AN AIRY LODGING.

Country Cousin.—"Well, Tom, my boy, where be'est thee a-lodging noo?"

Surveyor (pointing up to the top of St. Paul's).—"Why, I hang out there at present. Whenever you are passing my way, I shall be delighted to see you, if you will give me a drop in."

THE SONG OF THE KNOCKER.
(A COMPANION TO SCHILLER'S BELL.)

Gents Provoko, Portas Bango, Somnia Frango.

Firmly screw'd upon the door

Doth the lion-knocker frown.

To-night its reign of noise is o'er;

Courage! boys; we'll have it down!

Long its strength defied

Every dodge we tried;

But its nuts no more shall bear it,

From the hinge to-night we'll tear it.

Varied parts of good and ill

It has been its lot to fill.

Many hearts within have bounded

As the postman's knock has sounded.

Cheek has flushed, and pulse has fluttered,

When the written name was uttered.

It might be from one most dear,

Though far off, yet ever near;

Or from one in hopes "you will

Think about his little bill;"

Or a letter overland,

Sent from Ramjamjellyland,

Telling how the ardent Coolies

Had well thrashed the crafty Foolies;

Or a dinner invitation,

Or a Frankfort speculation,

Or a life association,

Or some hints on emigration,

Or a looked-for explanation

Of a former altercation;

Retail changes lately made

In some wine and spirit trade;

Vows, professions, gift, or token,

Promises, or kept or broken:

Each and all, with double din,

Has the knocker usher'd in.

At the corner place a scout,

For the vigilant police;

Let him keep a sharp look-out,

And, if need be, break the peace.

From the stone-jug free

Must our party be,

Though we keep so by a fight,

Or a witch-like flight by night.

He who knocks and runs away,

May live to knock another day.

Let caution, then, all mischief guide,

For fear some danger should betide.

With watchful eyes the boys advance,

Accomplishing a nigger dance,

Performed upon the paving-stones,

To sound of Ethiopian bones,

With air appropriate, from their store,

Of "Who dat knockin' at de door?"

Now, as they near the destined sill,

Hush'd are bones—the dance is still.

One mighty Bang! the servant scares,

And lifts the inmates from their chairs.

Away! Away! not one remains

When the sold maid the passage gains,

And, as the neighbourhood they quit,

Agree their knock has prov'd a hit.

Hush! keep back! your chaffing cease,

Some one's steps are this way bent.

Is it one of the police?

No, 'tis but a tipsy gent,

Singing some night-song

As he reels along.

Now he turns the corner humming

That there is "A good time coming."

The straw is lying in the square,

And cabs go by with muffled sound;

Whilst cautious hands no longer dare

To lift the knocker—leather bound.

Through the night

Burns a light

From the bedroom window's height,

As the angel of grim death

Hovers there on dusky wings,

To wait the passing breath

Quiv'ring through life's curdled springs.

Go, the mutes and mourners call,

Plumed hearse and heavy pall!

Head of that sad family

Tenant of the tomb shall be

Ere the ghastly week is o'er,

And the knocker sounds once more.

See! the thoroughfare is clear,

Nothing in it but the lamps.

Now, look sharp! the door draw near,

Wrench the knocker from its clamps

Does it still resist?

Give a tougher twist.

Put your stick within the ring.

Now—with both hands—that's the thing!

The sun is shining in the street,

The clock moves on from three to five.

The pavement glows with dazzling heat,

And all the West-end is alive.

The air with Bouquet-Royal laden,

Or Patchouli's oppressive herb,

Plays round the fair-haired high-born maiden,

Whose Clarence draws up at the kerb.

And now the knocker knows no quiet,

But revels in unceasing riot.

The flunkey first awakes the clang

With "Rat-a-tat-tat, bang! bang!! bang!!!"

The doctor greater care observes,

With temper'd knock for shaken nerves.

Next small tat-tat from frightened fingers

Of one in seedy black, who lingers

In fear and trembling at the door,

Before he dares to knock once more.

Professor he, of light guitar,

Or Polish master from afar,

Or poor relation come to claim

Some small aid due to blood and name.

All sorts of objects come and go,

Like some phantasmagoric show.

Patron or beggar, great or small,

The knocker is a lift to all.

Hip! huzza! my artful dodgers,

It has fallen from the door.

But the noise has roused the lodgers,

Lights appear at every floor.

If we stay we're done—

Vanish, every one!

As the poet sings, like bricks,

Cut your luckies and your sticks.

Those evening knocks! those evening knocks!

That herald in a paper box,

Which merchants leave with pens and soap;

And notes in which they humbly hope

You'll patronize the speculation,

And save their household from starvation—

Which if to do you're kindly willing,

They'll call to-morrow for the shilling.

Joy! joy! joy! we're safe at last.

Where's the latch-key? Stand aside.

Luck be praised, the peril's past,

And we can our trophy hide!

Wasn't it a lark?

Hold hard, in the dark,

And the chairs and tables mind,

Till the lucifers I find.

——In! in with me,

Comrades all, and shut the door,

We will christen it once more.

Stunner shall its new name be,

Trophy of our bravery!

Now we have in state enthroned it,

Drink the healths of those who own'd it,

Whom we've left, by sad mishap,

Really not worth a rap!

Now the festival begin:

Ope the oysters—Where's the gin?

From the closet have it out.

Here's the corkscrew—pass the stout.

Cruets, pickles, gin and water,

Bread, meat, butter, pipes, and porter,

On the table now we see;

Fastest of the fast we'll be.

Governors and landlord scorning,

We will not go home till morning!

RULES AND REGULATIONS FOR THE CONDUCT OF
STRANGERS VISITING LONDON.

If your health is proposed, you must say it is the proudest moment of your life.

You are not expected to take your hat in with you to dinner. It is liable to be kicked about if you put it under the table—people mistake it for the cat.

It is no longer the fashion to say, "Here's to you, miss," and "I drink to you, ma'am," to every lady round the table before you take a glass of wine; however, if you do it once, never repeat it.

When you begin a speech, you must be sure to state you are unaccustomed to public speaking.

Take your coat off in the hall, but never give up your umbrella. If the servant offers to take it down stairs to dry it, tell him to mind his own business; and if he says another word, threaten to report him to his missus, and he will soon be quiet. The robberies of umbrellas in London is something awful!

A University Chair of Music.

If you go to the opera don't call out for "Music!" or tell "Nosey," or any of the "catgut scrapers," to strike up. Be careful also not to insult the box-keeper, by giving him a penny to run and fetch a playbill. If you take a lady, dispense with the usual gallantry of a bag of oranges. Should you take any, however, it is usual to offer them to all the ladies round you—after you have peeled them.

It is no longer the fashion for a stranger to call at Buckingham Palace; but if there should be a Drawing Room, you had better go, by all means, and present your homage to your Sovereign, for otherwise it might look disrespectful. You have only to go in costume, with the sword and cocked hat, and send in your card, "with your compliments."

If you are invited out to dinner, you must refrain as much as you can from taking a snooze directly the cloth is removed; and you should be above drinking the warm water that is given you, in a blue bowl, for your fingers.

If you intend to dance, do not, as a matter of pride, fill your pockets with halfpence; and if you have a new pair of Berlins, put them on, and do not keep them folded up in your hands, as if you were too shabby to use them.

If Joseph Ady sends you an invitation, write back word that you will come and take tea with him. You will find him a good sovereign fellow, and you may probably hear of something to your advantage.

Shakspeare, after Curling.

Have your hair curled; but if you take a lady down to the refreshment-room, you must know her extremely well before you can presume to ask her if "she'll have a drop of beer," or else she will certainly be offended.

When you are leaving, supposing the servant at the door puts his hand out, shake it by all means, or else the poor fellow will fancy you are proud.

You are not bound to answer any public questions in the street, as to "Who are you?" or to put any stranger in possession of personal facts relating to "your mother."

If you are in doubt about a cab fare, or want to know some particular fact about the twopenny omnibuses, or the age of an actress, or a point at cribbage, or where the best glass of ale is to be had—write to the Duke of Wellington, and you will have an answer from the F. M. the same day.

You are not bound to go to every theatre, or to see every exhibition in London. In fact, please yourself, and do not stop in town a day longer than you choose; for you will find the "boots" generally very reluctant to call you the morning you intend to start. For better precaution, you had better shave over night, and tie a piece of string to your big toe for the policeman to pull the first thing in the morning.

THE DOMESTIC MANNERS AND
CUSTOMS OF THE BEDOUIN
ARABS.
BY ONE WHO HAS NEVER BEEN AMONGST
THEM, BUT CAN IMAGINE EXACTLY WHAT
THEY ARE.

Those Bedouins are curious fellows. You have heard of a race of Jumpers; well, they are a nation of Leapers. We walk, they fly. They are the bats of the human race—not men, and decidedly not angels, but something between the two.

Their houses have no windows lower than the third floor. This is to prevent little boys jumping up. Their windows are not arranged like ours, but have small apertures, like the slits in letter-boxes, slanting downwards, to prevent any one looking into them. Bricks are exceedingly dear, on account of the height of the walls.

A military review of Bedouin Arabs exceeds anything of the sort. At a given signal a whole battalion springs upwards, gets inextricably mingled in one dense flying column, and then falls down again, each man precisely in his previous position. They discharge their muskets when they reach a given height, and no accident ever occurs, unless a raw recruit happens to have sprained his ankle. Some of their light columns advance twelve feet deep; when I say twelve feet deep, of course I mean in the air.

The Monster Sweeps
"A Toss up for the Derby".

It is curious to see them in the streets. If the door is not open, they will take a flying leap through the window, like a harlequin. The first sign of intelligence a Bedouin child gives, is to leap straight out of its cradle. A lid is always placed over it, for the purpose of keeping it down; and when the lid is taken off the child flies out, like a living Jack-in-the-Box.

A steeplechase is with them literally a steeplechase. They have no horses, but clear churches, pillars, obelisks, everything that comes in their way, on foot.

Their animals have, in a smaller degree, the same agile propensities. When two cats dart up into the air, fighting, they are soon lost in the clouds, and you will hear them mollrowing above you for a long time; but I defy you to say, you ever saw both of them come back.

When the Bedouins go out shooting they pursue the game in the air, and do not fire until they are right over the bird's back. It is a mean sport, however, which a real Bedouin gentleman is above doing. But their children catch sparrows easily, by putting salt upon their tails.

A Bedouin Arab does not give his hand in marriage, but his foot.

The Sheik blesses his people once a year. He springs from his balcony, and when he has reached the centre of the populace, he gives his blessing, so that he may fall equally on the heads of all his subjects; and then he springs back to his balcony, and the ceremony is concluded. One poor Sheik (Ben Allah Wishi Washi) had the gout, and could not do this. He tried to bless them in a balloon once, but the enraged populace would not have it, and tore it to pieces, amid loud cries of "Shame!" He was sentenced to wear tight boots for life—the most ignominious punishment that can be put upon one of Bedouin extraction.

Their postmen are let off from the post-office like pigeons—they drop the letters down the chimneys.

A BEDOUIN VESTRY MEETING.
Chairman—"Sons of Allah, the meeting is now up."

A meeting is adjourned very primitively. The chairman lifts his leg, and the whole meeting suddenly takes to its heels and springs into the air, like so many thousand frogs, and the next minute there is not one left.

Their dances are very lively. They generally take place in the open air, or else if they danced in a room, they would be knocking their heads every minute against the ceiling. To see them all take the same leap simultaneously, and balancezing some fifty feet above the earth, is something so extraordinary, that it almost lifts you off your feet. No less extraordinary are their ballets. They are more like fire-works than any other exhibition; and you hear the loud exclamations of "O—o—h" escape from the crowd, when a première danseuse takes a higher flight than usual. Their grand pas are always watched through long telescopes, which are let out at the doors for six piastres a night.

A Bedouin duel will sometimes last for days, for it is always the object of the person who is to be shot to get out of the fire of his adversary, and thus they will go on jumping after one another over the whole kingdom for a week together.

Nurses toss their babies up in the air, and if they are slow in coming down, they jump up after them and fetch them.

I have heard of a game of écarté being played, à vol d'aigle, some 15,000 feet above the level of the sea. The great dodge is to prevent your partner jumping up behind you to look over your cards.

Bedouin Royalty does not wear a crown, but a pair of spring-heeled jack-boots, and it is high treason for any one but the Sheik to put his foot into it.

The Bedouin Arabs are a cheerful people—their active life leads them to be hilarious. They are early risers, and are generally up with the lark. They are a volatile, but happy race; and it is very rarely you hear of a Bedouin Arab having corns. He will take up a bill, too, quicker than any man.

A BEDOUIN BAILIFF.

England's Stream of Charity.—We are told by the advertisement that "The Asylum for Distressed Sewers is always open." This asylum must surely be the Thames?

Mockery.—"I have learnt this profound truth," says Alderman Johnson, "from eating turtle, that it shows a most depraved taste to mock anything for its greenness."

Public Communism.—The only kind of Communism that is likely to go down in England is Half-and-Half.

A DREADFUL CASE OF POISONING,
OR,
ANOTHER OF MY HUSBAND'S STUPID JOKES, WHICH HE THINKS ARE
SO CLEVER.

Didn't know which way to turn.

MY dear sir, if ever there was a miserable woman in this world, it is the poor creature who now takes up her pen to tell you how wretched she is. I have not slept a wink all night. I must tell you my husband is dreadfully suspicious, and so am I—and the best of women at times; but still I never could have suspected he would have suspected me in the abominable suspicious manner he has lately done. Will you believe it, sir, he declared last night that he could plainly see I wanted to "pisen him." The fact is, we had for supper some mushrooms and a lovely pie just warmed up with a little steak in it, for I thought I would give him a treat—and nicer mushrooms, or a tenderer steak, I think I never tasted in all my life—when what does my fine gentleman do but turn up his fine nose! Only first I must tell you that he ate a very 'arty supper, and had his whisky toddy all nice and comfortable—for I must have mixed him six glasses if I mixed him one—and smoked his pipe, though I have told him over and over again I would not allow any such filthy practices in my house, especially the parlour. But kindness is thrown away upon some men; for what does my Mr. Smellfungus do, but he turns round upon me, and because he feels a big pain in his side, accuses me on the spot of wishing to "pisen him." Those were his very words. Oh! that I should have lived to have heard them; but it is not the first time by ever so many that the suspicious creature has dared to turn round upon me in this bumptious manner. The first time he degraded himself in my eyes with these low suspicions was when he had been eating pies at Twickenham, and we were returning home in the steamer, when all of a sudden he called the whole cabin to witness that he was sure "I had pisened him." Oh, dear! I was so struck that I No, that I didn't; but I told him, once for all, if ever he dared to bring such a heavy charge against me I would make him pay for it dearly, that I would, even if it cost me my life. Here the monster laughed, and dropt the poison, but he brought it up again soon afterwards; for I recollect it was on a Friday, and we had a most lovely giblet pie for dinner, though not a morsel as big as a pin's head could I touch, for I was busy all the while picking bones with my wretch of a husband, and I really thought I should have choked, I was in such a way with him. He had no sooner emptied the dish than he threw the "pisen" again in my face; and he did it also another time when we had a quince pie—and a nice delicious squince, in my eyes, is worth a Jew's eye any day; but my dainty lord and master could see nothing but pisen at the bottom of it, and complained of cholera and pins and needles in his inside, and I don't know what else. So this morning I packed up my bandbox, and asked him boldly what he had got in his head lately? and that his low base suspicions had completely poisoned my existence, and that I would jump into the Thames as sure as I was born sooner than be suspected any longer. When my brazen monster, who is known for not

STICKING AT TRIFLES,

draws his chair close up to mine, and laughs in my face, which made me so boil over that, in the heat of the moment, I threw the teapot at him, and then the slop-basin, and after that the milk-jug. I did not spare the crockery, or the brute either, for I was not going to be accused for nothing, I can tell you; but the more cups I broke, the more saucily he laughed, till the big drops ran down his fat face, and he asked me, with a nasty grin I didn't half like, "Whether I thought he belonged to a burial society for nothing?"

Oh! sir, the truth flashed all at once across my two eyes, for I knew my husband had been reading these horrible newspapers lately, and I felt instinctively they had poisoned his mind, so I ran out of the house without my bonnet, and—will you believe it?—my hair still in curl-papers, and got into a cab, vowing I would never put my foot in it again until he had gone down upon his bended knees and confessed I was a poor injured wrongly-suspected woman. I would sooner be a widow at once than be thrown about in such a way. Oh! sir, I ask you if it is not infamous, after being married to a man these fifteen years and more, to be suspected of giving him his gruel with a spoonful of arsenic, and of wishing to hurry him out of this world on a nasty toadstool instead of a fine mush-room? But, sir, it's these infamous papers. I wish they were all burnt of a heap, for I can plainly trace every bit of my pretty Smellfungus's suspicions to those atrocious "Poisonings in Essex," which have lately given the public such a turn. Since they have been published, every husband suspects that his darling wife wishes to kill him in order to receive the filthy bonus for burying him. I cannot tell you how many poor suffering wives are separated at the present moment from their brutes of husbands because they have had this abominable poison flung in their teeth every day for the last two months. The poor innocent injured dears of men dare not now for their lives take a single meal in their houses, for fear it should be their last! It's quarrelling with their own bread and butter, to say the very least of it.

I remain, sir, at my hotel (the "Two Magpies"), till my cruel good-for-nothing lord and master chooses to come and fetch me.

Yours, in despair, crying my eyes out,

An Innocent, Loving, but Shamefully

Suspected Wife, and Mother of

Six Lovely Children.

P.S.—Oh! sir, my husband has just been here, and tells me it was only meant as a joke—a pretty joke, indeed!—and that, as Hamlet says, he was only "pisening in jest," for how could he help suspecting, when I gave him nothing but pies—beafsteak pies, eel pies, giblet pies, quince, and mince, and all sorts of pies—but that I regularly wanted to pisen him! D'ye see—pies and pisening? I never heard such a joke! How men can make such donkeys of themselves I don't know! But I couldn't well be angry with the silly fellow, for he has brought me such a beautiful shawl; and I need not tell you, sir, that in matrimony a lovely Cashmere hides a multitude of faults.

ONE WHO HAS A FINGER IN EVERYBODY'S PIE.

Teetotaler's Toast.—"The worm of the still—may it soon be a still worm!"

A Critic.—A man who judges an author's works by the "errata."

Vanity.—There is not a mite in the world (says Lavater), but that thinks itself "quite the cheese."

FRIGHTFUL STATE OF THINGS,
IF FEMALE AGITATION IS ALLOWED ONLY FOR A MINUTE.

The standard of rebellion is first raised at a fashionable tea-party.

The rebels rush into the street, break open the public houses, and ask the men if they are not ashamed of themselves to be sitting there, whilst their poor dear wives are crying their eyes out at home?

Clubs are put down and a Petticoat Government proclaimed.

Armed patrols parade the streets, and take up every good-for-nothing husband that is found out after nine o'clock.

Total abolition of latch-keys.

All men proved to be "brutes," are taken to business in the morning by the Nurse, and fetched home at night by the Cook.

Those who offer the slightest resistance are put to mend their wives' stockings.

The greatest reprobates are sentenced to sit up for their dear wives.

The Happy Family.
"A Quiet Hint to the Wives of England"

The Lords of Creation are driven to the greatest extremities to enjoy a quiet pipe.

But if detected, they are immediately made public examples of, by being sent out to air the babies.

Those who resist the strong arm of the sex are immediately sent to the House of Correction, and put for fourteen days upon dirty linen.

If detected a second time, they are sentenced to a month's imprisonment, and hard labour at the mangle.

The most refractory are condemned to cold meat for life, without benefit of pickles.

The heartless ringleader is loaded with irons.

A member of the Royal Family only saves himself with a fine of twelve dozen bright pokers, and an Exchequer bond for one hundred steel fenders!

But human patience can endure it no longer, and the poor convicts endeavour to elude the vigilance of the watch, by smuggling themselves out amongst the clean linen.

The secret, however, is accidentally divulged by a criminal of great weight, who drops through the fragile clothes-basket.

The wretched criminals are carried away by the overpowering force of "Woman's Mission," and their precipitate folly only ends in their being floored at the bottom of the stairs, where, in aching shame, they lie and bite the dust.

Five thousand helpless husbands, whose only crime is their unfortunate sex, are incarcerated in the Thames Tunnel!

Not a glass of grog, or a newspaper, or a cigar is allowed them!!

Hundreds perish daily for the want of the common necessaries of life!!!

The Black Hole is beaten hollow!!!!

Frightful rush, and tremendous overflow in the Thames Tunnel, through an insane attempt of the Boy Jones to escape by the roof!!!!!

Those who are not drowned, go mad.

An armistice takes place between the opposing bodies. A member of the Coburg family offers his hand to Mrs. Gamp, but is indignantly rejected by the lovely widow.

The body of the "oldest inhabitant" is found at Herne Bay, where it is supposed he emigrated for safety.

There is not a single man left, excepting the Man in the Moon.

The ladies, being left to themselves, proceed to discuss their wrongs, when, after several years' arguments, the world is graced with

THE FEMALE MILLENNIUM.

This continues thirty years, when the argument is decided at length in favour of

THE LAST WOMAN,

Who compodges herself in honour of the occasion a nice dish of tea, and after propodging a toast to the memory of that blessed creature Mrs. Harris dies universally "regretted" on the throne of Buckingham Palace.

Richardson's ghost makes his last appearance at Greenwich Fair!!!

THE END OF THE WORLD!

AND OF

THE COMIC ALMANACK.

READER, YOU ARE REQUESTED TO DROP A TEAR!!!