DECEMBER.
The Young England party will be decidedly in the ascendant at the commencement of the holidays; and materially affect "the social condition of the people" in the house.
Popular lectures on "cold," at the Polytechnic Institution, when the Professor will have the subject at his fingers' ends. Dr. Ryan, having frozen water in a red-hot crucible, will next make a piece of ice red-hot without melting it, by reversing the process.
The march of intellect will be found to have altered all the old Christmas objects of revelry. The yule log will be supplanted by an Arnott's stove; the homely carol, by an Italian scena, which the singer does not understand; the wassail bowl, by British brandy, or perhaps something better; and the mummers, by the far more dangerous false masks and manners of society, as at present constituted.
Tremendous Railway Accident.—Four trains will meet at a cross junction line exactly at the same time. Every precaution will be taken to avoid danger, as soon as the accident has occurred.
THE
COMIC ALMANACK
For 1847.
DER BAILIFFE JÄGER:
AN ENGLISH BALLAD IN THE GERMAN STYLE.
Who is it that paces that street o'er and o'er?
Why keeps he his eye ever fix'd on that door?
What seeketh he there, at an hour like this?
Bears he tidings of woe?—bears he tidings of bliss?
No tidings of bliss does the stranger convey;
But for a bold Captain he hears a fi: fa:
And he paces that street, and he eyes that thresh-hóld;
For he seeketh to capture that Captain so bold.
And where is the Captain he seeketh to seize?
At the "Coal Hole," he taketh his grog, and his ease.
God send he may stop there until morning comes!
For God shield the Captain to-night from the Bums!
But hark! in the distance, a footfall occurs;
And clinketty-clink! sounds the jingling of spurs;
And then the street echoes with "La-li-e-tee!"
Now God shield the Captain! for sure it is he.
And he reacheth the door, and he knocketh thereat,
With a thundering rat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-tat!
And he giveth the bell such a furious ring
That the street rings again, with its cling-a-ling-ling!
Oh Captain! bold Captain! now hie thee away!
For near draws that Bum, with his fearful fi: fa:
Hurrah! now he sees him as nearer he steals;
And away hies the Captain! with the Bum at his heels.
Then, hurrying—scurrying—the Captain doth fly;
And following—hollowing—the Bum rusheth by.
Away! and away! thro' each square, and each street!
Though fleet runs the Captain, the Bum runs as fleet.
On! on! my bold Captain, see, help is at hand;
For lo! in the distance, appears a cab stand.
Quick! he's in one, and off, at a galloping pace;
Quick! The Bum's in another cab, giving him chase.
Then, "haste thee, my Cabman!" the Captain did say;
"The Bailiff behind has for me a fi: fa:
'Tis in Middlesex though! so there's Gold, if you'll hurry;
Yes, Gold! if you drive me now safe into Surrey."
And, "Haste thee, my Cabman!" the Bailiff did say,
"For the Captain before us I've got a fi: fa:
'Tis in Middlesex though! so there's Gold, if you hurry
Yes, Gold! if I catch him before he's in Surrey."
Then gee up! and gee on! they go tearing along,
Now jerking the reins—and now plying the thong;
And the horses they bound away over the ground:
And the mud flies about, as the wheels fly around.
Bump! bump! over the stones—slosh! slosh! over the wood,
Whack! whack! goeth each whip—quick! quick! quicker who could?
And clattering—spattering—onward they go,
"Hark forward! hark forward! for Surrey halloo!"
Right and left, flieth past every gaslight, how fast!
How fast! right and left, too, each street flieth past!
The shops, and the houses, like lightning, are gone,
As the horses keep galloping, galloping on.
See yonder! see yonder's a small breakfast stall;
"Have a care! have a care!" or the Sáloupe must fall:
Round the corner, unheeding, the vehicles dash;
Crash! down come the coffee and cups with a smash.
And still they go pacing—and racing—and chasing:
And the Bum still the steps of the Captain is tracing:
Away! and away! through each square, and each street!
Though fleet rides the Captain, the Bum rides as fleet.
"On! on!" shouts the Captain: "On! on!" shouts the Bum;
"I promised thee Gold: come! I'll double the sum;
So, on! push along! my good trusty Jehu!
On! on! to the bridge that is called Waterloo."
Now, galloping fast, by St. Giles's they've past;
The Captain still first, and the Bailiff still last.
Now, through High Street they pace—now, down Cross Street they race:
With the Captain ahead, and the Bum giving chase.
Then Long Acre's clear'd—and then Bow Street is near'd—
Then the Theatre Royal Covent Garden appear'd—
And then quickly in view came the Lyceum too—
Hurrah! now they're close to the bridge Waterloo.
So, gee up! and gee on! they go tearing along;
Now jerking the reins—and now plying the thong;
And the horses they bound away over the ground;
And the mud flies about, as the wheels fly around.
Bump! bump! over the stones—slosh! slosh! over the wood;
Whack! whack! goeth each whip—quick! quick! quicker who could?
And clattering—spattering—onward they go:
"Hark forward! hark forward! for Surrey halloo!"
Now there's no time to wait; and see! merciless fate!
At the bridge a curst wagon doth block up the gate.
'Tis ruin to stay!—but one moment's delay,
And the Captain he falls to the Bailiff a prey.
But quickly the wight from the cab doth alight,
Pays the toll, and on foot then continues his flight;
Still ripe for the race, the Bum bounds from his place,
Clears the gate, and on foot too continues the chase.
Then huzzā! and huzzā! they go tearing away,
Now out in the road—now upon the pavé:
And, racing—and chasing—still onward they go;
"Hark forward! hark forward! for Surrey halloo!"
Now the goal draweth nigh—now the toll is hard by;
And now, how they scamper!—and now, how they fly!
And now, how they hurry!—and now, how they scurry!
And, hip! hip! hurrah! now the Captain's in Surrey.
Then the Captain turned round to the Limb of the Law;
And he chaff'd, and he laugh'd at his craft, Haugh! haugh! haugh!
And says he, "To catch me, sure the Bum must be cunning
For the constable I have a knack of outrunning."
That the Sheriffs in one county cannot arrest
The "bodies" that bide in another's confest;
So that Bailiff no longer that Captain can worry,
For the Bum is in Middlesex—the body's in Surrey.
WHERE CAN THE POLICE BE?
THE BLUEBOTTLE THAT DESTROYS ALL THE COLD MEAT.
Two things equally difficult to be met with.
CURIOUS EXHIBITION.
NEVER SEEN IN THIS COUNTRY.
The Proprietors of the Egyptian Hall are happy to state that they have made arrangements with the authorities of Scotland Yard, and, after considerable difficulty, procured the services of
The Kitchen Cupid.
The Modern Macheath; or, how happy could I be with either?
THE INVISIBLE POLICEMAN.
A NATURAL CURIOSITY,
TO WHOM THOUSANDS HAVE ALREADY
PAID, AND
NOBODY HAS EVER YET SEEN.
THIS RETIRING INDIVIDUAL
WILL, STRANGE TO SAY,
ANSWER CIVILLY ANY QUESTION THAT
MAY BE PUT TO HIM;
HE WILL
TELL ANY PERSONS WHAT THEY HAD FOR DINNER THE DAY BEFORE;
HE WILL
NAME THE COLD MEAT DAYS IN EACH FAMILY;
AND
STATE THE COLOUR OF THE HAIR AND EYES
OF THE FEMALE SERVANTS IN EVERY
ESTABLISHMENT;
LIKEWISE
WHETHER THE MAIDS FIND THEIR
OWN TEA AND SUGAR;
Indeed, it will be found that this Wonderful Creature
POSSESSES A KNOWLEDGE
EXTENDING OVER THE WHOLE AREA OF THE
METROPOLIS.
"'Tis not a wonder:
'Tis Nature."—Times.
THE COOK AND HER FAITHFUL ATTENDANT.
"SAY YOU DID IT!"
A ROMANCE OF SMILES AND TITTERS.
TITTER THE FIRST.
That ordinary-looking middle-aged gentleman, who is just emerging from that Jeweller's shop, is Signor Goffoni. He has been there to purchase a pair of earrings for his pretty young wife, with which he purposes to bribe her into good-humour with him again. For, to say the truth, the happy couple have lately been living on the usual matrimonial terms which follow the union of Signoras, who are scarcely out of their teens, with Signors, who are half way through their 'tys. And this morning the conjugal breezes had swollen into a perfect hymeneal hurricane. It had blown divorces and separate maintenances. The Signora had gone into the customary hysterics, and the Signor had left the house with that violent bang of the street-door which is the especial property of enraged husbands. And "the cause—the cause" was precisely the same as made Mr. Othello determine to put an extinguisher upon his better-half, instead of his night-lamp. The green-eyed monster had kittened his horrid suspicions in Signor Goffoni's bosom, and had lapped up all the milk of human kindness in the dairy of his heart. He had accidentally discovered a billet—something more than a doux—addressed to his black-eyed young wife, from a gentleman calling himself the Marchese di Castellinaria, and which expressed a regard for her that—tested by the very delicate thermometer of the Signor's jealousy—did appear to him not quite so tepid as mere friendship would dictate. And he had not scrupled to say as much to the black eyes he had taken for better or for worse. Whereupon the said ebon optics had looked scissors, though they'd used none—had vowed eternal separation—usque ad mensam et torum—and wound up with those effective convulsions of which married ladies generally keep a plentiful supply, ready for use. Jealousy, however, had galvanized the iron of the Signor's heart, and made it no longer susceptible of being acted upon by the salt water of his wife's eyes; so, as we said before, he bounced out of the house with a bang like a human cracker.
Long before evening, however, Goffoni had relented; he felt convinced that he had wronged his dear little wife by his unjust suspicions, and arrived at the sage conclusion that he was a brute and she was an angel; so that an hour before his usual time for quitting business he hurried off to the nearest Jeweller's to buy her a pair of earrings, determined to hasten home and shed over her the diamond drops of repentance. But on arriving at his domicile, he found the dark-eyed young partner of his bosom absent from home. Could his unkind treatment have driven her from his roof? The very thought was stilettoes. He rang furiously and inquired of the servant concerning her mistress. She had quitted the house about half an hour ago, leaving directions that the letter which the maid then presented should be delivered to the Signor immediately on his return. He seized it. It was unaddressed, and ran as follows:—
"After your insulting conduct I can no longer consent to the continuance of our acquaintance. I must beg, therefore, that henceforth we be as Strangers; and that you will never again dare to offend me with the protestation of your regard, which it is utterly impossible for me further to acknowledge.
"Carlotta."
"Gone! gone!" groaned Goffoni; and he sunk overwhelmed upon the sofa, and buried his face in his hands. Presently he started up again—buttoned his coat vehemently—knocked his hat on his head—and dashed from the house with a wild look of despair and prussic acid.
That miserable-looking middle-aged gentleman, seated on that stone in the heart of that wood, is Signor Goffoni. And that small phial, which he takes from his waistcoat-pocket, is labelled "Laudanum!" He has sought out this secluded spot, and purchased this poisonous potion, to put a premature "finis" to his wretched biography. For "what is the world now to him?" he says—"a wilderness—a desert. He has lost the angel who made it a paradise; and as he always felt convinced that there was not another woman like her upon earth, why should he go dawdling on alone to the grave? No! he is resolved! Bereft of his Carlotta, he cares not to live, and fears not to die. She has bidden adieu to him, so he will bid adieu to the world."
With this brief oration the woe-begone Goffoni drew the stopper from the phial, and swallowed its contents.
No sooner had he drunk off the deadly draught than a Signor, habited in a capacious cloak, started up from behind the stone on which Goffoni was seated, and inquired whether he would save the life of a fellow-creature?
"I save the life of a fellow-creature!" gasped Goffoni, dropping the empty phial with amazement from his hand; "I am a dying man myself!"
"Yes! I know that," replied the Signor in the cloak, "and that is the cause of my making the request. The fact is, the other gentleman, whose life is in danger, is not quite so tired of his existence as you seem to be of yours. And since you are determined on going out of the world, you may as well leave it with the grace of a good action, and let your death be the salvation of his life."
Goffoni, who was now ready to clutch at any straw that appeared likely to save him from sinking in the next world, simply asked, "How that could be?"
"Oh, never mind about that," returned he in the cloak; "only you consent to do it, and I'll soon tell you how. Come! what do you say? Recollect 'charity covers a multitude of sins,' and you've got a pretty good lot here to answer for, certainly."
Goffoni felt that he had, and being anxious now to obtain absolution by any means, he, not very reluctantly, promised to do what the stranger desired.
Whereupon the Signor in the cloak informed Goffoni that, finding himself rather short of cash, he had requested the loan of some gold from a drover whom he had met that evening in the forest; but that the drover had not only in the most un-gentleman-like manner refused to accommodate him, but had even been base enough to doubt the honesty of his intentions. That this had so exasperated him in the cloak that he had knocked the scoundrel down, and borrowed of him all the money he possessed. That the cries of the drover had brought the soldiers to his assistance, when the Signor in the cloak was obliged to run for his life; but that in his flight he had dropped his hat on the road. That he had only just succeeded in avoiding his pursuers by secreting himself behind that stone, when Signor Goffoni had come up and seated himself upon it. "However," added he, "the soldiers can't be far off; and when they find I've given them the slip they will be certain to return, for I know them of old. So that, you see, what I want of you now, my friend, is, should the rogues come this way again, and question you about that nonsensical piece of business, that you'll just have the kindness—since it can't make any difference to you in your present situation—to say you did it."
Goffoni, when he heard what was required of him, hardly liked the office he had undertaken to perform. But as it certainly could not make any difference to him in his present situation, and as he had given his promise, he told the gentleman in the cloak he would be as good as his word and say he did it. The stranger thanked Goffoni heartily, called him his preserver, and many other equally complimentary names, and was about hurrying off, when a sudden thought detained him, "Stay!" he exclaimed, "this cloak will make your confession all the more veritable, while the possession of the identical purse I took from that rascally drover will put the affair beyond the shadow of a suspicion." And so saying, he threw the one hastily over the back of Goffoni, and, having divested the other of its contents, slipped the empty leathern bag into the breeches-pocket of that poor gentleman, who, by this time, lay writhing on his stomach, under the painful effects of the deadly draught he had swallowed.
"And now once more, Addio!" exclaimed the stranger, putting on the hat of Signor G. as a substitute for the one he had dropped on the road; "and mind!" he added, "I rely upon you to—say you did it!"
[Second Titter, page [147].]
BLIND BOY'S BUFF AT THE LADIES' SCHOOL.
Bringing her up in the way she should go.
The Heart Breaker.
Getting her French by Heart.
A LETTER FROM "LA NATIVE DE PARIS," AT MISS THIMBLEBEE'S ESTABLISHMENT
FOR YOUNG LADIES, TO HER MOTHER IN YORKSHIRE.
"Belle Vue House, Blackheath, Judy Swore.
"Ma Share Mare,—I take up my plume to inform you that this leaves me in a state of perfect convalescence, or as we say in French, sar var beang havoc more, as I hope it does havoc twore. I pass very well now for un Nattif de Parry. I have combed back my front hair, à la Shinwars; so that I have tutor fay le hair Fransay. And, yet oh! ma share Mare, say treest!—set hawreeble, to be compelled to deny the land of one's birth, and all poor le daygootang argong de set mizzyrarble V! What, after all, too, is 20l. a-year poor une Damn kom more? A paltry pittance!—vollar 2. Apprepo, I must tell you of an awkward wrongconter which happened last Macready Mattang, to Miss Thimblebee and lay Demmozel. As we were promenaying on the Heath we came across dew June Offishya de Woolwich. They were dreadfully impudent and frightfully handsome—Oh, ma Mare! Kell bell Ome! Kell jolly Moostarch! Kell bows U! I think if you were to send me the Pork Pies you talked of I could keep them in my Sharmbrer a Kooshay, and eat them when I went to bed, dong mong Lee—as we have no pastry here but rice puddings—Say malle-roeze!—Ness Pa?
"And now, Addèw, ma tray share Mare! I have to put the Parlour Boarders cheraux ong pappya. So Pa plooze a presong from Vòtrer Ammeroose Feel,
"Crinoline de Corset, nay Sarah Skeggs."
THE BEST WAY OF ADVERTISING A LADIES' SCHOOL.
THE SCHOLASTIC HEN AND HER CHICKENS.
Miss Thimblebee loquitur.—"Turn your heads the other way my dears, for here are two horridly handsome Officers coming."
"SAY YOU DID IT!"
A ROMANCE OF SMILES AND TITTERS.
Titter the Second.
The sound of the stranger's retiring footsteps had scarcely died upon the ear, when, as he had predicted, the soldiers came up, led by the drover, of whom the late proprietor of the Mantello had spoken.
"I tell you it's hereabouts I missed him," said the owner of the lost purse. "And ecco!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell on the prostrate figure of Goffoni, enveloped in the cloak, "by all the Saints! here lies the rascal, shamming asleep, too, as I live!"
The sleep, however, was no make-believe on the part of poor Goffoni, who, under the growing influence of the opiate, was rapidly sinking into the joint embraces of Messrs. Morpheus and Mors, and had just commenced nodding off—to Death.
"Come, get up here!" shouted one of the soldiers, giving Goffoni a kick that even in his drowsy state had the effect of making him open his eyes. "Get up, I say! We want you about a little bit of highway robbery that you've been having a finger in this evening—do you hear?" And the military querist punctuated the ribs of the wretched Signor with a heavy note of interrogation from his regulation boot.
"Yes, I hear!" replied the agonized Goffoni; "I know! a highway robbery! I did it! I did it!"
"Mark that, gentlemen!" said the drover to the soldiers. "The fellow confesses he did it; mark that!"
"Oh, you did it, did you?" said the soldier. "Come, then, you must go with us. So quick! stir yourself, I say." And again the regulation-boot hammered away at the sides of the unfortunate Goffoni.
"Do let me die here, do!" implored the moribund Signor G.
"Die here!" returned the man of war. "No, no! you'll have to die in a rather more public place than this, I'm thinking. But come! we're not going to be played the fool with in this manner. Get up, I tell you once more!" So saying, the soldier took the prostrate Signor by the collar and set him on his legs.
"Oh! why wont you let me be quiet?" groaned Goffoni; "I've taken poison—indeed I have!"
"Taken poison!" the soldier exclaimed, with a sneer; "taken a purse, you mean, and it will prove just as fatal to you, I'll be sworn. However, we're not to be gulled by any such flams, don't think it. So let's see what you've got in your pockets. Oh! a pair of diamond earrings, eh? Very pretty indeed! the produce of some other robbery, no doubt! A gold watch, and ditto snuff-box! Equally honestly come by, I'll wager. A good stroke of business you've been doing this evening, my man! And here's a silk purse, with lots of money in it; and here's a leathern one without a soldo."
"The leathern one's mine!" cried the drover; "but it was full when the scoundrel took it from me."
"Of course it was! and the rogue's emptied the contents of the one into the other. But that don't matter—the mere finding of the purse upon him is quite enough to take the breath out of his body. So, come! give over this shamming," continued the soldier, violently shaking the drowsy Signor, who was again nodding under the somnorific effects of the laudanum. "We're too old birds to be caught by such chaff as this, I can tell you. So on to prison with you—get on."
Whereupon two of the soldiers placed themselves, one on either side of the ill-fated Goffoni, and commenced dragging him by the collar to the Casa di Correzione, while the two others attended him in the rear, and by the aid of their bayonets, applied to that part of his person where a gentleman's honour is supposed to reside, kept continually dissipating the incipient slumbers of the somnolent Signor, and goading him like an untractable donkey on to the nearest house of entertainment for brigands and patriots.
The bayonets of the soldiers were so efficacious in counteracting the somniferous tendency of the opiate which Signor Goffoni had swallowed, that by the time he had reached the gates of the Casa di Correzione, a distance of at least five miles from the scene of his capture, the exercise had done him so much good that it had "worked off" all his drowsiness, and he was, the morning after, in the most miserable state of perfect convalescence.
Goffoni instantly began protesting his innocence; but the incredulous jailor assured him it was to no purpose, and that he might look upon himself as a dead man; for that his own confession, let alone the circumstantial evidence, was quite enough to settle his business.
The wretched Signor called himself a fool, an idiot, a jackass, a nincompoop, and a volume of other titles equally complimentary to his intellect, for ever having consented to take another man's crime upon himself—as he pledged his honour to the jailor he had done in the present instance.
The jailor, however, was a man of too great experience to place much faith in the honour of gentlemen charged with highway robbery. And so to the Signor's asseveration, he replied with a knowing wink—"Gammon! Well, I've heard many lame defences in my time, but, hang me! if that isn't the most rickety concern I ever listened to. I should like to know the judge," he continued, "that you think would swallow such indigestible stuff as that. For everyone is aware that gentlemen in your line of business an't quite such born donkeys as to take other men's sins upon their shoulders, when they've always got a pretty tidy load of their own. So if you follow my advice, my man," considerately added the jailor, "you'll plead guilty like a Christian, and then, perhaps, you may be lucky enough to get off with the galleys for life."
Goffoni, however, finding his declarations of innocence made no impression upon the officers of justice, determined at length upon seeking the advice and consolation of some counsel learned in the chicanery of the law. But the Gentleman in Black afforded him little comfort; for though he himself, he said, had no doubt of the truth of the Signor's strange statement, still, he thought that Goffoni would find it extremely difficult to make a court of justice believe that human stupidity could go to such lengths. And he was afraid that his unfortunate client must make up his mind to the worst; for that, of late, the robberies in the neighbourhood had so much increased that the authorities had resolved to make an example of the very next culprit.
Whereupon Goffoni again declared that he was a fool, an idiot, &c., for ever having consented to stand as godfather to a foot-pad, and take the transgressions of a gentleman with a passion for highway robbery, upon himself. And he tore his toupée and he thumped his cranium, as though he were trying to cudgel his brains for allowing him to—say he did it.
[Third Titter, page [150].]
THE DESECRATION OF THE BRIGHT POKER.
BRITANNIA DISTRIBUTING THE BRIGHT POKER OF CIVILIZATION TO THE SAVAGES.
The Bright Stove; or the Modern Englishman's Fireside.
REPORT OF THE SOCIETY
FOR THE PROPAGATION OF CIVILIZATION,
AND THE HANDBOOK OF ETIQUETTE
ALL OVER THE WORLD.
The Distingué Committee of this Society, which has for its noble object the elevation of the poor degraded Savage, and the dissemination of horse-hair petticoats and finger-glasses among all the dark members of the human family, have published their Report.
The Report states the Committee have distributed to their coloured relations their sister Agogos's celebrated "Code of Good Manners;" as well as the instructive little tract "How to Live well upon a Hundred a-year;" which have effected a great moral change. And the Committee are now engaged in preparing the "Savage's own Edition" of "The Guide to the Toilet," and have made arrangements with a philanthropic Parisian Milliner for the weekly publication of a "Courier des Dames Noires" in the wilds of Africa and America.
A Case of Real Distress.
In Domestic Economy they have succeeded in introducing the Bright Poker to the hearths of the benighted savages, and so impressing them with the noble truth that there are Pokers for use and Pokers for ornament. They have not, however, as yet, been able to confer upon them the enjoyment of the Silver Fork; but still they have accustomed them to the use of that article in Britannia Metal, which having, as a moral writer justly observes, quite the appearance of Silver, lends to the dinner-table all the show of plate.
In the article of Food the poor things have much improved. They have now given over eating their meat raw, while some families had advanced in Civilization so far as to have fed Turkies before the Fire, until they died from enlargement of the Liver, so that they might be able to partake of the luxury of the "Paté de Foie Gras."
THE WIVES OF ENGLAND SWEARING TO PROTECT UNSULLIED THE BRIGHT POKER.
"SAY YOU DID IT!"
A ROMANCE OF SMILES AND TITTERS.
Titter the Third.
Goffoni, however, though he hardly relished the idea of bidding adieu to the world, and a generous Italian public, on the boards of a scaffold—and which he now felt there was something stronger than a mere probability of his doing—at length began to contemplate his lot with all the melodramatic magnanimity of injured innocence. And though he had but little of the martyr in his constitution, yet as Fate had cast him the part, he was determined to fudge up as much stoical sternness as his nature would allow him to throw into the character. Besides, deserted by his Carlotta, he had still no great desire to continue a solitary unit on the slate of creation; so that, to use his own expression, it mattered not when he was sponged out. "What was the world to him?" again he asked himself, and again he gave himself precisely the same answer, videlicet,—"a wilderness, a desert!" Existence, he said, he viewed as a piece of burnt rag, with but a few bright specks flitting across its dark surface; and he cared not how soon "the parson and the clerk" appeared to announce the departure of his vital spark.
But Goffoni had no sooner made up his mind to play the unmitigated hero to the last, than the presence of her whose absence had given him such supernatural fortitude thawed all the artificial ice of his stoicism, and made the hero melt into the man.
Yes! the dark-eyed young partner of his bosom and four-poster—she whom he believed had left him for ever for the Marchese di Castellinaria, had come to console him in his affliction! and Goffoni, though he could have been a Regulus without his Carlotta, felt, when he saw her, all his magnanimity ooze out of his eyes.
"Oh! Bartolo! Bartolo!" sobbed the Signora, "if I hadn't seen it in all the papers I should never have dreamt of finding you here. You can't tell what I've suffered on your account!"
"Oh! Carlotta! Carlotta!" groaned Goffoni: "and what have I not suffered on your account? But for you, alas! I should not have been here."
"For me-e!" hysterically exclaimed Carlotta. "Oh! don't say so! How could I possibly have anything to do with it?"
"Didn't you tell me," inquired the woe-begone Signor, "that you'd leave me—for ever? You did! You know you did!"
"Yes! but I'd done so a hundred times before," retorted Mrs. Goffoni; "and I thought you knew women better than to believe such things."
"Nor should I have been such a booby as to do so," remarked Mr. G., "if you hadn't written me that horrid letter."
"Letter!" cried Carlotta. "Oh! I see it all now! I do! That letter was intended for the Marchese di Castellinaria, and you—you—wretched—stupid man—you thought it was meant for yourself."
"Intended for that cursed Marchese!" shouted Signor Goffoni. "Then why the deuce did you leave the house, and tell the maid to give it to me?"
"Oh! I thought it would make you so happy and comfortable!" exclaimed his miserable little wife. "I thought it would please you so on your return home to find how I'd answered the fellow's impertinent note."
"Then! oh dear! oh dear!" replied Goffoni; "why couldn't you have shown it to me yourself?"
"Why, because you were so cruel, and so put out about that note in the morning, that I didn't like to see you again until I had made you acquainted with what I had done. So I left the copy for you to read, while I went out to post the original."
Goffoni now saw through the mistake as clearly as his better half; and again he railed at the limited extent of his intellectual faculties, applying to himself the same complimentary terms as he had previously used. And then he kissed his Carlotta, and called her his own blessed angel of a wife, and himself her own cursed fool of a husband; and gave vent to his feelings—which were now a kind of a piebald of grief and joy—in a manner that makes a bankrupt of description, and forces history to take the benefit of the insolvent act. For he plainly perceived that, without any real cause, he had taken poison and a highway robbery upon himself; and that he would be forced to separate from his Carlotta at a time when he had no desire to leave her, and by a species of divorce for which he had now lost all relish.
The sorry Signor then recited to his wondering little wife the tale which we have before told the reader (only not quite so cleverly as ourselves); and on showing her the cloak that he had received from the stranger, his distress of mind was in no way relieved by hearing his Carlotta—who could swear to the clasp and collar—peremptorily pronounce it to be the property of the very Marchese from whom he dated all his troubles. So that he now saw, in addition to his miseries, not only that he had saved the life of him who was the primary cause of all his jealousy, but that he was about to die outright for the crimes of the very man whose peccadilloes had nearly put an end to his existence by poison before.
Yes! facetious reader, it was even so! The Signora's gallant Marchese was none other than the Signor's ungallant stranger, a gentleman better known in the romance of highway robbery as Virtuoso, the brigand! and who, in the glowing language of one of the many instructive novels, of which he afterwards became the hero, "was no vulgar Freebooter." No! his was a spirit too proud to beg, too chivalrous to work, and too generous to trade. If he took from the rich he freely gave to the poor; and if, in the pursuance of his romantic vocation, he was compelled, in self-defence, to sacrifice the life of some obstinate victim, he ever after endeavoured to remove the stain of the blood from his soul by the scouring drops of contrition. Nor was his love of the poor greater than his love of—Woman! To her his lustrous eye and soft guitar-like voice, coupled with the perils of his adventurous life, had ever a magical charm. He was not merely the Freebooter of Lucre, but—the Brigand of the Heart! And if his passion was of too fickle and roving a nature, at least in extenuation it may be pleaded that he never parted from the object of his love without first abstracting from her some article of jewellery or plate, by which to treasure up her remembrance.
However, to return to poor Goffoni. The day of his trial at length arrived. On being placed in the dock it seemed to him as if he were standing on the doorstep of Eternity; for reflection and everybody had conspired to assure him of the utter hopelessness of his case. And when, to his infinite horror, he heard the drover, without the least hesitation, swear that he, the Signor, was the man who had taken his purse, Goffoni felt as though his shoulders had already served his head with notice to quit. The judge, however, finding that the case turned on a point of disputed identity, ordered the prisoner to put on the hat which had been dropped on the road. Goffoni did so, and was suffused with a cold perspiration on finding that it fitted him to a hair. He was then directed to endorse his body with the cloak, which, alas! also suited the poor devil as though it had been made to measure. The drover looked at him for a second, and then swore with even greater certainty than before that he was the identical person who had robbed him. Goffoni now saw that the sands of his last moments were fast running through the egg-boiler of his existence, when—as the gentlemen of the Italian press afterwards expressed it—"a stranger, dressed in the first style of fashion, rose from the body of the court, and requested to be permitted to put on the articles in which the prisoner had just appeared." Having obtained the sanction of the judge, he attired himself in the cloak and hat, and demanded of the drover, on his oath, whether he, the stranger, was not the party who had taken his purse? The drover eyed the stranger from top to toe, and then, after a little deliberation, swore even still more emphatically that he was. Whereupon the stranger pointed out to the judge that since the drover had sworn with equal certainty to two different parties as the culprit, it was clear that he might be mistaken in both.
A word to the wise is sufficient. So, reader, if your skull be not as thick as a bombshell, it is hardly necessary for us to tell you that Goffoni was acquitted—that it was Virtuoso, the brigand, who procured his acquittal; and that the Moral of all this is (for we must be "moral to the last"), never take the good or bad action of another to yourself, nor be shabby or silly enough to—"SAY YOU DID IT."
ELEGANT EXTRACTS FROM THE LAST NEW BURLESQUE.
Billingsgate in the ascendant.
Burlesque standing on its merits.
A BATTLE WITH BILLINGSGATE.
SUGGESTED BY THAT OF BLENHEIM.
It was the Christmas Holidays,
And seated in the Pit,
A Father saw the new Burlesque,
That was so full of wit.
And by him sat—in Slang unskill'd—
His pretty little girl, Clotilde.
She heard some "ladies" on the Stage
Say they would "cut their sticks!"
And one in male attire declare
That she'd "go it like bricks."
She ask'd her Father what were "bricks?"
And what they meant by "cut their sticks?"
The Father heard the audience laugh,
As at some witty stroke;
And the old man he scratch'd his head,
For he couldn't see the joke.
"I don't know what they mean," said he,
"But sure 'tis some facetiæ."
And then she heard one, nearly nude,
Say something else about
"Has your fond mother sold her mangle?
And does she know you're out?"
And when the people laughed, cried she,
"Oh, Pa! there's more facetiæ!"
And then the little maiden said,
"Now, tell me why, Papa,
That lady ask'd him if the mangle
Was sold by his Mamma?"
"I can't tell why, my dear," said he,
"Though, of course, 'tis some facetiæ."
But when she saw the lady's fingers
Unto her nose applied,
"Why, 'tis a very vulgar thing!"
The little maiden cried.
"The papers all, my child, agree,
'Tis brimful of facetiæ!
"And everybody says the Piece
With brilliant wit is fill'd;"
"And what is wit, my dear Papa?"
Quoth innocent Clotilde.
"Why, that I cannot say," quoth he,
"But wit is not—vulgarity."
THE STAG, THE BULL, AND THE BEAR.
(A Railway Fable.)
THE STAG, THE BULL, AND THE BEAR.
A RAILWAY FABLE.
A Stag there was—as I've heard tell,
Who in an attic us'd to dwell,
Or rather—to use a fitter phrase—
Who in an attic us'd to graze;
And being blest, like many I know,
With little Conscience, and less Rhino,
Took to that frailest of all frail ways,
And wrote for shares in all the Railways;
Applied, without the least compunction,
For Seventy five in each new "Junction,"
And gen'rally—the more's the pity—
Got thirty shares from each Committee,
Whereof though it for sale was not meant,
He sold the Letter of Allotment.
But this he did, forsooth, because it
Said something rude about Deposit.
Now he'd applied, and—what was better—
This Stag had just receiv'd a letter,
Allotting him some shares, then far
Above the Railway Zero—"par."
"How kind of them," says he, "to gi'e me 'em,
Since they're at such a whacking premium!
'Tis to my soul 'a flatt'ring unction,'
Oh! Good St. James' and St. Giles' Junction."
And then the Stag went cap'ring down,
Like many another "buck on town,"
To where "the common herd" resort,
The stony field hight Capel Court,
And where the half-starved hinds are seen,
Trying to nibble all the "Green."
But soon to this fam'd cervine quarter
There came a Bull intent on slaughter,
And finding that the Stag I tell of
Had got some shares which were thought well of,
The Bull began to run them down,
And swore they weren't worth half-a-crown;
He call'd it all the worst of names,
This Junction of St. Giles and James;
And thus—these Bulls have so much art with 'em—
At last he got the Stag to part with 'em.
For 'tis with these same Bulls on 'Change
As 'tis with those that meadows range;
To both alike this rule applies,
What they run after's sure to rise.
Then, wand'ring from his gloomy lair,
In Copthall Court, there came a Bear;
One of that curs'd unfriendly race
Who crush whatever they embrace;
Whose grip is such, whate'er they maul
Is generally sure to fall.
And, when he heard the Stag declare
He'd parted with his ev'ry share,
He vow'd the Bull had sorely treated him,
Nay—more he'd say—the Bull had cheated him.
It was the noblest of all schemes,
This Junction of St. Giles and Jeames!
However, as he hated knavery,
To do him an especial favour, he
Would let the Stag have thirty more,
At what he sold the others for;
The Stag of gratitude discourséd,
And took 'em on the terms aforesaid.
Now all this kindness of the Bear
Was nothing but a "ruse-de-guerre;"
For no one knew so well as Bruin
To hold the Shares was perfect ruin;
The whole affair was but a swindle,
And down to discount soon would dwindle.
And, truth to say, the Bear was right,
The Panic came, like Lillywhite,
That terror of the Lords, and bowl'd out
Ev'ry man Jack who hadn't sold out;
So that there was on "settling day,"
The Devil and the Bear to pay.
"But," says the Stag, "that cunning buffer,
The Bull, will be the chap to suffer;
So in a cab to him I'll dash up,
And get my taurine friend to cash up."
But when he gets to Mr. Taurus's,
Pasted upon the outer door, he sees
A card with these words written over,
"Gone to Boulogne viâ Dover."
Now as the Bull had run away,
Unable for the shares to pay,
'Twas clear, as he'd no cash to spare,
The Stag then couldn't pay the Bear;
So when the Bear went for his due,
The Stag had gone to Boulogne too.
And, since the Stag had cut and run,
'Twas plain the Bear could pay no one;
So those to whom he money ow'd,
When they sought out the brute's abode,
Found that the Bear, or him they call so,
Had cut and run to Boulogne also.
MORAL.
Pursue the paths of Virtue, and such stale ways,
And don't never have nothing to do with none of those bothering Railways.
JOHN BULL AMONG THE LILLIPUTIANS.
THE MODERN GULL IVER.