there is less chance of anyone detecting the ruse. Among the old stereotyped ‘COCKS’ are love-letter. One is well known as a “Married Man caught in a Trap.” And being in a dialogue and an epistolary form, subserves any purpose: as the ‘Love-Letters,’ that have passed between Mr. Smith, the butcher, baker, grocer, draper, &c.—‘the decoyer of female innocence’—and Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Jones, or Mrs. Robinson, or Miss A—, B—, or C—, not 100 yards off—‘And the very image of his father,’ &c., &c.—and can be fitted to any real or pretended local scandal.

When the patterer visits the country, he is accompanied by a mate, and the “copy of werses” is then announced as being written by an “underpaid curate” within a day’s walk. “It tells mostly, sir,” said one man; “for its a blessing to us that there always is a journeyman parson what the people knows, and what the patter fits.” Sometimes the poetry is attributed to a sister of mercy, or to a popular poetess; very frequently, by the patterers who best understand the labouring classes, to Miss Eliza Cook. Sometimes the verses are written by a “sympathising gent” in that parish, “but his name wasn’t to be mentioned, or any nobleman or gentleman,” whose name is before the public in connection with any recent event, or an assumed account of “A Battle between Two Ladies of Fortune.” The patterers have only to stick a picture in their hat to attract attention, and to make all the noise they can.

Occasionally, the running patterer transmigrates into a standing one, betaking himself to “board work,” as it is termed in street technology, and stopping at the corners of thoroughfares with a large pictorial placard raised upon a pole, and glowing with highly-coloured exaggerations of the interesting terrors of the pamphlet he has for sale.

When there are no “popular murders” the standing patterer orders of the artist a new and startling “cock-board” and sells his books or pamphlets, the titles of some of which are fully set forth and well displayed; for example: “Horrible murder and mutilation of Lucy Game, aged 15, by her cruel brother, William Game, aged 10, of Westmill, Hertfordshire. His committal and confession, with a copy of a letter sent to his affectionate parents.” “Full particulars of the poisonings in Essex,—the whole family poisoned by the female servant. Confession of her guilt.—Was seduced by her master.—Revenged herself on the family.” Another is—“Founded on facts—The Whitby Tragedy, or the Gambler’s Fate, containing the lives of Joseph Carr, aged 21, and his sweetheart, Maria Leslie, aged 18, who were found dead, lying by each other on the morning of the 23rd of May. Maria was on her road to town to buy some ribbon and other things for her wedding day, when her lover, in a state of intoxication, fired at her, then run to rob his prey, but finding it was his sweetheart, reloaded his Gun, placed the Muzzle to his Mouth, and blew out his Brains, all through the cursed Cards and Drink. With an affectionate copy of verses.”

A popular street-book for “board work” is entitled “Horrible Rape and Murder!!! The affecting case of Mary Ashford, a beautiful young virgin, who was diabolically Ravished, Murdered, and thrown into a Pit, as she was returning from a Dance, including the Trial of Abraham Thornton for the Wilful Murder of the said Mary Ashford; with the whole of the Evidence, Charges to the Jury, &c., with a Correct Plan of the Spot where the Rape and Murder were Committed.”

This “street-book” is founded on a fact, and, in reality, gives the salient points of a memorable circumstance which took place in 1817, when Abraham Thornton was charged at the Warwick Assizes, before Mr. Justice Holroyd, for the murder and violation of Mary Ashford, at Erdington, near Birmingham. The prisoner was found—after a consultation of the jury of five minutes—Not Guilty, to the utmost surprise and disappointment of all persons assembled. The second charge of committing a rape on the body of the said Mary Ashford was abandoned by the prosecution. The case created the greatest possible sensation at the time, and the trial and subsequent appeal were printed and published in a separate form, and occupies 120 pages in double columns, “with a correct plan of the spot where the rape and murder were committed, and a portrait of Thornton drawn and engraved by G. Cruikshank.”

The acquittal of Thornton in the atrocious rape and murder of Mary Ashford excited the most undisguised feelings of disappointment in all classes of persons throughout the kingdom, and various provincial newspapers began to canvass the subject with vigour, freedom, and research. This aroused most of the London papers, and the Independent Whig on Sunday, August 17th after fully commenting on the case, cited several instances where individuals, who, after having been arraigned under the charge of murder and acquitted, were tried a second time for the same offence, in consequence of an appeal by the next of kin of the deceased against the verdict of the jury, and wound up their remarks by that,—“If ever there was a case of brutality, violation and murder, that had greater claims upon the sympathy of the world than another, and demands a second trial, we think it is exhibited in that of the unfortunate Mary Ashford.” This gave the “key-note,” a very large section of the press adopted the same view of the case, and a subscription was immediately set on foot—Mary’s friends being in indigent circumstances—to defray the necessary expenses. And Abraham Thornton was apprehended a second time, on a Writ of Appeal, for the murder of Mary Ashford, which excited an interest in the public mind altogether unprecedented—an interest that was heightened by the unusual recurrence of the obsolete proceedings necessary in the case by the Saxon Writ of Appeal, together with the staggering fact of Thornton having challenged his appellant—William, the eldest brother of the deceased Mary Ashford—to a solemn trial by battle, and avowing himself ready to defend his innocence with his body.

The challenge was formally given by throwing down a glove upon the floor of the Court of King’s Bench, whence the case had been removed by “Writ of Habeas Corpus,” to be heard before Lord Ellenborough. But the combat did not take place, and the prisoner escaped. An Act of Parliament was then passed abolishing the trial by battle in any suit, as a mode unfit to be used.

Mary Ashford was buried in the Churchyard of Sutton Colefield, and over her remains is placed a stone with the following inscription, written by the Rev. Luke Booker:—

The artist who paints the patterers’ boards, must address his art plainly to the eye of the spectator. He must use the most striking colours, be profuse in the application of scarlet, light blue, orange—not yellow—that not being a good candle-light colour—and must leave nothing to the imagination. Perspective and back-grounds are things but of minor consideration, everything must be sacrificed for effect. These paintings are in water colours, and are rubbed over with a solution of gum-resin to protect them from the influence of rainy weather.

The charge of the popular street-artist for the painting of a board is 2s. or 3s. 6d., according to the simplicity or elaborateness of the details; the board itself is provided by the artist’s employer. The demand for this peculiar branch of street art is very irregular, depending entirely upon whether there has or has not been perpetrated any act of atrocity, which has rivetted, as it is called, the public attention. And so great is the uncertainty felt by the street-folk whether “the most beautiful murder will take or not,” that it is rarely the patterer will order, or the artist will speculate, in anticipation of a demand, upon preparing the painting of any event, until satisfied that it has become “popular.” A deed of more than usual daring, deceit, or mystery, may be at once hailed by those connected with murder-patter as “one that will do,” and some speculation maybe ventured upon, as it was in such cases as Greenacre, Rush, Tawell, and the Mannings, but these are merely exceptional, so uncertain, it appears, is all that depends, without intrinsic merit, on mere popular applause.

It is stated that Catnach cleared over £500 by Weare’s murder and Thurtell’s trial and execution, and was so loth to leave it, that when a wag put him up to a joke, and showed him how he might set the thing a-going again, he could not withstand it, so about a fortnight after Thurtell had been hanged “Jemmy” brought out a startling broad-sheet, headed “WE ARE ALIVE AGAIN!” He put so little space between the two words “we” and “are,” that it looked at first sight like “WEARE.” Many thousands were bought by the ignorant and gullible public, but those who did not like the trick called it a “CATCHPENNY,” and this gave rise to this peculiar term, which ever afterwards stuck to the issues of the “Seven Dials Press.”

For the use of the first two wood cuts in our collection of “Cocks” and “Catchpennies” we are indebted to the kindness of Messrs. Charles Griffin and Co., of Stationers’ Hall Court, the present proprietors of Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor—a work which, of all others, gives by far the best description of London Street-Folk; and is of itself a complete cyclopædia of the condition and earnings of—those that will work, those that cannot work, and those that will not work. We had intended to have used the originals of “Jemmy” Catnach, but Mr. W. S. Fortey, his successor, writes to inform us that, after a lengthened and active service, the cuts in question were worked and worked until they fell to pieces.

With these remarks we now introduce our readers to a genuine Catnachian “Cock,” and one that is said to have “fought well in its day,” entitled, “Horrid Murder Committed by a Young Man on a Young Woman.”

HORRID MURDER,
Committed by a young Man on a young Woman.

George Caddell became acquainted with Miss Price and a degree of intimacy subsisted between them, and Miss Price, degraded as she was by the unfortunate step she had taken, still thought herself an equal match for one of Mr. Caddell’s rank of life. As pregnancy was shortly the result of their intimacy, she repeatedly urged him to marry her, but he resisted her importunities for a considerable time. At length she heard of his paying his addresses to Miss Dean, and threatened, in case of his non-compliance, to put an end to all his prospects with that young lady, by discovering everything that had passed between them. Hereupon he formed a horrid resolution of murdering her, for he could neither bear the thought of forfeiting the esteem of a woman who he loved, nor of marrying one who had been as condescending to another as to himself. So he called on Miss Price on a Saturday and requesting her to walk with him in the fields on the following day, in order to arrange a plan for their intended marriage. Miss Price met him at the time appointed, on the road leading to Burton, at a house known by the name of “The Nag’s Head.” Having accompanied her supposed lover into the fields, and walked about till towards evening, they sat down under a hedge, where, after a little conversation, Caddell suddenly pulled out a knife and cut her throat, and made his escape, but not before he had waited till she was dead. In the distraction of his mind he left behind him the knife with which he had perpetrated the deed, and his case of instruments. On the following morning, Miss Price being found murdered in the field, great numbers went to take a view of the body, among whom was the woman of the house where she lodged, who recollected that she said she was going to walk with Mr. Caddell, on which the instruments were examined and sworn to have belonged to him. He was accordingly taken into custody.

J. Catnach, Printer, Monmouth Court.

CRUEL AND INHUMAN MURDER
Committed upon the body of Captain Lawson.

It is with surprise we have learned that this neighbourhood for a length of time, was amazingly alarmed this day, by a crowd of people carrying the body of Mr James Lawson to a doctor, while streams of blood besmeared the way in such a manner, that cries of murder re-echoed the sound of numerous voices. It appears that the cause of alarm, originated through a courtship attended with a solemn promise of marriage, between him and Miss Lucy Gurd, a handsome young lady of refined feelings, with the intercourse of a superior enlightened mind, who lived with her aunt, who spared neither pain, nor cost, to improve the talents of Miss G. these seven years past, since the death of her mother in Ludgate Hill, London, and bore a most excellent character, until she got entangled by the deluding allurements of Mr L., who after they mutually agreed and appointed the nuptial day, not only violated his promise, (on account of her fortune being small,) but boasted thro’ the neighbourhood of the unbecoming manner he had triumphed over her virtue (which left her in a languishing situation those six months past) while he chanted his eloquence to another young lady, of a stamp more adequate to a covetous mind, (namely of a great fortune) who took such a deep impression in his heart, that he advanced the most energetic gallantry, and obtained her consent, got the banns published in London, and on the point of getting married to her, with a rapturous prospect of holding a rural wedding, yet we find that the intended bride had learned that Miss Gurd held certain promissory letters of his, and that she determined to enter an action against him for a breach of promise, which moved, clouded and eclipsed over the variable Mr Lawson, who knew that Miss Gurd had letters of his, sufficient to substantiate her claim in a Court of Law. However, he was determined to remove that obstacle, at all events, which was not likely to diminish the only idol which the twofold miscreant so faithfully worshipped—namely, gold and that nothing should prevent his intended wedding, but it appears, when he comes to traverse his imagination, that two unexpected obstacles greatly embarrassed his proceedings. He demanded from her his letters at the peril of her life, which Miss G. like a distinguished young lady, refused, and prepared herself with unequal fortitude, and after stating to him the consequences of his unmanly conduct she cautiously ordered him to quit the premises, where to confirm his ambition (which crowned his reward) he readily attempted to get near her trunk, through which a sturdy scuffle ensued, and while she screamed for assistance, he attempted to commit an outrageous violation on her person, when to protect her virtue, she drew a large carving knife, and stabbed him under the left breast (which quickly brought him to subjection), his vehement cries alarmed the neighbours, who came to her assistance, and found them both in a contest at the door, while she thrusted him out in a gore of blood, which exhibited a scene of such momentary confusion, that the most anxious conjecture was unable to draw the slightest idea on the wanton provocation, yet it appears that though the skillful physicians succeeded in stopping the blood, that they can form but little hopes of his recovery, as they are doubtful as to the knife having separated an artery, and should thus prove to be the case, they are decidedly of opinion, that it will put a certain period to his existence, which leaves the intended bride to bewail her disappointment, while the valiant victress was forced to submit to judicial decorum in the 19th year of her age, where sufficient sponsors voluntary offered to join her recognisance, to await the issue. The whole of her evidence being bound to appear on her final trial (which will gratify the curious where we expect the judge of equity will give an electrical oration, on amorous gallantry, passionate affection, breach of promises, &c., when Cupid’s private Ambassadors, or the precious Love Letters will appear unmasked at Chelmsford ensuing Assizes.—Epping Telegraph.

J. Catnach, Printer, Monmouth Court, Seven Dials.

The Life, Trial, Execution, Lamentation, and Letter written by the unfortunate man
James Ward,

Aged 25, who was hung in front of the Gaol,

For the Wilful Murder he committed on the body of his Wife, near Edminton.

---

TRIAL.

At an early hour on the morning of the trial, the court was crowded to excess, the Judge taking his seat at nine o’clock. The Prisoner, on being placed at the bar, pleaded ‘Not Guilty’ in a firm tone of voice. The trial lasted many hours, when, having been found ‘GUILTY,’ the learned Judge addressed the prisoner as follows:—

“Prisoner, you have been found guilty of a most cold-blooded murder, a more deliberate murder I never heard of. You and your wife had been to a neighbouring town, and were returning home, when you did it. She was found in a ditch. I cannot hold out the slightest hope of mercy towards you in this case.” During this address the whole court was melted into tears. His Lordship then put on the black cap and passed the sentence as usual, holding out no hope of mercy to the prisoner.

Letter written after his Condemnation.

Condemned Cell.

Dear Sister,

When you receive this you will see that I am condemned to die; my Father and Mother are coming to take their last farewell, and I should very much liked to have seen you, but knowing that you are on the eve of bringing into the world another to your family, I beg that you will refrain from coming; if that you do serious may be the consequences, therefore, dear Sister, do not attempt to come. I hope that no one will upbraid you for what I have done; so may God bless you and yours; farewell! dear sister for ever.

J WARDE

EXECUTION.

The Execution of the above prisoner took place early this morning at eight o’clock, the people flocking to the scene at an early hour. As the period of the wretched man’s departure drew near, the chaplain became anxious to obtain from him a confession of the justice of the sentence. He acknowledged the justice of his sentence, and said he was not fit to live, and that he was afraid to die, but he prayed to the Lord for forgiveness, and hoped through the merits of his Saviour that his prayer would be heard. Having received the sacrament, the executioner was not long in performing his office. The solemn procession moved towards the place of execution, the chaplain repeating the confession words, “In the midst of life we are in death.” Upon ascending the platform he appeared to tremble very much. The cap being drawn over his eyes and the signal given, the wretched man was launched into eternity. He died almost without a struggle. After the body had hanged the usual time it was cut down and buried according to the sentence, in the gaol.

LAMENTATION.

Come all you feeling hearted christians, wherever you may be,

Attention give to these few lines, and listen unto me;

Its of this cruel murder, to you I will unfold,

The bare recital of the same will make your blood run cold.

Confined within a lonely cell, with sorrow I am opprest,

The very thoughts of what I’ve done deprives me of rest;

“Within this dark and gloomy cell in the county Gaol I lie,

For murder of my dear wife I am condemned to die.

For four long years I’d married been, I always lov’d her well,

Till at length I was overlooked, oh shame for me to tell;

By Satan sure I was beguiled, he led me quite astray,

Unto another I gave way on that sad unlucky day.

I well deserve my wretched fate, no one can pity me,

To think that I in cold blood could take the life away;

I took a stake out of the hedge and hit on the head,

My cruel blows I did repeat until she were dead.

I dragged the body from the stile to a ditch running by,

I quite forgot there’s One above with an all-seeing eye,

Who always brings such deeds to light, as you so plainly see,

I questioned was about it and took immediately.

The body’s found, the inquest held, to prison I was sent,

With shame I do confess my sin, with grief I do repent;

And when my trial did come on, I was condemned to die,

An awful death in public scorn, upon the gallows high.

While in my lonely cell I lie, the time draws on apace,

The dreadful deeds that I have done appear before my face;

While lying on my dreadful couch those horrid visions rise,

The ghastly form of my dear wife appears before my eyes.

Oh may my end a warning be now unto all mankind,

And think of my unhappy fate and bear me in your mind;

Whether you are rich or poor, your wives and children love,

So God will fill your fleeting days with blessings from above.

Rocliff, Printer, Old Gravel Lane, London.

SHOCKING RAPE
AND
MURDER OF TWO LOVERS.

Showing how John Hedges, a farmer’s son, committed a rape upon Jane Williams, and afterwards Murdered her and her lover, William Edwards, in a field near Paxton.

This is a most revolting Murder. It appears Jane Williams was keeping company, and was shortly to be married to William Edwards, who was in the employment of Farmer Hodges. For some time a jealousy existed in John Hodges, who made vile proposals to the young girl, who although of poor parents was strictly virtuous. The girl’s father also worked on farmer Hodges’s estate. On Thursday last she was sent to the farm to obtain some things for her mother, who was ill; it was 9 o’clock in the evening when she set out, a mile from the farm. Going across the fields she was met by the farmer’s son, who made vile proposals to her, which she not consenting to, he threw her down, and accomplished his vile purpose. In the meantime her lover had been to her house, and finding she was gone to the farm, went to meet her. He found her in the field crying, and John Hodges standing over her with a bill-hook, saying he would kill her if she ever told. No one can tell the feelings of the lover, William Edwards. He rushed forward, when Hodges, with the hook, cut the legs clean from his body, and with it killed the poor girl, and then run off. Her father finding she did not return, went to look for her; when the awful deeds were discovered. Edwards was still alive, but died shortly afterwards from loss of blood, after giving his testimony to the magistrates. The farmer’s son was apprehended, and has been examined and committed to take his trial at the next Assizes.

Thousands of persons followed the unfortunate lovers to the grave, where they were buried together.

Copy of Verses.

J. Catnach, Printer, Monmouth Court.

FULL PARTICULARS
OF THIS
DREADFUL
MURDER.

A scene of bloodshed of the deepest dye has been committed in this neighbourhood, which has caused a painful and alarming sensation among all classes in this place, in consequence of its being committed by an individual that is well known to most of the inhabitants who are going in great numbers to the fatal spot where the unfortunate and ill-fated victim has met with this melancholy and dreadful end.

On the news arriving at our office, we at once dispatched our reporter to the spot, and on his arrival he found the place surrounded by men, women, and children, gathered around where the vital spark had fled, which was never to be regained on the face of this earth. Deep was the conversation among the accumulated persons, as to how a fellow creature could be guilty of committing such a revolting and diabolical act upon one, who, it appears, was much respected in this neighbourhood.

The reporter states that on the police authorities arriving at the place, they had some difficulty in preserving order; but after a short lapse of time this was accomplished. They then proceeded to the spot where the lifeless corpse laid, and took possession of the same, and which presented one of the most awful spectacles that has been witnessed for many years.

What could have been the motive for such a cold-blooded and wanton murder being committed we are at a loss to conceive; without it was in consequence of some disagreement having taken place between the unfortunate victims and their assailants, and then ending in the depriving their fellow-creatures of life, which we are forbidden, according to the commandments, to take away; but this seems to be entirely violated in many instances by our dissipated and irregular habits which tends to the committal of such serious things, and through disobeying the scriptural advice brings the degraded creatures to an untimely end. According to the Scriptures, “He that sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed,” which we entirely agree with in these instances, and fully acknowledge the just sentence that is often obliged to be carried into effect; and certainly must say, that were it not for the rigidness of those laws, many of us would not be able to proceed on our journey at heart. So, therefore, we are in duty bound to call upon those laws being fully acted up to, for it is our opinion that those crimes are very seldom committed without there is some disregard or ill feeling towards their unfortunate victims, and thereby end their days in a dreadful manner.

The unfortunate persons being so well known and so much respected, every one feels anxious to know all particulars, and it is the constant enquiry amongst them to know if there is any one apprehended for the murder, or if there is anything more known as to lead to the suspicion who it has been committed by, all being very desirous to hear of the perpetrators of this diabolical and horrid deed. We feel much for the family, who are thrown into the greatest affliction through this dreadful circumstance, and which has cast a gloom over the circle of friends in which they moved.

As a member of society, there will be no one that we know of who will be more missed; one who was often known to relieve the wants of his fellow creatures as far as his circumstances would permit, and whose society was courted by all. As a member, of the family to which they belonged, none will be more deeply regretted, but those who are now remaining will feel the loss and deplore the lamentable death of their respected and worthy friends.—Just as we are going to press, we have received information from our reporter, that something has been elicited from a party that has thrown a light on this subject, and which has led to the apprehension of one of the principal offenders, and who, if proved guilty, will, we hope, meet with that punishment due to his fearful crime.

London: J. Lucksway, Printer and Publisher, High Street, Westminster.

THE COMMITTAL OF
W. THOMPSON,

To the County Gaol at Oxford for the

MURDER OF HIS WIFE
AND THREE CHILDREN,

On the 12th instant.

This morning, the 12th inst., the neighbourhood of Queen-st., Banbury, was thrown into a state of excitement at hearing the cries of murder between the hours of 12 and 1, at the house of Wm. Thompson. Several of the neighbours arose from their beds and knocked at, and tried the door, but all was silent, when Sarah Cope said, some efforts must be made to enter, and two Policemen were quickly on the spot, and about 2 o’clock they forced the door open, when a most awful sight presented itself. The wife lay weltering in her blood and with her head literally knocked to pieces, and the prisoner, who was drunk, was quickly apprehended. Up stairs the two youngest were found lying in a pool of blood on the chamber floor, and the eldest boy, Thomas, four years old, was found a lifeless corpse on the bed, and the clothes covered with blood.

Two surgeons pronounced life to be extinct. An inquest was held at the Blue Boar, and after a post-mortem examination of the bodies, and the whole of the Evidence heard by the Jury, a Verdict of Wilful Murder was returned against William Thompson.

The Prisoner was calm during the whole of the proceedings, and did not attempt to deny his guilt. Since his committal he has made the following Confession.

THE CONFESSION.

On the 12th ultimo, I left my wife and family and went to the house of Sarah Potts, and during the day when we were drinking, she asked me to leave my family and live with her; I gave her no decisive answer at that time. At midnight I returned home and found my wife and children were gone to bed, but she got up and let me in without speaking an angry word; but I got hold of an iron bar and struck her a fatal blow on the head, and repeated the blows until she was dead. I then proceeded to the bed-room, where the children were. My eldest son, Thomas, four years of age, begged for mercy, but I was deaf to his cries and tears; I then raised the bar of iron and struck him three times on the head; the two youngest are twins, I beat their heads against the chamber floor, and I hope the Lord will forgive me.

A COPY OF VERSES.

[Smith, Printer, High Street, London.

A REMARKABLE PUNISHMENT
OF
MURDER.

The following melancholy account was given by a very worthy man, Mr. Thomas Marshall, a Church warden well-known and respected by all.

Some years ago, a young gentleman and lady came out of Scotland, as is supposed, upon a matrimonial affair. As they were travelling through the country, they were robbed and murdered, at a place called the Winnetts, near Castleton. Their bones were found about two years ago, by some miners who were sinking an Engine-pit at the place.

One James Ashton, of Castleton, who died about a fortnight ago, and who was one of the murderers, was most miserably afflicted and tormented in his conscience. He had been dying, it was thought, for ten weeks; but could not die till he had confessed the whole affair. But when he had done this, he died immediately.

He said, Nicholas Cock, Thomas Hall, John Bradshaw, Francis Butler, and himself, meeting the above gentleman and lady in the Winnets, pulled them off their horses, and dragged them into a barn belonging to one of them, and took from them two hundred pounds. Then seizing on the young gentleman, the young lady (whom Ashton said was the fairest woman he ever saw) entreated them, in the most piteous manner, not to kill him, as she was the cause of his coming into that country. But, notwithstanding all her intreaties, they cut his throat from ear to ear! They then seized the young lady herself, and, though she entreated them, on her knees, to spare her life, and turn her out naked! yet one of the wretches drove a Miner’s pick into her head, when she dropped down dead at his feet. Having thus dispatched them both, they left their bodies in the barn, and went away with their booty.

At night they returned to the barn, in order to take them away; but they were so terrified with a frightful noise that they durst not move them: and so it was the second night. But the third night, Ashton said it was only the Devil, who would not hurt him; so they took the bodies away and buried them.

They then divided the money: and as Ashton was a coal carrier to a Smelt Mill, on the Sheffield Road, he bought horses with his share; but they all died in a little time. Nicholas Cock fell from a precipice, near the place where they had committed the murder, and was killed. Thomas Hall hanged himself. John Bradshaw was walking near the place where they had buried the bodies, when a stone fell from the hill and killed him on the spot, to the astonishment of every one who knew it. Francis Butler, attempted many times to hang himself, but was prevented; however, he went mad, and died in a most miserable manner.

Thus, though they escaped the hand of human justice (which seldom happens in such a case), yet the Invisible Hand found them out, even in this world. How true then it is, that He art about our path, and about our bed, and spiest out all our ways!

Evans, Printer, Long Lane.

THE LIFE, TRIAL, CHARACTER, AND CONFESSION
OF
The Man that was Hanged
IN FRONT OF NEWGATE, AND WHO
IS NOW ALIVE!
WITH FULL PARTICULARS OF THE RESUSCITATED.

“There are but two classes of persons in the world—those who are hanged, and those who are not hanged; and it has been my lot to belong to the former.”

There are few men, perhaps, who have not a hundred times in the course of their life, felt a curiosity to know what their sensations would be if they were compelled to lay life down. The very impossibility, in all ordinary cases, of obtaining any approach to this knowledge, is an incessant spur pressing on the fancy in its endeavours to arrive at it. Thus poets and painters have ever made the estate of a man condemned to die one of their favourite themes of comment or description. Footboys and prentices hang themselves almost every other day, conclusively—missing their arrangement for slipping the knot half way—out of a seeming instinct to try the secrets of that fate, which—less in jest than in earnest—they feel an inward monition may become their own. And thousand of men, in early life, are uneasy until they have mounted a breach, or fought a duel, merely because they wish to know, experimentally, that their nerves are capable of carrying them through that peculiar ordeal.

Now I am in a situation to speak from experience, upon that very interesting question—the sensations attendant upon a passage from life to death. I have been HANGED, and am ALIVE—perhaps there are no three other men at this moment, in Europe, who can make the same declaration.

Before this statement meets the public eye, I shall have quitted England for ever; therefore I have no advantage to gain from its publication. And, for the vanity of knowing, when I shall be a sojourner in a far country, that my name—for good or ill—is talked about in this,—such fame would scarcely do even my pride much good, when I dare not lay claim to its identity, But the cause which excites me to write is this—My greatest pleasure, through life, has been the perusal of any extraordinary narratives of fact. An account of a shipwreck in which hundreds have perished; of a plague which has depopulated towns or cities; anecdotes and inquiries connected with the regulations of prisons, hospitals, or lunatic receptacles; nay, the very police reports of a common newspaper—as relative to matters of reality, have always excited a degree of interest in my mind, which cannot be produced by the best-invented tale of fiction. Because I believe, therefore, that to persons of a temper like my own, the reading of that which I have to relate will afford very high gratification;—and because I know also, that what I describe can do mischief to no one, while it may prevent the symptoms and details of a very rare consummation from being lost; for these reasons I am desirous, as far as a very limited education will permit me, to write a plain history of the strange fortunes and miseries to which, during the last twelve months, I have been subjected.

I have stated already, that I have been hanged and am alive. I can gain nothing now by misrepresentation—I was GUILTY of the act for which I suffered. There are individuals of respectability whom my conduct already has disgraced, and I will not revive their shame and grief by publishing my name. But it stands in the list of capital convictions in the Old Bailey Calendar for the Winter Sessions of 18—

Hodges, Printer (from the late J. Pitt’s) Wholesale Toy Warehouse, 31, Dudley Street, 7 Dials.

THE LIVERPOOL TRAGEDY.

Showing how a Father and Mother barbarously Murdered their own Son.

A few days ago a sea-faring man, who had just returned to England after an absence of thirty years in the East Indies, called at a lodging-house, in Liverpool, for sailors, and asked for supper and a bed; the landlord and landlady were elderly people, and apparently poor. The young man entered into conversation with them, invited them to partake of his cheer, asked many questions about themselves and their family, and particularly of a son who had gone to sea when a boy, and whom they had long given over as dead. At night the landlady shewed him to his room, and when she was leaving him he put a large purse of gold into her hand, and desired her to take care of it till the morning, pressed her affectionately by the hand, and bade her good night. She returned to her husband and shewed him the accursed gold: for its sake they mutually agreed to murder the traveller in his sleep.

In the dead of the night, when all was still, the old couple silently creaped into the bed room of their sleeping guest, all was quiet: the landlady approached the bedside, and then cut his throat, severed his head from his body; the old man, upwards of seventy years of age, holding the candle. They put a washing-tub under the bed to catch his blood. And then ransacking the boxes of the murdered man they found more gold, and many handsome and costly articles, the produce of the East Indies, together, with what proved afterwards, to be a marriage certificate.

In the morning, early, came a handsome and elegantly dressed lady and asked, in a joyous tone, for the traveller who had arrived the night before. The old people seemed greatly confused, but said he had risen early and gone away. “Impossible!” said the lady, and bid them go to his bed-room and seek him, adding, “you will be sure to know him as he has a mole on his left arm in the shape of a strawberry. Besides, ’tis your long lost son who has just returned from the East Indies, and I am his wife, and the daughter of a rich planter long settled and very wealthy. Your son has come to make you both happy in the evening of your days, and he resolved to lodge with you one night as a stranger, that he might see you unknown, and judge of your conduct to wayfaring mariners.”

The old couple went up stairs to examine the corpse, and they found the strawberry mark on its arm, and they then knew that they had murdered their own son, they were seized with horror, and each taking a loaded pistol blew out each other’s brains.

Printed by J. Catnach,—Sold by Marshall Bristol. Just Published—A Variety of Children’s Books, Battledores, Lotteries, and a quantity of popular Songs, set to Music. Cards, &c., Printed cheap.

THE MASSACRE
OF THE WHOLE OF THE
PASSENGERS AND PART OF THE CREW
OF THE SEA HORSE,
On her Homeward Passage from Sydney, and the Plunder of 18,000 ounces of Gold by the Murderers.

We have just received intelligence of one of the most daring cases of plunder and wholesale murder on the high seas that it is our duty to make public for many years. It appears that the crew and thirteen passengers of the ill-fated ship, the Sea Horse, some of whom had been seeking to better their condition by toiling at the diggings of Ballarat, Bendigo, and the several numerous diggings of the surrounding country, whilst others had gained a respectable position in life by mercantile and other pursuits, all returning light-hearted and elated by their good success to the land of their birth, and to look on the dear faces, and gladden the hearts of the dear ones they had left at home, but whom they were doomed never to meet no more on earth. Among the crew was a Spaniard known by the name of Digo Salvesata, and three others, who were tempted by a love of gold to gain possession of the valuable cargo, to do which, they conceived the horrid idea of putting the whole of the passengers and that part of the crew who would not join them to death. The following are the facts of this demon-like outrage:—It appears that the Sarah Ann, of North Shields, on her passage home, was driven by the gales into the German ocean, and it was in sight of the white cliffs of Old England that these horrible murders were committed. As the Sarah Ann was laying at anchor on the morning of the 12th, at day break they saw through the fog the ill-fated vessel, and not seeing any one on deck they hailed her, and on receiving no answer a boat was immediately lowered, and they went on board, and on getting below a shocking sight met their gaze, with one exception the whole of the passengers and the remainder of the crew were in their berths stiff and cold, with their throats cut, and otherwise dreadfully disfigured. One poor man had a piece of dirty sheet tied tightly round his throat, and about eight inches of it stuffed tightly into his mouth. On this being removed, there was a large wound in the throat four inches in extent from right to left; there were five incisors on the right side ending in one deep one on the left. The windpipe was cut through and the muscles of the neck on the left side; the forehead was contused and scratched. The hair was covered with blood. On the back part of the right hand there were several scratches. Most of the victims were more or less mutilated. On going to the Captain’s cabin another shocking sight presented itself, he was laying completely hacked to pieces, his tongue was completely cut out at the root, and his entrails strewed on the cabin floor, showing that there had been a terrible struggle; it appears from the statement of a man who had stowed in the hold to escape the slaughter, that the second mate, who is one of the murderers, treated the passengers and the rest of the crew with some grog in which some laudnum was mixed, which rendered them senseless, and while in that helpless state murdered them in the manner described, they afterwards went to the Captain’s cabin, who fought bravely but was overpowered by numbers, they then took all the gold they could find and lowered the long boat and made off with their ill-gotten gains. The tiller of the boat has been found, so whether they have escaped and sent the boat adrift is not known, but search is being made after the murderers, and we hope they will soon be taken, and meet with their just reward.

COPY OF VERSES.

Walton, Printer, Mary Street, Limehouse.

FULL PARTICULARS
OF THE
HORRIBLE & DREADFUL
GREAT FIRE IN LONDON.

[Few public calamities recorded in our annals can bear a comparison, in point of distress, with the tremendous conflagration which reduced the greater part of the British metropolis to ashes, in the 1666. Of this dire catastrophe, all our histories give a general, and some of them a detailed, account; but no relation hitherto published is so minutely descriptive as that written at the time, and as it were on the smoking embers of the city, by the ingenious John Evelyn; from whose memoirs we have therefore extracted the whole narration.]

September 2. This fatal night about ten began that deplorable fire near Fish Street, in London.

Sept. 3. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach, with my wife and son, and went to the bank side in Southwark, where we beheld that dismal spectacle, the whole city in dreadful flames near the waterside; all the houses from the bridge, all Thames street, and upwards towards Cheapside down to the Three Cranes, were now consumed.

The fire having continued all this night (if I may call that night which was light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner), when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very dry season; I went on foot to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the city burning from Cheapside to the Thames, and all along Cornhill (for it kindled back against the wind as well as forward) Tower street, Fenchurch street, Gracious street, and so along to Bainard’s Castle, and was now taking hold of St. Paul’s Church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonished, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirred to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seen but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the Churches, Public Halls, Exchange, Hospitals, Monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house and street to street, at great distances one from the other, for the heat with a long set of fair and warm weather had even ignited the air and prepared the materials to receive the fire, which devoured after a most incredible manner, houses, furniture, and every thing. Here we saw the Thames covered with goods floating, all the barges and boats laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on the other, the carts, &c., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strewed with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seen the like since the foundation of it, nor to be outdone till the universal conflagration. All the sky was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, the light seen above forty miles round about for many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing above ten thousand houses all in one flame; the noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like a hideous storm, and the air all about so hot and inflamed that at last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forced to stand still and let the flames burn on, which they did for near two miles in length and one in breadth. The clouds of smoke were dismal and reached upon computation near fifty miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoon burning, a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day—London was, but is no more!

H. Jones, Printer, Smith Street, London.

AN ACCOUNT
OF THE
FATAL THUNDERSTORM,

Which happened in these parts, and the
SINGULAR DREAM OF A YOUNG MAN,
Well known in this Neighbourhood.

On the first day of this month there was a dreadful storm of thunder and lightning in these parts. Its most fatal effects occurred about three miles from this town. There was a young shepherd, about twenty-three years of age, who had always entertained a remarkable dread of such storms; on that day, as it began to grow cloudy, his mother would have dissuaded him from going out, but he said he must go, as certain of his sheep absolutely required his attendance. This was agreeable to a tenderness of temper which, from his childhood, had been remarkable in his character. Quickly after he got into the fields, the storm arose; he was then in an open valley of greensward, and upon the neighbouring land there were two places of shelter equally distant; the one a stack of beans where some men were employed in thrashing, the other a rick of hay where nobody was. Humanly speaking, his life depended upon the choice he made between these two places, and he unhappily chose the rick. Quickly after, the thrashers at a small distance saw it take fire! They immediately ran to extinguish it, which they did without any great difficulty, as stacked hay burns but slowly; but they found the shepherd dead! His heels were stuck up, and his back rested against a part of the rick which had not been on fire. On a more careful examination, they found that his coat was singed on the right shoulder; his waistcoat did not appear to be burnt; but his shirt was reduced to tinder, not only on the shoulder, but all over the back. The skin under it appeared a little blistered, but the flesh not at all torn. His right leg was blistered round the outer ankle, and his shoe-buckle shattered almost to perfect powder. There was no wound on any part of the body which could be thought the cause of his death. About a month before this accident he told his mother a dream which struck deeply upon his imagination for a considerable time. He said he fancied himself surprised by a storm of thunder, and that he fled for shelter to the wall of a house, when a great flash of lightning came directly upon him, and that immediately he fancied himself strangled for want of breath.

About three months previous to this melancholy occurrence the same young man, who is well known in these parts, and whose name and address we withhold out of respect to his surviving relations, dreamt that as he sat on a fragment of St. John’s Castle, romantically situated on the shores of Loch-Ree—one of those many ruins that are to be found in desolated parts of this county! The scene around him was one of age and sublimity: he felt its imposing effect and was filled with the solemnity of its aspect! The winds were sweeping their sullen murmurs through the broken walls of the gigantic pile; the “voice of Time-disporting towers” fell with a sad sound upon the ear, and he could fancy, in the pauses of the hollow blast, that he saw spectral shapes of other days peeping from the dark passages and broken windows, and then suddenly disappearing like night-birds, that, having wakened too early for their dusky evening flight, shrink back aghast to their gloomy bowers, from the offensive glare of a lingering sunset! Melancholy and romance were in the hour, and he insensibly yielded to their powerful influence.

As his half-closed eyes were carelessly fixed upon a little chasm in the vaulted floor, that lay some fifty feet beneath him, he perceived, with a surprise not unmixed with terror, that the long grass which partly concealed it began to move with more than the wind-motion. He thought a thin blue smoke issued from the widening aperture, and a confused murmer of hollow voices arose. He would have fled from the place, but his companions had, at his own request, left him to indulge in melancholy, and had taken his boat for a short sail to some islands farther up the lake; besides, he had no means of quitting the almost insulated ruin, but by passing the mysterious vapour, which crossed the only path to a strip of land that connected the basement of the castle with the main shore. This he was determined not to do. He therefore quietly remained in the watch-tower with mingled feelings of curiosity and dread!

The blue mist at length disappeared—the murmur of hollow voices died away—all was silent again save the beach-wave and the moaning of the wind through the caverns of the ruin. He began to think he had imagined the scene, and was just about to quit his hiding-place, when suddenly the vapour issued again, and, thunder-struck with astonishment and admiration, he beheld a female figure slowly rising from the vault like a spirit from earth’s tomb on its way to immortal blessedness! she was lightly clad—lightly enough to betray a form of beauty, half-woman, half-child, that he had never before contemplated, even in his dreams! It was loveliness even beyond his ideal conceptions, and seemed to be of that age when childhood usually gives her last portion of innocence to youth, and fearfully resigns her little charge to approaching maturity.

She ascended, with the rapidity of a winged creature, up a curtain-wall that shut out the northern view of the lake from the interior of the castle, when, having gazed long and wistfully (as he thought) upon the dim sail of his little bark in the hazy distance, she descended with the same careless activity, to a mound of ivy and wild flowers that sprung up spontaneously in the ruin, like sweet, but unbidden recollections of happy days gone by in a broken heart.

THE SCARBOROUGH TRAGEDY.

Giving an Account how Susan Forster, a Farmer’s only Daughter, near Scarborough, was seduced by Mr Robert Sanders, a Naval Officer, under promise of Marriage. How she became Pregnant, and the wicked hardened, and cruel Wretch appointed to meet her at a well-known retired spot, which she unhappily did, and was basely Murdered by him, and buried under a Tree, and of the wonderful manner in which this base Murder was brought to light, and he was committed to Gaol.

TRAGIC VERSES.

J. Catnach, Printer, 2, Monmouth-court, 7 Dials.

THE NAKED TRUTH,
OR
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND,

BEING THE FULL ACCOUNT OF

AN EXTRAORDINARY WAGER OF £5000,

Laid between Lord —— and the Duke’s Son,

TWO MEN OF FASHION.

A few nights since, at a fashionable hell in the western part of this well policed metropolis, the following extraordinary wager was laid and decided. Lord ———— bet £5000 with the eldest son of the Duke of ———— who had frequently distinguished himself by his eccentricities, that he would carry him on his shoulders nine times round St. James’s square after the business of the house was finished. At three o’clock in the morning, the parties, attended by their friends, repaired to the spot; but here Lord ———- observed that his bet was to carry his opponent, but not his clothes also. However, the young hero of joking and smoking celebrity, was not to be done by his cunning adversary, and he actually, at that hour of the morning, with the wind sharp as a “serpent’s tooth,” stripped himself to the buff. Yes, gentle, refined, or rheumatic reader! he, this son of the Duke of ————, divesting himself of shame (if ever he had any), stripped himself of all, even to the most minute parts of his dress, and won £5000. And then covering himself, not with glory, but his clothes, went to finish at a bagnio, with the notorious and accommodating Miss C———— of ———— Square, not a hundred miles off.—“These are the Men of Fashion!!”

Batchelar, Printer, Long Alley.

EXTRAORDINARY & FUNNY DOINGS
IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

By reading every other line of the above letters the true meaning will be found.

THE LOVE LETTER,

The Lady’s Maid!! The Secret Found out!!! Or

A MARRIED MAN CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

“Good morning, Sir.”

“The same to you, Miss! Very happy to meet you here; how far are you going?”

“Not far, Sir; but I should be proud of your company for a short time.”

“Thank you, Miss, I hope we shall be better acquainted e’re long.”

“I hope, Sir, you’re unmarried?”

“Happy to say at present—I am!”

“Very well, Sir, I am at present without a sweetheart who has possession of my heart.”

“My dear, I will endeavour to try to gain you.”

“Excuse me, Sir, I am poor.”

“My dear, I am only a theatrical gentleman, but very fond of the fair sex.”

“Do you think, my cherub, that you will be able to keep us when we are wed?”

“Yes, my dear, for I will feed you on oysters, beef-steaks, and all such fattening and strengthening things as are necessary for our conjugal happiness and comfort.”

“But, Sir, can I really depend upon you?”

“Yes, my dear, shall we name the day for our marriage?”

“Suppose we say, my love, the day after to-morrow.”

“Agreed; until that, adieu.”

On the morning appointed for the wedding, the young woman received the following epistle:—

“My Dearest Fanny.—I have thought on your proposal since last we met, but from circumstances that have transpired, I beg leave to postpone our marriage to a future day. I thought on our conversation and your delightful company ever since, and have enclosed a copy for your perusal.

“I am,

“Yours for ever,

“HENRY J.N.S.

The young woman read this letter with disdain, and wrote back the following answer:—

“Sir,—I return your note with disgust, having been informed that you are a married man, and I hope you will bestow the trash you offered me upon your wife. So pray trouble me no more with your foolery.”

Poor H. took this so much to heart, that he went and drowned his senses in wine, and then returned home; undressing himself, the letter fell from his bosom, his wife picked it up, read it, and beat him about the head with a dish-cloth.

There are two ways of reading this to discover the parties. Henry —— lives in THIS STREET, and Fanny —— at the —— shop round the corner, and is said to be no better than she should be. The child’s name we understand is to be Anthony.

ALL FOUND OUT AT LAST,

Or the SECRET DISCOVERED,

After having been carried on in a curious manner for a long time.

“Most adorable Mary—

“Why have you left me, and deprived me of those pleasures of beholding the most charming face that nature ever made? How shall I find words to express the passion you have inspired me with? Since the day I first beheld your form I have felt the sharpest pangs of love, which have worked me up to the utmost pitch of distraction. But, alas! such a shock I felt as is impossible to express. The dearest object of my heart is locked in the embrace of Robert E—— that vile monster and decoyer of female innocence. Oh! never should I have thought that after so many pleasant hours we have passed together, and promises pledged on either side, that you would have slighted me in the manner you have, and find your heart callous to one who adores you, and even the ground your angelic form walks upon. Oh, my adorable angel, do not forsake me and the welfare of yourself; drop all connection with that vile deceiver, R. E., and once more reinstate me to that pleasure which none but lovers know. My fluctuation of fortune shall never abate my attachment, and I hope the day is not far distant, when I shall lead you to the altar of Hymen. Oh! soon may the time arrive when I may call thee, dearest Mary, my own. Oh! my dearest angel, consent to my request, and keep me no longer in suspense; nothing on my part shall ever be wanting to make you happy and comfortable. My engagement will expire in two months from hence, when I intend to open a shop in the small-ware line, and your abilities as a seamstress and self-adjusting crinoline maker, with the assistance of a few work girls, shall be able to realize an independence; and, moreover, I will indulge you in all things needful in the marriage state, and show my regard for you by cleaning your shoes, lighting the fire every morning, buying crumpets, new butter, and so forth; besides, my dear Mary, we will live merrily upon beef-steak, oysters, and other tasty articles necessary for our conjugal happiness, and upon my bended kness I pray for it, and may earthly friendship and confidence, with truest love, continue to the end.

“Most adorable Mary,—I have to repeat my former request, that is, quit R. E.’s company, and place yourself under the protection of me, only in whom you will find all the comfort that wedded life can bestow.

“I remain, dear Mary, yours till death,

“JOHN S——

“P. S.—Favor me, my angel, with an answer by return of post; if not, I shall start off directly for Liverpool, and embark for America.”

THE YORKSHIRE KNIGHT,
OR THE
FORTUNATE FARMER’S DAUGHTER,
IN THREE PARTS.

PART I.—Showing how a noble Knight was riding by a farmer’s house, when his wife was in travail. The Knight knowing the signs and planets, and looking on a book, read that the farmer’s daughter that was born that hour was to be his lady and bride. And how the cruel Knight got the child from her parents, and flung it into a river; but by good fortune, the child was taken up by a poor fisherman alive, and brought home till she was eleven years old.

PART II.—How the fisherman was at an inn with some gentlemen, the cruel Knight being in the same company, and seeing the young girl come in, he asked the fisherman if she was his own daughter, who told the story of his taking her up, &c. How the cruel Knight got this poor girl away, and contrived her death a second time, and how he was prevented.

PART III.—How the Knight contrived her death a third time; but her life was saved, by showing the Knight a ring that he flung in the sea; when the Knight saw it, found it in vain to strive against his fortune, so he married her, and made her his lady; with other things worthy of note.

PART I.

PART II.

PART III.

W. & T. FORDYCE, PRINTERS, 48, DEAN STREET, NEWCASTLE.

A FULL, TRUE, REMARKABLE, & PARTICULAR
ACCOUNT OF
THE FAITHFUL LOVERS.

““Will you remember me, Jane?”

“Yes!”

“Will you keep your hand for me for a year?”

“Yes!”

“Will you answer me when I write to you?”

“Yes!”

“One request more—O Jane, reflect that my life depends upon your acquiescence—should I succeed, will you marry me, in spite of your uncle?”

“Yes!” answered Jane.

There was no pause—reply followed question, as if it were a dialogue which they had got by heart—and by heart indeed they had got it; but I leave you to guess the book they had conned it from.

’Twas in a green lane, on a summer’s evening, about nine o’clock, when the west, like a gate of gold, had shut upon the retiring sun, that Jane and her lover, hand in hand, walked up and down. His arm was the girdle of her waist; hers formed a collar for his neck, which a knight of the garter—aye, the owner of the sword that dubbed him—might well have been proud to wear. Their gait was slow, and face was turned to face; near were their lips while they spoke; and much of what they said never came to the ear, though their souls caught up every word of it.

Jane was upwards of five years the junior of her lover. She had known him since she was a girl in her twelfth year. He was almost eighteen then; and, when she thought far more about a doll than a husband, he would set her upon his knee, and call her his little wife. One, two, three years passed on, and still, whenever he came from college, and as usual went to pay his first visit at her father’s, before he had been five minutes in the parlour, the door was flung open, and in bounded Jane, and claimed her accustomed seat. The fact was, till she was fifteen, she was a girl of a very slow growth, and looked the girl when many a companion of hers of the same age began to appear the woman.

When another vacation, however, came round, and Alfred paid his customary call, and was expecting his little wife, as usual, the door opened slowly, and a tall young lady entered, and, courtseying, coloured and walked to a seat next the lady of the house. The visitor stood up and bowed, and sat down again, without knowing that it was Jane.

“Don’t you know Jane?” exclaimed her father.

“Jane!” cried Alfred, in an accent of surprise; and approached his little wife of old, who rose and half gave him her hand, and courtseying, coloured again, and sat down again without hardly interchanging a word with him. No wonder—she was four inches taller than when he had last seen her; and her bulk had expanded correspondingly, while her features, that half a year before gave one the idea of a sylph that would bound after a butterfly, had now mellowed in their expression, into the sentiment, the softness, and the reserve of the woman.

Alfred felt absolutely disappointed. Five minutes before, he was all volubility. No sooner was one question answered than he proposed another—and he had so many capital stories for Jane, when she came down—and yet, when Jane did come down, he sat as though he had not a word to say for himself. In short, everything and everybody in the house seemed to have changed along with its young mistress; he felt no longer at home in it, as was his wont; and, in less than a quarter of an hour he made his bow and departed, AND WAS NEVER NEVER HEARD OF MORE.

Printed by J. Catnach, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.—Primers and Battledores Sold Cheap.

THE FULL, TRUE, AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT
OF THE
DREADFUL QUARREL

Which took place Last Night between a Husband and Wife in this Neighbourhood.

Husband. Woman—aye!

Wife. You are always railing at our sex.

Husband. And without reason?

Wife. Without either rhyme or reason; you’d be miserable beings without us, for all that.

Husband. Sometimes: there is no general rule without an exception; I could name some very good women—

Wife. Without the head, I suppose.

Husband. With a head, and with a heart too.

Wife. That’s a wonder!

Husband. It would be still greater if I could not; for instance, there is Mrs Dawson, the best of wives; always at home, whenever you call, always in good humour, always neat and clean, sober and discreet.

Wife. I wish you were tied to her. Always at home! the greatest gossiper in the parish; she may well smile, she has nothing to ruffle her temper; neat and clean—she has nothing else to do;—sober—she can take a glass as well as her neighbours; discreet—that’s another word, she can tip a wink: but I detest scandal; I am surprised you didn’t say she was handsome?

Husband. So she is, in my eye.

Wife. You have a fine eye, to be sure; you’re an excellent judge of beauty; what do you think of her nose?

Husband. She’s a fine woman in spite of her nose.

Wife. Fine feathers make fine birds; she can paint her withered cheeks, and pencil her eyebrows.

Husband. You can do the same, if you please.

Wife. My cheeks don’t want paint, nor my eyebrows pencilling.

Husband. True; the rose of youth and beauty is still on your cheeks, and your brow the bow of Cupid.

Wife. You once thought so; but that moving mummy, Molly Dawson, is your favourite. She’s, let me see, no gossip, and yet she’s found in every house but her own; and so silent too, when she has all the clack to herself; her tongue is as thin as a sixpence with talking; with a pair of eyes burned into the socket, and painted panels into the bargain; and then as to scandal—but her tongue is no scandal.

Husband. Take care, there’s such a thing as standing in a white sheet!

Wife. Curse you! you would provoke a saint.

Husband. You seem to be getting into a passion.

Wife. Is it any wonder? A white sheet! You ought to be tossed in a blanket. Handsome! I can’t forget that word: my charms are lost on such a tasteless fellow as you.

Husband. The charms of your tongue.

Wife. Don’t provoke me, or I’ll fling this dish at you head.

Husband. Well, I have done.

Wife. But I haven’t done: I wish I had drowned myself the first day I saw you.

Husband. It’s not too late.

Wife. I’d see you hung first.

Husband. You’d be the first to cut me down.

Wife. Then I ought to be tied up in your stead.

Husband. I’d cut you down.

Wife. You would?

Husband. Yes, but I’d be sure you were dead first.

Wife. I cannot bear this any longer.

Husband. Then ’tis time for me to withdraw; I see by your eyes that the storm is collecting.

Wife. And it shall burst on your head.

Husband. I’ll save my poor head, if I can. A good retreat is better than a bad battle.

(Husband flies, the dish flies after him.)

THE LATEST PARTICULARS!

“We understand that a small hamper was left by a Railway porter, this morning, directed to the Husband, which was found to contain a full grown boy, about three weeks old, with a strawberry mark upon his left arm.

The wife, we are informed, has just ran away along with the Policeman with the big whiskers.

Printed by T. Birt, 10, Great St. Andrew Street, Wholesale and Retail, Seven Dials, London.—Every Description of Printing on Reasonable Terms.

AN ACCOUNT
OF THE
DREADFUL APPARITION

That appeared last night to Henry —— in this street, of Mary ——, the shopkeeper’s daughter round the corner, in a shroud, all covered in white.

The castle clock struck one—the night was dark, drear, and tempestuous.—Henry set in an antique chamber of it, over a wood fire, which, in the stupor of contemplation, he had suffered to decrease into a few lifeless embers; on the table by him lay the portrait of Mary—the features of which were not very perfectly disclosed by a taper, that just glimmered in the socket. He took up the portrait, however, and gazing intensely upon it, till the taper, suddenly burning brighter, discovered to him a phenomenon he was not less terrified than surprised at.—The eyes of the portrait moved;—the features from an angelic smile, changed to a look of solemn sadness; a tear stole down each cheek, and the bosom palpitated as with sighing.

Again the clock struck one—it had struck the same hour but ten minutes before.—Henry heard the castle gate grate on its hinges—it slammed too—the clock struck one again—and a deadly groan echoed through the castle. Henry was not subject to superstituous fears—neither was he a coward;—yet a hero of romance might have been justified in a case like this, should he have betrayed fear.—Henry’s heart sunk within him—his knees smote together, and upon the chamber door being opened, and his name uttered in a hollow voice, he dropped the portrait to the floor; and sat, as if rivitted to the chair, without daring to lift up his eyes. At length, however, as silence again prevailed, he ventured for a moment to raise his eyes, when—my blood freezes as I relate it—before him stood the figure of Mary in a shroud—her beamless eyes fixed upon him with a vacant stare; and her bared bosom exposing a most deadly gash. “Henry, Henry, Henry!” she repeated in a hollow tone—“Henry! I am come for thee! thou hast often said that death with me was preferable to life without me; come then, and enjoy with me all the ecstacies of love these ghastly features, added to the contemplation of a charnel-house, can inspire;” then, grasping his hand with her icy fingers, he swooned; and instantly found himself——stretched on the hearth of his master’s kitchen; a romance in his hand, and the house dog by his side, whose cold nose touching his hand, had awaked him.

Pitts, Printer and Toy Warehouse, Great St. Andrew Street, 7 Dials.

FULL PARTICULARS
OF THE
HORRIBLE AND DREADFUL
CATASTROPHE
WHICH TOOK PLACE
IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD,
LAST NIGHT.

George Williams was the son of a merchant of some eminence, by whom, at the age of twenty-two, he was admitted to a share of the business, and, in a few months afterwards, was rendered completely happy by obtaining the hand of Susan Halts, a beautiful and accomplished girl, to whom he had been attached from the earliest dawn of passion in his breast.

A delightful cottage, elegantly furnished, with grounds laid out according to the most approved rules of modern art, and heightened into affection by the exquisite taste of Susan, received the happy pair. Doting on each other, loving and beloved by their parents, respected by a numerous circle of friends, easy in their circumstances, elegant in their tastes, congenial in their pursuits, their bliss knew no alloy. George’s daily absence from town was but for a few hours, and the pleasure of meeting amply repaid the affectonate Susan for the pain of separation.

Thus smoothly did their lives glide on during three years and a half, and a boy and girl, beautiful as cherubs, had crowned their loves; when one afternoon George returned to their beloved home, and hastily sought the apartment in which his Susan was accustomed to lay out their simply-elegant repast, intrusting to no one the pleasing task of providing for the refreshment of her bosom lord.

He opened the door—he beheld her at the table, and ran forward to imprint his welcome kiss upon her ruby lips; but what words can describe his sensation on beholding her eyes’ accustomed brilliancy quenched in tears, and pearly drops chasing each other in quick succession down her lovely cheeks!

“Gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed, “what is the cause of this? Tell me, dear Susan, tell me, I beseech you, what dire calamity has visited our hitherto-happy roof. Speak, I entreat you!”

She was all silent, and her tears continued to flow.

“O Heaven!” he exclaimed, in mental agony of apprehension, “has anything befallen our lovely infants? Is Henry—is Maria—speak—are—they—can they be—oh, I feel a father’s pangs—ah, beloved infants! Tell me, for pity’s sake, tell me, dear Susan; strike me dead at once with dire intelligence, but do not let me die by the protracted agonies of uncertainty!”

She became violently convulsed, and George, in the greatest excitement, rang the bell violently. A servant entered, and to his broken interrogations of “Where are the children?—what has happened to your mistress?—tell me this instant what has befallen your mistress!—what dreadful accident has occurred?” Answer—

“Lawk, sir, you are so passionate and hasty; you won’t give a body time to speak.”

“Death and fury, idiot!” exclaimed the exasperated George; “tell me this instant what to think, or by Heaven——

“Lawk-a-daisey, sir, why, if you must know, then, missus has been peeling some onions to fry with the steak, and it is so strong it’s got into her EYES, that’s all sir!”

Batchlar, Printer, Long Alley.

THE SECRETS REVEALED,
OR THE
FASHIONABLE LIFE OF LORD & LADY ——
WHO RESIDE NOT ONE HUNDRED MILES FROM
THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

“’Tis from high life high characters are drawn.”—Pope.

My Lord and Lady, who reside not a hundred miles from this neighbourhood, sat by the fireside in the drawing room; his Lordship on the right hand—her Ladyship on the left. The fire was dull, so was his Lordship; the weather was dull, so was her Ladyship. His Lordship moved the poker from the right hand side of the fireplace to that of the left: her Ladyship moved it back again. His Lordship scratched his left ear; her Ladyship scratched her right—violently too—and then quitted the room. His Lordship rang the bell. A footman entered. He was clad for a journey.

“John,” said his Lordship, “has Tattersall sent the horses?”

“Yes, your Lordship,” said John, “they are at the door?”

“Four of them?”

“Yes, your honour.”

“Do they look creditable?”

“Perfect, your honour! Full of flesh and rampart spirit, pawing up the stones.”

“What colour?”

“Bay, my Lord.”

“Ah! the right colour, Bays, for a poet; and I am a poet: that is, I used to rhyme when I was in love. Is the lumber ready, John?”

“Right, my Lord.”

“Ah! then tell Her Honourable Ladyship I wait her presence in the water—. No! no! in the—the—library, I mean. Yes, the library, John—mind—the library.”

John disappeared. Presently her Ladyship’s little feet—or pettitoes, as his Lordship was wont to call them—were heard pit-pat-pat-pit on the stairs. Her Ladyship was attired in a fashionably made riding-habit, with no ornament but a plain gold chain suspended round the neck, to which was attached a massive eye-glass.

“Hannah Maria Matilda, my duck—my dove,” said his Lordship, “are you ready?”

“At your Lordship’s service—you goose—I mean duck o’diamonds.”

“Your Ladyship’s slave is proud to see you look so well. As you are ready, I am ready—I am ready, my duck—but one kiss before we go.”

“Has your Lordship determined where we shall go?”

“Why, yes—into the country.”

“But the country has points, parts, places. To which?”

“Oh, any one! the country is all the same, love! Hedges, ditches, cows, rustics, crows, and mile-stones. It’s all the same—all one—here or there. Where would you like to go?”

“Right: let me see. The sea? aye, the sea-side. John, which side is the sea-side?”

“Really, my Lord, I can’t de-cide!”

“Where’s Tattersall? O Tattersall, my Lady and I are going to sea. Are those sea horses?”

“No my Lord, regular cockneys, that won’t go further than one stage from London; them that takes you the last stage are horse marines.”

“Tattersall, you are a wag.”

“Your Lordship’s wit is catching.”

“Tattersall—to the point; where’s the sea?”

“All round the world, my Lord.”

“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, we are going all round the world. Pshaw! John, why don’t you remember your memory? We want to go out of town.”

“Brighthelmston is a nice place, my Lord.”

“Who lives there?”

“My grandmother, my Lord—Mrs Smith.”

“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, Brighthelmston is a nice place, and John’s grandmother lives there—a Mrs. Smith. Did you ever hear that name before, my Lady?”

“My Lord, our friend, Sir Arthur, has a mansion in that neigbourhood, and I long to see his lovely niece Ophelia.”

“Fore-gad, my Lady, well remembered, we’ll off to Brighthelmston, call on Sir Arthur, stand sponsors for his newly-born heir, and—and—and John, run to Rundell and Bridges, and order a coral, to present to the young teeth-cutting baronet.”

“London Bridges! my Lord. What do you want with the London Bridges. We can’t take them with us to Brighthelmston.”

“Why you silly stupid—duck o’diamonds I mean, I did not say London Bridges! but Rundell and Bridges, the eminent gold and silversmiths, who live somewhere in the abominable city, up King Ludgate’s Hill—I think the dem’med name of the place is called—a place where King Ludgate took up his ten or twenty thousand men, or million men—and—and—yes, brought them down again—something of that sort—you understand.”

All was prepared. Smack went the whip. Off went the horses. Her Ladyship went into the right hand corner of the carriage, and his Lordship on the left hand side; and the next morning it was announced in the Post that Lord —— and his Lady had gone out of town.

LONDON:—Printed at J. Pitt’s Wholesale Toy and Marble Warehouse, 6, Great St. Andrew Street, 7 Dials; and also be had of R. Hook, Wholesale Toy and Hawker’s Paper Warehouse, 8, Market Street, Brighton.

ELOPEMENTS
EXTRAORDINARY.

On Saturday last, Colonel H——, of the Lancers, eloped with the fair and beautiful Miss M——n, Ward to Squire March, of Holt, Norfolk, while the Squire is on a visit to his Nephew in London: the happy couple took the direction to Gretna, and both (particularly the lady) appeared highly pleased they were in possession of such a golden opportunity.—Also, the same day, at the same hour, in a similar vehicle, and same direction—Farmer Stubble bore off the youthful Wife of the Squire; they all started off in a merry mood, each singing ‘Little Love is a Mischievous Boy,’ and ‘Begone Dull Care;’ or rather that verse commencing with ‘My Wife shall Dance, and I will Sing’ which was sung by the gentlemen in great humour.—They had several interviews during the time the old gentleman was labouring under severe attacks of the gout, which confined him to his room, and gave the Colonel and Farmer opportunities to breathe love-strains in the anxious ears of his Wife and Ward.—The Colonel left a facetious letter at the Squire’s house, against his return, the following of which is a copy (forwarded to us by the gallant Son of Mars); but, thinking it too good to keep secret, we have taken the opposite course, and given it publicity.

LONDON:—Published by George Higham, 80, Hackney Road; and to be had of Tierney, Corner of Russell Court, Drury Lane,

FUNNY LOVE AFFAIR,
ALL ABOUT
THE ELOPEMENT
THAT TOOK PLACE THIS DAY.

A well known young gentleman in this district has ran off with a pretty young lady, and has left a clue behind him. This Letter was picked up by a Tradesman.

Copy of a Love Letter sent to a Young Lady:—

My Dear,

Kisses may be reckoned among the luxuries of life, rather than among its necessaries; and the reason why so many are fond of indulging in them is, because they belong to the superfluities of this world, and contribute neither to the nourishment of the body nor to the welfare of the soul, but merely afford a moment’s gratification. Formal or ceremonious kisses are like manufactured flowers—very fine in appearance, but wanting in fragrance; and their superabundance only goes to show that the present is a very artificial state of society, as the monkey said when his master put breeches on him. The common custom of kissing the Bible in order to give the appearance of solemnity to an oath, unless the kiss be hot from the heart, is impious mockery, and ought never to be practised in a country like this, where Christianity and common sense are supposed to be closely combined. This cold kind of kissing produces no blissful excitement, and often leads to bad results; and I have no doubt but the old woman found more pleasure when she kissed her cow, than half of the young men who bestow busses upon the cheek of beauty, unwarmed by the fire of affection. My dear, you may go to your private evening parties, where all is gaiety, joiety, and hilarity—where the lovely angels of earth, dressed in the snowy robes of purity, look tempting enough to make a saint turn sinner, and perform a pilgrimage from paradise to perdition, for the sake of a single glorious smack. Go, then, and feast till you fatten on forfeited kisses; but be assured that, although they may be attended with some little sport and amusement, they are just as destitute of real ecstacy as a fox’s back is of fur in the month of June, or an oyster of fine flavour in August. True bliss only attends the warm kiss of fervent love. When a young man presses the girl that he sincerely loves to his bosom—when heart meets heart—when soul mingles with soul—and when lips meet lips—oh! then come exquisite touches of tenderness!—then he cannot help feeling a sort of furziness all over!—and she must unquestionably feel as though she were ready to pin-feather at the moment. Such, my dear, are the delightful, but indescribable sensations attending the kiss of pure and unadulterated love. But he that kisses only to deceive and seduce, imbibes a poison at the time, which rankles in his bosom, and induces more or less of grief and mortification, according to the injury inflicted. I hold him a very Judas at best; and if he were to go straightway and hang himself, society would reckon his loss as an unlooked for and fortunate gain. My dear, as for me, I don’t dive very deeply into miscellaneous kissing, and consequently kiss but few; but when I do kiss, an explosion takes place which must convince all within hearing that it originates from the heart, and is meant in earnest. There was a time, in my schoolboy days, when I could extract the sweets of a kiss as calmly, composedly, and I may say as coldly as a bee sucks the honey from a hollyhock; but now I never undertake the business of bussing unless I go into it with a heart heated in the blaze of enthusiasm. A mother kisses her child; true lovers do the same to one another, and no evil consequences ensue; doves bill and coo, and they know no more about the practised arts of love than a man knows when he goes to sleep; but, oh! this kissing to gain some mean, mercenary, or unlawful end, ought never to be countenanced. To kiss in jest, as is often practised by chaps among the girls, is productive of no absolute harm or actual good yet the young men love to indulge in it; and so long as the amusement is innocent in itself, I have no objections to their gratifying their naughty but wicked propensities to their heart’s content. But they must be careful whom they kiss and how they kiss. Some girls will undergo the pleasurable punishment as quietly as a good-natured child submits to baptism by sprinkling—some twist and squirm like an eel while being skinned, and either return a smart slap in the face, or exercise no other defence by merely saying “Why ain’t you ashamed!” And then again, there are others whom it is as dangerous to attempt to kiss as it would be to attempt to break open the trunk of an elephant. Look out for this latter sort, for they have teeth like tigers and claws like a wild cat’s, and you must keep a respectful distance, or pay dearly for your rashness. Married men may greet one another with a holy kiss, but don’t kiss each other’s wives, lest the green-eyed monster haunt the blooming bowers of matrimony, and every beautiful blossom of connubial bliss be blighted in the frost-bringing breeze of jealousy. I want you, my dear, to kiss and get married; and then devote your time to the study of morality and money-making. Then let your home be provided with such comforts and necessaries as piety, pickles, potatoes, pots and kettles, brushes, brooms, benevolence, bread, charity, cheese, crackers, faith, flour, affection, cider, sincerity, onions, integrity, vinegar, virtue, wine, and wisdom. Have all these always on hand, and happiness will be with you. Eat moderately, go about business after breakfast, lounge a little after dinner, chat after tea, and kiss after quarrelling; and all the joy, the peace and the bliss the earth can afford shall be yours, till the grave closes over you, and your spirit is borne to a brighter and happier world. So may it be.

From yours—W. S.

J. Catnach, Printer, London.

WONDERFUL, JUST, & TERRIBLE JUDGMENT
ON A
BLASPHEMER,

As manifested to Mr Louis, a Farmer, between Brighton and Hastings, who, while in the act of blaspheming, was struck motionless, in which state he remained six weeks, with his account of the Horrors he endured while in his death-like Trance.

The following startling intelligence was received in London a few weeks ago (as many thousands can remember), from a very pious and Christian lady named Thompson, residing at a Training College in the vicinity of Brighton, Sussex, and which may be said to be one of the most awful visitations that ever befel any person. At a village between Brighton and Hastings, the farmers had been grumbling about the weather. A lady was passing a field in which Mr Louis, a farmer, was standing, remarked that his corn looked nice. “Yes,” he replid, “it would look nice, if God Almighty would sleep for six weeks,” and directly the man became stiff, and has remained in that position until Tuesday last, when, amidst a violent storm of wind and rain, he recovered the use of his faculties. It appears that the unfortunate man’s wife and friends had been assiduously watching him since August the 14th, and early on Tuesday morning, September the 25th, whilst a violent storm of wind and rain was raging, his limbs were observed to lose their rigid appearance, and his wife immediately ran to him, when, in a few moments he opened his eyes, looked around, and clasping his hands together, raised his eyes to Heaven, and exclaimed, “My God! my God; what have I done?” and immediately fell to the earth in a swoon. They raised him from the ground, and applied restoratives to him, and in a short time had the pleasure of seeing him come too, when they conveyed him home and put him to bed, and we are happy to say under the kind attention of his wife he rapidly recovered.

The unfortunate man states that when he went off in his death-like trance he had, for the first few days a perfect knowledge of all that was passing around him, and, oh! it was impossible to describe the horrible anguish that he experienced at the thought of standing in that position for ever (he says he never expected to be relieved from his awful position), as a warning to the unrighteous wicked blasphemer; then to hear the remarks of some of his Christian friends, many of whom had tried to persuade him to alter his evil course of life, but whom he had treated with scorn, was doubly terribly horrible. He says, that after he went off in a stupor, and had lost his sense and feeling, as far as regards this earth, he thought he was carried along by some unseen power, and alighted in a dark dismal barren looking region, where the smell of brimstone was almost suffocating, and the horrible noises that surrounded him was enough to drive any person mad. He was now carried along by the same unseen power till he came to a dark narrow passage, at the end of which a sight the most horrible met his view. There was an immense abyss in the earth which the eye could not command, which was filled with an immense number of human forms, all writhing and twisting amidst the horrors of liquid fire.

Now and then a troop of young demons could be seen putting some miserable wretch to horrible torture by tossing him about in the flames with forks, or picking the skin and toe nails from his body; the cries and shrieks of the miserable wretches were so heartrendering that he fell down in a swoon, and on coming to himself, he thought he was in a room at home, with a bible in his hand, when an angel appeared to him, and said, “What you have seen is the reward of unrighteousness and wicked blasphemers, and other sinners, and may this be a warning to you to alter your evil course.” He held a blazing torch in one hand, and a flaming torch in the other, and shook them as he departed. The unfortunate man shortly after began to return to a conscious state, and came to himself, as we have before stated.

He has been visited by a number of religious people, and is quite an altered man. He reads his bible, and is extremely happy in the company of an elderly Divine, who reads and explains the holy book to him. He has expressed himself ready to give lectures when he has thoroughly recovered.

It is a shocking thing when we come to contemplate on it, that a man, who was in an independant station of life, should, for the sake of gaining a few more pounds out of an acre or two of land, make use of such an impious expression. It is not as if he would give any share of the abundance to the poor and needy, but it was a selfish sordid spirit that the man possessed, prompted by the workings of the evil one; and, now we can see, that the Almighty, although invisible to the human eye can see and hear, and know our most inmost thoughts, and punishes us at a moment when we least expect it, and in a manner that we should never think of. We must not forget the punishment of Lot’s wife, mentioned in the bible, who, for disobeying the instructions of the Lord, was turned into a pillar of salt. Let us hope this will be a warning to all persons against blaspheming.

Lines written by the unhappy Sinner since his release.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

STRANGE WARNING

TO A

REPROBATE PUBLICAN.

In Bethnal-Green, and near the school house, there is a public-house known by the name of the Gibraltar, which was long kept by one John Harris, a native of Birmingham, and silver plater by trade. This man for many years, encouraged by his great success in business, led a very irregular life, insomuch that he lost his trade in the public-house, and getting into a disorderly way entirely, the parish officers and justice refused to renew his license, and for a whole year he was fain to keep his house close. During this interval, having dismissed his servants, and his wife having left him for some words which had happened, as he sat by the parlour fire, it being the winter time, he heard the bar bell ring, which made him wonder much, knowing there was nobody in the house but himself. At first he paid but little attention, but upon hearing it distinctly a second time, he got up and went to the back door, suspecting some one had entered that way and was putting a trick upon him; but finding all safe, he returned to the fireside, wondering much at the oddness of the thing, when all of a sudden the bell fell a ringing again, though not in so quick a tone as before, but somewhat more regularly, as if the hand that pulled it held it for a while.

Disturbed at this extraordinary call, he got up, determined to discover the cause, and taking the poker in his hand, being the first thing he could lay hold on, he passed through the bar into the back room, where, to his great astonishment and terror, for he allowed that he was severely frightened, he beheld the figure of a good-looking female personage, dressed in brown, much like a Quaker, seated in a chair, between the two back windows, and leaning upon a long stick, which seemed to support her.

At first Mr Harris was too much affected to speak, for though very valiant and noisy in company, there was something about the figure before him which declared her not to be of this world: besides, his own conscience upbraided him with more evil than his memory could just then recollect. However, he summoned power enough to put the old foolish question, “what art thou?” and with that fell on his knees in a devout manner to pray. “What I am is not now my business to relate, but what you may hereafter become if you do not amend your life and manners; so get up man, and remember the warning voice of one from the dead. You have but a few years to live, make the most of your time, and train up your daughter Phœbe in a good way, and keep her from such and such company, or she will die young, violently, and by the force of justice. Consider her life is just now in your hands, a little time will place it out of your power to reverse the evil that awaits her.—Remember this, and live accordingly.”—With this she seemed to strike the ground with her stick and immediately disappeared, leaving Mr Harris much astonished at what he had both heard and seen, and only lamenting that he had no witness to the truth of this accident.

Be it as it will, it produced a wonderful alteration in him for the best; and though his former companions laughed at him for becoming a methodist, he ever after adhered to the paths of prudence and sobriety, and remained a very orderly and sober man, and from his invariable relation of this matter we have no doubt of its truth.

The prediction with respect to his daughter Phœbe was too fatally accomplished a few years since, she being burnt for treason as it is called, that is, for counterfeiting the current coin called a shilling.

APPARITION OF A GHOST
TO A MILLER,
TO DISCOVER
A HIDDEN MURDER.

About the year of our Lord, 18—, near unto Chester-in-the-Street, there lived one Walker, a yeoman of good estate, and a widower who had a young woman to his kinswoman that kept his house, who was by the neighbours suspected to be with child; and was towards the dark of the evening one night sent away with one Mark Sharp, who was a collier, or one that digged coals under ground, and one that had been born in Blackburn-Hundred, in Lancashire: and so she was not heard of a long time, and little or no noise was made about it. In the winter time after, one James Graham, or Grime, (for so in that country they called him) being a miller, and living about two miles from the place where Walker lived, was one night alone very late in the mill grinding corn; and at about twelve or one o’clock at night he came down stairs, having been putting corn in the hopper, the mill doors being fast shut, there stood a woman upon the midst of the floor with her hair about her head hanging down all bloody, with five large wounds on her head. He being much affrighted and amazed, began to bless himself, and at last asked her who she was, and what she wanted? To which she said, “I am the spirit of such a woman, who lived with Walker; and being got with child by him, he promised to send me to a private place, where I should be well looked to, until I was brought to bed, and well again, and then I should come again and keep his house.” “And accordingly,” said the apparition, “I was one night late sent away with one Mark Sharp, who, upon a moor (naming a place the miller knew) slew me with a pick (such as men dig coals withal) and gave me these five wounds, and after threw my body into a coal pit hard by, and hid the pick under a bank: and his shoes and stockings being bloody he endeavoured to wash them, but seeing the blood would not wash out, he hid them there.” And the apparition further told the miller that he must be the man to reveal it, or else she must still appear and haunt him. The miller returned home very sad and heavy, but spoke not one word of what he had seen, but eschewed as much at he could to stay in the mill within night without company, thinking thereby to escape the seeing again of that frightful apparition.

But notwithstanding, one night when it began to be dark, the apparition met him again, and seemed very fierce and cruel, and threatened him, that if he did not reveal the murder, she would continually pursue and haunt him. Yet for all this, he still concealed it until St. Thomas’ Eve, before Christmas, when, being after sunset, walking in his garden, she appeared again and then so threatened and affrighted him, that he faithfully promised to reveal it next morning.

In the morning he went to a magistrate, and made the whole matter known, with all the circumstances; and diligent search being made the body was found in a coal pit, with five wounds in the head, and the pick and shoes, and stockings yet bloody, in every circumstances as the apparition had related unto the miller: whereupon Walker and Mark Sharpe were both apprehended, but would confess nothing. At the assizes following they were arraigned, found guilty, condemned, and executed, but we could never hear that they confessed the fact. There were some who reported that the apparition did appear to the Judge, or foreman of the jury (who was alive at Chester-in-the-Street, about ten years ago), as we have been credibly informed.

PARTICULARS
Of a Singular and Curious Circumstance
Which took place at the House of a well known
FORTUNE TELLER,
With the strange appearance that was witnessed,

Last night the following curious circumstance took place in a house in this neighbourhood, which occasioned a great deal of merriment. Six young women, whose names are as follows:—Jane Trustsoot, Ann Dingle, Mary Prause, Priscilla Richards, Harriett Pridhame, and Mary Twining, having previously agreed together, went to the residence of a notorious fortune teller about nine o’clock, to dive into the history of their future destiny, or if possible, to gain information respecting their intended husbands or future sweethearts. On entering his apartment, the timid girls became rather abashed, but after some words had passed between them, this famous cutter of cards began his curious ceremony.

First consulting his oracle, which consists of an old book written in unintelligible characters, he took an old pack of cards which he shuffled several times, and placed them in a form of a circle, and again consulted his oracle, he then related unto them their destiny. The enquiring girls wished to know if he could not tell the names of their sweethearts; he answered in the affirmative, and said, if they would give him 2s. 6d. each, he would bring them into the room; the girls said they had not so much, and he told them to raise what they could, which amounted in all to 3s. 6d. They were then placed in a ring, and the old man began muttering some words and shuffling his cards, when three loud knocks were heard at the door. The sounds appeared to proceed from the staircase. Shortly after the knocking had ceased, the door slowly opened, and the figure of a tall man with an unnatural cast of countenance entered the room and took a seat opposite the affrighted maids. The appearance had a white ghastly head, and was dressed in the style of a cavalier of the time of Charles II; but what was most remarkable, the body was a mere shadow, it was a thing of vapour, for the back of the chair was plainly discernible through it. It raised its hand three times in a menacing attitude, three times at the young women, which so alarmed them, that they all commenced screaming and wildly ran from the room—the house was aroused—the police was called in—but no trace of the apparition was visible, unless a curious odour which perfumed the apartment might be considered so.

Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

FORTUNE TELLING
AND ITS RESULTS.

A True and Remarkable Account of a most Extraordinary Occurrence that took place
IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

A most remarkable and curious circumstance that took place last night at a well-known house in this town, kept by a person of the name of Sarah Smith, a well-known fortune teller.

A party of six young females agreed to go to the house of the above-mentioned woman and have their fortunes told. On their arrival at the house not one of them could be found courageous enough to lead the way in; at length one (Emma Logo) more bold than the rest lifted up the latch and walked in, of course followed by her companions. On entering, the first thing that met their gaze was the old hag, seated on a three-legged stool by the fire, with six black cats lying on the hearth by her side.

The young damsels blushingly told their desire to know the names of their future husbands, also numerous other questions, to which the old hag readily complied.

After listening with great attention to the falsehoods and impossibilities told by this wicked old woman, they said they were desirous of seeing and knowing the men who were to be their partners in the great battle of life, asking her if it was possible, to which she replied, nothing was impossible to her.

Emma Logo was the first to know her future husband, whose name was Henry ——. Mary Palmer was the second, whose intended husband’s name was George ——. The third was Jane —— (our readers must pardon us for the omission of her surname, as were it to be known it would be the ruin of her and her family), Harry —— was the husband of Eliza Smith; and last, but not least, was Emma All, but to whom the fortune-teller would not tell her future husband’s name, the only clue that she gave her was, that he was a very dark man and always laughing and never out of temper (?)

The poor deluded young females were on the point of leaving, when all of a sudden a most terrific and unearthly noise was heard at the door; at the same time there was seen a gigantic figure with head, legs, and a tail of the most enormous size; it had eyes like flames of living fire, and from its mouth proceeded forth dense volumes of smoke, completely filling the house; the smell of sulphur was so great that for hours after the visitation it was found impossible to dispel the suffocating fumes which remained; the terror of the party may be better imagined than described, and who with the old hag as their leader set up some most dreadful shrieks, completely rousing the whole neighbourhood. Some of the neighbours rushed to the house from whence the shrieks proceeded, and found the furniture in the greatest disorder, the cards spread all over the room, and the six black cats were altogether on the top of the house.

The foregoing is a statement made by one of the young women, and is published as a warning to ALL young females not to believe in such silly and superstitious nonsense, nor encourage those wicked old hags who prey upon the thoughtless and ignorant. It is all the devil’s work; and it frequently happens that servant girls are induced to rob their masters and mistresses through the agency of these pests of society. Beware! girls, beware! spurn all who attempt to lead you astray; do not be deceived, but look on fortune-telling as a delusion and a snare.

H. Such, Printer.

Strange and Wonderful
Account of the
REV. JOHN MILLER,
MINISTER,
OF THE
CITY OF BATH,
WHO REMAINED IN
A TRANCE
For Four Days and Nights,

Also the Mysterious Sights he witnessed, and the Prophecies he related that are to take place.

COPIED FROM THE “BRISTOL MERCURY.”

In laying the following interesting and mysterious case before our readers, we vouch for its authenticity, and considering the good results that are likely to follow from the examination of the circumstances, we at once proceed with the details.

NARRATIVE.

The Rev. John Miller has been engaged in the ministry since the year 1841. He is a man most remarkable for his piety, of a mild and gentle disposition, and very kind to the poor. In the pulpit he was eloquent; his language forcible and persuasive. He is indeed a good man, a powerful preacher, and of unsullied reputation. Since the beginning of the present year he has been in a bad state of health, and during the past month he grew worse, and on the 14th, whilst his beloved wife and children were standing round his bed, he fell into a kind of a doze, and gradually became cold and rigid. Dr. Truscott was immediately sent for, who on his arrival pronounced him dead. His sorrowing family were removed from the room, and the usual preparations made for laying out the body. Mrs. Miller, having expressed a wish to have his portrait painted after he was placed in the coffin, a young lady artist was soon in attendance for that purpose, and was busily engaged at her unpleasant task until the third day, and while looking intently on the pallid features of the deceased, previous to giving a finishing stroke to the picture, she perceived a movement of the eye lashes, and in a moment the reverend gentleman opened his eyes and said to the young lady, “Who are you?” The fair young artist, instead of fainting, took instant measures to complete the restoration of her subject. A medical gentleman was again called, and in less than an hour the supposed deceased became so far recovered as to be able to sit up in bed and converse with his now rejoicing family and friends.

On the following day he sent for the Rev. J. Ransom, his colleague in the ministry, Mr Henry Lewis, a member of his congregation, and before these gentlemen he made the following disclosures relating to what he had seen during the time he was in a trance. The account was taken from Mr Polkinghorne. The following is verbatim from the original copy.

“When I first fell into that state I was fully aware that I was supposed to be dead, and could hear my wife and children crying, and the remarks made by Dr. Truscott. I attempted to speak, but could not move a single muscle. The fear of being buried alive terrified me and filled me with such agonies of mind that I gradually became unconscious of all earthly things. How long I continued in this state I know not, but I felt like one awakening from sleep when I was borne away by an unseen power to the place of the damned. To attempt to describe what I saw is utterly impossible: no tongue can convey any idea of such a place. At that moment an hideous fiend was about to grasp me in his arms, when an angel appeared at my side and whispered with a kind and heavenly voice, ‘Be not afraid, he has no power on the righteous; this is not your place, let us go!’ I thought I was then conveyed on angels’ wings to the abode of the blessed, and to enjoy such a sight again would be worth an eternity of years in this world. I was surrounded suddenly with a glorious light, the exceeding brightness thereof was such a sight I had never before seen, and saw such things it is impossible to represent, and heard such ravishing melodious harmony as I can never utter, and I saw innumerable bright attendants, who welcomed me into the blissful seat of happiness, having in all their countenances an air of perfect joy, and of the highest satisfaction.

The ineffable Deity exalted on the high throne of his glory, receiving the adoration of myriads of angels and saints, who were singing eternal Hallelujahs and praise to him. (Well may he be called the Glory of God, for by his glorious presence Heaven is made what it is). Amongst the saints I discovered good old Wesley, Whitfield, and many others, some of whom belonged to this Town. After I had witnessed these things my heavenly guide told me that I must remain an inhabitant of this world for several years to come, as the work I had to do was not yet accomplished, and proclaim throughout the land that unless the people repent of their sins and abominations, evil shall come upon them both in the town and hamlets, for there shall be wars, rumours of wars, pestilence and famine, many great men shall fall by the sword, and whole armies shall be cut off in a short time, but peace shall be established in the nations that fear the Lord, and the fruits of the earth shall be multiplied exceedingly, praise and thanksgiving shall be heard in every house on the Sabbath; but until the source of evil is removed,—go, warn the people, that they perish not.’ With these words he left me, and I found myself in darkness, and gradually regained my senses. When I awoke and saw Miss Hall gazing on me,—and you know the rest.”

Those who listened to these statements corroborated the same by adding their names to the document as follows:—

JOHN RANSOM, Minister.

HENRY LEWIS, Draper.

ROBERT POLIGNENOR, Tutor.

J. TRUSCOTT, M.D.

Re-printed by H. Such, 177, Union Street, Borough, London.

THE FEMALE SLEEP-WALKER.

An Affair which happened in this Neighbourhood.

LONDON:—H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Borough.—S.E.

A young gentleman, going to the house of a very worthy gentleman, to whom he had the honour to be related—it happened that the gentleman’s house at that time was quite full, by reason of a kinswoman’s wedding that had been lately kept there—he therefore told the young gentleman that he was very glad to see him, and that he was very welcome to him; “but,” said he, “I know not what I shall do for a lodging for you, for my cousin’s marriage has not left me a room free but one, and that is haunted; you shall have a good bed and all other accommodations.”

“Sir,” replied the young gentleman, “you will very much oblige me in letting me lie there, for I have often coveted to be in a place that is haunted.”

The gentleman, very glad that his kinsman was so well pleased with his accommodation, ordered the chamber to be got ready and a good fire to be made to air it. When bed time came, the young gentleman was conducted up to his chamber, which, besides a good fire, was furnished with all suitable accommodations; and having recommended himself to the Divine protection, he retired to bed, where having laid some time awake, and finding no disturbance, he fell asleep; out of which he was awakened about three o’clock in the morning, by the opening of the chamber door, and the coming in of somebody in the appearance of a young woman, having a night dress on her head, and only her smock on; but he had no perfect view of her, for his candle was burnt out; and though there was a fire in the room, yet it gave not light enough to see her distinctly. But this unknown visitant going to the chimney, took the poker and stirred up the fire, and by the flaming light thereof he could discern the appearance of a young gentlewoman more distinctly; but whether it was flesh and blood, or an airy phantom, he knew not. This lovely apparition, having stood some time before the fire, as if to warm herself, at last walked two or three times about the room, and then came to the bedside, where having stood a little while, she turned down the bed clothes and got into bed, pulling the bed clothes upon her, and lay very quiet. The young gentleman was a little startled at this unknown bedfellow, and on her approach laid on the further side of the bed, not knowing whether he had best rise or not. At last, by lying very still, he perceived his bedfellow to breathe, by which, guessing her to be flesh and blood, he drew nearer to her, and taking her by the hand, found it warm, and that it was no airy phantom, but substantial flesh and blood; and finding she had a ring on her finger, he took it off unperceived. The gentlewoman being still asleep, he let her lie without disturbing her or doing anything else than only laying his hand upon her to discover of what sex she was, which he had just time to do, when she threw off the bed clothes, and getting up, walked three or four times round the room, as she had done before, and then, standing awhile before the door, opened it, went out, and shut it after her. The young gentleman percieving by this in what manner the room was haunted, rose up and locked the door on the inside, and then laid down again, and slept till morning, at which time the master of the house came to know how he did, and whether he had seen anything or not. He told him there was an apparition appeared to him, but he begged as a favour that he would not urge him to say anything further until the family were altogether. The gentleman complied with his request, telling him, so long as he was well he was satisfied.

The desire the whole family had to know the issue of this affair, made them dress with more expedition than usual, so that there was a general assembly of the gentlemen and ladies before eleven o’clock, not one of them being willing to appear in her dishabille. When they were all together in the great hall, the young gentleman told them that he had one favour to desire of the ladies before he would say anything, and that was, whether any of them had lost a ring. The young gentlewoman, from whose finger it was taken, having missed it all the morning, and not knowing how she lost it, was glad to hear of it again, and readily owned she wanted a ring, but whether lost or mislaid, she knew not. The young gentleman asked her if that was it, giving it into her hand; which she acknowledging to be hers, and thanking him, he turned to his kinsman, the master of the house:—

“Now, sir,” said he, “I can assure you,” taking the young lady by the hand “this is the lovely spirit by which your chamber is haunted,” and thereupon repeated what has been related.

Words cannot express the confusion of the young lady at this relation, who declared herself perfectly ignorant of all that he said; but believed it might be so because of the ring, which she perfectly well remembered she had on when she went to bed, and knew not how she had lost it. This relation gave the company a great deal diversion; and after all the father declared, that since his daughter had already gone to bed to his kinsman, it should be his fault if he did not go to bed to his daughter, he being willing to bestow her upon him, and give her a good portion. This generous offer was so advantageous to the young gentleman, that he could by no means refuse it; and his bedfellow, hearing what her father had said, was easily prevailed upon to accept him for her husband.

A DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
DEATH AND A SINNER.

COMPOSED BY A SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHER.

H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Boro’—S.E.

THE RAILWAY TO HEAVEN.

This Line runs from Calvary through this vain world and the Valley of the Shadow of Death, until it lands in the Kingdom of Heaven.

LONDON:- H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Boro’.—S.E.

RAILROAD TO HELL,
FROM DISSIPATION TO POVERTY,
AND
FROM POVERTY TO DESPERATION.

This Line begins in the Brewery, and runs through all Public-houses, Dram-shops, and Jerry-shops, in a zigzag direction, until it lands in the Kingdom of Hell.

LONDON:- T. Such, Printer, Union street, Boro.’

PRETTY MAIDENS BEWARE!
A LOVE LETTER from SARAH to CHARLES.

The following epistle was written by a girl at Deal to her sweetheart, a sailor on board a man of war in the Downs. The lieutenant of the ship found it on board, twisted up with tobacco in it, by which it seems our seafaring spark had as little regard for his mistress, after enjoyment, as if he had been of a more illustrious rank.

Lovin Der Charls,

This mi kind love to yow is to tell yow, after all owr sport and fon, I am lik to pay fort, for I am with child; and wors of al, my sister Nan knos it, and cals me hore and bech, and is redy to ter my sol owt, and curs Jack Peny lies with her evry tim he cums ashor; and the saci dog wold have lade with me to, but I wold not let him, for I wil be always honest to yow; therfor der Charls com ashor, and let us be mared to safe my vartu: and if yow have no munni, I will paun my new stais and sel mi to new smoks yow gave me, and that will pay the parsen and find us a diner; and pray der lovin Charls cum ashor, and der Charls dont be frad for wont of a ring, for I have stole mi sister Nans, and the nasty tod shall never have it no mor; for she tels abot that I am goin to have a bastard, and God bles yowr lovin sol cum sune, for I longs to be mared accordin to yowr promis, and I will be yowr der vartus wife til deth,

Sarah Johnson.

Feb 19th.

P.S.—Pray dont let yowr mesmat Jack se this, if yow do hel tel owr Nan, and shel ter mi hart owt then, for shes a devil at me now.

A Poetical Version of the foregoing.

Printed by John Andrews, Portsmouth.

THE VERY PRETTY MAID OF THIS TOWN,
AND THE
AMOROUS ’SQUIRE,
NOT ONE HUNDRED MILES FROM THE PLACE.

“I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire, but qualify the fire’s extreme rage, lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.”—Shakespeare.

Printed by W. H. Tickle, at his General Printing Office, Croydon, Surrey.—An extensive assortment of Songs, Recitations, Shop Window Bills, &c.—Printing of every description readily performed cheap as in London.

THE FULL PARTICULARS
OF
“TAKING OFF”
PRINCE ALBERT’S INEXPESSIBLES.
IN THE BOROUGH COURT OF REQUESTS.—THIS DAY.

Had that love-sick young lady, Miss Juliet, lived in these unromantic, matter o’ fact times, when puffery and humbug lead men on to fame and fortune, instead of integrity, honesty and fair dealing,—when ignorant and worthless foreign quacks are fostered and encouraged, and native merit and native talent left to starve,—she would certainly have become duly impressed with the importance of a “name.” “The Queen’s name is a tower of strength,” and so think the enterprising commercial geniuses of the present day, inasmuch as the patronymic of our gracious Sovereign is applied to all imaginable purposes. We have Victoria washing tubs, mouse-traps, and mustard-pots, and Albert toasting-forks, shaving-brushes, and dung-barges, and last, though by no means least, “Albert inexpressibles.” However, as the young lady alluded to above says, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Timothy Shaw, a bandy-legged “ninth part,” with a mouth sufficiently capacious to admit the largest cabbage that ever flourished in field or garden, summoned a knowing-looking specimen of the genus homo, named Gilpin, before the commissioners, for the sum of 7s, for work and labour performed in the manufacture of a certain pair of “kicksies,” for the wear of a certain Mr Gilpin.

The defendant, an “artful card,” was described by the plaintiff as a “’buss cove out of luck,” that is, he had been in the habit of doing the amiable at the door of a Walworth omnibus, but had lost his place. The tailor, having blown his nose in that peculiar and primitive manner which gave rise to a certain riddle tending to show that the poor man often throws away what the rich man puts in his pocket, proceeded to “open his case” as follows:—“Please yer vorship, I’m a tailor by trade.” And here we must slightly digress to remark that a disciple of the bodkin and shears, upon being asked to describe himself, invariably says, “I’m a tailor by trade.” A celebrated author is of opinion, that this is to prevent his being considered a tailor by nature. “I’m a tailor by trade,” said the plaintiff, “and von’t turn my back on the best vorkman in the wicinity of Tooley street for a slap up fit in the first stile of fashion, ’cause I regularly takes a trip to the vest-end to pick ’em up. Twigged the ‘Prince’ t’other day with a new pair of trousers on,—had the cut on ’em all right in the turn of a bodkin.”

Commissioner: Really you must be a very clever person to “take off” the Prince’s inexpressibles so very expeditiously.—Plaintiff: Beg pardon, yer vorship, but I vouldn’t be guilty of any sich indelicate hact, as to “take off” anybody’s breeches.

The Commissioner finding that “snip” had the laugh on his own side, adjustedhis wig, and requested him to keep to the question.—Tailor: So I do, yer vorship; I’ll swear I never tuck not nobody’s breeches off but me own.

Commissioner: Well, what have you to say about Prince Albert? I suppose he wears his clothes like other people?—Tailor: Ah! that’s all a mistake, ’cause I’ve heerd that some knowing Jarman has hinwented new fashioned unmentionables, wot all—

Commissioner: There, there, we don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. What have you got to say against the defendant?—Plaintiff: Vy, my lord, it’s “a plain unwarnished tale.” Master Gilpin steers himself into my shop, and ses to me, “Tim, old feller, I vant you to make me a hout-and-hout pair of kicksies, ’cause I vonts to show off a bit at Court in ’em.” In course, me lord, I vos regularly flabbergasted to hear a kiddy as vos only a “buss cove” talk in sich a way, but it soon comed out as he vos a going to lodge in Pennyvinkle-court, vich is close in our neighbourwood, me lord; and then he said he vos a goin to be married. “Poor devil,” ses I, “you’re a goin to tie a knot as I should be werry glad to untie.” As bad luck ’ud have it, my old woman heard me, and didn’t I cotch it nicely.

Commissioner: Well, did you make him any trousers after all?—Plaintiff: Oh! yes; and arter altering ’em three times the warmint would’nt pay a farden.

Commissioner: What did he complain of?—Plaintiff: ’Cause they didn’t fit tight to his legs, though I told him it warn’t the fashion.

The Commissioner told the defendant that he was ready to hear anything that he might have to say about the matter.—Defendant: I was fool enough to let this old spooney have some cloth to make a pair of trousers, and when I came to try them on, I found them so tight at the top that I couldn’t button them, and the legs were large enough to have admitted my whole body. He pretended to alter them—they were worse than before.—Plaintiff: I made them in the “Albert style,” yer vorship, so that shows the wagabone’s bad taste.—Defendant: If Prince Albert ever wore sich a pair of kicksies as them I’ll eat my hat.

Commissioner: How much are you willing to allow him for his trouble?—Defendant: Not the ghost of a mag; why should I?—ar’n’ he spoiled my breeches?—Plaintiff: Some people as is werry ugly, thinks the tailor ought to make ’em look handsome. Now, my lord, ’cause this pig-headed hobgoblin didn’t look a regular cock wenus in the breeches, he lays it all to me.

Commissioner: Now if you had contented yourself with making him look like a “buss cove,” as you describe him, instead of trying to Albertise him, you would, in all probability, have given satisfaction. You should never try to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.—Plaintiff: That’s very true. It is labour in wain to try to make a gemman out of sich a wulgar blackguard.—Defendant: Keep a civil tongue in your head, old bandy legs.—Plaintiff: Take a fit, young gallus. You arn’t no sich a cock wenus, pug-nose, arter all.

Commissioner: We cannot allow this. The defendant will pay 5s and the costs.

Printed by the Royal Authority of Messrs March Winds and April Showers.

BATTLE OF PEA SOUP,
FOUGHT ON THE
FIFTY-TWELFTH DAY OF ROTTENSTICKS

This memorable battle took place on the Ocean of Sprats, situated on the Continent of Green Peas, within half a mile of a Donkey; where Bobby the Ratcatcher swallowed the Monument, and the poor old soldier was killed by being drowned in a bog of buttermilk: such an unseasonable battle was never known before.

It took place on the Fifty-twelfth day, on London Bridge, between 15 and 160 o’clock in the night.

Arthur Mc Kelly’s nose was knocked into eighteen thousand pieces and converted into a cheese knife, and sold in Plum pudding court, going up to Christmas on the top side of little Bobby the Ratcatcher; the regiment was commanded by General Pigsfry, and Colonel Beefsteak, the bone polisher, who lived one thousand and ninety-nine miles beyond mutton chops, in the parish of Blackberry pudding, a robust strong man, well fed upon marrow bones, and Darby O’Daud, Judy Saggin’s son, was mortally wounded, his second hand coat that was made and mended by Patrick Mc Patch, three calendar months beyond the city of Cork. The back buttons were turned before, and a mail coach could have gone through the button holes, the sleeves were massacred and murdered, his waistcoat suddenly took fright, jumped aside off his back, and tumbled into the trap of great Calamity, which was fixed within a quarter of an inch of bad luck. This made him roar out “potatoes” loud enough to be heard sixteen hundred miles beyond Buttermilk, and Selim O’Blunder, the second son of Teddy Humbug, a son to Mr. Nonsense, was terribly wounded in the understanding by the frightful appearance of the blade of a slug, his remembrance was knocked against the corner of his consideration, which capsized his wisdom out of his Knowledge. His ability was rocking in the cradle of Lamentation, which was fixed between joy and sorrow, where Lamentation fell asleep, and Billy Riley received three dreadful wounds—both his elbows were put out of joint, the shin bones of his knee breeches were transmogrified into a woolpack, and his stockings were made to rue the day his legs were born. Billy Gobbles, the dish licker’s son, was accidentally wounded in different parts, first in his constitution, and then in his feelings. After which a piece of plum pudding stuck in the stomach and knocked his appetite asunder, and the sons of buttermilk were all put to the rout, and never stopped till they went and rode the bull, and started off to the land of potatoes, where buttermilk is sold by the yard—to plaster their wounds with potatoes, and the humbugging hospitals of both nations in Dublin is filled with all the buttermilk sons that were killed and wounded in this terrible battle of Pea Soup.

There is one hundred and forty-ten thousand nine hundred and sixty-twelve pounds reward for whoever will give the least information of the author of this battle. The money to be paid down to the informant by Mr Jack Neverfind, who lives at the top of Toleration street, three doors below the bottom, near the corner of Humbug lane, in the days of Tantonybobus, when Adam will be a young man, three hundred and sixty-five miles beyond the remembrance of the Antediluvians, in the reign of our Lord and Sovereign, Queen Richard, by the grace of Candlesticks, Queen of Potwollopers, such as velveteen plum puddings, calico dumplings, and leather apple pies.

The Full & True Particulars

OF THE GREATEST

OLD

IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

It is pretty well known among the circle of his acquaintances, and the townspeople generally, that Mr ——, the old established and highly respectable tradesman of THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD is much addicted to wenching, and that he is known to nearly every boy and girl in the town, big or little, as the “Old Ram,” or “Billy Goat.” And it is also well-known that his wife, who is as nice and amiable a little body as ever laid on a husband’s shirt-tail—can never keep a maid-servant with a tolerable agreeable face, but he is sure to be in pursuit of her; and only this year they have had in their service Mary Carter, Jane Baker, Martha Price, Jemima Smith, Harrietta Johnson, Sarah Tompkins, and Betsy Rogers, all of whom have left at a short notice in consequence of the rumbustiousness of Mr ——. A few weeks ago Mrs —— engaged with a very pretty girl named Fanny H——, but no sooner did “The Old Ram” behold her than he was smitten with her charms, considering her as a domestic treasure, of which, he flattered himself, he should soon be possessed. Accordingly, Mr —— took every opportunity in the absence of her mistress to say civil things, which so tormented the girl, that she soon gave her mistress warning. Mrs ——, the tradesman’s wife, having taken a great liking to this servant, was very sorry to part with her, offered to increase her wages, and diminish her labour; but these kind overtures had no effect, the young woman saying it was impossible for her to stay. This peremptory declaration excited Mrs ——’s curiosity to know what could give the girl so great a disgust of the place, when, upon being interrogated closely upon the subject, she replied, “Why then, Madam, to tell the truth, my master teazes me so much in your absence that I have no comfort of my life. I would not mind, continued the girl, if he was a handsome and a young man, but to be tormented by such an ugly fellow is insupportable.” “An ugly fellow! resumed Mrs ——, with great warmth,—what, call my husband an ugly fellow? Get out of the house this instant, you jade,”—then stamping her foot in great rage, she immediately discharged the girl.

Printed by J. Pitts, Wholesale Toy Warehouse, Great St Andrew Street, Seven Dials.

THE WONDERFUL
Adventures of Mr. O’Flynn in Search
OF
OLD MOTHER CLIFTON.

Understanding that old Mother Clifton’s house was blown away 366 miles above the moon, I went in search of her. I was searching nine days, running hard as I could with my two shin bones in my pocket, and my head under my arm, by order of Old Joe Buck, the Pensioner, who lost his middle eye at the Battle of Waterloo, chewing half-boiled stirabout. I then got upon a buck-flea’s back, which carried me over large hills of skilligalee and bog holes of buttermilk, till I met Jarvis the coachmaker driving two dead horses under an empty post-chaise loaded with 18 milliners, 2 tambour workers, 5 loads of apples, a roasted milestone, and half-a-dozen grenadier cock magpies, belonging to the French flying artillery, drinking tea till they were black in the face. I asked Mr Jarvis did he get any account of the Old Woman of Ratcliffe Highway, who was drowned in a shower of feathers last night about three weeks ago, and he told me he had got no account of her whatever, but if I went to John Ironsides I’d get some intelligence, and where John Ironsides lived he told me was two miles beyond all parts of the parish, up and down a street where a mad dog bit a hatchet next week, and pigs wrestle for stirabout: I thanked him for his information and bid him good night. I than began to run as fast as I could sit down by the side of a ditch with my two shin bones and my head in my pocket, till I met a gentleman with the custom-house of Dublin on his back, the Manchester exchange in his pocket, and Lord Nelson’s pillar in London stuck in his eye for a walking-stick. The Lord help you, poor man, said I, I am sorry for you, and the devil skewer you, why had you no better luck? I asked him what was the matter, and he told me he was bad with the gravel in his eye, the daddy grumble in his guts, and the worm cholic in his toe. I then put him into a coach and drove him into a druggist’s shop and ordered him two pennyworth of pigeon’s milk, three ounces of the blood of a grasshopper, a pint of self basting, the head and pluck of a buck flea, the ribs of a roasted chew of tobacco, and the lights and liver of a cobbler’s lapstone, boiled separately altogether in a leather iron pot.

Immediately after taking the mixture he was delivered of a pair of blacksmith’s bellows, and a small tomb-stone only a ton weight. Then proceeding on to Johnny Gooal’s house, said I to him, John, did you get any account of Mother Clifton’s house, that was blown 366 miles above the moon by a gale of wind from a sow gelder’s horn. I got no account, says Johnny, only I wrote a letter to her to-morrow night, when I was snoring fast asleep with my eyes open, knowing her father to be a smith and farrier to a pack of wild geese, and her mother nurse to a nest of young monkies that was held in the said parish of Up-and-down, where pigs wrestle for stirabout; but John told me I should not go till I had dined with them; we then sat down, and what should be brought up but a dish of stewed paving stones,, well mixed with tho oil and ribs of a chew of tobacco, and two quarts of the blood of a lamplighter’s snuff-box. The next great wonder she showed me, she brought me into a fine garden and placed me by a cabbage-stalk, which only covered 52 acres of ground, and where I saw ten regiments of artillery firing a royal salute of 21 guns.

The next wonder she showed me was a big man standing upon a small table made of heath, dressed in a scarlet black cloak, who made a very great sermon, but a north country buck flea bit him in the pole of the neck, and made him roar murder. The next great wonder I saw was a small boy only a thousand years old, thrashing tobacco into peas, and one of the peas started through a wall eighteen feet thick, and killed a dead boy on the other side. Then there was the London privateer and the Channel royal mail coach in a desperate engagement; firing boiled oyster shells, stewed lapstones, and roasted wigs one at the other, one of the lapstones struck Mother Clifton over the right eye and delivered her of the old woman of Ratcliffe Highway, who was sister to Mother Clifton, who had nine rows of bees-wax teeth and a three cocked hat made of the right side of a crab’s nostril. I then took the Old Hag and made a short leap from Liverpool to Naas in the North of Ireland, where I saw a French frigate coming with Nelson’s monument on the top of her mainmast. So now to bring my story to an end this Old Woman and me stepped out of the vessel into the port-hole; I made my escape, but the Old Woman was always tipsy with drinking Chandler’s tobacco, so she sunk to the bottom, and if you go there you will find her making straw hats of deal boards.

London:—H. Such, Printer & Publisher, 177, Union-street, Borough, S.E., and sold at 83, White-cross-street, St. Luke’s.

SALE OF A WIFE
IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD—MRS. YOU-KNOW-WHO.

Come all you lads and lasses gay, and banish care and strife,—In the market-place, a mason did by auction sell his wife;—Thirteen shillings and a penny for the lady was the sum,—And to see the curious spree, some thousands soon did run;—In the market-place, I do declare, it’s true upon my life,—A mason did the other day, by auction sell his wife. This man and wife, good lack-a-day, did often disagree;—For she often pawned her husband’s clothes to go upon the spree. So he led her to the market, with a halter, I am told,—And there she was, so help my Bob, by public auction sold. When the auctioneer began the sale, a jolly farmer cried,—Here’s five and fourpence half-penny for the mason’s lushy bride; a tanner cried out seven and six, and then a butcher said,—I’ll give you ten and sevenpence, besides a bullock’s head. She’s going, cried the auctioneer, she’s going, upon my life;—Tinkers, coblers, sailors, will you buy a charming wife? Such fighting, scratching, tearing too, before no one did see;—Such roaring, bawling, swearing, O! blow me, it was a spree. At length a rum old cobler did give a dreadful bawl,—Here’s thirteen and a penny, with my lapstone and my awl. Thirteen and a penny, when down the hammer dropt,—With whiskers, apron, bustle, shawl, stays, petticoat, and——A lushy mason’s lady was this blooming damsel gay,—She did unto the hammer come upon a market day;—Bakers, butchers, masons, did bid for her, we hear,—While a lot of rum old women pitched into the auctioneer. Young men and maids did halloa, while married folks did sneer, They frightened the old cobler and knocked down the auctioneer. The cobler took the lady up just like a Scotchman’s pack, and the funny mason’s lady rode upon the cobler’s back. Some laughed till they bursted, while others were perplexed, But the cobler bristled up his wife with two big balls of wax; The cobler sat her on his knee, and joyfully did bawl,—While the lady knocked about the seat the lapstone and the awl. Then the mason he did sell his wife, as you shall understand, And thirteen and a penny was popt into his hand; he whistled and capered, for to banish care and strife,—He went into a gin-shop, singing, I have sold my wife; So the divorced mason he may go, to banish care and strife,—Unto the market place again and buy another wife. Now the cobler and the lady are both in a stall, While the cobler works the bristle, and the lady works the awl. And they upon the lapstone do so merry play together,—Singing, heel and toe, gee up, gee woe, big balls of wax and leather. And day and night in sweet delight, they banish care and strife,—the merry little cobler and his thirteen-shilling wife.

THE PERPETUAL ALMANACK,
OR
GENTLEMAN’S PRAYER BOOK.

Showing how one Richard Middleton was taken before the Mayor of the City he was in, for using cards in church during divine service; being a droll, merry, and humourous account of an odd affair that happened to a private soldier in the 6th Regiment of Foot.

The sergeant commanded his party to the church, and when the parson had ended his prayer, he took his text; and all them that had a Bible pulled it out to find the text, but this soldier had neither Bible, Almanack, nor Common Prayer book; but he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cards, and spread them before him as he sat. While the parson was preaching, he first kept looking at one card and then at another. The sergeant of the company saw him, and said, “Richard, put up your cards; for this is no place for them.” “Never mind that,” for you have no business with me here.”

“When the parson had ended his sermon, and all was over, the soldiers repaired to the church-yard, and the commanding officer gave the word of command to fall in, which they did. The sergeant of the city came and took the man prisoner. “Man, you are my prisoner,” said he. “Sir,” said the soldier, “What have I done that I am your prisoner?” “You have played a game of cards in the church.” “No,” said the soldier, “I have not play’d a game, for I only look’d at a pack.” “No matter for that, you are my prisoner.” “Where must we go,” said the soldier? “You must go before the mayor,” said the serjeant.

So he took him before the mayor; and when they came to the mayor’s house, he was at dinner. When he had dined, he came to them and said—“well serjeant, what do you want with me?” “I have brought a soldier before your honour, for playing at cards in the church.” “What! that soldier.” “Yes.” “Well, soldier, what have you to say for yourself?” “Much sir, I hope.” “Well and good, but if you have not you shall be punished the worst that ever man was.” “Sir,” said the soldier, “I have been five weeks upon the march, and have but little to subsist on, and am without either Bible, Almanack, or Common Prayer book, or anything but a pack of cards. I hope to satisfy your honor of the purity of my intention.”

Then the soldier pulled out of his pocket the pack of cards, which he spread before the mayor, and then began with the ace.

“When I see the ace,” said he, “it puts me in mind that there is one God only; and when I see the deuce, it puts me in mind of the Father and the Son; when I see the tray, it puts me in mind of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; When I see the four, it puts me in mind of the four Evangelists that preached the gospel, viz., Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; when I see the five, it puts me in mind of the five wise virgins that trimmed their lamps; there were ten, but five were foolish, who were shut out; when I see the six, it puts me in mind that in six days the Lord made Heaven and Earth; when I see the seven, it puts me in mind that the seventh day God rested from all the works which he had created and made, wherefore the Lord blessed the seventh day and hallowed it; when I see the eight, it puts me in mind of the eight righteous persons that were saved when God drowned the world, viz., Noah, his wife, three sons, and their wives; when I see the nine, it puts me in mind of nine lepers that were cleansed by our Saviour, there were ten, but nine never returned God thanks; when I see the ten, it puts me in mind of the ten commandments that God gave Moses on Mount Sinai on the two two tables of stone.

Here he took the knave and laid it aside.

“When I see the queen, it puts me in mind of the queen of Sheba, who came from the furthermost parts of the world to hear the wisdom of King Soloman, and who was as wise a woman as he was a man; for she brought fifty boys and fifty girls, all clothed in boys’ apparel, to show before King Solomon, for him to tell which were boys and which were girls; but he could not until he called for water for them to wash themselves; the girls washed up to their elbows, and the boys only up to their wrists, so King Solomon told by that. And also of Queen Victoria—The Queen of our Hearts—to pray for her. And when I see the King, it puts me in mind of the great King of heaven and earth, which is God Almighty.”

“Well,” said the mayor, “you have given a very good description of all the cards except one, which is lacking.” “Which is that?” said the soldier. “The Knave,” said the mayor. “Oh, I can give your honour a good description of that, if your honour won’t be angry. “No, I will not,” says the mayor, “if you will not term me the knave.”

“Well,” said the soldier, “the greatest that I know of is the serjeant of the city that brought me here.” “I don’t know,” said the mayor, “that he is the greatest knave, but I am sure he is the greatest fool.”

“I shall now show your honour how I use the cards as an Almanack.” “You certainly are a clever fellow,” said the mayor, “but I think you will have a hard matter to make that appear.”

“When I count how many spots there are in a pack of cards, I find there are three hundred and sixty-five, there are so many days in the year.”

“Stop,” said the mayor, “that’s a mistake.” “I grant it,” said the soldier, “but as I have never yet seen an almanack that was thoroughly correct in all points, it would have been impossible for me to imitate an almanack exactly, without, a mistake.” “Your observations are very correct,” said the mayor; “go on.” When I count how many cards there are in a pack, I find there are fifty-two; there are so many weeks in the year; when I count how many tricks there are in a pack, I find there are thirteen: there are so many lunar months in the year; there are four suits in the pack, which represent the four seasons of the year. You see, sir, that this pack of cards is a Bible, Almanack, Common Prayer book, and Pack of Cards to me.”

Then the mayor called for a loaf of bread, a piece of cheese, and a pot of good beer, and gave to the soldier a piece of money, bidding him to go about his business, saying he was the cleverest man he had ever seen.

Taylor, Printer, 92 and 93, Brick Lane, Spitalfields.

THE
FAR FAMED FAIRY TALE
OF
FENELLA.

A Famous Fish Factor Found himself Father of Five Fine Flirting Females, Fanny, Florence, Fernanda, Francesca, and Fenella. The First Four were Flattering, Flat Featured, Forbidden Faced, Freckled Frumps; Fretful, Flippant, Foolish, and Full of Fun. The Fisher Failed, and was Forced by Fickle Fortune to Forego his Footman, Forfeit his Forefather’s Fine Fields, and Find a Forlorn Farmhouse in a Forsaken Forest. The Four Fretful Females, Fond of Figuring at Feasts in Feathers and Fashionable Finery, Fumed at their Fugitive Father, Forsaken by Fulsome, Flattering Fortune hunters, who Followed them when Fish Flourished. Fenella Fondled her Father, Flavoured their Food, Forgot her Flattering Followers, and Frolickled in Frieze without Flounces. The Father, Finding himself Forced to Forage in Foreign parts For a Fortune, Found he could afford a Fairing to his Five Fondlings. The First Four were Fain to Foster their Frivolity with Fine Frills and Fans, Fit to Finish their Father’s Finances. Fenella, Fearful of Flooring him, Formed a Fancy For a Full Fresh Flower. Fate Favoured the Fish Factor For a Few days, when he Fell in with a Fog. His Faithful Filly’s Footsteps Faltered, and Food Failed. He Found himself in Front of a Fortified Fortress. Finding it Forsaken, and Feeling himself Feeble and Forlorn, with Feasting, he Fed upon the Fish, Flesh, and Fowl he Found, Fricasseed and Fried, and when Full, Fell Flat on his Face on the Floor. Fresh in the Forenoon he Forthwith Flew to the Fruitful Fields, and not Forgetting Fenella, he Filched a Fair Flower, when a Foul, Frightful, Fiendish Figure Flashed Forth. “Felonious Feller, Fingering my Flower, I’ll Finish you! Go! Say Farewell to your Fine Felicitious Family, and Face me in a Fortnight!” The Faint-hearted Fisher Fumed and Faltered, and Fast was Far in his Flight. His Five daughters Flew to Fall at his Feet, and Fervently Felicitate him. Frantically and Fluently he unfolded his Fate; Fenella, Forthwith Fortified by Filial Fondness, Followed her Father’s Footsteps, and Flung her Faultless Form at the Foot of the Frightful Figure, who Forgave the Father, and Fell Flat on his Face; For he had Fervently Fallen in a Fiery Fit of love For the Fair Fenella. He Feasted and Fostered her, till Fascinated by his Faithfulness, she Forgot the Ferocity of his Face, Form, and Feature, and Finally, Frankly, and Fondly Fixed Friday, the Fifth day of February For the affair to come off. There were present at the wedding, Fanny, Florence, Fernanda, Francesca, and the Fisher; there was Festivity, Fragrance, Finery, Fireworks, Fricaseed Frogs, Fritters, Fish, Flesh, Fowls, and Furmity, Frontinac, Flip, and Fare, Fit For the Fastidious, Fruit, Fuss, Flambeaux, and Flowers, Four Fat Fiddlers and Fifers, and the Frightful Form of the Fortunate and Frumpish Fiend Fell From him, and he Fell at Fenella’s Feet, a Fair Favoured, Fine, Frank Freeman of the Forest. Behold the Fruits of Filial affection!!

SECRETS,
FOR LADIES DURING COURTSHIP.

TEASING MADE EASY.

ADVICE TO LADIES.

HOW TO TEASE THE GENTLEMEN.

HOW TO GET A LOVER,

And a mass of Information on

LOVE, COURTSHIP, & MATRIMONY.

Let the lady, on some occasions, appear devotedly attached, and unusually fond, particularly at parting in the evening.—The next day, let her meet her lover with a frown of hatred, and repulse his advances with a look of ineffable scorn. If he dare to demand a reason for such conduct on her part (which he will hardly venture to do for some hours), let the reply be, “I am surprised, sir, YOU should think of addressing me, after what has past. Oh! I never!” This will SETTLE him for the rest of the day, during which time you can throw in a variety of sly HINTS, to make him COMFORTABLE, and cause him to wish that he had never been born. At parting, hold out your hand to him, coolly, and say, “Farewell, cruel man!” but deign no further favor. The next morning, if he call on you—which he certainly will,—relax somewhat of your austerity—burst out into tears, and throw yourself into his arms, sobbing as if your heart would break. This will produce a fine effect! He will accuse himself, inwardly, of a thousand faults he never committed, and acknowledge them for the sake of forgiveness, which you must gradually bestow.

Another very delightful method of teasing a man if he is very fond of you, is to propose taking a walk with some friends, and then after making yourself look “provokingly handsome,” accompany him to the door and then, apparently without design, take the arm of some gentleman of the party, then on your return, say, “I was so delighted with my walk! I did so enjoy myself; did not you, DEAR?” Repeat these and other doses during courtship, and if you be skilful you make him fit for a husband, and he will ever let you have your own way and do what you please.

THE
TRADESMAN’S
NEW HYMN.

FRIENDS,-It is with feelings of the deepest regret that we are at present compelled, for the support of ourselves and families, to offer you these few but simple verses to your notice, trusting that you will be pleased to purchase this paper, it being the only means left us at present, to support the tender thread of our existence and to keep us and our families from the utter starvation which at present surrounds us.

E. Jackson, Printer, 15, High Street, Stockport, & Sold by H. Such, 177, Union-st., Boro.’—S.E.

A COPY OF THE REGISTER
OF THE
MANOR OF DUNMOW,
Certifying the truth of the late
CLAIM OF A GAMMON OF BACON
By Thomas Shakeshaft, and his Wife Ann.

On the 20th of June, 1751.

The Court Baron of Mary Hallett, Widow, Lady of the said Manor, thus holden for the said Manor, on Thursday, the twentieth day of June, in the five and twentieth year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord George the Second, by the Grace of God of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, defender of the faith, and so forth; and in the year of our Lord, 1751. Before John Comyns, Esq.; Steward of the said Manor.

At this court it was found and presented by the homage aforesaid, that Thomas Shakeshaft, of Weathersficld, in the county of Essex, weaver, and Ann his wife, have been married for the space of seven years last past, and that by reason of their quiet, peaceable, tender, and loving cohabitation during all the said time: They are fit and qualified to be admitted by the court to receive the antient and accustomed oath whereby to entitle themselves to have the bacon of Dunmow delivered unto them, according to the custom of the said Manor.

Whereupon the said Thomas Shakeshaft, and Ann his wife being present here in court in their proper persons, humbly pray’d that they might be admitted to take the oath aforesaid: And thereupon the said steward, with the jury, suitors, and other officers of the court, proceeded with the usual solemnity to the antient and accustomed place for the administration of the oath, and delivering the bacon aforesaid (that is to say) to the great stones lying near the church door within the said Manor; where the said Thomas Shakeshaft, and Ann his wife, kneeling down on the said stones, the said steward did administer unto them the following oath (to wit)

Upon which a gammon of bacon was delivered to the said Thomas Shakeshaft, and Ann his wife, with the usual solemnity.

THE RENT DAY;
OR, BLACK MONDAY MORNING.

Well, Mrs. Longface, have you got any rent ready—let me see, there’s 5s. on the book, and 3s. this week makes 8s., now I have brought a receipt for the whole.—I am very sorry, sir, but I have no money till next week!—Next week! why your husband was drunk last Saturday night, and he earns 50s. a week, and can’t pay 3s, this won’t do; If I can’t get my rent I shall bring the bailiff on Monday morning, so I tell you what you have to trust to.

“Well, Mrs. Paywell, have you got any rent for me?—Yes, sir.—You are the best tenant I have got; let me see, 20s., here’s your receipt.—Stop, sir, before I pay you this money, you must send a bricklayer and a carpenter; there’s the top of the house wants repairing, the stairs are all to pieces, and the privy door is off, and I am desired by my husband not to pay you a farthing till you have put the whole in complete repair.—No. I won’t repair it at all, so if you don’t like it leave it.—Yes, but I am not agoing to give you 20s. When it rained the other night we were obliged to get up, and move the children into the middle of the room, and my husband and I were compelled to keep up all night with an umbrella over our heads to keep the rain off. I think if landlords were as fond of sending carpenters and bricklayers as they are of sending bailiffs, it would be more to their advantage.—But, Mrs Paywell, where’s your husband, I must speak to him about it.—Why, he’s at work, and he can’t afford to lose a day to wait on you, so as soon as you get the repairs done here’s your money.

Now, I’ll call on Mother Lushy. Well, my little girl, is your mother at home?—No, sir, she popped out as you popped in.—Has she left any rent for me?—Yes, sir, she has left 9d. in the teacup on the mantlepiece.—What, 9d. out of two months. Why your mother must think I’m a fool.—No, sir, mother says you’re an old rogue.—Well, tell her I shall send the broker.—She says you have broke her of the last 9d. she had.—Has your mother left any money in the teapot?—No, sir, there’s only a quartern of gin in it that mother was going to drink, but she went out in a hurry.—Ah, I suppose she knew I was coming.—Yes, Mrs. Longface told her the old rogue of a landlord was coming.

Well, Mrs Meek, have you got my rent ready this morning. Let me see, two weeks is 8s., and I’ll write you a receipt.—Sir, I am sorry, extremely sorry, very sorry, indeed, sir, but—if—Oh! hang your ifs and your buts, I suppose you mean to say that you have got no money for me?—No, sir, you seem quite out of temper this morning.—Temper! enough to make any man out of temper. I’ve been to a dozen houses, and can’t get no money. If I can’t get the rent next Monday I shall put a bailiff in and sell all off.—Stop! sir, stop, not quite so fast about selling; I am an old woman and can tell you a little about these houses, yes, I have lived many years in this neighbourhood, and can tell you that they are not yours at all.—Not mine! bless my soul the woman’s mad.—Not so mad as you may imagine, for I’ll tell you, your father was errand boy to old Mr Neasy. When he grew up he suffered him to gather his rents. To make long and short of the story, old Neasy and his wife died, and the son being abroad, your father claimed the houses, but I—Stop! stop! I don’t want to hear any more, but come over the way and have a drop of gin, and I’ll cross out the 8s. and you shall live rent free; but don’t say a word to the other tenants.

TAYLOR, PRINTER, 92 & 93, BRICK LANE, SPITALFIELDS.

HOW TO COOK A WIFE.

While MEN spare no pains in obtaining the BEST MATERIALS for this superlative DISH, they are often totally regardless after the first MOUTHFUL, of the necessary precautions to render it permanently SWEET, and if through neglect it turn sour they invariably slander the Dish, while the fault is in themselves. To MAKE the wife a sweet companion, but to keep her so, this may be accomplished in the following manner:—Obtain an adequate supply of the pure water of affection, and gently immerse her therein: should the water during this process become ruffled, a little of the original balm of courtship will soon restore it to its usual smoothness. The fire should be composed of true love, with a few sighs to increase the flame, which should not be too warm, nor yet suffered to abate entirely, as that would spoil the dish. Coolness is often the ruin of this dish, erroneously asserted by some cooks to be necessary, which cooks add also sprigs of indifference, but this is a very dangerous practice, as a good wife is exquisitely delicate and susceptible. A few evergreens, such as industry, sobriety, and fondness, are necessary, and a moderate quantity of the spirit of coaxing and oil of kisses may be added, giving the whole a most delectable flavour. Garnish with flowers of endearment and kindness, and you will then fully appreciate the delights of a dish, compared with which all others sink into insignicance; namely

A GOOD WIFE.

ALARMING SACRIFICE!!!

SALE BY AUCTION,
ON MONDAY NEXT, APRIL THE FIRST,
OF THE
FURNITURE & EFFECTS
OF
HOOKEY WALKER, Esq.,

Consisting of a Glass Bedstead, Iron Feather Bed and Copper Hangings, a pair of Tin Sheets, two Catgut Pillows and Lead Bolster, eight Portland Stone Night Caps, and a Green Baize Looking Glass; a brass Wire Mop with cork handle, six pounds of Moonshine, three quarts of Pigeons’ Milk, four pounds of the Report of a Gun, six patent blue Buckskin Wigs lined with cold tripe; three barrels of Roasted Snow, twelve yards of Sun’s Rays, a mahogany Set of China, with six Oilskin Tea Spoons, and a Muslin Milk Pot; a Sealing Wax Copper, eight Wooden Saucepans, without bottoms, sides, or tops; six pairs of Oak Gloves, a Double-Distilled Moonbeam, Flannel Tea Caddie, four pounds of Patience, six Crape Decanters with carrot corks, twelve Spider Web Wine Glasses, a Worsted Pianoforte, with Barley Sugar Keys; a Dimity Slop Pail, four Dogskin Tooth Brushes, three wings of a Lion, a case of Spiders’ Eyebrows, artistically arranged; Photographs of the Buoy at the Nore, Tommy Dodd, and the Cove of Cork playing a three-cornered game of chess, a pair of Brass Boots with Leaden Straps, a pasteboard chest of Drawers, and a Tombstone made of the best pigtail Tobacco, six sky-green Shirts, a Beeswax Stove Grate with satin wood Fireirons, a Plaster of Paris Carpet, Cambric Washing Tub; two butter toasting Forks, and a decayed New Moon,

A SPLENDID OIL PAINTING,

“William the Conqueror Smoking his First Pipe of Tobacco.”

And three pairs of Cotton Candlesticks, two bottles and a half of Smoke, a Calico Ale Barrel, a Brass Toad-in-the-hole, a yard of Rum-steaks cut from the Bulwarks, a set of Brown Paper Knives and Forks and a Cork Gridiron, a Paper Frying Pan, Ivory Cabbage Net, a German Sausage Watch Chain with Stilton-cheese Trinkets, a Whalebone pair of Breeches lined with Slates, a splendid pair of Gauze Bellows, a quantity of Pickled Gingerbread, two Empty Bags filled with Sand marked A.B. with the letters rubbed out, a Tallow Cheese-board, a Sable Black Horse covered with White Spots, the second-hand Report of a Cannon, a quantity of Public Opinion, in lots to suit purchasers.

UNREDEEMED PLEDGES,

The Property of several Members of Parliament, a real Live Hobby Horse, a Green Jew’s Eye, some Live Butterflies stuffed with Straw, the Bower of Beauty, Six Eggs that the Ship laid-too of in the Hatchway, the name weight and colours of the Man that paid the Income Tax with pleasure, three yards of Railway Jams, a Policeman’s “Move on there!” (nearly new), the Autograph of the Man in the Moon, and other articles, too numerous to mention.

Sale to Commence at half-past 5 and 20 minutes past One hour and a half.

For further particulars make an early application to the Bung-hole of the Tub with the bottom out. Conditions as usual. Carriages ordered at 13 o’clock. Horses heads to be turned inside out, and Tails made to cut their Lucky—by order of the Mayor.

THE GENUINE THING
OR
The Last of the “Cocks,” or “Catchpennies.”

When at Brighton in the month of August, 1869, and winding our way through a maze of small streets laying between Richmond and Albion Hills, in the northern part of the town, our ears voluntarily “pricked up” on hearing the old familiar sounds of a “street, or running patterer” with the stereotyped sentences of “Horrible,”—“Dreadful,”—“Remarkable letters found on his person,”—“Cut down by a labouring man,”—“Quite dead,”—“Well-known in the town,”—“Hanging,”—“Coroner’s Inquest,”—“Verdict,”—“Full particulars,”—“Most determined suicide,”—“Brutal conduct,” &c., &c., only a ha’penny! Only a ha’penny! Presently we saw the man turn into a wide court-like place, which was designated by the high-sounding name of “Square,” and dedicated to Richmond; hither we followed him, and heard him repeat the same detached sentences, and became a purchaser for only a ha’penny! when to our astonishment we discovered a somewhat new phase in “Cock” selling, inasmuch as our purchase consisted of the current number (253) of the Brighton Daily News—a very respectable looking and well printed Halfpenny Local Newspaper, and of that day’s publication, and did in reality contain an account of a most determined suicide.

Being at the time engaged in arranging the materials for The Literature of the Streets, we ventured upon a conversation with the “street patterer” in the following form: “Well, governor, how does the cock fight?” “Oh, pretty well, sir; but it ain’t a ‘cock,’ it’s a genuine thing—the days of cocks is gone bye—cheap newspapers ’as done ’em up.” “Yes; we see this is a Brighton newspaper of to-day.” “Oh, yes, that’s right enough—but it’s all true.” “Yes; we are aware of that; but you are vending them after the old form.” “That’s all right enough—you see, sir, I can sell ’em better in that style than as a newspaper: I’ve sold ten or twelve dozen of ’em to-day.” “Yes; but how about them to-morrow?” “Oh, then it will be all bottled-up—and I must look for a new game. I’m on my way to London, but hearing of this suicide job, I thought I’d work ’em.” To our question of “Have you got any old real ‘cocks’ by you?” he replied, “No, not a bit of a one; I’ve worked ’em for a good many years, but it ain’t no go now. Oh, yes, I know’d ‘Old Jemmy Catnach’ fast enough—bought many hundreds, if not thousands of quires of him.—Not old enough? Oh, ain’t I though; why I’m turned fifty, and I’ve been a ‘street paper’ seller nearly all my life. I knows Muster Fortey too very well; him as is got the business now in the Dials—he knows his way about, let him alone for that.” Having rewarded the man with a few half-pence to make him some recompense for having detained him during his business progress, we parted.

On a perusal of the newspaper “Particulars” of the case, of which we subjoin a condensed copy, it will be found to contain all the necessary material for a clever and experienced “Patterer” to work upon, and that—

“’Tis strange—but true; for truth is always strange, stranger than fiction!”

The Determined Suicide of an Aged Artist.
REMARKABLE LETTERS OF THE DECEASED.

Yesterday, at noon, an inquest was opened at the Race Hill Inn, Lewes Road, before J. A. Freeman, Esq. (deputy coroner), and a highly respectable jury, on the body of Mr. John Baldey, an aged artist, who committed suicide in a most determined manner early on the morning of the previous day. During the inquiry, which was a lengthy one, some remarkable letters, proved to be in the handwriting of the deceased, were read. They were written in a clear, and rather bold round hand, the caligraphy particularly, for so old a man, being exceptionally good.

John Salter said—I am a labourer; yesterday morning about twenty minutes to six o’clock, I was going to my work to the building, I saw a man hanging, and that made me go in. The house is unfinished, and is at the corner of Park Crescent Road and Upper Lewes Road. I found the deceased hanging from one of the joists in the back room on the ground floor. I did not know the deceased. I at once cut him down. His feet were about 18 inches from the ground. There was a ladder close to his left hand. When I cut him down he was quite dead; he appeared to have been dead for hours. There was a man passing at the time, and, as I was going into the house, I called to him to assist me. He helped me with the deceased, and I afterwards went for a policeman.

John Baunister said—About ten minutes past nine o’clock on Monday evening I saw the deceased come out of Park Crescent and go into the unfinished house at the corner of Park Crescent. There was nothing particular about the deceased to attract my attention. I did not see the deceased come out of the house again that evening. The next time I saw the deceased was about ten minutes to six o’clock on Tuesday morning. I saw him lying on the ground in the unfinished house into which I had seen him go the previous night. That was after he was cut down. He was quite dead.

Mrs Ann Colwell said—The deceased lodged at my house. He had lodged with me about five years. He was about seventy years of age. I last saw him alive on Monday afternoon about half-past four o’clock. I spoke to him, and he seemed about as usual. During the last three weeks or a month he had complained to me of his circumstances, and told me he must get cheaper lodgings. Generally, he was of a cheerful disposition. I did not notice any particular change in his manner except that he occasionally sighed. In consequence of what he said I let him have his lodgings a shilling a week cheaper. He was an artist, and used to go out to sell his water-colour drawings. Last week he went out for that purpose, and when he came he said it was of no use, but that he would have one more trial to sell his pictures, and when he returned he said he had done no good. One lady had promised to come and look at his pictures. He suffered from chronic affection, which caused him acute pain. His last attack was about a week ago. He had been an invalid for a long time. The affection under which he laboured disturbed his rest. He was desponding about his future—his general conversation led me to think that he very much feared poverty, but on the whole he was a taciturn man. I did not think he was more desponding during the last week than he had been previously. He did not tell me much about his affairs, but I understood some small source of income had recently ceased. Last Saturday he brought in two eggs for his dinner, and he provided nothing for Sunday. That was unusual. I asked him on Sunday morning what he was going to have for dinner, and he said he only wanted a knife and fork. I think he had a small pie for dinner, but I don’t know. There was a bag on the table containing 6d.—that was all the money that has been found. Two of the letters produced were found on the mantel-piece—they are in the handwriting of the deceased.

The Coroner read the letters. The first was addressed to his brother, and was as follows:

The second letter was in the following terms:—

In answer to further questions,

Mrs. Colwell said—I don’t think the deceased went to any place of worship. He was not a drinking man—he never drank to any excess.

Mr. W. Hamilton Brown Ross, retired surgeon-major in the Indian army, said—I live at 149, Upper Lewes Road. Yesterday morning, soon after six o’clock, I was called by a policeman. I dressed as quickly as possible and came to this house. I found the deceased in one of the lower rooms, and from the appearance and temperature of the body—the coldness of the body and limbs, and the general surface, and the surface mark round the neck, and the ecchymosis or extravasation of blood round the mark, and the parchment-like appearance of his shrivelled skin, the cadaverous rigidity of the limbs and neck, usually denominated rigor mortis, I am decidedly of opinion the man must have been dead six hours or more. The expression of countenance was haggard and depressed in the extreme—it had altogether a worn and wretched appearance. The characteristics of hanging were so strongly marked, so apparent, that I considered a post mortem examination perfectly unnecessary, and the more so as the morbid appearances of the brain had been so much modified by the long period the body had been suspended, that any indications of congestion, or other brain disease, would have been merged in those produced by hanging so long. I have heard the evidence hitherto given, and the letters read, and I say this,—that, although nothing could be more deliberate and determined than the act of suicide, I am of opinion that his mind was so overcharged and thrown off its balance by the dread of approaching inevitable poverty, that he was driven in a moment of despair to put an end to his existence; and, therefore taking all these things into consideration, I am further of opinion that he committed the deed while labouring under an attack of suicidal monomania. I think that suicidal monomania is consistent with his having written the letters which have been read, for it is a peculiarity of that disease to be quite sane on all other points.

P.C. Bassett said—I was called to the deceased, and found him lying on the ground in the unfinished house. He was quite dead. Part of the rope I produce was round his neck. I searched the body then and there, and found in the left-hand coat pocket the letter I produce. It is addressed to Mrs. Colwell.

The Coroner read the letter, which was as follows:—

P.C. Bassett further said—In the right-hand waistcoat pocket I found the small bag produced. I afterwards removed the body to this house.

Superintendent Crowhurst said—I had known the deceased a good many years—by name and by sight. I knew Dr. Baldey, the brother of the deceased, who lived in Bartholomews, and was a parish doctor twenty-four or twenty-five years ago. He committed suicide by taking prussic acid. There was no inquest, but an inquiry by the police.

Mr. Charles Baldey said—I am a grocer, and live in Chichester Place, Kemp Town. The deceased was my brother, and was seventy years of age. I last saw him alive last Wednesday. He came up to my house and dined with me. He appeared rather low, and complained that nothing had passed through him for a long time past, and he suffered great pain in consequence; and that he must go to the doctor. That morning, at three o’clock, he had suffered extremely. I asked him whether he would take any ale. He said he dared not—he had not taken any for two years. He had about half a glass of gin. He received a sum of £10 about a couple of months ago. He sold a reversion three or four years ago for about £150 or £170. We—my brother and myself—knew he was in poor circumstances, and intended to provide for him. We were only waiting for him to come to us. Nothing had ever directly passed between the deceased and myself as to his poverty. He was a man of few words, but very excitable, and we were obliged to be careful what we said to him. He had not been to my house previous to Wednesday since Christmas. I remember my brother, Dr. Baldey—it is true he committed suicide about twenty-four years ago. I don’t know what religion my brother was, for I have seen so little of him, but we are not a Roman Catholic family.

The Deputy-Coroner shortly left the case to the jury, who, after consideration, found that the deceased destroyed himself while suffering from “suicidal monomania.”—Brighton Daily News.

BROADSIDES ON ROYALTY,

POLITICAL LITANIES, &c.

DIVISION II.
A COLLECTION OF BROADSIDES
ON
The Royal Family.
POLITICAL LITANIES, DIALOGUES, CATECHISMS,
ACTS OF PARLIAMENT,
AND
VARIOUS STREET BALLADS & PAPERS ON POLITICAL SUBJECTS.

To “work a litany” in the streets is considered one of the higher exercises of professional skill on the part of the patterer. In working this, a clever patterer—who will not scruple to introduce anything out of his head which may strike him as suitable to his audience—is very particular in his choice of a mate, frequently changing his ordinary partner, who may be good “at a noise” or a ballad, but not have sufficient acuteness or intelligence to patter politics as if he understood what he was speaking about. I am told that there are not twelve patterers in London whom a critical professor of street elocution will admit to be capable of “working a catechism” or a litany. “Why, sir,” said one patterer, “I’ve gone out with a mate to work a litany, and he’s humped it in no time.” To ‘hump,’ in street parlance, is equivalent to ‘botch,’ in more genteel colloquialism. “And when a thing’s humped,” my informant continued, “you can only ‘call a go.’” To ‘call a go,’ signifies to remove to another spot, or adopt some other patter, or, in short, to resort to some change or other in consequence of a failure.

The street-papers in the dialogue form have not been copied nor derived from popular productions—but even in the case of Political Litanies and Anti-Corn-law Catechisms and Dialogues are the work of street authors.

One intelligent man told me, that properly to work a political litany, which referred to ecclesiastical matters, he “made himself up,” as well as limited means would permit, as a bishop! and “did stunning, until he was afraid of being stunned on skilly.”—Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor.

OUR KING
IS A
TRUE BRITISH SAILOR.

Printed by T. BIRT, No. 10, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials.

KING WILLIAM IV.
AND HIS MINISTERS FOR EVER!

Printed by T. BIRT, No. 39, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials.

QUEEN VICTORIA.

W. & T. Fordyce, Printers, 48, Dean Street, Newcastle.

CORONATION
OF
HER MAJESTY, QUEEN VICTORIA.

W. & T. Fordyce, Printers, 48, Dean Street, Newcastle. Sold also at No. 42, Myton Gate, Hull.

SAILOR JACK
AND
QUEEN VICTORIA.

THE
QUEEN’S MARRIAGE.

ATTEMPT TO ASSASSINATE

THE QUEEN

AND PRINCE ALBERT.

PARTICULARS.

About six o’clock on Wednesday evening the Queen and Prince Albert left Buckingham Palace by the garden gate opening upon Constitution hill. Her Majesty and the Prince were seated in a very low German drotschky followed by the equerries in waiting, Colonel Buckley and Sir Edward Bowater, and the usual attendants. A number of respectable people had assembled outside the gate to witness her departure, and were ranged in two lines to admit of the carriages passing through. After the carriage had issued from the gate, and had proceeded some short distance up Constitution hill, so as to be quite clear of the crowd, a young man, who it is said had come from the Green park, and was standing with his back to the railings, presented a pistol and fired it directly, either at Her Majesty or Prince Albert, there being no person between him and the carriage. The Prince, who, it would seem, had heard the whistling of the ball, turned his head in the direction from which the report came, and Her Majesty at the same instant rose up in the carriage, but Prince Albert as suddenly pulled her down by his side. The man then drew from behind his back a second pistol, which he discharged after the second carriage, which proceeding at the ordinary pace, had by that time passed him a little. The reports of both pistols were very loud, and at the discharge of the second several of the female spectators screamed loudly. Several persons rushed towards the perpetrator of this gross outrage, and he was immediately seized, first by a person having the appearance of a labouring man, and then by Mr. Beckham, one of the Queen’s pages, and another bystander, by whom he was handed over to two of the metropolitan police, who conveyed him to the Queen square Police Court. By some it is alleged that the miscreant stood with his arms folded, apparently waiting for the arrival of the carriage; others state that he was crouching down, as if endeavouring to escape observation; and, after firing the first shot, he changed the second pistol into his right hand in order to fire it. The discharge of the pistols and the seizure of the offender scarcely occupied a minute. Her Majesty’s carriage sustained no delay, and moved on up Constitution hill at the usual pace, and by half-past six had arrived at the Duchess of Kent’s Ingestrie-house, Belgrave-square, where her Majesty stopped for a short time, but neither her appearance nor that of Prince Albert evinced any inclination of alarm or excitement at the deadly attack from which they had so providentially escaped.

NAME OF THE MISCREANT.

The name of the ruffian who has been guilty of this atrocious attack is Edward Oxford; his address is No. 6, West-street, West-square, and he is said to be a servant out of place. His appearance is that of a mechanic, from 18 to 20 years of age, and rather below the middle height. We have been informed that on searching him a list of the names of twenty-six individuals was found, which he admitted that he had intended to have burnt or destroyed, and some circumstance has transpired which leads to a belief that the persons whose names are contained in the list above-mentioned are in some way connected with the prisoner for some sinister purpose. On searching his lodgings a sword was also found, and some crape arranged for the purpose of being worn on a hat or cap in such a way as to conceal the face of the wearer, and the crape is also stated to be folded in a peculiar manner, so that the crape which was intended for the prisoner would distinguish him from the rest of the gang with which it is said he is connected, and who were to be similarly disguised.

We have also heard that on being taken to the police-station the following conversation took place:—

“What are you?—I have been brought up to the bar.

“Do you mean to say as a lawyer?—No; to the bar, to draw porter.

“Are you a pot-boy?—No, I’m above that.

“Are you a publican?—No, I’m not so high as that.”

We cannot vouch for the authenticity of this conversation, but merely give it as it reached us. The conduct of the prisoner throughout his examination manifested great self-possession.

The pistols are described as small pistols of Birmingham manufacture, rather well finished. They were loaded with balls, one of which struck the wall opposite to where the prisoner stood, and the other ball is said to have lodged in one of the trees.

The charge against the prisoner entered on the charge sheet is—“With maliciously and unlawfully discharging two pistols at Her Majesty and Prince Albert on Constitution-hill.”

[London: Printed by J. Wilson, New Cut.

ACCOUCHEMENT OF HER MAJESTY.

BIRTH OF A PRINCESS.

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!!!

At ten minutes before two yesterday afternoon, her Majesty was safely delivered of a Daughter. The Queen, we rejoice to say, is, to all appearance, as well as her subjects can desire, and that the illustrious infant bids fair for life.

At five-and-twenty minutes to three a royal salute from the Tower and other guns announced the joyous intelligence to her Majesty’s subjects in the metropolis.

Her Majesty’s marriage, it will be remembered, took place on Monday, the 10th of February, nine months and eleven days since.

The Lord Chancellor was presiding in his Court with the intention of pronouncing some judgments, but he instantly locked up his papers and repaired to Buckingham Palace, as his presence is officially required on these occasions.

LATEST PARTICULARS.

The following official bulletin was issued during the afternoon, a copy of which was forwarded to the Lord Mayor:—

A BABY BALLAD.

Quick, Printer, 42, Bowling Green Lane, Clerkenwell, and at 8, Little Paternoster Row, Spitalfields.

QUEEN’S WANTS
At Child Birth; or, what a bother
IN THE PALACE.

MAY
THE QUEEN
Live for Ever.

John Harkness, Printer, Preston.

A STRANGER IN HER MAJESTY’S BEDROOM.

THE BOY JONES AGAIN!

“What will Mrs. Grundy say—Mrs. Lilley?”

On Wednesday, shortly after 12 o’clock, the inmates of Buckingham Palace were aroused by an alarm being given that a stranger had been discovered under the sofa in her Majesty’s dressing-room. The domestics and officers of the household were immediately in motion, and it was soon ascertained that the alarm was not without foundation. The daring intruder was immediately secured, and safely handed over to the custody of the police.

The inquiry into this mysterious circumstance has created the most intense interest at Buckingham Palace and the west-end of the of the town, where the report spread with the rapidity of lightning. At first it was not generally believed, but when it was known that the prisoner was under examination at the Home Office public curiosity was at its height, and inquiries into the most minute particulars were made in every place where it was likely to obtain information respecting an event which might, under present circumstances, have been attended with most dangerous effects to the health of our beloved Queen.

Shortly after 12 o’clock one of her Majesty’s pages, attended by other domestics of the royal household, went into her Majesty’s dressing-room, which adjoins the bed-chamber in which the Queen’s accouchement took place. Whilst there they imagined that they heard a noise. A strict search was commenced, and under the sofa on which her Majesty had been sitting only about two hours before they discovered a dirty, ill-looking fellow, who was immediately dragged from his hiding-place, and given into the custody of Inspector Stead, then on duty at the Palace. The prisoner immediately underwent a strict search, but no weapon of any dangerous nature was found on his person. He was afterwards conveyed to the station in Gardener’s Lane, and handed over to Inspector Haining, of the A division of police, with instructions to keep him in safe custody until he received further orders from the Home Office. We understand that as soon as the prisoner was handed over to the police he was immediately recognised as the same person who effected such an extraordinary entrance into Buckingham Palace about two years since, for which offence he was tried at the Westminster Sessions and acquitted, the jury being of opinion that he was not right in his mind. It may here be stated that the name of the daring intruder into the abode of royalty is Edward Jones; he is 17 years of age. In person the prisoner is very short of his age, and has a most repulsive appearance; he was very meanly dressed, but affected an air of great consequence; be repeatedly requested the police to address him in a becoming manner, and to behave towards him as they ought to do to a gentleman who was anxious to make a noise in the world.

At 12 o’clock on Thursday the prisoner was brought in custody of the police to the Home Office, and shortly afterwards taken before the Council, when, we understand, he was interrogated as to his motives for such extraordinary conduct, and particularly as to the mode by which he obtained an entrance into the Palace. He (the prisoner) told their lordships that he was willing to point out to the police the way he effected an entrance, and to state all particulars. Their lordships, on this statement, directed the police immediately to convey Jones to Buckingham Palace, and obtain the information he promised to give, and adjourned the inquiry until half past two o’clock.

The prisoner was taken to the Palace, and brought back again to the Home Office at two o’clock. At half-past two the Council reassembled, when we understand the prisoner made the following extraordinary statement:—

On Monday night he scaled the wall of Buckingham Palace garden, about half-way up Constitution Hill; he then proceeded to the Palace and effected an entrance through one of the windows. He had not, however, been there long before he considered it unsafe for him to stay, as so many people were moving about, and he left by the same mode as he entered. The next day he again effected an entrance in the same manner as on the previous night; and he went on to state that he remained in the Palace the whole of Tuesday night, the whole day on Wednesday, and up till one o’clock on Thursday morning, when he was discovered under a sofa in her Majesty’s dressing-room, as above described. The prisoner pointed out all the passages and places he had gone through previous to his arrival at the room in which he was discovered, and there appears no reason to doubt his statement. The hiding place of the intruder was first discovered by one of her Majesty’s pages, and when he was asked what brought him there, he replied, that he wanted to see what was going forward in the Palace, that he might write about it, and if he was discovered he should be as well off as Oxford, who fared better in Bedlam tham he (prisoner) did out of it. He was also asked if, during the time he was in the Palace, he saw the Queen or the infant Princess, and he replied that he did not, but that he had heard a noise, which he thought came from her Majesty’s room.

Her Majesty’s page, who discovered the prisoner, and the constable who took him to the station-house, were then examined.

The Council came to the decision that, as no property or dangerous weapon was found on the prisoner, it would be better to inflict a summary punishment; and a warrant was accordingly made out, and signed by Mr. Hall, committing the prisoner to the House of Correction, Tothill Street, as a rogue and vagabond, for three months.

The prisoner was immediately afterwards conveyed in a cab to Tothill Street.

LATEST PARTICULARS.

The sensation caused by the late mysterious entrance of the boy Jones into Buckingham Palace, appears to be even greater than that produced by his apprehension in the same place in December, 1838. The object which prompted so daring a proceeding is still involved in the utmost doubt; but it was not probable that it was his intention to do any personal injury to her Majesty, for had such been his purpose abundant opportunities of carrying it into effect presented themselves during his concealment in the chamber where he was secured. From a well informed source, we have heard the sofa under which Jones was found is in the ante-room in which the Princess Royal and Mrs. Lilley, her Royal Highness’s nurse, repose. On the night in question the latter had not long retired to rest ere she fancied she heard a noise similar to that likely to be caused by a person who was endeavouring to prevent his presence from being discovered, and was moving in a stealthy manner. Mrs. Lilley at first treated the matter as of no moment, thinking probably that the noise might have been imaginary. Its renewal, however, created an alarm, and she instantly summoned those of the attendants who were on guard in the adjoining ante-chamber. On their arrival the offender was quickly discovered and drawn from his place of hiding. The statement then goes on to say that her Majesty, who but three hours previously had been sitting on this particular sofa, having been disturbed by the confusion to which the event had given rise, called out and desired to be informed as to its cause. As an apprehension was, however, entertained that the sudden communication of the occurrence might be attended with an unfavourable effect on her Majesty, the attendants gave an evasive answer. The Queen repeated her command, and then the fact of the boy’s concealment and subsequent apprehension were made known to her.

The circumstances at that time appeared not to produce any very visible effect on her Majesty, but on Thursday symptoms of other than a satisfactory character were apparent. It affords us the highest gratification to be able to add that a few hours of quietude tended to the restoration of her Majesty.

It would appear that there is now no doubt but that the account given by Jones as to his having effected his entrance into the Palace by scaling the garden wall from Constitution Hill is correct. Upon being asked whether he had not met some of the attendants in the course of his progress along the corridor and staircase, he replied, “Yes,” but that, when he saw any one coming in his direction, he hid himself behind the pillars, or behind any piece of furniture which happened to be near. Hitherto he has been silent as to the motive which induced him to take so extraordinary a step as that of forcing his way a second time into the royal apartments, and when asked on Friday morning, after he had been upon the tread-wheel, how he liked his punishment, his answer was to the effect that he had got into the scrape, and must do the best he could.

There does not appear to be the slightest ground for the rumour that he is insane.

Many circumstances have transpired to show that Jones was in the Palace the whole of Wednesday. The delinquent states that during the day he secreted himself under different beds and in cupboards, until at last he obtained an entrance into the room in which he was discovered. Not much reliance can be placed in his statements, but, as such general curiosity exists on the subject, we may state that, in answer to interrogatories, he said, “that he had sat upon the throne, that he saw the Queen, and heard the Princess Royal cry.”

Prince Albert was in the room with her Majesty taking leave for the night when the miscreant was discovered under the sofa.

The fellow’s shoes were found in one of the rooms of the ground-floor. The sofa under which the boy was discovered, we understand, is one of most costly and magnificent material and workmanship, and ordered expressly for the accommodation of the royal and illustrious visitors who call to pay their respects to her Majesty.

MR. FERGUSON

AND

QUEEN VICTORIA.

TUNE—“Jim Crow.”

Birt, Printer, 39, Great St. Anderw Street, Seven Dials. Printing of every description done cheap.

ACCOUCHEMENT OF HER MAJESTY.

Birth of a Prince of Wales.

THE ROYAL BIRTH.

Dr. Locock and Prince Albert, with the nurse, were the only persons in the Queen’s chamber, situated in the north-west angle of the palace. The Duchess of Kent and the Lady in Waiting were in an apartment immediately adjoining, and close to where Sir James Clark and his medical colleagues were assembled. The Ministers, Privy Councillors, and Great Officers of State occupied one of the state rooms. It has been stated that these all wore the Windsor uniform; such is not the fact; not one of them did so. The Duke of Wellington wore the dress of Constable of the Tower, Earl Jersey the official dress of Master of the Horse, the Earl of Liverpool, Earl Delawarr, and the Marquis of Exeter wore their household uniforms, and the Ministers their official dresses.

The birth took place at 12 minutes to 11 o’clock, and was duly announced to the great functionaries of the kingdom assembled by Sir James Clark, and they were soon afterwards gratified with a sight of the royal infant.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Wharncliffe, Lord President of the Council, and Lord Stanley, Secretary of State for the Colonies, were too late, arriving at the palace a few minutes after the birth had taken place. It is an error in some of the accounts which have been published which stated that the Archbishop of Canterbury was present at the birth. The Bishop of London was the only prelate present.

GAZETTE EXTRAORDINARY

The following is the official announcement from the London Gazette Extraordinary, published early in the afternoon:—

The auspicious event, although daily anticipated for the last fortnight, has come upon the country with a pleasurable sudden surprise.

Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent remained with the Queen throughout the day until six o’clock in the afternoon, when Her Royal Highness returned to Clarence House.

The nobility and gentry thronged during the afternoon to Buckingham Palace.

THE BIRTH
OF THE
PRINCE OF WALES.

John Marks, Printer, 206, Brick Lane, Whitechapel.—Country Dealers and the Trade supplied.

A NEW SONG
ON THE
BIRTH
OF THE
PRINCE OF WALES

Who was born on Tuesday, November 9th, 1841.

John Harkness, Printer, Church Street, Preston.

A NEW SONG
ON THE
BIRTH
OF THE
PRINCE OF WALES

J. Harkness, Printer, 121 and 122 Church Street Office, North Road, Preston.

THE
OWDHAM CHAP’S
VISIT
TO
TH’ QUEEN.

J. Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

THE OPENING
OF THE
ROYAL EXCHANGE.

London.—Published by J. Fairburn, Commercial Place, City Road.

PRINCE OF WALES’
MARRIAGE.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London, W.C.

A SCENE IN THE ELECTION.

A NEW FARCE.

Performed in various parts of the United Kingdom by His Majesty’s Servants.

Scene.—A Cobbler’s Stall. Crispin at work hammering a sole.

Crispin. By the lord of the manor, thou art a tough piece, and not much unlike the hide of my wife Bridget; for though I should beat her hide with all my might and main, I cannot shape the vixen to my fancy: Oh, you hard soles (hammering) are the most useless of all others, except to the wearer. If I was a leading man in the state, I should move for a law to be enacted, that good leather and good hemp should only be employed for smuggling courtiers, purse-proud citizens, and for parliament-men—if such a law should pass, it would be a rare thing for trade in general.

Enter Pander and Sir Bilberry Dibble.

Pand. Here’s a psalm-singing cobbler, Sir Bilberry; he has a vote for the borough, as good as the best; do not let us pass honest Crispin.

Sir B. By the essence of lillies, thou’rt right, Pander; the scum of mobility, as well as the scum of gentry, at this time, must be attended to; ’tis a sacrifice that’s due to necessity. Therefore, may I never more breathe the mellifluous air of Montpellier, if I do not descend to request his suffrage; the controverted occasion carries a pardon for the humiliating and filthy condescension.—Master Shoe-maker, your most devoted humble servant (bowing), I am, sweet sir, yours to the ground. (still bowing.)

Cris. Master Shoe-maker! do you mean to mock me?—No, no, I am no shoe-maker, but like some of your very fine gentlemen at the head of affairs—a poor cobbler at best.

Sir B. This fellow, Pander, has been commended by some blockhead, like himself for his insufferable bluntness, or he would never presume to be so shocking to the feelings of delicacy.

Pan. Bear with him, Sir Bilberry; this is a time when men will say whatever comes uppermost, paying no more respect to delicacy than Æsops’s cock to his diamond. If you would succeed, Sir Bilberry, you must descend to be perfectly reconciled to their oddities.

Sir B. I will be reconciled. Well, honest cobbler.—Do you love money?

Cris. Yes; but I love honesty better—

Sir B. Honestly said. If you do me a favor, you shall have as much honesty as you please, and money into the bargain.

Cris. Who are you, and may it please you?

Sir B. I am Sir Bilberry Dibble, knight and baronet, of Dibble Hall, in this county; come to offer myself for your most ancient borough of Steady-town; should I be so happy as to obtain the ultimate zenith of my wish, you, Mr. Cobbler, shall soon find an alteration in the price of good ale; bread shall be but half the rate it stands at now; and above all, your trade shall flourish and your taxes fall; so that the cobbler as well as the prince shall have a glorious opportunity of saddling his spit with a fat sirloin; your right of common shall soon be restored, and without excise, or the doctor’s tithe; pigs, poultry, and plum puddings, shall crown your cupboards all the year. Now give me your vote, friend Crispin, and as you puff your fragrant essence from your stall in merry glee, you heel the shoe, and bless the hour you gave your vote for Dibble.

Cris. Oh, you fine powdered gentlemen are something like my codling tree last spring.

Sir B. How’s that, cobbler?

Cris. It then dealt a wonderful show of blossom, so much that I concluded a rare autumn; but, alas! I was mistaken; I had not so much as a crump. So ’tis with you who are candidates for boroughs, you promise very fair in the spring of your canvass, but in autumn of election, when we should expect the fruit of good works of you, we too often find you worthless, base, and barren.

Sir B. Nay, Mr. Cobbler, you are too severe in the conclusions; a man of my honour can never deceive you;—Can I, Pander?

Pand. No, Sir Bilberry. I have known Sir Bilberry from a child, and never knew a dishonest thing of him, upon my honour, friend Crispin.

Cris. That’s the last lie you told, Friend Pander. Well, Sir Bilberry Dibble, knight and baronet of Dibble-hall, in this county, you are come to ask a vote of a poor cobbler.

Sir B. I am, friend Crispin, and you may assure yourself that there is not a man in the whole borough I respect so much as yourself, though but a poor cobbler.

Cris. Indeed!—that’s strange—why you never saw me before.

Sir B. Oh, that don’t signify! I tell you, friend Crispin, I respect you equal to the mayor himself.

Cris. That’s kind. Come into my stall and sit down, and let’s have a little chat together; there, that’s hearty; give us your fist. (Here Dibble takes up his clothes, gets into the cobbler’s stall, and sits down.)

Sir B. Pshaw! how he stinks. (aside.)

Cris. So you love me as well as the lord of the manor himself?—that’s kind, and so we’ll have a glass of gin together.

Sir B. Oh, no! ’pon honour.

Cris. Oh, yes; when this is gone, there’s enough at the Three Norfolk Dumplins and Horse Shoe over the way! Come, here’s the North-country cobbler’s health, who refused to mend the shoe of the man that was inimical to his country’s interest. (drinks.) A glass of as good maximus as e’er tip’t over an exciseman’s tongue. Here, take hold. (presents it to Dibble.)

Sir B. Dear, Mr. Cobbler, you must pardon me.

Cris. No, no; you, who love me as well as the lord of the manor himself, must drink with me, or I shall take it unkind, and perhaps give my vote where I think I am more respected.

Sir B. Resistance is in vain—to get his vote I must submit and take the poison. (aside.) Well, friend Crispin, to show that I respect you, here’s yours and the King’s good health. (drinks.) Pshaw, pshaw, it’s a nauseous draught, (aside.)

Cris. That’s well (throws his arms round Dibble’s neck.) My dear friend, that loves me as well as the mayor himself, kiss my cheek, and then I will believe you are sincere in your friendship.

Sir B. There, Crispin. Pshaw, how he stinks of those vile spirits and tobacco. (aside.)

Cris. Give us your fist again (holding him by the hand), my dear friend, Sir Bilberry, who loves me as well as the mayor himself, who can descend to drink gin with, and kiss a poor cobbler in his stall. I heartily thank you, and now I’ll finish my shoe.

Sir B. Well, honest Crispin! you promised to vote for me?

Cris. Who told you so?

Sir B. Oh! my dear, I understand you (taking out his purse) here are corianders that will purchase hides enough to heel-piece the whole borough—here Crispin.

Cris. What! a bribe;——out of my stall, or by Jingo I’ll stick my awl to the head in your——

Dibble leaves the stall, Crispin follows.

Sir B. Here’s a transition, Pander.

Cris. What! shall Crispin Heel-tap, the cobbler of Steady-town, give his vote to such a thing as you? A mean-spirited rascal who can stoop to drink gin in a stall, and to kiss the sweaty cheek of a poor cobbler? No, no; to serve your purpose you would not mind stooping to kiss my——, make off while you’re safe. I’ll vote for none of your Jack-a-Dandy’s, but for my faithful master, Sir Thomas Trueman—so away, Sir Fop, you have your answer.

Exeunt Dibble and Pander.

Ryle & Co., Printers, 2 and 3, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials, London.

A New Edition of the Universal
SPELLING BOOK,
OR A
Lesson for the Unions.

Tutor. Now my Scholars, all of you that renounce the Whigs and all their works, stand up, and I will hear you say your lessons.—Know my children, that those who we hailed as friends a short time back, were but wolves in lamb’s clothing, and are now about to attack you, the children of the Unions and members of the flock of the good Shepherd of Birmingham; but my good children, be firm, and you will yet escape their devouring jaws. Know you, my children, that ferocious wolf of Winchelsea is about to disunite you?

Pupil. (Laughing.) Ah! ah! ah!

T. What are you laughing at, you young dog?

P. Why, sir, I really thought you was joking, when you said ferocious wolf, for I think he is more like a skulking Fox.

T. Aye! you young dog, do you mean to call the big and noble animal of Winchelsea, a skulking Fox?—Did he not bravely challenge the Tiger of Waterloo at Battersea?

P. That he did, sir, and bravely skulked away.

T. What sir! did he not nobly fight, and return the fire?

P. That he did, sir, in the air.

T. But do you mean to say that he flew from the shot?

P. Oh no, sir, for he received a mortal wound in the tail.

T. Well, come come, I find you are a good lad, and learn your lesson.—But I was about to say that this big Battersea Hermit said a short time back that your Unions must be suppressed, for that, while you are united, the Wolves of St. Stephens cannot easily prey upon you.—But, my good children, you that are of the flock of the Unions, be firm, and Attwood your Shepherd, will defend you from their avaricious jaws. Now, you sit down, while I hear little Radical his lesson.—Now Radical——

P. Here, sir.

T. Let me hear you say the lesson I set you—now, go on.

P.

T. That’s right, my boy.

P.

T. Very good, my lad.

P.

T. Very true, my boy.

P.

I can’t say any more, sir.

T. There’s a good boy, now get your spelling book, and I will hear you read the Fable of the Ministers in Danger.

P. (Reading.) There was a Ministry in Danger of a Turn-out, and many were their opinions concerning the best plan to be adopted to secure their seats, when a noble Hermit said there was nothing so good as a Coercion Bill; an Ex-Chancellor (called Bags) said a Coercion Bill might do very well, but there was nothing so good nor so essential as the Suppression of the Penny Press; but their Wise and Grey old Leader being present said, gentlemen, you can do as you please, but take my word there is nothing like the Destruction of the Unions.

T. There’s a good child—now you sit down, and I’ll hear young Anti his spelling and meanings. Now Anti.

P. Here, sir.

T. Spell me Attwood. (The boy here spells the words, and gives the meanings as follows.) A tough wood of a good grain, grows in Birmingham, and is used as the principal material in building up the Unions.

Brougham. A broom worn to a stump, formerly the Queen’s own, but now owned by none.

Callthorpe. A word despised by the Whigs, but will ever live in the hearts of the People.

Dan. A Patriot of the land of Coercion, where St. Patrick banished the toads, and Stanley the freedom.

Eldon. Old Bags, one that shed an abundance of crocodile tears without one drop of pity.

Frank. A pretended friend to the people, arrived at his second childishness, and plays at Shuttlecock with the Electors of Westminster.

Grey. A dealer in humbugs: who behaved as a father to the people by giving them that which they asked for—The Bill, the whole Bill, and Nothing but the Bill!

Hobby. A Westminster Rat, who had so often received the favours of the people that at last they had nothing to give but cabbage stumps, which he received in showers at Covent Garden.

Justice. A balance between Might and Right, but always leaning to power and riches.

King. A title of Monarchy, and Idol of an immense weight.

Loyalty. A word nearly threadbare in some countries.

Mouth. A part of the human body padlocked by law.

Peelers. A body of great Force. Brave and noble conquerors of an un-armed and peaceable people.

Reform. A word that filled the mouths of thousands, but the stomachs of few; a thing without benefits.

Truncheon. A knock-down argument of power, an instrument of the Whigs.

Union. A word despised by all Oppressors.

Verdict. A word lately known as a Terror to the Blues, but the Glory of others.

T. There’s a good boy, now read me the Fable of the Mountain and the Mouse.

P. (Reading.) There was a Bill which made a great noise in a certain country for many years, and they said it was in Labour, and the People looked with hopes for a Production of great Benefits, and great was their joy at the thoughts, when after many months pain and anxiety, it produced a Mouse.

T. I hope my children, this will be a warning to you, never build your hopes on the promises of those who are reaping the harvest of your labour, for they will take away your Substance, and leave you the Shadow to feed upon.

Quick, Printer, 42, Bowling Green Lane, Clerkenwell, and at 8, Little Paternoster Row, Spitalfields.

NEW DIALOGUE
AND
SONG ON THE TIMES.

Bill.—Good morning, Jack, I’m glad to see you. What’s the meaning of all these Spinners, Piecers, Weavers, Winders, Grinders, Strippers, Carders, Doffers, Stretchers, Throstle Spinners, Bobbin Winders, Frame Tenders, and all those folk that work in these places with big chimneys at top of um’ walking about?

Jack.—Why, if thou recollects, a few months back there wur great talk about the Corn Laws going to come off, and all these big chaps in the Parliament House, and all these Factory Lords of Lancashire, said if the Corn Laws wur repealed that poor people would get plenty of bread for little money, work would be plentiful, and wages would be a great deal higher; but instead of that, bread’s dearer, wages is lower, and factories are on short time.

Bill.—Yes, Jack, I recollect hearing people talk about a lot of chaps that wur going to bring such times as wur never seen before, they said that Bobby Peel and Dicky Cobden, and a great many chaps was going to give us cheap bread, and they said that we should have plenty of work and get good wages for it, but I’ve only work’d ten weeks since that corn bill as they call it past, and I got less wages for it too, Jack.

Jack.—These big cotton masters of Lancashire want to drop poor people’s wages, so to accomplish it they’re only working four days a week, so that when they start full time again, they can drop the people’s wages.

Bill.—Well, but Jack, don’t you know when the corn bill passed, these Masters gave a great sum of money to rejoice and have grand processions in honour of it passing.

Jack.—Don’t you see, Bill, it is poor people that must pay for it now, for they must work for less wages, or else for short time.

Bill.—Yes, but Jack, there’s several factories that’s stopping for a month or two, and some working none at all, and a great deal breaking down; what’s the reason of that, eh Jack?

Jack.—Why the reason of them stopping a month or two is, they want to get rid of their old hands; so that when they start again they can have all fresh hands, and reduce their wages. As for them that are breaking down, it’s a scheme they’ve got, it’s these chaps that rejoiced so much at the time the bill passed, and they are ashamed to tell the people that they’ll have to work for less wages or short time, so they are breaking down on purpose.

Bill.—Well, I think you’re somewhere about right, Jack, for there is a deal of factory hands that are walking about and has nothing to do, so you’ve learnt me something, Jack.

Jack.—I bought a new song about these Factory Masters and their short time system, and if you’ll stop you shall hear it too.

John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

THE OLD ENGLISH BULL JOHN
v.
THE POPE’S BULL OF ROME.

“My good Child as it is necessary at this very important crisis; when, that good pious and very reasonable old gentleman Pope Pi-ass the nineth has promised to favour us with his presence, and the pleasures of Popery—and trampled on the rights and privilages which, we, as Englishmen, and Protestants, have engaged for these last three hundred years—Since Bluff, king Hal. began to take a dislike to the broad brimmed hat of the venerable Cardinal Wolsey, and proclaimed himself an heretic; It is necessary I say, for you, and all of you, to be perfect in your Lessons so as you may be able to verbly chastize this saucy prelate, his newly made Cardinal Foolishman, and the whole host of Puseites and protect our beloved Queen, our Church, and our Constitution.

“Q. Now my boy can you tell me what is your Name?

“A. B—— Protestant.

“Q. How came you by that name?

“A. At the time of Harry the stout, when Popery was in a galloping consumption the people protested against the surpremacy and instalence of the Pope; and his Colleges had struck deep at the hallow tree of superstition I gained the name of Protestant, and proud am I, and ever shall be to stick to it till the day of my death.

“Let us say.

“From all Cardinals whether wise or foolish. Oh! Queen Spare us.

“Spare us, Oh Queen.

“From the pleasure of the Rack, and the friendship of the kind hearted officers of the Inquisition. Oh! Johnny hear us.

“Oh! Russell hear us.

“From the comforts of being frisled like a devil’d kidney. Oh! Nosey save us.

“Hear us, Oh Arthur.

“From such saucy Prelates, as Pope Pi-ass. Oh! Cumming save us.

“Save us good Cumming.”

“And let us have no more Burnings in smithfield, no more warm drinks in the shape of boiled oil, or, molten lead, and send the whole host of Pusyites along with the Pope, Cardinals to the top of mount Vesuvius, there to dine off of hot lava, so that we may live in peace & shout long live our Queen, and No Popery!”

“The Lesson of the Day.”

“You seem an intelligent lad, so I think you are quite capable of Reading with me the Lessons for this day’s service.

“Now the Lesson for the day is taken from all parts of the Book of Martyr’s, beginning at just where you like.

“It was about the year 1835, that a certain renagade of the name of Pussy—I beg his pardon, I mean Pusey, like a snake who stung his master commenced crawling step by step, from the master; he was bound to serve to worship a puppet, arrayed in a spangle and tinsel of a romish showman.

“And the pestilance that he shed around spread rapidly through the minds of many unworthy members of our established Church; even up to the present year, 1850, inasmuch that St. Barnabus, of Pimlico, unable to see the truth by the aid of his occulars, mounted four pounds of long sixes in the mid-day, that he might see through the fog of his own folly, by which he was surrounded.

“And Pope Pi-ass the nineth taking advantage of the hubub, did create unto himself a Cardinal in the person of one Wiseman of Westminster.

“And Cardinal broadbrim claimed four counties in England as his dioces, and his master the Pope claimed as many more as his sees, but the people of England could not see that, so they declared aloud they would see them blowed first.

“So when Jack Russell heard of his most impudent intentions, he sent him a Letter saying it was the intention of the people of England never again to submit to their infamous mumerys for the burnings in Smithfield was still fresh in their memory.

“And behold great meetings were held in different parts of England where the Pope was burnt in effigy, like unto a Yarmouth Bloater, as a token of respect for him and his followers.

“And the citizens of London were stanch to a man, and assembled together in the Guildhall of our mighty City and shouted with stentarian lungs, long live the Queen and down with the Pope, the sound of which might have been heard even unto the vatican of Rome.

“And when his holyness the Pope heard that his power was set at naught, his nose became blue even as a bilberry with rage and declared Russell and Cummings or any who joined in the No Popery cry, should ever name the felisity of kissing his pious great toe.

“Thus Endeth the Lesson.”

A POLITICAL CATECHISM
FOR
CHILDREN OF RIPER YEARS.

Question.—Now my child, what is your Name?

Answer.—Weathercock Johnny, alias Jack the Reformer, of the tribe of Russellites.

Q.—Who gave you that Name?

A.—My Godfathers and Godmothers, the People of England, who are called the great unwashed.

Q.—And what do the People of England want you to do?

A.—First, they want to amend my ways, which they say are in a most shaky condition. Secondly, to take a few of Palmerston’s pills, which they say will invigorate my Political system. And, Thirdly, to stick up for the Rights of the People, and speak up according to my size, as long as I remain in office.

Q.—And do you think that you are capable of holding firm by the reins, and steer the good coach Constitution, in safety through the mud and mire of these macadamized times, and not as you have done before, getting your unlucky feet in a plug-hole.

A.—

There’s a good lad! now stir your young self, and let your conduct be a shade better than it has been, and you will earn our praise, and the nation will reward your services with a putty medal.

So be it.

Now let us sing for the amusement of this respectable congregation, and the benefit of own pockets, a few lines written to uncommon metre.

Let us say,

And now Johnny, thou most excellent of all state coachmen, to thy Fatherly care, we, an overtaxed, ill-paid, and half-starved people do consign ourselves, trusting that you will take our lamentable condition into thy kind consideration, and spare us from being poisoned with meat that has had the measles, and from being cheated by a set of greedy butchers; and save us from the Fenianites, we implore you; and grant us most merciful Johnny, that at the forthcoming Christmas, every mother’s son of us may be plentifully supplied with beef, pudding, and stout, so that we may boldly shout, slap bang, here we are again, and sing in thy praise now and for evermore. Amen.

Thus endeth the Lesson of the day.

Henry Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

THE
FAMINE FAST DAY.

Sam—Well Tum, how did tha get on oth’ Fast day.

Tom—Ta’ Fas day! bye gum awe think nowt oth’ fast day, for its a fast day every day wi’ us.

Sam—Nay mon, not every day, awe shud think yo’ve summat to eat sum time.

Tom—Aye, we have summat to eat, but it’s very lettle tha may depend on’t, thick porrich un’ sour milk for brekfast, un’ potatos and suit, un sum toime a red yarrin un brown bread for dinner, an we go to bed awebewt supper, un if that’s feasting aw dunna know what you cawn fasting.

Sam—Well but Tum, con yor tell me what this fast day wur kept for.

Tom—Aye by gum con aw, they sen it’s to drive famine away.

Sam—Famine, wot dost mean mon, why all this clemming eh England, Ireland, an’ Scotland.

Tom—Aw con there be a famine ith’ land, un th’ warehouses an th’ tommy shops aw breaking down wi’ stuff.

Sam—Aw think eth’ Lords un Bishops, un Parsons an such like folks had ony goodness in um, they’d gie poor folks a feast day, instead of a fast day.

Tom—Now do you think that these Parsons and Bishops kept th’ fast day.

Sam—Not they mon, they an fish, eggs, turtle soup, and such like, but if th’ poor could live as they done, they might fast for one day.

Tom—I’ll tell thee how aw did, aw sent owr Nell th’ day afore to borrow some brass, un hoo geet sixpence, an’ hoo went to Shade Hill, un hoo bought a sheep’s pluck, but it had no heart toot, un hoo geet a penoth o’th bacon, un hoo stew’d it aw together, un it wur rare un good, aw dunna think th’ queen had such a dinner, it’s the best flesh meat dinner I’ve had this six months.

Sam—Aw reckon yo stuff’d yore guts so full, you’d no more to eat that day.

Tom—Why we wur hungry ageen next morning, un had to fall to our thick porrich an’ sour milk, but if fasting will drive famine away, I should like it to drive poverty away so that poor folk could geet plenty of plum pudding and dumplins, an’ sich like, but stop, I’ve bowt a song about it, un you shall hear it:—

John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

NEW FORM OF PRAYER
AND BELIEF.

To be said by all true Liberals, at all outdoor or indoor Meetings, at all Committee Rooms, and in front of all Hustings on which the Gladstonites and the Dizzeyites are to contend for the Managership at the forthcoming Elections, and to see who is to gain the belt, and rule the roast at St. Stephen’s. To be said without Barrel Organ or Grindstone accompaniment.

Now, my boy, as the Great Election is about to take place, and it becomes us all to sail under true colours, be so good as to tell me what you are, a Gladstonite, or a Dizzyite?

Boy.—Why a Gladstonite to the backbone, and no mistake.

There is a good lad; now let me hear you rehearse the Gladstone or Liberal Belief.

I believe in Bill Gladstone to be the true Champion of Reform, and that he is a perfect game cock, and that he will stick his spurs into the comb of any tory mountebank who shall attempt to set the working-man’s rights and privileges at naught; and I believe at the coming election that all true liberals will put their shoulders to the wheel and obtain a first-rate majority, not only in Church Reform, but in all things where reformation is wanted; and that Gladstone and his friends will reach the tip top of the poll, and start the tories off like scalded cocks, and this I firmly believe. So help me John Brown.

There is a good boy, now let us enlighten our friends on events, past, present, and future.

Now in the first place, there is Gladstone’s Irish Church Question! it is a stickler to many, more especially to Dizzey, the Isrælite, for it is to him like the carpenter’s saw, which the black cook said stuck in his gizzard.

For the Dizzeyites were sorely vexed by a political squib, which was recited by some of the unwashed in Hyde Park, who made a goodly collection, which went into the pockets of the Collectors in the usual manner.

And behold the Dizzeyites and Adullamites were alarmed, and they said who hath done this evil which is so likely to rob our fat shepherds of the golden wash they have so long fed upon.

And Sarah Gamp of the Standard did cause large bills to be posted in every corner, equal in size to the top of a large dining table, headed with these words, “Gladstone and his Friends,” showing how the needle had pricked their tender feelings.

And Dizzey was down on his luck, when he found that his nose was compared to double size, and he hid himself in a corner and wept.

And behold there arose a loud cry from the ladies of England, saying, we are man’s better half, why not let us have a voice in the affairs of our country, and not have our tongues muzzled like D— M— as served our dogs.

And moreover it is expected that when the Election takes place that the vendors of dog’s meat, headed by Jack Atchley and some of the nobs from Sharp’s alley will proceed to Scotland yard to petition D— M— to revoke the sentence on our blessed tykes; for they say if it goes on much longer, instead of skewing up meat for the dogs they will be skewered up themselves—in some union house washing their blessed inside with water-gruel.

Now behold B— S— of penny newspaper notoriety is again attempting to poke his nose in for Westminster, but he will find it is no go, for with Mill and Grosvenor before him, he will have no chance to walk in for our ancient and much respected borough.

And all tories and adullamites are hereby cautioned not to have any dirty tricks, at the coming Election, as they had at the Guildhall Meeting, when they hired land rats and water rats at two bob a nob to disturb the peace, or they may find something in the seat of their small clothes more than their shirt tails.

Thus endeth the morning’s address.

LET US SAY.

From all back-sliding liberals, or slop made adullamites, Friends of Reform spare us.

Spare us we implore thee.

From all tories who would give us such quarters as the wolf gives the lamb. Gladstone, the father of the people, save us!

Gladstone, look down upon us.

From being gobbled up by Dizzey’s “No Popery” bogey, noble army of liberals defend us.

From Dizzey’s Guy Faux keep us we beseech thee.

And oh, Lawrence, when you are made king of the city, let us have no more unseemly brawls in Guildhall.

From all paid ruffians, save us good Lawrence.

And may it please you, good Richard, to look down with an eye of pity on all distressed dog’s meat sellers, and take the harness from off the dogs, so that we may obtain food to supply the worms that now gnaw our hungry bowels.

Grant this, there’s a dear Dickey.

And oh, Dizzey, make your will, there’s a good boy, for at the forthcoming election, Gladstone and the whole host of Liberals will be at the top of the poll, and then farewell to all your greatness.

And I say so be it.

Henry Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.—W.C.

A
POLITICAL LITANY
ON THE
TIMES.

When the present ministry shall cease their humbuging tricks, and do that which is lawful and right for the benefit of the working classes, then, and not till then, shall they receive our praise.

Dearly Beloved Brethren—Hunger moveth us at various times and in sundry places, to make known unto our Most Gracious Majesty, the Queen Victoria, our dreadful wants and sufferings, and although we ought at all times humbly to acknowledge our Most Gracious Majesty the Queen, yet the cry of our starving children prevent us from so doing.

The Lesson for the Day is taken from the present hard times.

And it came to pass in the year ’65, that there was a great stoppage in the tide of politics, and the steersman, Pam, gave up the helm; and the Queen sent unto the Land o’ Cakes for a certain little man of the tribe of Russellites, well known by the name of Financial Jack, by some called Little John, who being fond of lollipops, and having a sweet tooth, it will be remembered he called out lustily for cheap sugar.

And when he arrived at the Castle, which is situated near unto the great park at Windsor, the Queen said unto him, Johnny, Johnny, thy friend Pam has cut his stick, and if thou thinkest thyself strong enough, the place is thine.

Whereupon the little man bowed and bowed till the rim fell off his hat; but when he tried on the garments of Pam, the coat fitted him like unto a purser’s coat on a marlin-spike.

And the people murmured, saying, this man is totally unfit for the berth, but for the want of a better he was accepted.

Amen.

And about this time there arose in the Land of Spuds tribes of men who call themselves Feenanites, who promised to march unto the house of St. Stephen’s straightway, to get something taken from them by honest John Bull.

But a messenger came from that land to the house of St. Stephen’s straightway, to inform the inmates thereof they were in danger.

And there was great trouble in the House, and the servants arose and went out to meet them.

But when they arrived near unto that part of the land, behold, they had flew, leaving nought behind them to take back but a few sticks, like unto popguns, with which they had been learning to play at soldiers, so they returned home.

Amen.

And O, Gladstone, thou good and faithful servant of the late Steersman Pam, take unto thyself the helm of the good ship Great Britain, and steer it safely through the troubled waters that now surround it.

Amen.

Let us say,

From all impositions of unjust stewards,

O Queen deliver us,

We beseech thee to hear us, O Queen.

And O Johnny, if thou take unto thyself the helm of the good ship Great Britain, steer her safely through the troubled waters of poverty that now surround her.

Hear us, O Russell.

We beseech thee to hear us, O Jack.

And from being slaughtered by the Fenians,

O Queen deliver us.

We beseech thee to hear us, O Vick.

And from all heavy taxation,

O Johnny, save us.

We beseech thee to hear us, O Russell.

And from all bad meat, O Queen deliver us.

We beseech thee to hear us, O Queen.

And O thou mighty Queen, grant that we may have a cheap loaf, and each man paid justly for his daily labour, that we may live in peace and happiness both now and for evermore.

Amen.

Printed for Author and Vendor.

POLITICAL LITANY
On the Present Session of Parliament.

When the Whigs shall cease to be a milk and water set, and prove to the people of England, that like good and trusty servants they will stick up for their rights, and pass such measures as will be for the benefit of the nation at large: then, and not till then, shall we consider them as trumps, and look upon them with confidence.

Dearly bought and never-to-be-forgotten Johnny.—To your noble and all-powerful self, do we, an over-taxed, poorly-fed people appeal, trusting that, O most merciful Johnny, that by the virtue of thy most exalted position, that you will be pleased to intercede with our Most Gracious Majesty, that she will reside amongst us, and so improve the condition of the tradesmen and mechanics of this mighty metropolis, whose affairs now are in a most shaky condition. Grant this, O most mighty John, and we will pray for the well-being of thy favourite bantling, Reform, that you have nursed with such care for so many years, and will sing praises unto thee, now and evermore. Amen.

Now the Services for the Day is taken from unprinted Bills that lay on or under the tables of the House of Incurables, better known by the name of St. Stephen’s.

Now it came to pass in the second month of the year ’66, and on the first day of the month, that the Dictators who formed the seventh Parliament in the reign of Good Queen Vic, assembled together to consider the weighty affairs of the nation, and after relating their rigs and sprees during the holidays, adjourned to crack a bottle and a joke at the expense of patient John Bull.

And again on the 6th they met in the presence of our Good Queen, and after bestowing six thousand a-year out of the pockets of the people as a trifle for pin money for a certain little lady, they wished the Queen good day, shook their heads, and went to lunch, entirely worn out with their morning’s labour.

And they held long discussions on the plague among the cattle, and soon came to the sage conclusion, that beasts that were ill could not be in good health; but whether it was the cow or chicken pock they were not prepared to say.

But the people cried aloud that it was done to raise the price of meat, and those who used to treat themselves to a joint on a Sunday were compelled to put up with a few ornaments from off the block.

Now near unto the commencement of the year, great excitement was caused through the land, of strange revelations concerning a certain tribe of persons called paupers, whose treatment in the Whig Bastiles, or Union-houses, were likened unto swine; and the rate-payers of Lambeth, and people in general, cried out sorely against the Poor Law nabobs, and the ratepayers cried, Turn off the unworthy servants of the poor and give the inheritance to others.

And behold, great alarm is being caused in different parts of this mighty city, on account of the many rail-roads in course of construction; and numbers of Her Majesty’s most loyal subjects, such as the small shopkeeper and poorer classes, are being driven from their homes, and by being deprived of the means of obtaining their living, will be compelled to find shelter in the workhouse, and so swell the rates imposed upon the hard-working tradesman.

And they pray the present ministry now assembled, to stay the progress of this destructive juggernaut; and as there has been day by day great outcry about the many accidents caused by them, they beg of them to pass a clause in the acts for the regulation of railways, that they shall supply a sufficient number of surgeons with splints and bandages to each train, and a goodly supply of coffins at each station for the use of those who are headstrong enough to travel by them.

Thus endeth the morning lesson.

LET US SAY.

O most noble Johnny, pull yourself together, and spare us the necessity of selecting another steward.

Hear us, O Russell.

And O, most Gracious Queen, gladden the hearts of thy people by dwelling amongst them, and so improve the trade of thy most loyal subjects in this mighty city.

We beseech thee to hear us, O Queen.

From having our roads turned into honeycombs, and endangering our lives by being swallowed up by the underground railways, spare us we implore thee.

Railway Committees, spare us.

And O, much respected Chancellor of the Exchequer, repeal the duty upon malt, as thou hast done upon tea, so that we may refresh ourselves with a good and wholesome pot of beer, to the glory of thy good name.

O Gladstone, hear us.

And we implore thee to spare our poorer brethren from being compelled to pig upon dirty floors in Union Bastiles, or by being poisoned by bathing in a dirty soup kettle.

Good Farnell, and the whole host of parish nabobs, spare us.

Be just before you are liberal, and waste not the public money in useless expenditure.

Minister of Finance, we beseech thee to hear us.

Spare us from being starved in the land of plenty, Good Bright.

O Bright, have mercy upon us.

And O Gladstone, thou brightest star in the political hemisphere; keep thy weather-eye open, and jog the memory of thy fellow-servant John, and guide his little feet if he should by chance to stray from the right path.

O Gladstone watch over the welfare of the people.

And now, Johnny, we implore thee to act with justice to the country, and give us the benefit of Reform which is so much needed, and grant in all thy works, that you study the interests of the most patient and industrious people in the world, so that they may be blessed with peace and plenty, then will they sing, Long live the Queen, and good luck to her ministers. Amen.

Henry Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles’s.

The Life, Trial, and probable Sentence of the
DERBYITES, DIZZYITES,
AND
ADULLAMITES,
AND THE
WHOLE HOST OF TORY CABINET MAKERS,

Who were tried at St. Stephen’s, for conspiring to burke the People’s Reform, and attempting to pass a Counterfeit Bill instead of a Genuine Article; thereby imposing upon a certain respectable firm, well-known as Messrs John Bull and Company. The prosecution was conducted by those able Advocates for Reform, Bright and Gladstone. The offenders were undefended, as no one could be found willing to take their cause in hand on account of their previous bad character.

Now the trial of these Anti-Reformers was highly amusing, owing to the singular conduct of some of the offenders.

And the proceedings was prefaced by that old-stock farce called the Struggle for Reform, or John Bull mesmerised.

And the advocates for the people said unto the Derbyites and their companions, what have you to say in your behalf concerning this fraud on the working classes of England?

Now behold one of them was a clever mountebank of the tribe of Dizzyites, and like many of his kind he had a happy knack of saying a great deal which amounted to nothing; and he commenced his defence with a mock speech on Reform, which seemed to say: If you Reformers do not unbutton your eyelids, and expand your understandings, I shall most certainly mystify you with my high presto, cockalorum jig!

And he had as many tricks as those amusing little marmozettes that are to be seen in the gardens of the Regent’s Park.

And when he had concluded he turned to the people and said, how do you like me now?

And there arose a murmur through St. Stephen’s, saying, Not at all, you are not in our style.

And Dizzy the mountebank was much grieved for he thought he had caused a great sensation, and he exclaimed, Dizzy, Dizzy, thy occupation’s gone.

And Lowe the Adullamite, surnamed the moonraker, pleaded guilty to his offences against the people, and prayed for a mitigation of his sentence, on the plea that he could not have been in his right mind.

And the poor gentleman could not have been sane for he rambled on with some nonsense about the mark of Cain being set upon some people’s brows; and asked the good citizens of London to order mass to be said for his own sins, or the success of the Bill; his strange manner left us in a fog to understand which.

Now the chief of the Derbyites being alarmed at the meetings in Trafalgar Square and throughout England, did call a council in the privy which layeth in the neighbourhood of Downing Street, to form plans by which they might overthrow the honest Bright, and all those who were on the side of the people.

For the Tories, finding that their seats were in a shaky condition, and being fond of place and pensions, were determined to stick at nothing rather than give up their golden kitchen stuff of office.

And behold their work must have been exceedingly bad, inasmuch as some of their pals said no: we will leave your company, for we will not join with you in this plot against the working classes of England.

And it was strongly suspected that Dizzy the Mountebank, eager for a goodly share of the loaves and fishes, communed with himself, saying, I will write up no connection with the head Cabinet Maker of the Upper House, and then the whole business will be mine.

And the Reformers were well pleased, for they said the old adage will then be verified that when rogues fall out honest men will get their rights.

Now it was thought that they would have called upon D—— M——, the head of the Poleaxes, to speak in their behalf; but that hero having the remembrance of the Hyde Park battle before his eyes, declined to appear, saying, He had received striking proof of the justice of the cause.

Now it was in the 3rd month of the year, and on the 18th day of the month, being the day after St. Patrick that the Tory Cabinet Makers appeared to receive judgement; and the Council for the People said unto them, If you do not give us the bill, the whole bill, and nothing but a satisfactory bill, giving to the people what is justly their rights, the sentence of this court will be that you will get the infernal sack now and for evermore.

Amen.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

A
NEW LITANY ON REFORM.

When the Tories shall grant to the people a share of what is justly their own, and not take all the loaves and fishes themselves, as they always have done; like the lawyer who swallowed the oyster and gave his client the shells; then, and not till then, shall they gain our thanks.

Sorely oppressed and heavily taxed brethren, duty calls us, as the bone and sinew of this mighty nation to assert our rights and privileges, and although we at all times ought to do so, yet ought we more strongly when we assemble and meet together to take such steps as are necessary to obtain manhood suffrage, and all things likely to elevate our condition as freeborn Englishmen, and not slaves to any intolerant faction, such as now assert their despotic power in St. Stephens’ Infirmary. So I charge as many of you as here present, who are friends to Reform, to act firmly in the cause, and never rest till it is gained.

Now, it was shortly after the premature death of the Russell administration, that the Tories took office, and a couple of chiefs of the tribes of the Derbyites and D’Israelites laid their heads together, to consider in what way they might destroy the substance, and bamboozle the working man.

And the D’Israelite said to the Derbyite keep your whip still, and I will pull the string, and the day will be our own. So the Derbyite was like unto the dolls in the toy shops, that say, we will cry for sixpence.

And about this time, loud shouts was heard for Reform, and the echo was carried throughout the length and breadth of the land.

And the whole host of Derbyites shook, as if struck with the palsy, and their chief was sorely alarmed, so that his hair stood out from his head like unto the quills of the porcupine, and he cried, Oh, Dizzy, save us!

And behold there sprung up on the face of the earth a new race of people called Adullamites, who were like unto their namesakes of old, a dissatisfied and two-faced people, and like the camelon could change their colour at will.

And their chief was a Low(e) man from the land of moonrakers; and him and his colleagues were the Reformers of to-day and the Tories of to-morrow.

And they said to the people, behold we are on thy side, at the same time they were seeking how they might destroy their cause.

And they combined with certain unprincipled electors, and by bribery and corruption made their way into the house of St. Stephen’s.

But when they got into the house, the mask fell from off their unworthy faces, and instead of Reformers, they appeared as labour-grinding Tories.

And the people murmured, saying, they are like unto Esau of old, who sold his birthright for a mess of potage, and there is no trust in them.

And it was in the 7th month of the year, when the gnats bite the hardest, that the Reformers declared their intention of assembling in Hyde Park to set forth their honest claims, and hear the most truthful voices of the worthy Beale and the Delegates.

And the Tories became alarmed, and W—— sent in haste to Dicky M——, the renowned head of all the poleaxes, to march with his army, and stop the much dreaded invasion.

But the people said, who is he who stays us from meeting in a place that is justly our own? And they laid on for Reform, and lo! the rails quickly passed away, and not a vestige was to be seen.

And when the Chief of the Poleaxes saw what was done, his nose turned as blue as his coat, and he cried, On to the charge!

But behold, while he was whistling, see the conquering hero comes, a brick, hurled by no friendly hand, caught his head unexpectedly, and his charger turned and whispered, Dicky, how is your poor nob?

Thus endeth the Lesson.

LET US SAY,

From all Tory intolerance save us, Reformers.

Friends of Reform, hear us.

From bribery and corruption, and the whole host of Adullamites, and all that have not clean hands, Election Commissioners, spare us.

Spare us, we beseech thee.

From having the Park gates shut against us, save us good Walpole.

Oh, Wally, hear us.

From unjust stewards, and Israelitish cash keepers, good Queen save us.

We beseech thee to hear us, good Queen.

And oh Derby and Dizzy, make not too cock sure that your position will be lasting, for you know not what a day may bring forth.

And now to Russell, Bright, Beales, and all true friends of Reform, let your thanks be now and evermore.—Amen.

Disley, Printer, High Street, St. Giles’s, London.

CAPTAIN JINK’S DREAM.



A CONVERSATION
ON THE
COMING ELECTIONS
BETWEEN
BILL GLADSTONE & BEN DIZZY.

Written by John Embleton, Author of the “Political Litany on the Irish Church Question, &c.”

Your attention I claim, Captain Jinks is my name, and with your permission, I hold a commission, in Her Majesty’s famed horse marines.

I have lines here for your inspection, on the coming election, and I’ll try to amuse, that is if you choose, by relating a wonderful dream.

It was t’other night, I got rather tight, I had been to the Alhambra, to see the grand things there, and roll’d home at two in my glory.

And I dreamt a queer dream, though strange it may seem, that I heard a conversation, or a confabulation, between Gladstone and Dizzy, the Tory.

Said Gladstone, Dizzy my rum ’un, the time is a coming, though you think yourself clever, you will find so help my never, at the forthcoming general election,

That your goose will be cooked, and you must take your hook, for like a cow’s tail you will find, you will be all behind, when the people they make their selection.

Then said Dizzy it is plain, Gladstone, you want the reins, and between you and me, your Reform and cheap tea, you fancy will carry you straight, sir.

But I know what your wish is, to prig my loaves and fishes, but Gladstone my hearty, I’ll lick you and your party, and stick to my stall, so help me tater.

Ben, your No Popery cry, it is all my eye, and your cant and your crawling, shews you are afraid of falling, for of honesty you have not a spark, Ben.

For you and your chums dirty, got dreadful shirty, but that is not worst, sir, said I fell to the gutter, when my friends met like bricks in Hyde Park, Ben.

Says Dizzy, I know Bill, you think your Irish Church Bill, with the aid of the donovans, will make you A No. 1, but you will find in the end it’s no use man.

For it is a great shame man, that with Bradlaugh and Finlen, and the rest of your Pets, should make this cabal, to capsize church and constitution.

Said Gladstone, that is it, if the cap did not fit, Sally Gamp of the Standard, would not have stuck up her placards, unless you Tories had got some queer twitches,

But they have made a mistake, sir, it’s a mere waste of paper, and if they come up to the scratch, they will find the Liberals their match, and they may chance to have an earthquake in their breeches.

Says Dizzy, I know, that old Jemmy Squaretoe, to himself will you take man, for running down shovel hats and silk aprons, and I wonder you can sleep in your bed, Bill,

For in Hyde Park it was said, that a litany was read, and it said, and no flies, my nose was like double size, and my curly hair shook on my head, Bill.

Gladstone said by-the-bye, there has been a loud cry, which is nothing unkimmon, for it comes from the women, they declare they will rule if they like, Ben.

They say, at home in their houses, they can rule their spouses, and they seem rather puzzled, that their tongues should be muzzled, like D—— M—— muzzled our tykes, Ben.

Dizzy said, bless the ladies, they are well in their places, to wash and dress babbies, and lecture the daddies; and some in homes they are graceful.

They can rule in the kitchen, and cook puddings—if they can get them,—and to say they’re not clever, I’d not venture, no, never! when I think upon old Madam Rachel.

Gladstone said, my Cockawax, there is that cursed income tax upon trades and professions, I’d like to sing its dying speech and confession, for it robs the poor man of his bread, Ben.

Why not tax grunting pigs, the counsellor’s wigs, the little hedge-sparrows, the cat’s-meat man’s barrow, or the chignons they stick on their heads, Ben.

And Ben, it is said, you are politically dead, but have not pluck at present, to get buried decent, and leave the Liberals to weather the storm, Ben.

So I would advise you, and the Adullamites too, to make yourselves scarce then, at the coming election, for you are done brown as sure as you are born, Ben.

Dizzy said, Bill and I have tried, but you are not satisfied, but we will see who is the best one, at the General Election, and to do our best then we will endeavour.

Then I heard a great noise, with, We have lick’d them, my boys, and just then I awoke, and though not a soul spoke, my ears rung with

GLADSTONE FOR EVER!

Henry Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.—W.C.

A POLITICAL THANKSGIVING
FOR THE
Great and Glorious Victory Gained by the Liberals, and the Complete Defeat of the Tories!!!

Much respected and truly victorious brethren, and all who have lent a liberal hand in sticking the axe of Reform so deeply into the root of that old contemptible tree called Toryism. I have this day come amongst you to offer up a thanksgiving for the great victory gained by Gladstone and his brave army at the Great Election, and also to offer my sympathy for the alarming illness of the Tories, who are suffering from an attack of the place fever; and all true Liberals are invited to be present and take the front places, as Gladstone and his comrades will in the House of St. Stephen’s. And all Tories and Adullamites are requested to keep in the background, where they will remain now and for evermore, and not disturb the present congregation, or they will be given into the custody of the beadle.

Now the Lesson for the Day is taken from the battle with the Gladstonites and the Dizzyites at the late Elections.

Now for many years past the Tories have been a place seeking and ease loving people, greasing their chins with the lion’s share of what justly is the rights of the working classes of this mighty land.

And the people communed together, saying, who are those who toil not nor yet spin, and yet they swallow up all the grain, and leave us nought but the husks to eat.

And lo there arose a mighty host called the Liberals, whose chieftain was named Gladstone, who was in himself a tower of strength, who with the Spear of Liberty sorely wounded the Tory chief, who was surnamed Dizzy the Isrælite.

And, behold, it was in the dismal month of November,—the season so fatal to all shakey constitutions—that the Tories became alarmingly ill, and at the Great Election Battles found that their power was passing away, and that they were dead licked.

And the victory that was gained by the Liberals was sorely painful to Dizzy the Tory Chief, for he had said in the fulness of his political health, “Show me the man who will tread on the skirts of my coat.” But his boasting was like unto the mountain that became pregnant, and brought forth a mouse.

For Gladstone the Liberal put forth his foot, and lo, Dizzy’s Government was rent in twain.

Then went the Chief of the Tories unto the Castle which lieth near unto the Great Park of Windsor, and threw himself at the feet of our good Queen Victoria, saying, Bill Gladstone, the head boy in our school at Westminster, has given me such a fright, that I feel quite white, and I am afraid if I stay any longer, the other boys will chaff me, and say, “Dizzy, Dizzy, I’ll have your curls!”

Then did the Queen send for Bill Gladstone, and said unto him, Are you afraid, too? But Gladstone spoke up boldly, saying, Not I. Then said the Lady of the Castle, Get you back to St. Stephen’s, and be head teacher in the room of the boy Dizzy.

And Sarah Gamp, of the Tory cess-pool, sung quite small when she heard of the disgrace her favourite boy had got into.

And since the Great Election has taken place, it has been rumoured that certain Tories has been coming the Rachel dodge, and has been trying to make themselves beautiful for ever, by rubbing themselves with golden ointment, which has so dazzled the eyes of some of the free and independent electors, that they will not be able to see clearly until Gladstone and his friends settle the hash by giving us the ballot.

Thus endeth the Lesson for the Day.

Let us all say,

For giving the command into the safe keeping of General Gladstone, oh, Queen, we give unto thee our thanks.

We thank thee, oh, Queen.

From being left to the tender mercies of the Tories. Friends of Freedom save us.

Spare us, we beseech thee.

And oh, Lowe, since Gladstone has duly installed you as Keeper of the National Cash-box, let us have none of your hanky-panky or Adullamite tricks, as you had at the time of the great Reform Meeting, when you charged the working-men with being a vile, degenerate, and beer-swilling crew.

Now, Lowe, none of your moon-raking capers, or I shall give you another taste of my rod of correction.

And, oh, Gladstone, give them a plentiful supply of Liberal pills, to purge them of impurity.

Warm them, good Gladstone.

And, oh, Dizzy, my lad, keep up your pecker, and don’t be cast down, for Gladstone is a good sort of a chap, and if you behave yourself, I dare say he will give you a job.

Do not fret, Dizzy, there’s a good boy.

And, oh, D——, we thank you for paying attention to our last prayer, by kindly removing the spectacles from off the dog’s noses, and when the roasted chesnuts and boys hoop question is settled, turn your great mind into another channel, and devise some means of ridding us of the garrotting ruffians that now infest our streets and highways in the open daylight.

Do D——, and we shall bless thee.

And now to Gladstone and all who have fought so nobly to gain this great victory, be all thanks due, and may they stick like bricks to the cause, and do their duty at the forthcoming Sessions of Parliament, and they shall receive our praises now and for evermore.

Amen.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

BELIEF AND COMMANDMENTS

ON THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.

To be read by all married women to their husbands, and by all single ones to their sweethearts.

At a meeting of women the other day, that dear old lady, Mrs. Caudle, amused the ladies present, by reading her Belief and Commandments on the rights and privileges of married women; so after taking half-a-dozen pinches of snuff and a couple of glasses of eye-water, and coughing three times, she commenced as follows:—

I believe, that has some one has said, that woman is man’s better, and sometimes his bigger half, and the best friend he has got to his back; she should not only rule the roast at home, but have a voice in the affairs of the country to which she belongs! and I not only believe, but I am quite sure, that it is her husband’s place to obey her in everything, and patiently attend to her commandments, and then, and not till then, will curtain lectures cease.

Now my first commandment, if I was married, would be this, I would say to my husband.

1st. You must never think of, or even look at any other woman but me, for am sure the parson must have made a mistake when he said, woman, obey your husbands.

2nd. You must never make me jealous by praising those forward jades that wear those ugly things on their heads called chignons, but keep your eye wholly on me, and study my wants both day and night, or I will comb your head with a small tooth bellows, that’s what I will, and no mistake.

3rd. Before going to work in the morning, you must light the fire and make me a strong cup of tea, with something nice in it in case I should have the wind, and you must not grumble if the kettle does not boil when you come home to breakfast.

4th. Six days must work from six to six, that you may provide me with the comforts of life, and on the seventh, you may scrub the floor, peel the potatoes, make the dumplings, and cook the dinner. In the afternoon, by way of amusement, you must take the children to the park and show the little darlings the ducks.

5th. If any of the children should have the measles, or the blessed baby should require weaning, you must get up without a murmer and give it the bottle, lest I might be disturbed by its crying.

6th. You must not crib a shilling from your wages on Saturday night, but fork it all out and be contented with the pocket money I shall think fit to give you.

7th. You must not get in a state of beer on any pretence whatever, or I shall compel you to sleep at the foot of the bed for six weeks.

8th. You must not take my name in vain by calling me other than my dear, or my duck, nor lay finger on me, lest I should give you six months to learn you better manners.

9th. You must not dare to grumble if your shirt should be minus of buttons, or you should be compelled to eat a cold dinner at least three days during the week, if it should be my pleasure to go out for amusement.

10th. You must not covet to be trusted with the latch key in the evening, you must not covet to visit the Alhambra or the Oxford, nor any other such like place; you must not look at the girls’ legs on a windy day, nor rule your house or your spouse, or anything this is within, but be a good boy and keep my commandments.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

A NEW
POLITICAL AND REFORM ALPHABET.

Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

A NEW EDITION OF THE LITANY
ON THE
IRISH CHURCH QUESTION

Not exactly sanctioned by either Bishop, Parson, Curate, or any other Prelate. It is not to be said or sung in either Church or Chapel, but to be learnt by all persons without distinction to creed, country, or colour. Composed on the Great Battle which lately took place in St. Stephen’s House of Incurables.

When the rulers of this mighty Babylon shall be like unto good stewards, and render unto the people, things that are the people’s, and purge the Established Church of its many impurities, not only in Ireland and Scotland, but in this mighty and loyal city, and allow every tub to stand on its own bottom, then, and not till then will this war cease, which has so long been an abomination in the land.

Sorely oppressed and heavily taxed Brethren:—

It becomes us all to be up and doing, and assist this monster question of the day—the Irish Church Bill—no matter what your creed may be, whether it be Catholic, Protestant, Quakers, Shakers, Spirit Rappers, or Tub Thumpers, who have so long forked out the golden grain which has so greedily been swallowed by Mother Church and her hungry chickens.

The lesson for the Day is taken from the late debate on on the Church Question.

Now in the days of darkness, when Fat Harry, the Bluebeard King of England, joined in unholy wedlock the Lion of State to Lady Lawn Sleeves, the people were troubled with a blindness, which has continued for upwards of three hundred years.

But of late, the film has fell from off their eyes, and they murmured saying, why pay we tribute to those from whom we receive nothing, and for buildings we do not enter?

But the masters in lawn, replied, we say unto you, pay you must, for such is the law of the land.

But lo! there arose up a loud cry for Ecclesiastical Reform, and Gladstone, their Champion, arose up in the house of St. Stephen’s, which is near unto Parliament Square, and with stentorian lungs, said, I intend to go the whole hog or none, and call upon the country to dissolve the banns of matrimony between the aforesaid Lion and Lawn Sleeves, which has so long been an eye-sore to the country.

And, behold the words that Gladstone uttered sounded like unto a death-warrant to the ears of Dizzey and his pals, and his nose turned blue when he thought it was U. P. with his greatness.

Now in due time the Great Election Battle took place, and the Place-loving Tories, in spite of their back-sliding capers, were dead licked; and Dizzey retired to Buckinghamshire, and fasted for three whole days, and sat up to his blessed chin in sackcloth and ashes.

For the voice of the Country was with Gladstone, for they knew well he was a Brick, and would hold the balance justly between the rich and poor.

Now it was two days after St. Valentine, that the Liberal Chief buckled on his armour, entered St. Stephen’s, and prepared himself for the fight. And his war-cry was “Justice to all men,” “Liberty to Ireland,” and “Disendowment of the Irish Church.” And the sons of the Land of Buttermilk, shouted, “More power to you, Gladstone!”

And lo, the cry caused certain prelates to curtail their shovel hats of their fair proportions and go into mourning, by converting their silk aprons into hatbands, at which the grunters nearly split their side with laughter.

And there arose a cry from the exiled sons of Erin, which sank deep into the heart of noble Gladstone, and with the battle-axe of Mercy struck off their fetters and they were free!

And there was loud cries of “Long life to noble Gladslone, the Liberator of the Land of Donovans!”

And Hardy the bosom friend of Poleaxe Dickey the hero of Hyde Park, protested loudly against Gladstone and his measure, and he and Dizzey wept bitter tears, when they saw that they were licked.

And the land of donovans and buttermilk shouted, No surrender, faugh o’ballagh! go it Gladstone, and the Sandys danced tullochgorum round the rims of their porridge-pots, and in whiskey, success to the Church Bill.

Thus endeth the lesson for the day.

LET US SAY.

From all Church monopoly, good Gladstone, save us.

Save us, good Gladstone.

From being compelled to keep the fat shepherds of every creed. Good Queen deliver us.

Spare us, good Queen.

From maintaining such a large staff of idlers in silk aprons and shovel hats, Friends of Reform, spare us.

Friends of Reform, spare us.

From all undue taxes in the shape of tenths and sucking pigs. Common sense, save us.

Spare us our grunters, we beseech thee.

For the liberation of the exiled sons of Ireland, we thank thee, good Gladstone!

In the name of the sons of Erin, we thank thee, oh, Gladstone.

Hear that, oh, Dizzey.

And now to Gladstone, the father of Reform, and the friend of the people, be all thanks due both now and for evermore, and success to the Irish Church Bill.

So be it.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

A LITANY
ON THE
IRISH LAND QUESTION.

In consequence of the gross mismanagement of John Bull’s possessions at home and abroad, by unprincipled servants and dishonest stewards; especially in the land of St. Patrick, we have met together without distinction to country or creed, to consider the best means of alleviating the sufferings of that ill-used country.

When the down-trodden sons of Erin shall dig their spades into their own native soil, free from the stone and gravel of tyranny, then, and not till then, shall the wrongs of Ireland cease.

Friends and Fellow Countrymen,

The country calls us in divers places to reform abuses, and assist the unemployed, by offering new gates of labor, in place of those that have been most cruelly shut at Woolwich and elsewhere, and although the old saying says “Charity begins at home,” it is no reason why we should forget our neighbour next door; therefore I pray and beseech thee, oh! John Bull and Sandy, to sympathise with poor Brother Pat, who for knocking his shillaleigh a little too hard about the heads of the varmint, was popped into quod till the Almighty will of the people shall compel the Lords of St. Stephen’s to let them go free.

The Lesson for the Day is taken from one of the dark pages of Irish History.

Now it came to pass when that renowned Irish Champion, Brian O’Lynn, bequeathed his ghost to all the wakes in Tipperary, behold there arose four kings to suck up the best of the buttermilk and dance with the prettiest girls in Ould Ireland.

Then arose a Royal Judas among them, who sold his country to the Saxon Harry of Fair Rosamond notoriety.

And it came to pass, after many years, Hooknosed Billy the Dutchman, went over and deprived poor Jamie Stuart of his rights.

And he cried aloud to his redcoats, Down with the Spirit of Freedom! and eat up all the good of the land, and let it be a refuge for foreigners, and let the children of St. Patrick wander elsewhere.

Here endeth the Lesson.

The Second Lesson is taken from the Irish Land Question.

Now it is well known that the curse of Ireland or any other country is “Land Monopoly,” especially in our own country, where one man has thousands of acres, and another poor fellow not enough whereon to rest his aching bones.

For in the Emerald Isle the rich Landowner cries aloud to his Steward, Steward! collect my rents in my absence, who, instead of studying the prosperity of my tenants am squandering away in debauchery and vice the hard earnings of a poor and oppressed people.

Then the Agent answers, I must put money in my purse, and straightway he cries aloud to his tenantry, Lo, this is my master’s land and all that is thereon, pay more rent or skedaddle, and make room for strangers who are ready to pop into your place.

For the Irish land monopoly is like a landlord, who, when he turns his tenant out of doors, stick to his goods and furniture, saying, these are mine, are they not on my premises?

Thus endeth the Lesson.

LET US SAY,

Oh, Gladstone, Champion of Reform, and Friend of the People, intercede for the poor Fenian prisoners.

We beseech thee, oh, Gladstone.

Ye undaunted Champions of Ireland, Sullivan and Moore, agitate for the poor Fenian prisoners.

Agitate, oh, Patriots, we beseech thee!

To raise funds for the free emigration of our London poor, tax the “Upper Ten,” we beseech thee, oh, Lowe!

Do, we beseech thee, there’s a good Lowe!

And, oh, most thrifty Chancellor, we pray thee to reduce the pocket money of our Royal pensioners, for it is hard to pluck the poor hard working-man’s pence, and let the idle children of mammon go free.

Hear that, oh, purple and fine linen!

And may it please your Majesty to grant a lease of Buckingham Palace to the old and infirm Bishops of St. Stephen’s, that they may take daily exercise in St. James’s Park, fill their aprons with bread crumbs, and reverently feed the ducks!

Hear that, oh, Lawnsleeves?

And now to Gladstone, Bright, and Stuart Mill, chosen of the people, let us render our thanks now and for ever!

Amen.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

THE NEW INTENDED
REFORM BILL

Which is expected to come into operation as soon as the Lords and Commons think fit.

The first Clause in this new intended Act is relative to Teetotalers. BE IT ENACTED:—That any teetotaler who shall be known to drink more than three gallons of cold water during the day, shall be chained to the parish pump four hours, and pay two shillings extra, in each quarter, water rate. So says the Reform Bill.

Clause 2nd. Any young lady who shall wear a crinoline more than twelve yards in circumference, or containing more than thirteen steel hoops, shall pay 5s. to the nearest hospital to where she resides to find plasters for broken shins.

3rd.—Any workhouse-master who shall neglect to skim the fat off the water in which thirty-six paupers have been bathed, shall be forced to live upon skilly for five days, and work for eight hours at the crank.

4th.—Any lady over the age of seventy, who shall drink more than three quarterns of gin before breakfast, unless she shall be suffering from the cholic, shall be kept without snuff for a fortnight.

5th.—Any man who shall be known to get drunk, and beat his wife more than once a day, shall be compelled to sleep at the foot of the bed for one month; and if that does not cure him, he shall be confined in one of her Majesty’s Gaols till a reformation shall take place.

6th.—And whereas we have received numerous complaints that a great number of ladies’ pet dogs having been found smothered in the mud that has been swept up and left by the roadside, the commissioners are requested to see that the said mud shall be carted away at least once a week, especially in rainy weather.

7th.—Any woman who shall bring forth more than two children at a birth, she will not be allowed to sleep with her husband for two months, unless the head-board shall be placed between them.

8.—And it having come under our notice, that many respectable females have been much annoyed by second-hand dandies’ and counter-jumpers puffing the smoke in their faces from their penny pickwicks, the Reform Bill enacts that such fops shall be compelled to pay their last quarter’s washing bill, and wear an unstarched dicky for six months.

9th.—And as we understand that many ladies belonging to a class known as milliners’ assistants and bonnet builders, having been frequenting different music halls, and passing themselves off as ladies of fortune, on purpose to lead young men astray. Be it known to all whom it may concern, that if they do not reform their ways they will have to pay 6d. per week to the Baby clothing Association, and their mamma’s will be made acquainted with their goings on.

10th.—And as Reform is the order of the day, so Reform your tailors’ bills. There is a clause set apart for volunteers only:—it says that any rifle volunteer found strutting about in a new uniform, shall be compelled to produce two respectable persons not being volunteers, to make oath that he has paid for the old ones.

11th.—Butchers will be compelled to reform their ways, and cease to wag their chops about the steaks being so dear on account of the cattle disease. And butchers selling meat that has died of the scarlatina, will be compelled to live upon bullocks’ liver and sawdust for the space of three months.

12th.—Any policeman who shall be known to be courting more than two cooks and three housemaids at the same time, or be found with more than five pounds of mutton in his possession, shall pay 2s. 6s. to the Servants’ Aid Society, and not be allowed to look down any area for three calender months.

13th.—Any boy over the age of seven years, who shall be found with a pea-shooter concealed about him, shall be apprehended as a Fenian, and be debarred from playing at cat for a fortnight.

14.—And as we have received intelligence that in many parts of London there are lots of daring children that have been found dancing to the tune of the Jolly Butcher Boy, and Oh, Cafuzelum! thereby disturbing the public peace, they will henceforth be considered as dangerous members of society.

15th.—And lately we have been much startled by hearing that numbers of evil-disposed paupers in the parishes of Marylebone, St. Luke’s and Chelsea, have refused to crack stones at 1s. 3d. per yard, unless such stones are parboild! A clause in the Beform Bill says that such paupers who offend in the like manner, shall be sentenced to penal servitude for one night in the casual ward of Lambeth work-house that being the heaviest sentence the law can inflict.

16.—And any cabman or ’bus-conductor are empowered by the new Reform Bill to charge double fare for any person or persons weighing over eighteen stone; but no cabman shall charge more than one shilling over and above his legal fare, excepting to Members of Parliament or disorderly persons.

17.—No milkman will be allowed to mix more than two gallons of water with one of milk, excepting when the said milk is over-proof, and has a creamy appearance.

18th.—And no baker shall employ any man who is capable of eating more than four pounds of meat for his dinner, as we have had many complaints about people’s joints looking in a state of rapid consumption after coming from the oven, as if they had taken to fretting.

19th.—And all persons contemplating suicide, are earnestly requested not to drown themselves, as bodies lying too long in the Thames cause the water to become very unwholesome.

20th and last.—And by virtue of the Reform Bill, any married couple who can prove that they have never quarrelled since they were first married, will be entitled to the blessings of universal suffrage.

So says the Reform Bill.

Henry Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

THE
NEW ACT OF PARLIAMENT.

The First Clause in this new intended Act of Parliament is relating to the Bakers. It says: Be it enacted that all master bakers who shall mix, or cause to be any spurious ingredient in his bread, in the shape of bean-flour, pea-flour, starch or alum, or use more than six stone of potatoes with one sack of flour, thereby robbing the poor man of part of his hard earnings, he shall be popped in his own oven directly after the batch is drawn, and not come out till he is half-baked. And every journeyman who dips his fingers into the people’s dishes, shall not be allowed to have more than three dead men for the next month.

2. Any Butcher who is known to give short weight, or sell, or cause to be sold, any part of any ox, cow, calf, sheep, or pig, that shall have died with the measles, erysipelas, hooping cough, or any other disease, he is to be fattened and fed on sheep’s blood and sawdust for three months.

3. Any Publican that makes more than three butts of beer out of one; or use nux vomica, salt, treacle, or horses’ liver in doctoring the same, or not filling his pots within one inch and a half of the top, he must drink eight quarts of his stale beer, directly after a thunderstorm.

4. Any Teetotaler who drinks more than seven quarts of double stout, or one pint of gin, rum, or brandy, unless so ordered by his medical adviser, he must be chained to the nearest drinking fountain for twenty-four hours.

5. Any Tailor who is so fond of garden-stuff, as to cabbage half the cloth entrusted to him by any customer to make up, it shall be in the power of any magistrate to compel him either to walk nine times round St. Paul’s with a sleeve-board tied to his back, or to sit on his hot goose for one hour.

6. Any Shoemaker, Bootmaker, or Cobler, who is known to put less than three stitches to the inch, or leave more than one score of pegs sticking up in his customers’ boots, must live upon lumps of wax for three days, and pay 5s. to the hospital for cripples.

7. Any man who is known to ill-use his wife, or strike her with anything harder than a kitchen poker, or grumble if the child wet his shirt more than six times in one night, must sleep at the foot of the bed for one calendar month.

8. Any Barber, or barber’s clerk, who when shaving a customer shall cut more than one inch off the said customer’s chin, or cram more than a pint of soap suds into his mouth, is ordered to bite three inches off his own pole, or live upon hair shavings for a week.

9. Any Policeman who shall be known to have less than six ounces of hair on his upper lip, or fail to inspect the cupboards of the houses on his beat, must forfeit his claim to being rated sergeant, and be kept without mutton for three months.

10. Any Milliner, dress maker, or fast young girl who may be seen walking with a chignon larger than a porter’s knot, and over 12 pounds in weight, she must pay a fine of 5s. a-year to find wigs for those that are baldpated.

11. Any puffing Grocer who shall be known to be so very kind as to present his customers with sugar basins or milk jugs, and try to persuade them that he is selling better tea for 2s. per pound than others can for 5s. shall be treated as a man who is off his chump and forthwith be taken to Bedlam, or the nearest lunatic asylum to where he resides.

12. Any woman who shall be known to be gadding about from house to house, attending to other people’s business instead of minding her own, shall be made to stand at the door of the parish church with her nose stuck in the key hole, during the service, and wear a ticket on her back, with the words Paul Pry written thereon.

13. Any married Postman who shall be known to wink at, or squeeze the hand of any cookmaid, nurse-maid, or any other pretty young girl, while delivering his letters, his wife shall be empowered to flog him with a wet dish-clout the whole length of his beat.

14. Any nursemaid or greasy cook, who shall have more than two soldiers cuddling her at one time in the kitchen, shall give her next quarter’s wages to the nearest lying-in-hospital.

15. Any young man, who while riding a dandy horse or velocipede, knocking the bark from off his nose more than three times in one week, shall not be allowed to mount one again without being attended by his nurse.

16. Any young virgin over sixty, that has remained single up to that time; and cannot make oath that she has not been kissed at least a score of times by some nice young man, shall be compelled to find meat for half the cats, no matter whether they are black, white, carrotty, or tabby, that are found within one mile of where she resides.

Lastly. And in addition to the penalties here laid down, any person failing to attend to, and breaking one or more of these clauses, they shall be taken to the nearest Union, and made to crack a bushel of unboiled stones.

Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

THE NEW STREETS ACT.

The First Clause in this truly farcical and singular Act is relating to all ‘regular’ but not ‘running’ dustmen:—

That it be enacted that no dustman or scavenger shall dare to sing out dust oh! in a falsetto voice, between the hours of 10 in the morning and 7 in the evening; and that all housekeepers or lodgers shall place all their cabbage stumps, potatoe peels, or fish bones into a frying-pan, dustpan, box or basket, chamber utensil, or any other utensil that is at hand, and place them neatly along the kerb, so that children may play at leap-frog on their way to school.

2. That no persons shall under any pretence leave any goods in the streets for more than sixteen seconds and a half; and any baker resting his basket for a longer space of time, shall for the first offence, forfeit his basket, and for the second, be compelled to stand three hours in a flour sack.

3. That no ox, pig, or ass, or any other kind of donkey shall be driven through the streets without an order from Scotland yard, or the Police Commissioners may detain them for ther own use.

And it is enacted that on and after the first day of November no cabman shall ply for hire, unless his cab shall be illuminated; and moreover, it is expected that each cabman shall be furnished with a transparent hat, each hat to have a life-like photographic likeness of Sir R— M— stuck in the centre.

4. That no ’bus driver or conductor shall allow more than twenty-four volunteers to ride on the roof at one time, and any female with a crinoline more than twelve yards round shall not be allowed as an inside passenger; and any person with more than thirteen stone of useless fat, shall not be considered as a single fare. And it is expected that each ’bus will be provided with a truck to transport all such live lumber te their destination.

5. No walking sandwich will be allowed to parade the streets, and no pavement to be disfigured with, ‘read Fun or Tommyhawk.’ And any dandy seen strutting about in one of Moses’s Guinea Overcoats, will be considered as a walking advertisement, and will be punished as the law directs. No play bills, show bills, sale bills, nor bills of any kind be seen in the public streets, and any quack doctor’s butler who shall be seen giving out bills relative to extraordinary cures of incurable cures shall be treated as a treasonable offender.

6. All carts, go-carts, or donkey carts, must keep a correct line, at least four inches and a half from the kerb, and all nursemaids who are seen out with a perambulator with more than two soldiers as an escort, shall forfeit their last quarter’s wages.

7. And be it enacted that any pug-dog, lap-dog, poodle-dog, bull-dog, who shall be found lurking about the street without being well muzzled, so as to prevent them from picking up the stray bones; and such dogs not giving their names and address to the police will be treated as bad characters, and will be taken into custody,—that is if the police can catch them—and be detained until their parents or friends can be found.

8. And further that such dogs shall board and lodge at the nearest station-house for three days free of expence, and provided with such food a medical inspector shall think fit, but if not owned at the end of that time they shall be treated as outcasts and executed accordingly; and their bodies sold for what they will fetch, the proceeds to go towards a fund for the relief of decayed pie shop keepers.

9. No shoeblack will be allowed to polish up your understandings, nor use the words, “shine your boots, sir,” without being duly licensed according to Act of Parliament. And no costermonger, or costermonger’s apprentice, shall dare to cry “ten a penny walnuts,” within four feet of the footway; and any donkey braying without an order from the Commissioners shall be taken into custody, and fed upon cabbage stumps for one month.

10. With a view to suppressing all gaming, all betting men are forbidden to meet more than three together in public thoroughfares, but may victimise as many as they like in the back streets.

11. No owners of soup or cook shops shall dare to sell any stocking pudding that has not got at least two plums and a half in a square inch, or they will be compelled to swallow three quarts of double size every day for a fortnight. No confectioner shall make or cause to be made, any lollipops or sugar sticks measuring more than six inches in length, and any children sucking any of larger dimensions in the public streets will be considered as causing an obstruction, and punished accordingly.

12. This Act is favourable to all cats as we find they are not mentioned, so they are empowered to plunder our cupboards, and seranade us with their nightly gambols on the tiles.

13. No boy under twenty years of age will be allowed to trundle a hoop upon the footpath, except between the hours of twelve at night and six in the morning.

14. No lady after the passing of this Act must wear a bonnet larger than the bottom of a halfpenny bun, lest they should be afflicted with the brain fever, nor have more hair sticking out behind than would stuff a moderate side pillow-case.

15. No gent shall be allowed to wear whiskers that shall extend more than four inches and a half from his face under the pain of being close shaved with a carpenter’s hand-saw.

16. And all mothers will be compelled to keep a supply of soothing syrup on hand, as no child will be allowed to cry during the prescribed hours; and this Clause refers to all persons addicted to snoring, who are hereby cautioned not to lay on their backs, for fear they should disturb the public peace.

17. And as no one can be convicted unless seen by a policeman, the public are requested to wait till that gentlemen is out of sight before they violate any part of this Act.

18. And as evil doers will be punished by Mayne force, a placard to that effect will be stuck on each lamp-post. So much for the New Police Act.

God save the People!

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

THE POOR LAW CATECHISM.

Q. What is your name?

A. A Pauper.

Q. Who gave you that name?

A. The Board of Guardians, to whom I applied in the time of distress, when first I became a child of want, a member of the workhouse, and an inheritor of all the insults that poverty is heir to.

Q. What did the Board of Guardians do for you.

A. They did promise two things. First, that I should be treated like a convicted felon, being deprived of liberty, and on prison fare. Lastly, that I should be an object of oppression all the days of my life.

Q. Rehearse the Articles of thy belief.

A. I believe in the cruelty of Lord H—y B—m, the author of the present Poor Law, and I also believe that these laws have caused the death of tens of thousands by starvation and neglect.

Q. How many Commandments have you and such as you are to keep?

A. Ten.

Q. Which be they?

A. The same which the Poor Law Commissioners make in Somerset House, saying, We are thy lords and masters, who have caused thee to be confined as in bastiles, and separated thee and the wife of thy bosom, and the children of thy love. 1st, Thou shalt obey no laws but ours. 2nd, Thou shalt not make to thyself any substitute for skilley, nor the likeness of tea, or any other kind of food, or drink, except as is allowed in the workhouse; for we are very jealous men, punishing with severity any transgression against our laws. Should’st thou disobey in this, we shall teach you a lesson that shall last thee all the days of thy life. 3rd, Thou shalt labour hard, and for nothing, and none of thy earnings shall be thy own. 4th, Remember the Sabbath day: six days shalt thou labour hard, and have but little to eat; but the seventh day is the Sabbath, wherein we cannot make you work, and so we give you liberty for an hour or two, to save the parish the expense of your Sunday dinner. 5th. Thou shalt honour the Poor Laws, the Commissioners, and the Beadles; thou shalt take no offence at what they say or do, or else thy days shall be made more miserable in the workhouse wherein thou livest. 6th, Thou shalt commit murder by neglecting thy starving children, for we will give thee no assistance to get them food. 7th, Thou shalt learn to neglect the dear ties of nature, for we will separate thee from the wife of thy bosom, and the children of thy love. 8th, Thou shalt rob thyself of the society and enjoyment of her whom thou hast sworn to protect while life shall last. 9th, Thou shalt be a false witness whenever a Pauper dies, and should the coroner or jury ask you how you live, why tell them you live like lords, and are as happy as princes. 10th, Thou shalt covet all thy neighbour is possessed of, thou shalt covet his friends, his clothes, and all the comforts which thou once had; yet shalt thou long in vain; for remember, oh, pauper! that the motto of every workhouse is—“He who enters here leaves all comforts behind.”

LINES ON THE DEATH OF AN OLD PAUPER.

THE
  SOLDIER’S  CATECHISM.

Question. What is your name?

Answer. Soldier.

Q. Who gave you that name?

A. The recruiting-sergeant, when I received the enlisting shilling, whereby I was made a recruit of bayonets, bullets, and death.

Q. What did the recruiting-sergeant promise then for you?

A. He did promise and vow three things in my name. First, that I should renounce all idea of liberty, and all such nonsense. Secondly, that I should be well harassed with drill. And, thirdly, that I should stand up to be shot at whenever called upon so to do; and I heartily hope our Colonel will never call me into such a perilous position.

Q. Rehearse the Articles of thy Belief.

A. I believe in the Colonel most mighty, maker of Sergeants and Corporals; and in his deputy the Major, who is an officer by commission, and rose by turn of promotion, suffered the hardships of the field-service, marching and fighting; he descended into trials; after the wars he rose again; he ascended into ease, and sitteth on the right hand of the Colonel, from whence he will come to superintend the good from the bad. I believe in the Adjutant; the punishment of the guard-room; the stopping of grog; the flogging with cats; and the certainty of these things lasting. Amen.

Q. How many Commandments may there be?

A. Ten.

Q. What are they?

A. The same which the Colonel spake in the standing orders, saying, I am thy Colonel and commanding officer, who commands thee in the field and in quarters.

I. Thou shalt have no other Colonel but me.

II. Thou shalt not make to thyself any sergeant or corporal, that is in any European regiment above, or in any Sepoy regiment below, neither shalt thou salute them; for I thy Colonel am a jealous Colonel, and visit the iniquities of my men unto the third and fourth with stripes, and promote those who obey me and keep my standing orders.

III. Thou shalt not take the name of thy Colonel in vain, for I will not call him a good man who shall do so.

IV. Remember that thou attend church parade. Six days shalt thou have for drill and field-days; but on the seventh day thou shalt have no drill, thou, nor thy fire-lock, nor thy pouch, nor thy pouch-belt, nor thy ammunition, or any of thy appointments: for six days are sufficient for these things, and I like to rest on that day; wherefore I order church parade—attend to it.

V. Honour thy Colonel and thy Major, that thy comfort may be long in the regiment you are in.

VI. Thou shalt not get drunk on duty.

VII. Thou shalt not be absent from drill.

VIII. Thou shalt not sell thy kit.

IX. Thou shalt not come dirty to parade.

X. Thou shalt not covet thy pay-sergeants’s coat, nor his place, nor his pay, nor his sword, nor his perquisites, nor his wife, nor his authority, nor any thing that is his.

Q. What do you chiefly learn by these commandments?

A. I learn two things: my duty towards my Colonel, and my duty towards my pay-sergeant.

Q. What is your duty towards your Colonel?

A. My duty towards my Colonel is to believe in him, to fear him, to obey all his orders, and all that are put in authority under him, with all my heart; to appear before him as a soldier all the days of my life; to salute him, to submit to him in all respect whatever; to put my whole trust in him, to give him thanks when he promotes me, to honour him and his commission, and to serve him as a soldier. Amen.

Q. What is your duty towards your pay-sergeant?

A. My duty towards my pay-sergeant is to attend to his directions, to look to him for pay and allowances, and all supplies of clothing; to borrow four shillings and give him five in return, to sign all books and papers he may require, and to never doubt his word in any thing.

Q. Let me hear you say your prayers.

A. Our Colonel, high in rank, honoured be thy name; may thy promotion come; thy will be done by thy sergeants, corporals, and privates. Give me my daily allowance of pay; and forgive me my crimes as I should forgive my comrade soldier. And lead me not to the triangles; but deliver me from them; and thine shall be the honour, thine the power, for ever and ever. Amen.

Q. What desirest thou in this prayer?

A. I desire my Colonel, our commanding officer, to extend his kindness to me and all my comrades; that we may honour him, serve him, and obey all his orders as we ought to do. And I pray unto him that he will be merciful unto us, and forgive us our crimes; and that he will lead us on to the defence of our country and Queen. And this I trust he will for his honour and renown; and therefore I say, Amen, and Amen.

THE DRUNKARD’S CATECHISM.

Question.—What is your name?

Answer.—Drunken Sot.

Q.—Who gave you that name?

A.—As drink is my idol, landlords and their wives get all my money; they gave me that name in my drunken sprees, wherein I was made a member of strife, a child of want, and an inheritor of a bundle of rags.

Q.—What did your landlords and landladies promise for you.

A.—They did promise and vow three things in my name, first, that I should renounce the comfort of my own fire side; secondly, starve my wife and hunger my children; thirdly, walk in rags and tatters, with my shoe soles going flip flap all the days of my life.

Catechist.—Rehearse the articles of thy belief.

Answer.—I believe in the existence of one Mr Alcohol, the great head and chief of all manner of vice, the source of nine-tenths of all diseases; and I not only believe, but am sure that when my money is gone and spent, the landlord will stop the tap and turn me out.

C.—How many commandments have ye sots to keep?

A.—Ten.

C.—What be they.

A.—The same which the landlord and landlady spake in the bar, saying, We are thy master and thy mistress who brought thee out of the paths of virtue, placed thee in the ways of vice, and set thy feet on the road which leadeth to New South Wales.

I.—Thou shalt use no other house but mine.

II.—Thou shalt not make to thyself any substitute for intoxicating drinks, such as tea, coffee, ginger-pop and lemonade; for I am a jealous man, wearing the coat that should be on thy back, eating thy children’s bread, and pocketing the money which should make thee and thy wife happy all the days of thy life.

III.—Thou shalt not use my house in vain.

IV.—Remember that thou eat but one meal on the Sabbath day. Six days shalt thou drink and spend all thy money, but the seventh day is the Sabbath, wherein I wash my floor, mend my fires and make ready for the company the remaining part of the day.

V.—Thou shalt honor the landlords, the landladies, and the gin-shops with thy presence, that thy days may be few and miserable, in the land wherein thou livest.

VI.—Thou shalt commit murder, by starving, hungering, and beating thy wife and family.

VII.—Thou shalt commit self-destruction.

VIII.—Thou shalt sell thy wife’s and children’s bread and rob thyself of all thy comforts.

IX.—Thou shalt bear false witness when thou speakest of the horrors, saying, Thou art in good health when labouring under the barrel fever.

X.—Thou shalt covet all thy neighbour is possessed of; thou shalt covet his house, his land, his purse, his health, his wealth, and all that he has got, that thou mayest indulge in drunkenness, help the brewer to buy a new coach, a pair of fine horses, a new dray, and a fine building, that he may live in idleness all his days; likewise to enable the landlord to purchase a new sign to place over his door, with “Licensed to be drunk on the Premises” written thereon.

THE DRUNKARD’S LOOKING GLASS!

THE DRUNKARD’S FAREWELL TO HIS FOLLY!

London:—H. Such, Printer, 123, Union Street, Boro’—S.E. Established 1846.

NEW BEER HOUSE ACT,
To be observed by all Beer Sellers and Beer Drinkers throughout England, and to be in force as long as the people will stand it.

Now it has pleased the Lords spiritual and temporal of this miscalled free and happy England, to look with an eye of pity on the working classes; and feeling for all those who are fond of their beer, have passed a bill called the New Beer House Act, and all persons breaking the same will have to look out for squalls.

Clause 1. Be it enacted, that any person wishing to open a place for the sale of beer, wine, ale, cider, or swankey, shall give notice of the same to the overseers, churchwardens, town crier, and parish beadle, of the parish wherein he lives, and stick one on the door of the church or chapel, if there is one, and if not, he must pin one on the seat of his breeches, and walk round the said parish from ten in the morning till five in the afternoon, for two consecutive Sundays, or live upon skilly for one month.

2. Any person keeping a house for the sale of any land of fermented liquor, and who shall dare to keep the said house open one moment after the clock has said cut it, and sell one half pint of malt tea, he shall for the first offence have his head shaved, and for the second shall be imprisoned for a term not exceeding his natural life.

3. Any keeper of any refreshment house who shall have the cheek to sell, or cause to be sold, one glass of cooper, or one quarter of Watling’s pork feed to any person, without being cock sure that his character is strictly moral, he shall not draw another drop for 12 calendar months. This clause does not refer to the tribe of Overend and Gurney’s, or any one connected with the Albert Assurance Company, or, in fact, any gentlemanly swindlers whatever.

4. No chandler shop keeper, fruit shop keeper, or shop for the sale of lollipops, shall dare to sell small beer or shandy-gaff to any wayfarer during the hours stated in the act, or they will have to pay 40s., and forfeit the swankey for Her Majesty’s own private use.

5. It is enacted that a body of vigilant officers from each, division of police to be called the tasters, whose duty shall be to enter such houses as they may think fit, swallow all they can find, and see that none of the working classes get half seas over.

6. All brewers’ grooms, or draymen, shall sponge their horses on Saturday night, lest they should smell of malt on the Sunday.

7. All persons who are in the habit of getting tight on Saturday night, are requested to drink one quart of half-and-half before closing time, lest they should be thirsty next morning.

8. All persons who have a custom of taking a stroll into the country on a Sunday to get a blow after their week’s labour, or enjoy a picnic at Hampstead or Wimbledon, will do well to provide themselves with stone bottles, labelled cold tea, as there will be no such a thing as bona-fide travellers while the new Beer House Act is in force.

9. All persons are forbidden to use any bottles, jugs, glasses, or tea cups that has contained beer on Saturday night, without well scalding out on the Sunday morning.

10. And woe betide any woman who is caught with a flask containing cholic drops in her pocket.

11. All cowkeepers or dairymen are cautioned against feeding their cows on grains, lest the milk should give the tea a beery flavour.

12. All publicans and beer shop keepers are to place a wet blanket over their chimney pots, close the windows, and stop up the key holes, lest the smell should offend the framers of the New Beer House Act.

13. Any person who receives a visit from father, mother, brother, or grandmother, during the prescribed hours, they must not dare to give them one glass, they not being servants or lodgers.

And lastly, any person causing the conviction of one score of offenders against the above Act, will receive, as a reward, a free admission to the Crystal Palace at the next meeting of the Temperance League.

So says the New Beer House Act.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

GRAND
CONVERSATION
ON
BRAVE NELSON.

BATTLE
OF
WATERLOO.

London:—H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 117, Union Street, Borough.—S.E.

A NEW SONG
ON
THE TIMES.

THE
AGONY BILL.

John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

A NEW SONG
ON
THE REPEAL
OF THE
CORN LAWS.

A NEW SONG,
OPENING THE PORTS.

(Composed by E. Wrigley for his Three Strings.)

John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

A NEW SONG ON THE
LIBERATION
OF
DANIEL O’CONNELL.

Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

A
NEW SONG
ON
THE TIMES.

A NEW SONG.

J. Catnach, Printer, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.

FLEETWOOD,
STRICKLAND,
AND
REFORM TRIUMPHANT.

PETERLOO.

John Harkness, Printer, Preston.

THE STATE
OF
Great Britain,
OR
A TOUCH AT THE TIMES.

TUNE—Irish Molly O.

A NEW SONG
OF THE
ELECTION.

“THE CAP, THOSE WHOM IT FITS MAY WEAR IT.”

LAMENTATION ON THE DEATH
OF THE
Duke of Wellington.

DEATH
OF
WELLINGTON.

J. Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

THE FALL
OF
SEBASTOPOL.

BATTLE
OF
ALMA