BLOOD HEAT AND FREEZING POINT.
'Tis a bad plan to fight, whatever be
The provocation—just attend to me,
And you'll ne'er rue it;
Although with rage you find your fingers burn,
As obstinate as Grissel's masons turn,
Only instead of striking—never do it.
Even when struck, never return the blow;—
Blow the return! your independence show;
Put up with a put down—let no regards
For empty honour tempt you to exchange
Your pasteboard challenges, however strange,
But cut the cards,
Then shuffle off yourself; declare no war;
And, recollect, 'tis always better, far,
For your assailant to turn up his nose,
Than you your toes!
Words beget blows—from blows contusions rise,
Which, cutting off your lachrymal supplies,
May dam your eyes—
At least their conduits; tempt no further brawl;
For though "black eyes most dazzle at a ball,"
You'd find, in spite of all you'd thought before,
A ball would dazzle your black eyes much more.
Think of your challenger, bent straight on fight,
With purpose cruel,
Arising from his bed, at day's first light,
To do ill.
True to the moments, see his seconds first,
Who for your heart's best blood already thirst,
Like murd'rous Thugs;
With you yourself—pale as a taper's light—
"Creeping, like snail, unwillingly" to fight
With slugs!
Think of the morning fog, by whose assistance
All may be mist, unless, defying distance,
His vision, at such moment far too clear,
Cutting all chaff,
May lay you, by his barrel, on your bier,
'Twixt life and death, or, rather, half and half!
Blood-Heat and Freezing-Point.
SOCIETY FOR THE CONFUSION OF USELESS
KNOWLEDGE.
August, 1841.—At the Annual Meeting of the British Fill-us-off-ical and Feeding Association, at Ply-mouth, the following ingenious plan was promulgated—for a Company for the Confusion of Useless Knowledge. It is needless to say that so praiseworthy a project met with the unbounded sympathy and concurrence of all the members present.
It is intended by the Company to supply the present enormous mental appetite of the public with a full feed of science and literature in a series of sixpenny bits, or bites. To prevent the appetite from becoming cloyed by too continuous a fare of any one kind, the bits will be so intermingled and diversified as to keep the biters always expecting and never satisfied. Thus, the biography of Bacon will be relieved by a bit of the history of Greece; a bit of Astronomy, by a bit of Brewing; a bit of Roman History, by a bit of Algebra; a bit of Chemistry, by a bit of Commerce; a bit of the History of the Church, by a bit of Sir Christopher Wren. Vegetable Physiology, bit I., will be probably followed by a Treatise on Probability; from the study of which the reader may, if he please, try to find out when he is likely to see Vegetable Physiology, bit II. The whole will thus form, in the mind of the student, a most desirable complication of the Novum Organon, Athens, Malting and Mash-tubs, the Cæsars, Logarithms, Oxygen, Tariffs, Telescopes, the Arian Controversy, the building of St. Paul's, Cellular Tissues, and Reversionary Interests.
The success of various topographical works, which, in their periodical production, illustrate perhaps a description of Northumberland, with views in Norfolk or Middlesex; and of the Encyclopædias, which accompany the article Entomology, with probably the plates of Clockwork, or Geometry, justify the Company in adopting a similar mode of arrangement.
The Company propose, in order to insure the greatest possible degree of ultimate perfection, to commence some of the subjects with bits, developing the present notions of the scientific world, and to keep them incomplete till they can conclude them with the discoveries of the next generation on the same topics; so that the statements in bit No. 1 will probably be corrected by the subsequent discoveries in bit No. 2 of the same subject, to be produced ten years hence; but, considering the philanthropic views of the Company, they will consider themselves quite at liberty to abandon, incomplete, any of the subjects which it may not be very easy for them to finish; considering it to be fully in accordance with their general object to leave to their followers that glorious desideratum of the aspiring and energetic mind—
"The Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties."
Losing Hazard.
Pocketing.
Marker.
The Finish.
VIII.
Tom Gad can't eat his morning meat,
His head of pain has twitches;
And his faithful chap can't find a rap
Of coin about his breeches:
But turns the pockets of each inexpressible,
Merely to show how far they were accessible.
* * * * *
Losing Hazard resembles the sea, it is plain,
For it certainly swallows things up by the main;
But the fellow who in the destructive game dabs,
Though he catches no fish, is full sure to throw crabs.
He deserves to be beat with the best of crab sticks,
For though "six, seven, eight," have got, each of them, nicks,
They, at last, lay the gambler undone on the shelf,
And then he is taken by old Nick himself;
Besides, he's a noodle undoubted, who'd try
To be making a living by going to die!
15. The boy Jones sent to sea.
Jones, you'll be tossed at sea, as I've a notion;
But the dread perils of the ocean, O shun!
Winds, when the fair Aurora dawns, O roar
Not in your might till Jones has gone ashore;
Waters, swell not yon yeasty billows high,
Till that young swell's on land, and very dry;
For though his name is Jones, and though he did
Enter the palace, and not touch the knocker,
There is no reason right why Jones's kid
Should be consign'd to Davy Jones's locker.
29. La Fontaine's Mesmeric Exhibition.
It's a science methinks—though La Fontaine may brag,
That, in language of slang, sir, is not worth a mag;
And, although men some mighty phenomenon see,
When it loosens the elbow or stiffens the knee,
Yet they get to no end, and are still plunged in schism,
While the world's looking on, and exclaiming that 'tis hum-
Bug every bit—and as much waste of time
As thus cramming mag-knee-'tis-hum into rhyme.
The Ups and Downs of Life
THE UPS AND DOWNS OF LIFE;
Or, Polytechnic Pond-erings Elaborated in the Bell.
Mr. Green is, with all deference to the gentleman of another colour who generally assumes that title, the real Prince of the Air. He rides upon the whirlwind where he lists: the atmosphere welcomes him with hail! and the bridled tempest offers him its rains. If the perfection of the science of aërostation be so perfectly within his grasp, it is plain the elements must long since have yielded: he knows all their economies, and regards the zephyrs as familiar airs. The mischievous wind, so often presuming on its intangibility, by committing all sorts of depredations, and then scudding off, is compelled to confess its inability to cope with him, and to own the presence of "Green in its eye." Hecate is, compared to him, a dull, powerless agent; for his spirits do not wait for him on the rather uncertain tenement of a foggy cloud—which, from its surchargement with aqueous vapour in suspension, stands a chance of converting them into weak grog—but lie neck and heels at the bottom of his car, assimilating, in their nature, to bottle imps. When other people call a coach he unconcernedly takes a fly, and floats up like down. Other blessings attend his aërial wanderings. His champagne and stout are sure to be up; his cold pheasant is palatably high; and his other refreshments range far above all imitations. He takes leave of the world, not as an anchorite, but to enter a livelier grade of superior society, moving in an elevated position; and bears with philosophical indifference the wide reverses of his existence, from the most rapid rise to a subsequent decline and fall; although, at the same time, no man has more uniformly good prospects. We only wonder how he can tolerate our dull earth, and wager he never feels so secure with the flags of the pavement as he does with those of his own balloon. His very nature must have been reduced to what it works in—the atmosphere: and those who may eventually succeed to his possessions can be no other than the Airshire legatees. The rise and fall of the stocks affect him not—his own keep pace with his situation; and the glance of his eye sweeps the whole range beneath him with a bird's-eye wipe. There are but few difficulties on earth that he cannot grapple with. His balloon is his substantial and impregnable castle in the air, which he has built himself: and he always has his wits about him cool and collected, though, like a wool-gathering ruminator, he is constantly in the clouds. Although Mr. Green was long connected with the Polytechnic Institution, where his aëronautic whirligigs used to demonstrate the power he had acquired in guiding balloons, we are convinced he never went down in a diving-bell, for he would have been literally out of his element; unless the galvanic experiments at the same time could have chemically decomposed the water around it into its constituent gases, and he would then have gone aloft with his darling hydrogen. We once saw him contemplating the diving-bell; but it was with the air of an eagle of the sun gazing at a dabchick, apparently lost in wonder, not at the machine, but at the eagerness of the visitors to descend in it, to the chilly depths of the tank. It was evident that he no more regarded them as of his own species than the brilliant libellula, rising in the sunshine, owns the immature chrysalis lying at the bottom of the pool.
We ourselves, who are not a prey to such flights of ambition, hold the Polytechnic Institution, and its million wonders, in especial reverence from beginning to end, and think it fortunate that its professors live in enlightened times, or they would be assuredly burnt for necromancers, and form their own fire-clouds; producing photographic shadows of themselves, by the glare of their own faggots. Not being inclined to soar aloft, we rather approve of the diving-bell, and often pay it a visit. It affords matter of gratification to everybody. The scientific man goes down to measure the pressure of the atmosphere upon the drums of his ears, and see the displacement of water by air; the sightseer and curiosity-hunter, to experience a novel sensation; the hair-brained lounger, fresh from Regent-street, with his little stick and blotting-paper-coloured Chesterfield, to "put up a lark," although the bottom of a tank of water is certainly rather an unlikely place to find such a creation; and the lover of display, to gratify a trifle of ambition in becoming the pro-tempore lion of the place, as he emerges from the bell on its emersion from the water, in the bright eyes of the pretty girls who are looking down on his sub-aqueous venture from the galleries above.
The diving-bell, in the present era of compound-progressive science, is only in its infancy—its tinkle will, ere long, be changed to a toll: we speak metaphorically, and do not allude to the shilling paid for entrance. We have passed the adventures in the picture which illustrate the article "Bell-Diving," in the Encyclopædias, representing two gentlemen, who have secured places inside, holding air-tubes, and one, more venturesome, who has strolled to take a cold without, carrying a small bell on his head, and a boat-hook in his hand, amidst rocks and sea-weeds. Bolder schemes are in progress. The bell will open a new line for travellers to the Antipodes, by going right through the sea at once, and thus curtailing the journey by the geometrical relation which the diameter bears to half the circumference. Neither should we be surprised if people, addicted to go down to watering-places, go down at once to the very bottom, and choose waterproof summer villas on the beds of our lakes and rivers, exempt from land-tax and ground-rent; when, stationed in the water, they fling defiance at the law of the land. Such a position would be a fitting site whereon Father Mathew and his proselytes could erect a temple to the Genius of Teetotalism.
We need not add, it will take some time to bring the public mind to an idea of the security of these abodes. The shilling'sworth of flurry and ear-ache which the adventurers purchase so readily, still, however, finds a rapid sale. We descended the other day with a lady who had a great deal of the former commodity for her money. Her fright was extreme, when the huge monster that contained us first swung off its perch; and, when its mouth touched the water, she gave way to the wildest despair, even to attempt breaking the windows with her parasol. The only moment of security she experienced was when she reached the bottom. Here she fairly jumped down off her seat, on which it had required great exertion to retain her, and begged to be left where she was, now she had once reached the ground again, observing, we might go back in the bell if we chose, but, for her part, she preferred substantial footing to again trusting herself in such a crack-me-crazy vehicle.
Black Eyes and Blue Jackets.
Tremendous charge of the Blues.
IX.
Tom Gad, d'ye see, out on a spree,
Gets whopp'd in Covent Garden;
They knock him down, and crack his crown,
And leave him not a farden:
And then, for making such a fuss, to-day,
They give poor Thomas into custody.
* * * * *
Policemen are the "upstarts" of the nation,
For every one appears above his station;
And would you know his tyranny full well,
I fear you'll buy your knowledge in a cell.
1. Why is the back of a hare like a narrow escape?
Because it's "a hare's breadth."
29. Rent Day—Landlords' levée.
In cool grot and mossy cell.
Rent Day!—a day when all hearts most are rent
With torture—save, the heart of lusty Dan;
Then gets he that which makes him most content,
Rent from the ragged and rent-breeches man;
Bent upon rent, and all without remorse,
Yet Dublin deems the foul extortion fair,
And swears that, as he's ridden the high Horse
So long and well, she now will make him Mayor—
A Mayor who, though he makes of Fifties—cronies,
Yet has a most maternal love for Ponies.
Leading the Van.
Star-gazing in season.
Yes! gaze, and cry, "My stars—all wondrous fair,
That, by your shining do behave as sich,"
Look up—you'll find your very soul is there
Look down—your body's rolling in the ditch!
"The Beauty of the Heavens."
NEW EDITION OF BURNS.
Published October 30, 1841, at the Tower.
The indefatigable Mr. Swallow has obligingly forwarded to us the following list of valuable relics, which were rescued from the "devouring element," during the late conflagration at the Tower:—
Half of the lid of a pot, inscribed—"Fox's Circassian Cream," and supposed to have belonged to Renard, the Spanish Ambassador at the Court of Queen Mary.
The handle of the warming-pan which was used for the bed of the young princes the night previous to their being smothered.
The bowl of the identical pipe with which the executioner of Guy Fawkes composed himself, after he had accomplished his unpleasant duty.
A portion of a bottle, which contained the liquid used to polish the Bluchers of Edward the Black Prince; part of the label, with the letters WAR——still in high preservation, and clearly indicating the determined resolution of that undaunted hero.
A tile, with the initials "W.R.," and which, it is judged from the caligraphy, belonged to the time of William Roof-us.
A massive trowel, the state of its edge proving that there must have been a "strike" of Masons in former days.
A spice-box, supposed to have contained the mace of the ancient Lord Mayors of London.
A fragment of a Cigar, very probably a portion of the Regalia.
A five-shilling piece, in an imperfect state; doubtless the crown that Richard the Second resigned to Henry of Lancaster.
A constable's truncheon, with a certificate of its having formed the Duke of Wellington's staff at Waterloo.
The feet of the gridiron that cooked the last chop, but one, for the ill-fated Duke of Buckingham.
A pitch-er, used by the tars to drink grog out of, after the dispersion of the Spanish Armada.
Going!—Gone!!
GOING! GONE!
THE AUCTION-HERE.
Glasses, tables, pictures, chairs, Dutch ovens, and beds;—and knots of men upon the stairs, with knots upon their heads;—and the dining-room table put in the front drawing-room, and covered by the back parlour carpet,—supporting the auctioneer, and the clerk, and catalogues, and desk, altogether enough to warp it.—And each hale porter stout is "drawing lots" about, which, if brittle, you may think fortunate, if from the room they are thrust whole,—from the specimen post of the best front bed, and the book muslin covers, that once were red, to the cinder-sieve and knife-board, in the dust-hole.—"Any advance upon seven—eight, nine, ten, eleven—going!—thank you, sir—twelve, thirteen. Tap! gone for thirteen—the cheapest bargain ever seen; they are yours, sir; if you pay, they may go at once away. Six iron hoops, a water-butt, a bottle-rack, and broom."—"Oh, Mr. Auctioneer, there's some mistake, I fear, for not a word I said."—"But, sir, you nodded your head."—"Oh, yes, to a friend in the room!"—And when the sale of the silver things is going to begin, the room's so hot, and the crowd so dense, from the people scrowdging in;—and the struggle for the loss is so great 'mongst those who compete, that you'd say there was a race for the plate in a general heat.—And there's a great Jew upholder, that I'm forced to uphold on my shoulder—leaning upon my chair, with long, black, greasy hair, that would make Sir Peter Laurie swear, and a coat as rough as a bear; it's rather too bad to let him in amongst respectable people, in his bear-skin; and I don't know what he can mean, but I suppose it's his fat that makes him lean.—"Ladies and gentlemen, I must beg silence,—for the babel of your tongues may be heard a mile hence.—I first offer to your notice an article of vertu, as old as the world itself, both curious and rare too, that was dug up beneath some ruins in the Sicilies,—and is from the undoubted chisel of Praxiteles—representing a Venus, without legs, arms, or head; au reste,—the trunk is very beautiful, so is the chest."—"Mr. Auctioneer, your classic knowledge is rather queer; and I don't wish to hurt you, but I cannot understand Venus being an article of virtue; and if this mutilated image is Venus coming from the sea, as you say, I should rather incline to think that the sharks had been following in her lee all the way."—"We have here a fine painting by Vandyke,—a correct portrait of anybody you like—and a bust of the celebrated ballad-singer, Homer,—who, throughout the towns of Greece, was a roamer,—where 'tis known, by even the most illiterate dunce, that he'd the luck to be born in seven different cities at once;—but all his endeavours to raise a penny from each of these places seemed to fail,—for he never got out-door relief from any, although it seems to have been a Union on a most extensive scale.—I'll thank you to give me a good bidding, if you please—for you rarely see such authentic originals as these—which I have offered to the gaze of the beholders.—The bust upon which you have all bent your eyes was buried in Pompeian lava for centuries,—where it, all that time, had lain."—"Then, perhaps, sir, you can explain the meaning of the motto 'Austin and Seeley,' on the shoulders."—And in the midst of this general din the rafters of the floor all tumble in,—and down to the parlour the company and auctioneer go,—which rather cumflusticates those who are sitting below; and so,—amidst the general confusion and rout,—we ourselves will contrive to scramble out—from the room in which we were crammed;—and, on gaining the fresh air, we are almost tempted to swear, if we go there again we'll be—shot!