If soda-water had only been known in the time of Alexander, it is but fair to conclude that the murder of Clytus never would have taken place.
If England were to be divided to-morrow morning equally among all its inhabitants, we should not like to be the man whose dismal lot for life turned out to be Trafalgar Square!
If Janus really had two faces, we deeply pity him, if he ever drank a tumbler of Vauxhall punch, for he must have had the following morning two headaches instead of one!
If animals could speak, we can imagine the first words a donkey would address to man would be "Et tu brute."
If there were no "if's" in the world, there would be no arguments; no rules of three; no political economy; no more ingenious speculations about the fate of Europe if England had lost the battle of Waterloo (if it had, several shareholders would never have lost their money on Waterloo Bridge, by-the-bye); no more letters from Joseph Ady about certain valuable information if a sovereign is sent by return of post; no more liberal promises from fathers as to what they will do if their sons will only improve, and keep good hours; no more financial experiments (Sir Robert Peel's scheme for the income-tax was only one elongated "if," and its repeal is a still more extended one); and lastly, this clever little article upon "if's" never would have been written, if there had been no such word in the language as "if."
THE LITERARY SCARCITY.
A LETTER FROM A LONDON PENNY-A-LINER TO A PROVINCIAL DITTO.
Tom, my boy, how are you? Precious slack here, I can tell you; business never was so dull. I haven't had an Atrocious Murder on my hands these three months. If this panic continues I shall be so much out of practice that I'm blessed if I shall know how to do a Murder when a good opportunity occurs. Unless some good lady has the kindness to kill her husband—(how fashions change! I can recollect the time when husbands used to kill their wives: however, it's all the same)—I must starve, without having the chance either of making a penny by my own death. By-the-bye, I have had serious ideas lately of committing an "Awful Suicide"—don't be startled, I mean only in the papers. I have reckoned it up, and find that I should make nearly a sovereign by it—a temptation, my tulip, in these times, and well worth an imaginary duck in the Thames.
See, my dear Tom, I make it out as follows:—
| s. | d. | |
|---|---|---|
| Awful Suicide (say from Waterloo Bridge), at three-halfpence per line | 3 | 0 |
| A Romance of Real Life (founded on the above) | 2 | 6 |
| Public Inquest | 5 | 0 |
| Adjourned Meeting | 2 | 9¼ |
| Malicious Fabrication, a long letter from myself, declaring most circumstantially that I am not, and have never been dead, and spurning in the most indignant manner (to the extent probably of three shillings) the Verdict of "Temporary Insanity" | 4 | 7 |
| Another Letter, commenting with moderation on the atrocious cruelty of the fabrication, and lashing Lord John for not instituting proceedings for the discovery of the Monster in human form, who first propagated the Heartless Rumour | 1 | 11¼ |
| ———— | ———— | |
| 19 | 9¾ |