Paragraphs Extraordinary.

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FEBRUARY.—"Transfer Day at the Bank."

1836.]		FEBRUARY.

		Look, Mrs. B——, what a crowd I see,
		And the bells they make such a clatter;
		And the people run, and I hear a gun!
		Whatever can be the matter?

		Mrs. C——, my dear, it's no good, I fear,
		For us honest women and our spouses,
		For the people say, the King's going to-day,
		To open two very bad houses.
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	In

2	this	"TRANSFER DAY."	other

3	gay	As I was walking past the Bank,	matters,
		(I know not why I stroll'd that way,)
4	month	I saw a lady tall and lank,	☽ ☍
		With golden ringlets mix'd with grey;
5	I	And as she tripp'd, or strove to trip,	☋ ♅ ♑ ♎ ⚹
		Adown the steps, so light and gay,
6	would	The greasy granite made her slip,	so
		And down she fell on Transfer Day.
7	not		worthily
		I rais'd her up with gallant air;
8	choose	For I'm a Major on half-pay,	stepped
		Who only live to serve the fair,
9	to	At any time, in any way:
		And while she blush'd a purple hue,
10	walk	Her eyes obliquely shot a ray,	♃ ☉ ♐ ♋ ♉
		Which seem'd to say, "You will not rue
11	the	Your service on a Transfer Day."	into the

12	streets	And while the glance she threw at me	shoes of my
		Was thro' my heart a-making way;
13	in	I straight began a colloquy,
		And to myself I thus did say:
14	dancing	If tradesmen, when their bills they bring,
		Would be contented with half-pay;	♊ ☿ ⚹
15	shoes	I'd soar aloft on freedom's wing,
		Nor care a rush for Transfer Day.	renowned
16	nor
		But needy men the needful need;
17	would	So, spite of ringlets golden grey,
		And eyes that squint, I'll take the hint,	☍ ☿
18	I	Nor throw the lucky chance away.
		Full soon I found—ah! pleasing sound!—	predecessor,
19	for	With wealth she could my love repay;
		No longer mute, I urg'd my suit,
20	the	Upon that very Transfer Day.
			♀ ♂ ☿
21	world	I leave untold our courtship fond:—
		I made her Mrs. Major Cox;	the great
22	be	And in return for Hymen's bond,
		She kindly placed me in the stocks.	FRANCIS
23	seen	Her heart is good, her temper mild;
		She rules with more than sov'reign sway;	MOORE,
24	to	Nor have I thought myself beguil'd,
		Or once regretted Transfer Day.	Defunct,
25	trip

26	along
			♊ ☌ ⊕ ♓
27	in
			which shoes,
28	light
			by-the-bye,
29	nankeen.

Humbuggum Ass-trologicum, pro Anno 1836.

VOX MULTORUM, VOX STULTORUM: the Voice of the Many is the Voice of a Zany.—It brawleth at all Places and Seasons.

Courteous Reader,

I DO herewith, present thee with an hieroglyphic, after the accustomed usage of my lamented precursor and prototype, Francis Moore, defunct. It prefigureth a mighty change now lying in the womb of futurity, and which doubtless will be brought forth in due season by the great man-midwife, Time.

And now do I most entreatingly invite thee to cast a Parthian glance at my foregone prophetic lucubrations, and especially towards that symbolical prefiguration or hieroglyphic, by which I brightly shadowed forth a certain notable event, the fulfilment whereof did so closely follow the heels of the prediction as to cause the multitude to marvel;—and when thou hast sufficiently pondered thereupon, I would ask thee whether thou dost not in verity deem me a fit and worthy successor of the renowned Francis Moore, defunct?

I do thus throw myself on thy candour, because certain of mine adversaries do most unworthily insinuate, that my astrological skill is stark naught; that I hold no correspondence with the stars; that I am no more acquainted with the Great Bear than with the Great Mogul; that I gather no signs of the Times from the signs of the Zodiac; and, in brief, that I am no conjuror! My only familiar, they affirm, is a little, insignificant, diminutive thing, called Common Sense, whose aid any one may have if he chooses; that the said Common Sense collects together certain things called Past Events, with which he compares Present Appearances, and they help him to Future Probabilities; they are then put into the crucible of Ordinary Judgment; and my sagacious and veracious prophecies and hieroglyphics are the result of this simple alchemy!

Candid Reader! Let thine own discretion decide, whether logical judgment or astro-logical fudgement be the art which influenceth my lucubrations.

INVITATION OF "THE SELECT"
To
Bartholomew Fair.

Come, buffers and duffers, and dashers and smashers,

Come, tag, rag, and bobtail, attend to my call;

Ye pickpockets, sally from court, lane, and alley,

The Lord Mayor in person has open'd the ball.

Come, Billingsgate sinners, and cat and dog skinners,

And play up a game to make Decency stare:

A fig for propriety, sense, and sobriety!

They never were known at fam'd Bartlemy Fair.

Come, nightmen and dustmen, and rovers and drovers;

Come, Whitechapel butchers, and join in the throng!

With marrow-bones and cleavers, delight the coal-heavers,

While broken-nose Billy shall snuffle a song.

Ye lazy mechanics, who dearly love one day,

For wives and for children who never know care;

Who reckon Saint Monday more holy than Sunday,

Come and spend all your earnings at Bartlemy Fair.

Ye wives and ye widows! here's plenty of bidders;

Come hither, and each get a swain for herself;

To deck yourselves gaily, and grace the Old Bailey,

The pawnbrokers' shops will lend plenty of pelf.

Ye youth of the city! ye servant-maids pretty!

Ye unmarried damsels with characters rare!

Come here and be jolly, for virtue's a folly;

So, come and be ruin'd at Bartlemy Fair.

MARCH.			[1836.

		Some ready cash Dick wants to borrow
		About this time—perhaps for rent;
		But like most folks, he finds with sorrow
		He's just too late—it's always Lent.
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	Blowing

2	growing	"DAY AND NIGHT EQUAL."	although

3	here's a	'Tis Six o'Clock;—and now the Sun	☊ ♅ ♌ ♑
		His daily course begins to run;
4	clatter!	While Folly's children slink away,	somewhat
		Like bats who dread the glare of day,
5	what the	From Masquerade or Fancy Ball,	clumsy
		Where pleasure reign'd in Fashion's Hall;
6	deuce	And sneak along, like guilty creatures,
		With tir'd limbs and haggard features.
7	can be		♄ ☉ ♊ ♃ ☌
		The sons of toil, as they come near 'em,
8	the	With coarse-spun jokes begin to jeer 'em;	withal,
		While, au contraire, each motley hero,
9	matter?	Whose wit is now far under zero,
		With 'not a gibe to mock their grinning,'
10	tiles	Has but a sorry chance of winning.	♏ ♐ ♀ ♎

11	and	The Clown, with phiz so dull and sad,	do fit me
		Looks grave as Ghost of Hamlet's Dad;
12	chimney	And Falstaff, now he's lost his stuffing,	with
		Looks lean as lath, and pale as muffin;
13	pots	While Harlequin, half muzz'd with wine,	marvellous
		Don't care a rush for Columbine,
14	come	But leaves her, like a careless loon,	accuracy:
		To draggle home with Pantaloon;
15	down	And Romeo, with empty purse,
		Abandons Juliet to her nurse.
16	and pay		♂ ♌ ♓ ♄ ♑
		The child of labour, when he sees
17	their	Such silly spectacles as these,—	for these
		How dissipation is repented,—
18	duty	May with his station be contented;	reasons,
		For mete them both with equal measure,
19	to the	He'll find the hardest toil is pleasure.	I say,

20	crown,

21	while		♓ ☊

22	surly		it behoveth

23	north		me to

24	usurps

25	the
			♓ ♌ ♄ ☌ ☊
26	south
			be tender
27	and
			of my
28	makes a

29	dusthole
			☉ ☿ ♂ ☽
30	of your

31	mouth		♂ ♊ ☿ ☽

MARCH.—"Day and Night nearly equal."