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The recollection of that scene has overpowered me. Should my tea and muffin
restore me, I will let you know all that occurred until I got into the omnibus.


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T))e Folly of Crime.



THE Home of Crime is in a shadowy land
Where all things wear an aspect not their own,
The seeming water is but shining sand,
The tempting fruit but hard unyielding stone,
And ever there the light hath cheerless shone. -
In every flower are venom 'd juices nurs'd,
The song-bird's music dies into a moan,
Though sweet as nightingales she sings at first ;
But all within the Home of Crime appears accurst.

The spirit of the place is seldom seen
But mask 'd and draped in some fantastic suit,
Now wildly dancing like a drunken quean,
Now sounding amorous measures on a lute ;
But ere the strings' vibrations have grown mute,
Or the bent blade sprung up from 'neath her tread,
A sudden pang within her brain doth shoot,
And she doth cry with such a voice of dread,
That every gentle thing doth tremble and fall dead.

But when she doffs her masquerading gear,
She is so hideous that the appalled mind
Grows dizzy by the greatness of its fear,
And every eye is on the instant blind !
And yet withal she proselytes doth find,
Who, for the shadowy .pleasures she doth show,
Have all their hopes of future peace resigned ;
And when deceived (she doth enthral them so),
Still seek her phantom joys till they grow mad with woe !

The fool in love with ease will fly to Crime,
Who, in deep mockery, whispers " Toil no more !"
But in a little space, that 's scarcely Time,
Tlje victim's sluggish happiness is o'er ;
The fiend throws off the treacherous guise she wore,
And drives the wretch by indolence subdued
To tasks that rack his limbs and drain each pore,
And leave him sleepless thro' the night to brood
O'er mem'ries that make horrible his solitude.

And he who gives away his life for gold,
Will bow to Crime to expedite his gain.
Lo ! now his massy coffers scarcely hold
The glittering dross he sued for not in vain :

VOL, i. NO. in.


And doth his curs'd ally unchanged remain ?
Go, watch him in the agony of sleep
His treasured gold is molten in his brain,
And round about his head vile phantoms creep ;
His eyes dam up the tears 'twere luxury to weep.

The slave of vanity, to feed his pride,
Will seek of Crime the show to which he clings.
Poor insect ! soon his folly is supplied
A little sunshine gives the moth its wings.
And doth the fiend exult o'er such mean things ?
mark the bed where Vanity doth lie !
'Tis made where poverty its refuse flings,
Most loathsome to the smell and to the eye,
And there the lonely wretch hath laid him down to die.

The bully reveller, of his courage vain,
Doth rush to CRIME to help his riot's need :
So bold a vot'ry CRIME doth not disdain,
But with a lavish hand his wants doth feed,
Yet claims for every gift a darker deed.
0, then the demon's triumph draweth near,
And in the victim's soul great terrors breed ;
Whilst " Retribution " ringeth in his ear,
And at his shadow he doth start appall 'd by fear.

The stream, that as a silver thread begins,
Oft flowing onward swells into a flood :
So he, made desperate by his many sins,
Grows mightier in his guilt, and thirsts for blood.
CRIME, ever mindful of his victim's mood,
Proffers the knife the work of death is done !
On every side he sees a spectral brood ;
Whilst Crime, the demon tempter, leads him on,
Till in his darken'd mind the light of reason's gone.


As gudgeons hurry to their fate,
To railway bubbles some incline ;

Forgetting that beneath the bait
A hook 's the end of many a line.



ABYDOS. A city of Asia, opposite Sestos in Europe, to which it bore about the same
relation as Chelsea does to Battersea. It is famous for the loves of Hero and Leander,
the former of whom used to burn a rushlight at Sestos, to light the latter across the
Hellespont. Matters went on swimmingly for some time, till the Grecian boy was caught
in a storm, when, there being no other buoy at hand to save him, he went to the bottom.
It may be as well to remind the student, that of this little tale of Hero and Leander,
Leander was in fact the hero and Hero the heroine.

ACHERON. A river in Epirus, which was called by Homer one of the rivers of a
certain naughty locality. The superstition is supposed to have arisen from its being
the practice of the Greeks to throw all their condemned plays into it. The excessive
blackness of the water might also be accounted for by the great quantity of ink that
thus became mixed up with it.

ACHILLES was the son of Peleus and Thetis, the Nereid, and consequently the
nephew of forty-nine aunts, being the forty-nine sisters of the lady alluded to. His
mother practised hydropathy by dipping him in the river Styx, which rendered him
invulnerable everywhere except in the heel, in which he was always liable to be tripped
up by his enemies. The saying of " laid by the heels," no doubt, arose from the
circumstance alluded to. His education was entrusted to the centaur Chiron, who
taught him music and the art of war ; so that, when in battle, he could sing out if
danger threatened him. It seems, however, that he had extra masters, for Phoenix
taught him elocution. Chiron, in the true spirit of Squeers, fed his pupil on the
marrow of wild beasts, under the pretext of its being calculated to render him active
and vigorous. His mother, to keep him from the Trojan war, put him into petticoats,
and sent him on a visit to the court of Lycomedes ; but Ulysses, disguised as a pedlar,
followed him, and offered for sale some real arms, and some imitation jewels. Achilles,
choosing the arms, discovered his sex, and went to war in a suit of stout armour,
warranted by Vulcan, the manufacturer, to resist all kinds of weapons. In consequence
of a quarrel with Agamemnon about a young lady named Briseis, he refused for some
time to appear in the field, and would probably have sold his commission, or retired
on half-pay, if the death of his friend Patroclus had not induced him to rejoin his
regiment. Having slain Hector, he tied him by the leg to the rumble of his chariot,
and drove three times round the walls of Troy, with a mob of Grecian blackguards
following after him. Priam wept so bitterly at the sight that Achilles allowed him to
purchase the reversion of Hector's remains at a sum which they both agreed upon.

Achilles was enamoured of Polyxena, and going into one of the Temples of Apollo,
probably a music-shop, to get a sight of her, he received an arrow in his heel from
Priam, who thus gave him one for his heels, which never healed afterwards.

ALEXANDER, surnamed the Great, was son of Philip, and founder therefore of the
modern family of the Philipsons. He went to war when he was fifteen, from which it
is evident that commissions were given to boys in those days just as they are at
present. After his father's death, he conquered Darius, and took Tyre after a siege of
seven months, during which he is said ta have inspired his cohorts by a pun, telling
them that they must not be tired out until Tyre was entirely their own ; a jeu de mots



that infused the greatest spirit into the Greek columns. His first exploit, however,
was taming the horse Bucephalus, after all the courtiers had been thrown in the

attempt, upon which Philip burst into tears, and predicted that his son would conquer
distant kingdoms, a prophecy that might as well have been made in reference to Le
Petit Ducrow, or to any other juvenile equestrian prodigy.

From Egypt he went to the temple of Jupiter Ammon, where he bribed the priests
to say that he was descended from the Gods, so that it was probably the temple of
Jupiter Gammon at which these priests used to officiate. He built a town on the
Nile called Alexandria, and, animated by the same spirit as that which prompted
Lord Ellenborough, he aimed at Indian conquest, and attacked Porus, an Indian
king, whom he rendered literally porous by drilling holes with his spear all over the
unfortunate potentate. Having made a handsome fortune, he retired to Babylon,
where he took to drinking, and began to run through a great deal of his property, a
process he occasionally varied by running through one of his best friends, for he
perforated poor Clitus with a spear at a public dinner, because, in a neat speech, he had
eulogised the virtues of Philip. Still, we are told, he was easy and familiar with his
friends ; though the only records we have of his easy familiarity relate to his off-hand
mode of disposing of them whenever his humour prompted him. He died at the early
age of thirty-two, of delirium tremetis, brought on by excessive drinking, universally
regretted by all who did not know him. While living he patronized literature, and gave
Aristotle, who was exceedingly hard up, a purse to complete his Natural History, which
was partly in type, when the printers, who had never seen the colour of the sage's
money, very naturally refused to go on with it.


ANTIGONE was the daughter of (Edipus, of classical conundrum notoriety, who
guessed the riddle of the Sphinx when it had been " given up " by every other
" learned Theban." Had he lived in the present day he must inevitably have carried
off the annual prize offered for the best answer to the yearly enigmas in the Lady's
Pocket Book. The chief feature in the history of Antigone was her energetic perform-
ance of the funeral of her brother Polynices, against the orders of her uncle Creon. She
was sentenced on this account to be buried alive, but she contrived to evade the intended
punishment. Her story was dramatised by Sophocles, and the play having been given
out for repetition " every evening till further notice," was performed for upwards of
thirty successive nights a circumstance wholly unprecedented in the annals of the
Greek drama. The author was rewarded with the government of Samos, in addition to
the sum he received from the management. Antigone was some centuries afterwards
partially set to music by Mendelssohn, and cruelly treated by some chorus-singers at
Covent Garden Theatre, though the acting of Mr. and Miss Vandenhoff was sufficient
to appease the offended shade of Sophocles.


THE explorer of human nature, who digs into the drama as a mine in which
character may be discovered, will frequently turn up a quantity of material that he will
find much difficulty in accounting for. To pursue the simile of the mine there cannot,
perhaps, be a more extraordinary spade-full than that very singular lump of clay whose
denomination forms the title to the present article.

Though all the world is generally admitted to be a stage, it is fortunate that all
the ladies'-maids in the world are not stage ladies'-maids, for if they were there would
be an end to all domestic discipline in every house where a ladies '-maid might happen
to form a part of the establishment.

A most striking peculiarity in the position of the stage ladies '-maid is the ascendancy
she immediately gains over every one in the house she happens to have got admission into.
The only person she condescends to patronise is her young mistress, whom however she
never assists in anything but a love affair, but that even is beneath her notice unless
it is clandestine, and terminates in an elopement, which she insists on having the entire
conduct of. She permits no scruples of delicacy or propriety on the part of her young
lady, who, by-the-by, seldom expresses any stronger sentiment of self-respect than such
as may be implied in the words, " Really, Betty, I tremble at the step I am about to
take," when the ingenious interrogatory of " Lor, Miss, what 's the use ? " from the
stage ladies'-maid, at once removes any feeling of compunction by which the stage
young lady may for a moment have been influenced. There is generally a struggle
going on in the mind of the latter between duty and affection, when the casting vote
is demanded from the stage ladies'-maid, who black-balls duty at once, and gives
a plumper for disobedience. The stage ladies'-maid nevertheless receives bribes from
the representative of the duty interest, namely the heavy man who receives thirty
shillings a week for doing the respectable utility, and talks of having just dined with
the minister. While, however, she gains a knowledge of the heavy man's plans, and
accepts from him at every interview a heavy purse filled with gallery checks, as a reward



for her exertions in his behalf; the stage ladies '-maid is urging her young mistress to
rush into the threadbare arms of a half-pay captain who makes love to her, by whistling
up at the window, following her into the Park, kissing her maid, and practising other
elegant little arts which military men on the stage are ordinarily addicted to. Perhaps,
however, the most curious portion of the stage ladies '-maid's conduct is her treatment
of the master of the house, whom she keeps in a state of continual subjection, by an


uninterrupted course of insult and violence. She ordinarily addresses him as an old
hunks, shakes her fist in his face, thrusts his hat and cane into his hand, all the
while pushing him towards the door, when she has any purpose to serve by getting
rid of him. If he begins to talk, she talks him down, so that he can only splutter and
say, " Whew," but he never thinks of either giving her a month's warning, or paying
her wages, and sending her about her business. The stage ladies'-maid never
thinks of leaving the drawing-room when visitors are present, but often remains
in it alone to sing a song with Swiss variations, which must be heard all over the house
to the great disturbance of the family. In dress she always excels her mistress, and
frequently wears very thin white muslin over pink satin, the muslin being open all the
way down the back, and an apron with pockets of very recherche embroidery.

In conclusion she generally marries somebody because " she don't see why she
shouldn't do as her young mistress does," and she sometimes unites herself to a low-
comic countryman, whom she has been snubbing all through the piece, but who, when
he has a chance of being accepted, looks like a great fool, and says, "Well I doant noa,
thou beest woundy pratty," which is at once clutched at as an offer of marriage by the
stage ladies'-maid, who sings a couplet, or speaks a "tag," makes a curtsey before
the fall of the curtain, and retires to her dressing-room, without saying a word to the
low-comic countryman, whom she has just promised to share the remainder of her
existence with.




I AM now considerably upwards of threescore ; but, I am happy to say, in perfect
possession of all my faculties ; a blessing which in these times I ought indeed to be
thankful for.

On most occasions I am a man of few words, and do not intend to use many on this.
I write but to answer, once for all, a question I am continually pestered with, "What
is your opinion of things in general ? ' '

My opinion of things in general may be gathered from my opinion of men in general.
I am convinced that the whole world is mad : I hope there may be some exceptions ;
to such I would address myself : but I have met with none yet.

I observed this universal insanity coming on many years ago, when the monstrous
idea was proposed of lighting London with gas. In vain I argued and insisted that
it was impossible. People began by thinking the scheme feasible, and ended by believing
that it was accomplished. Finding the world thus far gone, I at once shut myself up
for safety in my own house, and have never stirred beyond my grounds since. I let a
few harmless lunatics visit me, and I take in the papers which are just as mad as the
world at large and thus I know what is going on.

Light London with gas ! Set the Thames on fire ! Why, suppose they could, the
place would be bldwn up in a week. Besides, where would they get the coal from ? Our
mines would be exhausted in a twinkling. So I said at the time, and say still ; but to
reason with madmen is the next thing to being mad one's-self.

The next delusion that seized the public was Steam. I proved that it would come
to nothing but mischief, and I find by some occasional lucid passages in the journals,
under the head of Accidents, that I was right.

The progress of the Steam pantomania, so to call it, has been astonishing.
Absurdity after absurdity was believed ; till at last men were persuaded that to cross
the Atlantic and back by a steam-ship was quite a common thing. A steam-ship ! A bottle
of smoke ! And now they have reached such a pitch of extravagance, as actually to
regard as a fact the existence of Railroads between London and other large towns,
along which they can travel by steam at the rate of twenty miles an hour ! It is
useless to ask them how such an impossibility can be ; there is a method in their
madness, and they gravely endeavour to explain. Nay, finding that I turn a deaf ear
to their ravings, they assure me that I may satisfy myself of the reality of Railways,
by simply going ten miles to see one. Simply, indeed ! Once admit the possibility
of a thing contrary to reason, and the next step is to be convinced of its reality.

All the world, likewise, is mad upon Electricity. I never believed in it at all myself.
I always said electricity was a humbug. They pretend to say that, by means of what
they term an Electric Telegraph, a signal can be conveyed any distance in an instant.
Fiddle-de-dee ! They declare that, by this same electricity, gunpowder can be blown
up under water. Stuff! Also, that copper plates of pictures can be got, in any
number, out of blue vitriol. Rubbish ! Of all these delusions they are as persuaded
as they are of their own senses ; but so was the madman who believed himself made
of glass.



They likewise affirm that the sun is made to draw pictures, by a contrivance which
they name a Daguerreotype. Sunshine? Moonshine! Of this fallacy they are as
firmly convinced, as that the sun itself is in the heavens. I might as well talk to a
stone wall, as attempt to argue or laugh them out of it. They tell me to go and see it
done ; as if I could he such a fool !

But of all the incredible follies they are possessed with, the most inconceivable is a
delusion called Mesmerism. The idea of persons reading with their eyes shut, seeing
through stone walls, tasting what another eats, having their legs cut off without feeling
it ! What next ? Hear with our noses, I suppose, and smell with our ears. Oh ! the
very thought of such nonsense almost makes me as mad as the rest.

It is impossible to account for all this strange credulity but by supposing that some
singular disease has seized upon men's minds and senses. For this reason I have
irrevocably determined never to go and look at anything of the sort. Even I might
catch the contagion ; but still, I hope that my judgment would rectify my perceptions.
And therefore what I say is, that even if I saw gas, steam-ships, railroads, electric
telegraphs, electrotypes, daguerreotypes, (all so many types of insanity,) clairvoyance,
community of sensation, or anything else of the kind, / would not believe in them. I am
not an obstinate man ; I can listen to reason ; I am open to conviction ; but I cannot, I
will not, be imposed upon. I maintain that your science and your inventions are all a
hoax, a humbug, a trickery, a deceit. Other people may be gulled if they like ; not I. It
is all very well to cant about the ignorance and superstition of our ancestors for
believing in ghosts and witchcraft : I say it is just as silly to believe in electricity
and steam.

Talk as much as you like to alter my opinion ; it is all nonsense, and I won't
hear a word.

I am,

Yours, &c.,





As I perceive that private theatricals are coming a great deal into fashion, I
beg leave to offer the benefit of my experience as an old amateur to those parties who
are desirous of domesticating the drama, by bringing it literally home, not only to their
hearts, but to their dining-rooms. The difficulty of converting a front-parlour into a
theatre is not quite so insurmountable as it may at first appear, but drawing-rooms with
folding-doors are generally to be preferred, because a natural division is thus formed
between the stage and the portion assigned to the audience. If the play is to be acted
in the dining-room, it will not always be advisable to remove the sideboard, for it makes
a capital tribune in Roman tragedies, and in Othello it marks the elevated position of the
Duke in the Senate scene, besides furnishing an excellent bedstead for the final
smothering. It also assists materially in the formation of anything like a judicial
tribunal, such as that in which Brutus passes judgment on his son, for by drawing out
the cellaret and covering it over with a cloth, the accused is at once provided with
a locus standi. Again, if the back of the sideboard rises to a point in the centre,
it may easily be converted into the Alps by a cloth fixed to the highest portion,
and thus, in a piece lika William Tell, there is a very passable mountain for the hero
to apostrophise.

In cases where the audience and actors are limited to one room, I need hardly point
out the obvious expedient of an ironing-board on tressels being erected for the stage,
while a couple of clothes-horses, covered with green baize, or anything in the way of
drapery that happens to be at hand, have long been recognized as the best possible
proscenium for private performances. When practicable, it is, however, advisable to have
the stage so situated, that there is a window with curtains at the back, as they will be
useful for the tent of Richard, when let down and hung over the back of a chair ;
or they will serve admirably as the drapery of his throne, when looped up ; and having
exactly the same materials in both scenes will be no objection, for, as the tyrant may be
suppose^lo have chosen the pattern himself, it is possible that the crook-backed monarch
would in both instances select his favourite curtains.

With refereJ^b to costume, Roman pieces are always the easiest, for the household
linen will always afford togas, and Virginius is especially adapted for private representa-
tion, because the illusion is much aided by an urn, and as most families take tea, few are
without the article allude"d to. Where, however, the urn is not to be had, a soup-tureen,
or even a salad-bowl, will furnish an excellent substitute. Scotch pieces may also be
dressed without much difficulty where there are many females in the family, for the
ambitious Thane and his followers can readily be supplied from the large stock of horse-
cloth shawls, that do or ought to form a portion of the wardrobe of every well-
regulated family. Trusting that these few hints will be found useful to those who are
fond of playing at plays,

I am, dear Mr. Editor,

Yours, <fcc., &c.,


VOL. i. NO. m.



HARK to the squalling newborn Year !

Squalling with wind, and crying with sleet ;
Old Dame ^attUatg is here,

With snow-white cap, and pattens on feet :

She is his nurse, and she rocks him, rocks him,
And into the blankets she tucks him, tucks him
Then sips something so strong and so sweet !

Now to school in the biting air
Much to shiver, little to learn
.^FtffotUEtJ) in state sits there,

Frosty old Pedagogue, sharp and stern :
In cold corner he claps him, claps him,
And over the knuckles he raps him, raps him,
Once and again till his fingers burn.

Then, a shipboy ready of hand,

Sturdy of heart, though the sea be rough ;
Commodore JHfltCf) is there in command,
Stout Sea-Captain, stormy and bluff ;
Noisily ever he rates him, rates him
Storm or shipwreck awaits him, waits him
But his heart is fresh, and his nerves are tough.

Just as the pigeons begin to pair,

He feels a pleasure, and calls it pain ;
Young Lady iHpttl, fickle and fair,
Rules his heart with a fitful reign ;

Now she is frowning, and moves him, moves him

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