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'Tis not often you deceive me,

Shakespeare, you immortal bard! Yet at times you try—believe me—

My poor faith uncommon hard! Deeply though your words revering—

May bo that I am to blame— I dislike your tone of sneering,

When you ask, " What's in a name f!

In my purse, when on inspection,

I've not found a single sou,
I have gone, in Bore dejection,

To Abrdneoo, the Jew;
More than onco when, on our meeting,

He has learnt my little game,
His reply, ray hopes defeating,

Was, I vantsh adother dame."

Once I met a fair young creature,

Rich in beauty and in grace, And I saw a pleasing feature

In her purse—as in her face; Soon the question I propounded,

"Would she share my wealth and fame:" Strange her murmur to me sounded,

"Mrs. Snotchkr!What a name!"

When wo see vile compounds vended .

Underneath a title fair, And as " Choice Old Wines " commended,

For the priceless stamp they bear; Humbugs when we see applauded,

Must we not admit with shame. That, in truth, they're only lauded

For a goodly-sounding name?

Shakespeare, if your appellation

Had been Hogg, or Stubbs,—or mine, From you ne'er that observation

Could have dropped, oh, bard divine! Here, at least, to penetration

You must once forego your claim, When you state by implication

That there's nothing in a name.

®M Emories.

By Ramblbr Rkdivivus. No. H.—THE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT. I Will now resume the anecdote which I was either about to tell or had told in my last articlo, which, if I remember right—a thing that I must admit I do not invariably do, but where a memory is troacherous one is apt to—to. Let me soe, what is one apt to do—oh, I darosav it is forget, but I really don't remember clearly, and in a case of this sort it is absurd to retrace one's steps because one gets so confused by —something or other which, no doubt, my reader will glean from the sense of my last sentence. What I was about to remark was, that I believe I ought to remember the time when the present Premier, Loud William Russbll, was put on his trial for high treason. I forget what the exact act was, but his reply to the charge was, " Rest and be thankful," which I have no doubt he felt the need of, having gone all through the Crimean campaign as reporter to the Timet. But I am quite at a loss as to whether that was before or after his trial, and whether he was executed then or subsequently. Stay—if he was executed he couldn't be alive now, so I foar there must be an error somewhere. And yet I'm sure he was executed, so perhaps I may havo made a mistake about the person. Yes—on reflection, that is it. It is not Mr. Russell Gurney that I mean, for at that time ho was a large landed proprietor in Jamaica; or else a judge, or something of that sort—his name was Overend—or Giles Overreach, or something with an O; at least, that is my impression, but if I am wrong my reader can easily set me right by referring to his life, written by Theodore Hook; but whether the passage occurs in Gilbert Gurney, or Gurney Married, it is really impossible to say; ner does it much matter to my anecdote since, as I was saying, Hook had been tried for high treason—if it teas Hook, but it might have boen Tooke—yes, it was Hornb Tooke, the author of Hornb's or Honk's Every Day Book. Honb defended himself with singular ability, which was the reason of the Prinoo Regent's asking him if "that was his Hone or a

a joke that made a great stir at the time, on account of the '* first showing an inclination to leavo the Whigs and join the Tories, or rice versa, I forget which, and will not venture to say, as in anecdotes of this class accuracy is of the highest importance. But, at any rate, the Prince Regent did open Parliament in person on that occasion. It was either the year 1725, or 35, or 45—I know there was a five in it.


We havo boon to see Princess Primrose again, and find no reason for changing eithor our favourable opinion of its mitt en tcine and acting, or our unfavourable opinion of its literary qualities. No management could possibly have tried harder to make a bad burlesque look like a good ono; and no management has lately had so much practice in this difficult feat as the Olympic. Unluckily, howover, practice has not yet made perfect. We think that Henry Dunbar is all the better for being shortened, but all the worse for being shortened carelessly. This may look like a paradox, but people who can understand 11. D. should bo able to undorstand anything. Whenever ono link is taken away from the middle of a chain, the links on each side of it ought to ba fastened together firmly; otherwise the notion of a chain will very soon bo knockod on the head.

Wo have not been to the Lyceum to see the Matter of Jiaventwood again; and, if over we do, of courso we shall bow to the necessity of tempering tho critique to the shorn comedian. We have, in fact, the dread of certain sapient jurymen beforo our eyes; rational creatures, who seem to think it more likely that a respectable man of letters should utter a deliberate and useless falsehood, than that an irritable —anrf consequently nervous—actor should be imperfect in a now part.

Next week wo shall have a word—and, w.o hope, a good ono—to say about a new and original comedy at tho Strand Theatre; and, perhaps, in about six mouths, an extravaganza, founded on one of Oppenbagm's operas, will be produced at the Adolphi. T!-:e first announcement of this piece was made in tho year—well, not in tho year 1866, at all WHAT THEY SAY.

They say the Fates inflict a pang

For each delight they bring ns;
That, while above the rose we hang,

The imp flies forth to sting us.
They fay our smiles are washed away

In waters that are biiny,
And life has not a single day

That's altogether shiny.

They say our moods are so reversed

That what with tears and laughter,
We often bolt the sugar first

And gulp the physic after;
That under skies not quite serene

We wretched mortals languish,
And (though our grass looks very green)

Beneath it—Intel Anguish!

They hunt a fox who follow Hope

Through all its turns and doubles;
And Cupid uses honey-soap

For blowing brittle bubbles.
They say our years like minutes fleet

From twenty-one to fifty:
(Life tries to make the two ends meet;

And, growing old, grows thrifty.)

They say—but, hang it! never mind;

It signifies but little
What folks may say; I hardly find

Their tattle worth a tittle.
If I may only choose my stage,

And those I'd play the piece with,
I'll take the jester; keep your sage

For stuffing other geese with.



He who has these objects in view need not bo discouraged. Often as weakness of character and malignity of disposition may conduce to worldly success, there is still hope for their possessors; and a close adherence to the rules we are about to lay down will not improbably lead a man to the hospital, the workhouse, and the lunatic asylum.

In the first place, if you really desire to bo unhealthy, you should lead a regular life. In winter, rise at seven, in summer at five; by so doing, you will manage to exhaust your energies before the real business of the day begins. Take a cold bath, no matter what may be the state of the weather; this will check your natural perspiration, give the system a sudden shock, and not improbably promote the action of pulmonary disease. Bo sure you eat a hearty breakfast, avoiding grilled bones, devilled kidneys, and other succulent and toothsome viands, and confining yourself to solid and substantial food. A few cups of tea will materially aid your purpose. Have an early dinner, so that indigestion may commence exactly at the period when you require the greatest amount of bodily and mental energy. Confine yourself to good roast and boiled; eschew entrees and all foreign kickshaws; and, if you absolutely require pastry, take a nice plainsuet dumpling. As to wines, avoid claret and hock, which greatly exhilarate; stick to good old port, which is strengthening and bilious. Both in eating and in drinking, let temperance be your golden rule. If you never deviate into a general excess, so much the better. Retire to rest at a very early hour; this will make you sluggish and apathetic, and preserve you from the enjoyments of civilisation. Always sleep with your bedroom window open; so that if thoro is any epidemic in the air you may be sore to catch it. A strict adherence to these regulations will soon make yoiras Unhealthy as you can possibly desire.

Nor is the road to Indigence much more doubtful or obscure. Always take care of the pennies, and leave the pounds to take care of themselves. By this means you may collect about twelve shillings in copper in the same time that it would take you to make a sovereign in gold. Never lend money to a friend; ho would probably repay it, and when it was known that you wero generous you might find people anxious to help you out of any temporary difficulty, which would defeat the object you have in view. Don't risk your money in judicious speculations; put it in the Savings Bank, if you are a workman, and leave it with your banker, if you are rich enough to keep one. The failure of Eta John Dean Paul, would alone suffice to prove that

| thorough confidence in a plausible financier may be a capital short cut to poverty. Keep a niggardly table, and stint your servants. This will induce them to rob you, which is exactly v. hat you want. Pick up a pin wherever you see one; in point of fact, always keep your eyes on the look out for them; for, as you know, a pin a day is a groat

j a year, and what a splendid thing it is to accumulate not more than

'fourpence annually! Neither a borrower nor a lender bo; you will thus alienate yourself from society. Let your dress be rather shabby than otherwise: for the world is apt to judge by appearances. Bear these counsels steadily in mind, act honestly upon them, and you may

I rise to be a Pauper even yet.

The way to be foolish is equally simple. Study hard, improve each shining hour; keep yourself on a level with the century. Avoid idle diversions. Never waste your time in the frivolities of society. If you do, you will become a man of the world, which would defeat your object. Devote yourself to argument. Shun works of fiction, and apply yourself to the exact sciences; relieving the tedium of study, if you like, by an occasional excursus in Political Economy. Go to the Polytechnic a good deal, and read Docroit Colenso. Never leave off. Cram your brain as full as it will hold with facts, dates, latitudes and longitudes, systems, theorems, problems, and algebraic formula;. Study steam. Avoid the classics. Act upon this advice, and you may find yourself some fine morning in Hanwell itself.

^nsfoers to tforwsprnfante.

R. E. W. must pardon us if we decline his R.E.W.-ful account of "a trip on the Metropolitan."

A. G. H., Camberwell.—We don't accept sketches unless they are well-drawn and comic j and the only fun about those you enclose is that they are so badly drawn.

J. H.E., Oxford.—The 'parody is good, but we don't "hold with your sentiments," as our esteemed friend Mrs. B. would say.

J. S., Kentish Town Road. — "The fatal number" has been received. Do you know what "the fatal number" is? Nine: which is the German for " no."

P. P. J. sends us a manuscript, saying, "I value the enclosed at two guineas." We don't think it worth the thousand-and-eighth part of ! that. P. P. J. had better call for his MS. if he wants it.

"gent: One, etc.," sends us "The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill." Unfortunately we never accept bills, so this one must not consider itself dishonoured because we throw it out.

H. T. R., Sherborne, Bays he encloses " two rough sketches." He should havesaid " too rough."

The author of .'.'Eaves-dropping in a third class" leaves off too abruptly. His last line is " all change here," and the change would probably have been for the better.

A correspondent (post-mark, Hastings) sends us the first really funny thing wo have received from an outsider—a blank sheet of paper. This is so much better than the average contributions of our numerous non-humorous correspondents that we have printed it; our readers will on the back of the cartoon, and can judge for themselves.

Declined with thanks—A. B. C, Paris; G. F. B., Brighton; G. T. S., Liverpool; J. C. H. T., King Street; C. E., Windlesham; Y. C, Gainsborough ; C. K., Boro'; F. G., Camberwell; J. G. T., and J. B. D., Edinbro'; J. EIoop; Emily; C. W. D., Norwood; H. H., Northampton; W. H., Pentonville; Oxonicnsis; F. V.'; A. Z.; E. M., Clapham; B. T., St. John's Wood; Daisy.

The Land of Cakes.

Thekb appears to be some little dispute going on at Edinburgh as to the right of the Town Council to provide cake and wine, on certain occasions; and Lord Provost Chambers has been descanting and decanting apropot of the question. It is odd that surfr a heresy Bhould have arisen in a country long know as " the land of cakes "—and (in consequence of recent Sabbatarian howls) "the land of whines;"

THE HARVEST IN IRELAND, Two or three hundred young ash trees have already been cut in Wicklow, on a plantation of Earl FirzwrLLiAM's at Shillelagh. Brisk business is in consequence to be looked for at the markets, andthere will be a fine show of heads at Donnybrook. A rise in ash-saplings may be expected there, followed in most cases by a fall.


The Royal Academy has always been accused of an avaricious spirit, but we did not believe, with iU large income, it would have the iae» to seek a Government Grant.

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No. in.—A Table D'hote:

One must cat! or perhaps I should express myself more clearly if I said, "It faut manger!" and though the Maiton Dorit, the Cafe Anglaie, the Trois Freres, and the Brothers Tisiot of the Falait Royal (since at all these places has your Special Commissioner dined, for he is a philosopher, and equally at homo with the humble Duke as with the domineering Dustman), are excellent in their way—still one must dine sometimes at one's hotel.

And why not? Is not the table d'hote excellent? Is not the cloth snow}', are not the napkins white, the soups good, the fish, entrees, and sweetmeats delicious? Is not the salad a divine something worth travelling to taste P Does not even the recollection of that admirable mixture linger on the tongue, like sweet music in the ear, and tempt us to fly madly to the Victoria Station, and take a ticket for Paris via the London, Chatham, and Dover ;—but there is one objection to the table d'hote.

We fancy we hear the millions who speak tho English language, on the tiptoo of expectation, asking, "What, you dear Mr. Special Commissioner, you lively, amusing, brilliant, restless, exhaustive, stereoscopic observer—what is that objection f"

"Millions," I answer, "that objection is—the English! I! "■

Certainly, as a rule, English agreeability cannot be warranted to keep in any climate. It gets vexed and worried by the voyage from Calais to Dover. It is like Lacrymto Christi, so indigenous to its own soil, that it is spoiled by travel. Honest Britons, and amiablo Britonesses, become pretentious on tho continong. They lose their fear of Mits. Gbundy, and feel that the eyes of over the way are no longer upon them. They can swagger, and there is no Jones to laugh, no Mia. Jones to sneer. They are useful persons those Joneses, by whom, of course, I mean to typify public opinion, in my light, brisk, clever way.

Frenchmen scowl fearfully over tho table-cloth. They are an ogglesomo race, slow over their soup, and savage with their toothpicks. As a rule, French ladies do not eat with the samo dainty grace as our countrywomen—and a moustache is an unpleasant supplement to the mouth of a dark dame. Still they do not bore you as do those estimable English, who will lead the conversation, and talk their little tattle in a loud voice, as who should say : we axe Sib Oracle and Lady

Oracle—the Misses and Masters Oracle—at our own service— and at nobody else's.

Now look at the English here, above represontod by your special artist (and, by the way, a word about that artist in somo future number). Here is a man of fifty, whose face is something lika a rabbit's and something like that of Ma. Robert Homes, of the Royal Adolphi Theatre. He dresses at His late Ho Yal Hioh.xrss the Pontes Regent, and looks like Mr. Turveydbop run to seed. Ho talks continually, and laughs perpetually, that he may show two large bad teeth. He is dying to know who your Special Commissioner is. Tour Special Commissioner makes him all sorts of evasive answers. Your 8. C. does not feel the least curiosity as to who or what Mb. TubyitPbop may be. Why should he?

Next to Turveydbop is an old lady about seventy, whose faoe ii plastered whito and red like a clown's; her eyebrows are painted black, and so are the places where her eyelashes used to grow. She is a terrible sight. All the natives are regarding her with wonder. Is the English i Alas, yes; and your S. C. hides his patriotic shame in his tumbler.

On the other side of the painted old person—who is hideously talkatiya —is an elderly man without an atom of hair upon his head. He u as gay and debonnair as he is bald. I should relish his anecdotes the more if he had not lost all his teeth, and if he would keep quite silent.

There are three English opposite—man, wife, and daughter—a charming child of 12. This man is solemn and priggish, and the woman fantastical and prim. They are all showing off at the same time that they are pretending to be perfectly spontaneous and natural.

The rest are French. There is Madame who dines—and she does dine, too, does Madame—and Monsiour who dines, and Mademoiselle who dines. Not a plat passes them untasted; but then the French are so much more temperate than we are; " do which your Special

Commissioner says, "Are they?"

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London: Printed by JTJDD ft GLASS,

Works, St. Andrew's 11 ill, Doctors" Commons, and Published (for the Proprietors) by T LOW AS at SO, Fleet-street, B.C.—February 10, 1866.



LONG time ago, there lived, you must know, such an amiablo

bishop—or so he was painted—
That when he was dead the people all said, "That dear, good,

old Valentine ought to be sainted!''
So they did it straightway and selected a day—namely, Feb.
the Fourteenth—which to him was devoted;
And because all his life for avoidance of strifo and kindness of heart the old boy
had been noted,

They likewise decreed that every fair deed, the tenderer traits of our nature

Should be practised by all, both great folk and small, in honour of him upon
Valentine's morning.

But a sad little roguo, who was no le3S in vogue at the period named than ho's
been ever since (it

May save you a guess if at once I confess the young rascal is Amor—qui omnia vincit),

Declared that hit part in mankind was the heart, and that all tender feeling was 'neath his dominion

(And I fancy that few, who've with Love had to do, will venture to combat the monarch's opinion).

So the bishop's high claims and the pious folks' aims with equal tang froid and impunity scorning,

The wicked young elf assumed to himself the customs and rights of St. ValenTine's morning.

But first, in a mask, to lighten his task of deceiving the world (no Herculean labour),

Ho began as a saint (which ho cortainly ain't) to preach the great duty of loving one's neighbour.

And seldom has preacher, or master, or teacher, found pupils so ready to learn as did Cupid.

And the world saw for once a school with no dunce (for in love not e'en folly

would stoop to be stupid). So the Saint had to yield to Curro the field, for the sly little rascal all hearts was


Though the day it still goes, as every one knows, I suppose, by the name of
St. Valentine's morning.

And all through the years when that morning appears, the troes begin budding,

the birds begin pairing, And the lover rehearses the passionate verses, affection for her whom he

worships declaring;

And his hopes, like the trees, now it ceases to freeze (for, of course, they can't

grow when the frost is so bitter), Bud forth into words; while the girls, like tho birds, at the thought of their

lovers are "all in a twitter."
[P.S.—Oh, ye fair, have a care, and beware of his snare, and prepare at your

Fun's friendly warning
To steel all your hearts 'gainst tho arts, darts, and smarts which young Love

scatters round him on Valentine's morning.


Vol. II.

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;F course the world to-day is fully occupied with devotions at the shrino of St. Valentine, being blown about bike a bubble by Dan Cupid. Nevertheless I shall do my dutyasSaunterer in Ordinary, and rcviow the events of the week. First of all, there is the opening of Parliament by Her Majesty in person. It is fanny to observe that while everybody is sneering at Bright for objecting to court-dress, the Queen's refusal to wear her robes, though, as the Times observes, she did not mind setting on them, seems rather in favour of that gentleman's views. The sparring began early on the answer to the speech. In tho Lords, Lord Normanry moved, and Lord Morley seconded, the address, neither of their speeches being very striking. After them came a lot of little lords, chiefly enlarging on the supineness of Government about the Cattle Plague. Earl Grxy was one of them, and said, "want of judgment and want of vigour was their only fault;'' from which I conclude that want of grammar were his. Ths Duke Of Argyll earned' the blessings of Government by coming up to the scratch on their behalf, but was followed by Lord Derby-, who spoke well about Jamaica, and humorously about the Reform Bill. But when he quoted a member of the other house "who not long since spoke with great courtesy of expression of our sdirty and unhallowed fingers';" I fear his lordship forgot the sort of language Mr. Ferrand is in the habit of using about his opponents. Lord Russell wound up the debate with some remarks which he appears to have thought were not worth hearing.

In the Commons, Lord Cavendish and Mr. Graham were mover and seconder, and did their work fairly. Here, also, the Cattle Plague was the prominent subject; and Lord Bob Montague took an early opportunity of showing his intelligence. Government found more defenders in the Lower House. The adjournment of the debate was moved by Mr. O'donoohue, erroneously styled "The O'D.," who probably has something new to remark about Irish bulls. Jamaica and Reform were also touched on here.

Apropos of Reform, I have had forwarded te me a curious extract from a drama of Douglas Jerrold's, Midnight at Madame Tusssud's. Marmoset, the manager, is supposed to be conversing with the wax figuro of Lord J. R. (a celebrated Reformer of that day). Hero is the passage:—

"Loan J.—By the way. Marmoset, will you do me a great favour?

"M.—Is it to get up Don Carton! I'm very sorry but my leading tragedian is at

present in Horsemonger-lane, and

"Lord J.—No, no, the favour I solicit is

"M.—To dramatise the Reform Bill! Tt will be long for a play, but if yourself or any of your friends can manage to reduce it to a farce"

From the promise held out in the Queen's Speech, I am inclined to think Mr. Marmoset might play the people in with tho piece this season.

The Dudley Gallery has a capital show of pictures this year. A special private view for the press was given on the Friday—an admirable arrangement; but even then a few ladies wore smuggled in, and rather disturbed the critical serenity by their usual remarks, " La! isn't that like Mrs. Jones?' and "Oh, what a lovely blue!" and "Dear me, isn't that liko the place we were at last autumn '■" remarks which are very charming, but not calculated to promote a tion of art. And really the critie needs merciful consideration large a collection to go through- There are, in fact, too and I believe it would have been better to shut out two hundred

than have been excluded. Calderon, Lamont, and Pinwell exhibit good work; and among the landscape painters are Goodwin, DitchField, Moore, Mawley, and A. Severn. Mr. Simeon Solomon and a few others show traces of a servile following of Mk. Jonrs, aprtpot of whom I must tell a funny story. At the Old Water Colour I saw an old gentleman gazing with wonder and disgust at one of that artist's pictures. "Who's that ?" he asked of his daughter, who stood by with tho catalogue. "Burne Jones," she replied. "I wish they would!" said paterfamilias, with emphasis. And if tho disease is to spread as it is doing, one will feel almost inclined to echo him.

There has been a change of proprietorship in some of the magazines of late. Temple Bur becomes the property of Mr. Bentley. but will continue to bo edited by Mr. Edmund Yates—it is one of the beS shillingsworths. An attempt is to be made to raise the Sixpenny to a better position, but I fear it will be a hard struggle. The Conihil! this month opens with a bad imitation of Millais—the artist can do bettor things, and should not copy the style of others to please any one. Me. Thomas's illustrations this month are the beat ho has done. London Society is better than usual; the Argosy not worse, and the Shiilai much as it was.

I Have received a little book entitled Systematic Memory. The plan is very ingenious, but as it starts at the outset by requiring you to learn a complicated table with a scheme belonging to it, I can't help thinking it would be easier to learn what you wish to learn without this involved machinery. It would appear to he easier to remember 832 as a number than to burden one's brains with a rigmarole about "a ray of light coming in by a chimney." When I went in for my "Law and Modern History," at Oxford, I learnt the dates of the Kings of England by a similar memoria tecknica, and got off by heart a rhyme about "Will Consau, Hethdas," etc., which I remember to this day, but having unfortunately forgotten the key, can't get at my dates after all!

I Have had my Valentine! An elegantly scented one from Rirmil, with a really artistic design of a fairy clad in a flower—tho green calix being tho body of the dross and the petals forming the skirt.

The Fourteenth of February.

Past And Presbnt.

In the days I was young and was gushing,

When my gloves and affections were new, When I constantly found myself blushing

With tho candour of frank twenty-two; I indulged in thoughts, words, occupations,

That my manhood has since put away, And awaited with great expectations

The advent of Valentine's Day.

Would the post bring mo tidings to thrill me

With blank disappointment or joy; Would missives to cheor or to chill me

Groet my eyes from Matilda, or Floy P Ah, me! I was strangely poetic!

I teemed with acrostic and lay, If not graceful, at least energetic,

Ere the advent of Aralentine's Day!

Tcmpus fug it: tho prospect is altered!

My manners have changed with tho times! The lips which in sentiment faltered,

No longer give utt'ranee to rhymes! No longer in visions romantic,

My breakfast I'm fain to delay, Nor indulge in contemplative antic

On the morning of Valentine's day.

Matilda beside me is seated,

Though sylph-like no longer, but stout; My cherubs the postmen have greeted

With most unmelodious shout!
Tho billet I open—between us—

Suggests in a practical way
That not only in high Courts of Vrnws

Are bills due on Valentine's Day!


DRAPEEY WANTED—by several ladies now moving m the m«* fashionable circles, but entirely dependent oa the scanty allowances doled out to them by their Frenok modistes. Addreffl, "mare.

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