Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub

Lines on John Bannister, by Sir George Rose

Lines to a Lyric and Artist

Biographical Sketch of Richardson, by W. Jerdan
Paddy Blake's Echo, by J. A. Wade

Recollections of Childhood, by the Author of “ Headlong Hall"

The Wide-awake Club

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

II. Legend of Hamilton Tighe .

III. Grey Dolphin

IV. The Squire's Story.

V. The Execution, a Sporting Anecdote

[ocr errors]

Page 168

177

178

186

187

190, 409, 493, 508, 540, 564, 583, 590

An Evening Meditation

The Devil and Johnny Dixon, by the Author of “Stories of Waterloo "

A Merry Christmas, by T. Haynes Bayly

Nights at Sea, by the Old Sailor:

No. I. The Captain's Cabin

II. The White Squall.

III. The Chase and the Forecastle Yarn

Sonnet to a Fog, by Egerton Webbe .

Biography of Aunt Jemima, by F. H. Rankin

Scenes in the Life of a Gambler, by Captain Medwin

269
• 474

621

280, 364, 487
286, 442
290

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Portrait of George Colman
Handy Andy, No. I. by S. Lover

Procession at the Inauguration of Mr. Tulrumble as Mayor of

Mudfog, by George Cruikshank,

Who are you? by S. Lover

Oliver Twist, by George Cruikshank
Handy Andy, No. II. by S. Lover

Spectre of Tappington, by Buss

Oliver Twist, No. II. by George Cruikshank

Portrait of Samuel Foote, by Sir Joshua Reynolds

[ocr errors]

Frontispiece

Page 20

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

The Little Bit of Tape, by Phiz

Oliver Twist, No. III. by George Cruikshank

Portrait of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, by Ozias Humphreys

Oliver Twist, No. IV. by George Cruikshank
Nights at Sea, by George Cruikshank

The Romance of a Day, by George Cruikshank
Nights at Sea, by George Cruikshank

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

49

88

105

169

191

218

298

313

326

419

430

474

565

621

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

OUR SONG OF THE MONTH.

No. I. January, 1837.

THE BOTTLE OF ST. JANUARIUS.

I.

IN the land of the citron and myrtle, we're told
That the blood of a MARTYR is kept in a phial,
Which, though all the year round, it lie torpid and cold,
Yet grasp but the crystal, 'twill warm the first trial...
Be it fiction or truth, with favourite FACT,

your

O, profound LAZZARONI! I seek not to quarrel;
But indulge an old priest who would simply extract
From your legend, a lay-from your martyr, a moral.

II.

Lo! with icicled beard JANUARIUS comes!

And the blood in his veins is all frozen and gelid, And he beareth a bottle; but TORPOR benumbs

Every limb of the saint :-Would ye wish to dispel it? With the hand of good-fellowship grasp the hoar sage

Soon his joints will relax and his pulse will beat quicker ; Grasp the bottle he brings-'twill grow warm, I'll engage, Till the frost of each heart lies dissolved in the LIQUOR !

Probatum est.

WATER-GRASS-HILL, Kal. Januarii.

P. PROUT.

B

PROLOGUE.

For us, and our Miscellany,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
SHAKSPEARE, with a difference.

"DOCTOR," said a young gentleman to Dean Swift, "I intend to set up for a wit."

"Then," said the Doctor, "I advise you to sit down again." The anecdote is unratified by a name, for the young gentleman continues to the present day to be anonymous, as he will, in all probability, continue to future time; and as for Dean Swift, his name, being merely that of a wit by profession, goes for nothing. We apprehend that the tale is not much better than what is to be read in the pages of Joe Miller.

But, supposing it true,—and the joke is quite bad enough to be authentic, we must put in our plea that it is not to apply to us. The fact is absolutely undeniable that we originally advertised ourselves or rather our work as, the "Wits' Miscellany, -thereby indicating, beyond all doubt, that we of the Miscellany were WITS. It is our firm hope that the public, which is in general a most tender-hearted individual, will not give us a rebuff similar to that which the unnamed young gentleman experienced at the hands, or the tongue, of the implacable Dean of St. Patrick.

It has been frequently remarked,-and indeed we have more than fifty times experienced the fact ourselves, that of all the stupid dinner-parties, by far the stupidest is that at which the cleverest men in all the world do congregate. A single lion is a pleasant show: he wags his tail in proper order; his teeth are displayed in due course; his hide is systematically admired, and his mane fitly appreciated. If he roars, good! - if he aggravates his voice to the note of a sucking-dove, better! All look on in the appropriate mood of delight, as Theseus and Hippolita, enraptured at the dramatic performance of Snug the Joiner. But when there comes a menagerie of lions, the case is altered. Too much familiarity, as the lawyers say in their peculiar jargon, begets contempt. We recollect, many years ago, when some ingenious artist in Paris proposed to make Brussels lace or blonde by machinery at the rate of a sou per ell, to have congratulated a lady of our acquaintance on this important

« PředchozíPokračovat »