Wonderful Tips For Wedding Dress and Tuxedo

19 Jul 2008 at 3:40pm  A conventional black tuxedo would be absolutely suitable. I would prefer a single breasted jacket at the suit length with no coattails. In the case of an afternoon wedding, I would prefer a vest and t...
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27 Jun 2008 at 10:04pm  www.moldytoaster.com

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erbum sat_. I would have you be careful to _sort_ your pleasantries. Your soup jokes (never hazard that one about Marshal _Turenne_, it is really _too_ ancient,) your fish, your flesh, your fowl jests--your side-shakers for the side dishes--your puns for the pastry--your after-dinner excruciators. Sometimes, from negligence (but be not negligent) or ill-luck, which is unavoidable, and attends the best directed efforts, you sit down to table with your stock ill arranged or incomplete, or of an inferior quality. Your object is to make men laugh. It must be done. I have known a pathetic passage, quoted timely and with a happy emphasis from a popular novel--say, "Alice, or the Mysteries"--I have known it, I say, do more execution upon the congregated amount of midriff, than the best joke of the evening. (There is one passage in that "thrilling" performance, where Alice, overjoyed that her lover is restored to her, is represented as frisking about him like a dog around his long-absent proprietor, which, whenever I have taken it in hand, has been rewarded with the most vociferous and gleesome laughter.) And this reminds me that I should say a word about laughers. I know not whether it be prudent to come to terms with any man, however stentorian his lungs, or flexible his facial organs, with a view to engage him as a cachinnatory machine. A confederate may become a traitor--a rival he is pretty certain of becoming. Besides, strive as you may, you can never secure an altogether unexceptionable individual--one who will "go the whole hyaena," and be at the same time the entire jackal. If he once start "lion" on his own account, furnished with your original roar, with which you yourself have supplied him, good-bye to your supremacy. "Farewell, my trim-built wherry"--he is in the same boat only to capsise you. "And the first lion thinks the last a bore," and rightly so thinks. No; the best and safest plan is to work out your own ends, independent of aid which at best is foreign, and is likely to be formidable. I may perhaps resume this subject more at large at a future time. My space at present is limited, but I feel I have hardly as yet entered upon the subject. * * * * * LAM(B)ENTATIONS. Ye banks and braes o' Buckingham, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair, When I am on my latest legs, And may not bask amang ye mair! And you, sweet maids of honour,--come, Come, darlings, let us jointly mourn, For your old flame must now depart, Depart, oh! never to return! Oft have I roam'd o'er Buckingham, From room to room, from height to height; It was such pleasant exercise, And gave me _such_ an appetite! Yes! when the _dinner-hour_ arrived, For me they never had to wait, I was the first to take my chair, And spread my ample napkin straight. And if they did not quickly come, After the dinner-bell had knoll'd, I just ran up my _private stairs_, To say the things were getting cold! But now, farewell, ye pantry steams, (The sweets of premiership to me), Ye gravies, relishes, and creams, Malmsey and Port, and Burgundy! Full well I mind the days gone by,-- 'Twas nought but sleep, and wake, and dine; Then _John_ and _Pal_ sang o' _their_ luck, And fondly sae sang I o' mine! But now, how sad the scene, and changed! _Johnny_ and _Pal_ are glad nae mair! Oh! banks and braes o' Buckingham! How _can_ you bloom sae fresh and fair! * * * * * CHELSEA. (From our own Correspondent.) This delightful watering-place is filling rapidly. The steam-boats bring down hundreds every day, and in the evening take them all back again. Mr. Jones has engaged a lodging for the week, and other families are spoken of. A ball is also talked about; but it is not yet settled who is to give it, nor where it is to be given. The promenading along the wooden pier is very general at the leaving of the packets, and on their arrival a great number of persons pass over it. There are whispers of a band being engaged for the season; but, as there will not be room on the pier for more than one musician, it has been suggested to negotiate with the talented artist who plays the drum with his knee, the cymbals with his elbow, the triangle with his shoulder, the bells with this head, and the Pan's pipes with his mouth--thus uniting the powers of a full orchestra with the compactness of an individual. An immense number of Margate slippers and donkeys have been imported within the last few days, and there is every probability of this pretty little peninsula becoming a formidable rival to the old-established watering-places. * * * * * THE DRAMA. FOREIGN AFFAIRS, OR, THE COURT OF QUEEN ANNE. Perhaps it was the fashion at the court of Queen Anne, for young gentlemen who had attained the age of sixteen to marry and be given in marriage. At all events, some conjecture of the sort is necessary to make the plot of the piece we are noticing somewhat probable--that being the precise circumstance upon which it hinges. The _Count St. Louis_, a youthful _attach\'c8_ of the French embassy, becomes attached, by a marriage contract, to _Lady Bell_, a maid of honour to Queen Anne. The husband at sixteen, of a wife quite nineteen, would, according to the natural course of things, be very considerably hen-pecked; and _St. Louis_, foreseeing this, determines to begin. Well, he insists upon having "article five" of the marriage contract cancelled; for, by this stipulation, he is to be separated from his wife, on the evening of the ceremony (which fast approaches), for five years. He storms, swears, and is laughed at; somebody sends him a wedding present of sugar-plums--everybody calls him a boy, and makes merry at his expense--the wife treats him with contempt, and plays the scornful. The hobble-de-hoy husband, fired with indignation, determines to prove himself a man. At the court of Queen Anne this seems to have been an easy matter. _St. Louis_ writes love-letters to several maids of honour and to a citizen's wife, finishing the first act by invading the private apartments of the maiden ladies belonging to the court of the chaste Queen Anne. The second act discovers him confined to his apartments by order of the Queen, having amused himself, while the intrigues begun by the love-letters are hatching, by running into debt, and being surrounded by duns. The intrigues are not long in coming to a head, for two ladies visit him separately in secret, and allow themselves to be hid in those never-failing adjuncts to a piece of dramatic intrigue--a couple of closets, which are used exactly in the same manner in "Foreign Affairs," as in all the farces within the memory of man--_ex. gr._:--The hero is alone; one lady enters cautiously. A tender interchange of sentiment ensues--a noise is heard, and the lady screams. "Ah! that closet!" Into which exit lady. Then enter lady No. 2. A second interchange of tender things--another noise behind. "No escape?" "None! and yet, happy thought, that closet." Exit lady No. 2, into closet No. 2. This is exactly as it happens in "Foreign Affairs." The second noise is made by the husband of one of the concealed ladies, and the lover of the other. Here, out of the old "closet" materials, the dramatist has worked up one of the best situations--to use an actor's word--we ever remember to have witnessed. It cannot be described; but it is really worth all the money to go and see it. Let our readers do so. The "Affairs" end by the boy fighting a couple of duels with the injured men; and thus, crowning the proof of his manhood, gets his wife to tolerate--to love him. The piece was, as it deserved to be, highly successful; it was admirably acted by Mr. Webster as one of the injured lovers--Mr. Strickland and Mrs. Stirling, as a vulgar citizen and citizeness--by Miss P. Horton as _Lady Bell_--and even by a Mr. Clarke, who played a very small part--that of a barber--with great skill. Lastly, Madlle. Celeste, as the hero, acquitted herself to admiration. We suppose the farce is called "Foreign Affairs" out of compliment to this lady, who is the only "Foreign Affair" we could discover in the whole piece, if we except that it is translated from the French, which is, strictly, an affair of the author's. * * * * * MARY CLIFFORD. If, dear readers, you have a taste for refined morality and delicate sentiment, for chaste acting and spirited dialogue, for scenery painted on the spot, but like nothing in nature except canvas and colour--go to the Victoria and see "Mary Clifford." It may, perhaps, startle you to learn that the incidents are faithfully copied from the "Newgate Calendar," and that the subject is Mother Brownrigg of apprentice-killing notoriety; but be not alarmed, there is nothing horrible or revolting in the drama--it is merely laughable. "Mary Clifford, or the foundling apprentice girl," is very appropriately introduced to the auditor, first outside the gates of that "noble charity-school," taking leave of some of her accidental companions. Here sympathy is first awakened. Mary is just going out to "place," and instead of saying "good bye," which we have been led to believe is the usual form of farewell amongst charity-girls, she sings a song with such heart-rending expression, that everybody cries except the musicians and the audience. To assist in this lachrymose operation, the girls on the stage are supplied with clean white aprons--time out mind a charity-girl's pocket-handkerchief. In the next scene we are introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Brownrigg's domestic arrangements, and are made acquainted with their private characters--a fine stroke of policy on the part of the author; for one naturally pities a poor girl who can sing so nicely, and can get the corners of so many white aprons wetted on leaving her last place, when one sees into whose hands she is going to fall. The fact is, the whole family are people of taste--peculiar, to be sure, and not refined. Mrs. B. has a taste for starving apprentices--her son, Mr. Jolin B., for seducing them--and Mr. B. longs only for a quiet life, a pot of porter, and a pipe. Into the bosom of this amiable family Mary Clifford enters; and we tremble for her virtue and her meals! not, alas, in vain, for Mr. John is not slow in commencing his gallantries, which are exceedingly offensive to Mary, seeing that she has already formed a liaison with a school-fellow, one William Clipson, who happily resides at the very next door with a baker. During the struggles that ensue she calls upon her "heart's master," the journeyman baker. But there is another and more terrible invocation. In classic plays they invoke "the gods"--in Catholic I ones, "the saints"--the stage Arab appeals to "Allah"--the light comedian swears "by the lord Harry"--but _Mary Clifford_ adds a new and impressive invocative to the list. When young Brownrigg attempts to kiss, or his mother to flog her, she casts her eyes upward, kneels, and placing her hands together in an attitude of prayer, solemnly calls upon--"the governors of the Foundling Hospital!!" Nothing can exceed the terrific effect this seems to produce upon her persecutors! They release her instantly--they slink back abashed and trembling--they hide their diminished heads, and leave their victim a clear stage for a soliloquy or a song. We really _must_ stop here, to point out to dramatic authors the importance of this novel form of conjuration. When the history of Fauntleroy comes to be dramatised, the lover will, of course, be a banker's clerk: in the depths of distress and despair into which he will have to be plunged, a prayer-like appeal to "the Governor and Company of the Bank of England," will, most assuredly, draw tears from the most insensible audience. The old exclamations of "Gracious powers!"--"Great heavens!"--"By heaven, I swear!" &c. &c., may now be abandoned; and, after "Mary Clifford," Bob Acres' tasteful system of swearing may not only be safely introduced into the tragic drama, but considerably augmented. But to return. Dreading lest Miss Mary should really "go and tell" the illustrious governors, she is kept a close prisoner, and finishes the first act by a conspiracy with a fellow-apprentice, and an attempt to escape. Mr. Brownrigg, we are informed, carried on business at No. 12, Fetter-lane, in the oil, paint, pickles, vinegar, plumbing, glazing, and pepper-line; and, in the next act, a correct view is exhibited of the exterior of his shop, painted, we are told, from the most indisputable authorities of the time. Here, in Fetter, lane, the romance of the tale begins:--A lady enters, who, being of a communicative disposition, begins, unasked, unquestioned, to tell the audience a story--how that she married in early life--that her husband was pressed to sea a day or two after the wedding--that she in due time became a mother, and (affectionate creature!) left the dear little pledge at the door of the Foundling Hospital. That was sixteen years ago. Since then fortune has smiled, and she wants her baby back again; but on going to the hospital, says, that they informed her that her daughter has been just "put apprentice" in the very house before which she tells the story--part of it as great a fib as ever was told; for children once inside the walls of that "noble charity," never know who left them there; and any attempt to find each other out, by parent or child, is punished with the instant withdrawal of the omnipotent protection of the awful "governors." This lady, who bears all the romance of the piece upon her own shoulders, expects to meet her long-lost husband at the Ship, in Wapping, and instead of seeking her daughter, repairs thither, having done all the author required, by emptying her budget of fibs. The next scene is harrowing in the extreme. The bills describe it as _Mrs. Brownrigg's_ "wash-house, kitchen, and skylight"--the sky-light forming a most impressive object. Poor _Mary Clifford_ is chained to the floor, her face begrimed, her dress in rags, and herself exceedingly hungry. Here the heroine describes the weakness of her body with energy and stentorian eloquence, but is interrupted by _Mr. Clipson_, whose face appears framed and glazed in the broken sky-light. A pathetic dialogue ensues, and the lover swears he will rescue his mistress, or "perish in the attempt," "calling upon Mr. Owen, the parish overseer," to make known her sufferings. The Ship, in Wapping, is next shown; and _Toby Bensling_, alias _Richard Clifford_, enters to inform his hearers that he is the missing father of the injured foundling, and has that moment stepped ashore, after a short voyage, lasting sixteen years! He is on his way to the "Admiralty," to receive some pay--the more particularly, we imagine, as they always pay sailors at Somerset House--and _then_ to look after his wife. But she saves him the trouble by entering with _Mr. William Clipson_. The usual "Whom do I see?"--"Can it be?"--"After so long an absence!" &c. &c., having been duly uttered and begged to, they all go to see after _Mary_, find her in a cupboard in Mrs. B.'s back-parlour, and--the act-drop falls. We must confess we approach a description of the third act with diffidence. Such intense pathos, we feel, demands words of more sombre sound--ink of a darker hue, than we can command. The third scene is, in particular, too extravagantly touching for ordinary nerves to witness. _Mary Clifford_ is in bed--French bedstead (especially selected, perhaps, because such things were not thought of in the days of Mother Brownrigg) stands exactly in the middle of the stage--a chest of drawers is placed behind, and a table on each side, to balance the picture. The lover leans over the head, the mother sits at the foot, the father stands at the side: _Mary Clifford_ is insane, with lucid intervals, and is, moreover, dying. The consequence is, she has all the talk to herself, which consists of a discourse concerning the great "governors," her cruel mistress, and her naughty young master, interlarded with insane ejaculations, always considered stage property, such as, "Ah, she comes!" "Nay, strike me not--I am guiltless!" Again, "Villain! what do you take me for?--unhand me!" and all that. Then the dying part comes, and she sees an angel in the flies, and informs it that she is coming soon (here it is usual for a lady to be removed from the gallery in strong hysterics), and keeps her word by letting her arm fall upon the bed-clothes and shutting her eyes, whereupon somebody says that she is dead, and the prompter whistles for the scene to be changed. In the last scene, criminal justice takes its course. _Mrs. Brownrigg_, having been sentenced to the gallows, is seen in the condemned cell; her son by her side, and the fatal cart in the back-ground. Having been brought up genteelly, she declines the mode of conveyance provided for her journey to Tyburn with the utmost volubility. Being about to be hanged merely does not seem to affect her so poignantly as the disgraceful "drag" she is doomed to take her last journey in. She swoons at the idea; and the curtain falls to end her wicked career, and the sufferings of an innocent audience. * * * * * PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 1. FOR THE WEEK ENDING AUGUST 28, 1841. * * * * * THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCES THE READER TO THE APPLEBITE FAMILY AND TO AGAMEMNON COLLUMPSION APPLEBITE IN PARTICULAR. [Illustration: T]The following is extracted from the _Parliamentary Guide_ for 18--:--"APPLEBITE, ISAAC (_Puddingbury_). Born March 25, 1780; descended from his grandfather, and has issue." And upon reference to a monument in Puddingbury church, representing the first Mrs. Applebite (who was a housemaid) industriously scrubbing a large tea-urn, whilst another figure (supposed to be the second Mrs. Applebite) is pointing reproachfully to a little fat cherub who is blowing himself into a fit of apoplexy from some unassignable cause or another--I say upon reference to this monument, upon which is blazoned forth all the stock virtues of those who employ stonemasons, I find, that in July, 18--, the said Isaac was gathered unto Abraham's bosom, leaving behind him--a seat in the House of Commons--a relict--the issue aforesaid, and \'a350,000 in the three per cents. The widow Applebite had so arranged matters with her husband, that two-thirds of the above sum were left wholly and solely to her, as some sort of consolation under her bereavement of the "best of husbands and the kindest of fathers." (_Vide_ monument.) Old Isaac must have been a treasure, for his wife either missed him so much, or felt so desirous to learn if there was another man in the world like him, that, as soon as the monument was completed and placed in Puddingbury chancel, she married a young officer in a dashing dragoon regiment, and started to the Continent to spend the honeymoon, leaving her son-- AGAMEMNON COLLUMPSION APPLEBITE (the apoplectic "cherub" and the "issue" alluded to in the _Parliamentary Guide_), to the care of himself. A.C.A. was the pattern of what a young man ought to be. He had 16,000 and odd pounds in the three per cents., hair that curled naturally, stood five feet nine inches without his shoes, always gave a shilling to a waiter, lived in a terrace, never stopped out all night (but once), and paid regularly every Monday morning. Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite was a happy bachelor! The women were delighted to see him, and the men to dine with him: to the one he gave _bouquets_; to the other, cigars: in short, everybody considered A.C.A. as A1; and A.C.A. considered that A1 was his proper mark. It is somewhat singular, but no man knows when he _is_ really happy: he may fancy that he wants for nothing, and may even persuade himself that addition or subtraction would be certain to interfere with the perfectitude of his enjoyment. He deceives himself. If he wishes to assure himself of the exact state of his feelings, let him ask his friends; they are disinterested parties, and will find out some annoyance that has escaped his notice. It was thus with Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite. He had made up his mind that he wanted for nothing, when it was suddenly found out by his friends that he was in a state of felicitous destitution. It was discovered simultaneously, by five mamas and eighteen daughters, that Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite _must_ want a wife; and that his sixteen thousand and odd pounds must be a source of _undivided_ anxiety to him. Stimulated by the most praiseworthy considerations, a solemn compact was entered into by the aforesaid five mamas, on behalf of the aforesaid eighteen daughters, by which they were pledged to use every means to convince Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite of his deplorable condition; but no unfair advantage was to be taken to ensure a preference for any particular one of the said eighteen daughters, but that the said Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite should be left free to exercise his own discretion, so far as the said eighteen daughters were concerned, but should any other daughter, of whatever mama soever, indicate a wish to become a competitor, she was to be considered a common enemy, and scandalized accordingly. Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite, about ten o'clock on the following evening, was seated on a sofa, between Mrs. Greatgirdle and Mrs. Waddledot (the two mamas deputed to open the campaign), each with a cup of very prime Mocha coffee, and a massive fiddle-pattern tea-spoon. On the opposite side of the room, in a corner, was a very large cage, in the sole occupancy of a solitary Java sparrow. "My poor bird looks very miserable," sighed Mrs. Greatgirdle, (the hostess upon this occasion.) "Very miserable!" echoed Mrs. Waddledot; and the truth of the remark was apparent to every one. The Java sparrow was moulting and suffering from a cutaneous disorder at the same time; so what with the falling off, and scratching off of his feathers, he looked in a most deplorable condition; which was rendered more apparent by the magnitude of his cage. He seemed like the _last_ debtor confined in the Queen's Bench. "He has never been himself since the death of his mate." (Here the bird scarified himself with great violence.) "He is so restless; and though he eats very well, and hops about, he seems to have lost all care of his person, as though he would put on mourning if he had it." "Is there no possibility of dyeing his feathers?" remarked Agamemnon Collumpsion, feeling the necessity of saying something. "It is not the inky cloak, Mr. Applebite," replied Mrs. Greatgirdle, "that truly indicates regret; but it's here," (laying her hand upon her left side): "no--there, under his liver wing, that he feels it, poor bird! It's a shocking thing to live alone." "And especially in such a large cage," said Mrs. Waddledot. "_Your house_ is rather large, Mr. Applebite?" inquired Mrs. Greatgirdle. "Rather, ma'am," replied Collumpsion. "Ain't you very lonely?" said Mrs. Waddledot and Mrs. Greatgirdle both in a breath. "Why, not--" "Very lively, you were going to say," interrupted Mrs. G. Now Mrs. G. was wrong in her conjecture of Collumpsion's reply. He was about to say, "Why, not at all;" but she, of course, knew best what he ought to have answered. "I often feel for you, Mr. Applebite," remarked Mrs. Waddledot; "and think how strange it is that you, who really are a nice young man--and I don't say so to flatter you--that you should have been so unsuccessful with the ladies." Collumpsion's vanity was awfully mortified at this idea. "It _is_ strange!" exclaimed Mrs. G "I wonder it don't make you miserable. There is no home, I mean the '_Sweet, sweet_ home,' without a wife. Try, try again, Mr. Applebite," (tapping his arm as she rose;) "faint heart never won fair lady." "I refused Mr. Waddledot three times, but I yielded at last; take courage from that, and 24, Pleasant Terrace, may shortly become that Elysium--a woman's home," whispered Mrs. W., as she rolled gracefully to a card-table; and accidentally, _of course_, cut the ace of spades, which she exhibited to Collumpsion with a very mysterious shake of the head. Agamemnon returned to 24, Pleasant Terrace, a discontented man. He felt that there was no one sitting up for him--nothing but a rush-light--the dog might bark as he entered, but no voice was there to welcome him, and with a heavy heart he ascended the two stone steps of his dwelling. He took out his latch-key, and was about to unlock the door, when a loud knocking was heard in the next street. Collumpsion paused, and then gave utterance to his feelings. "That's music--positively music. This is my house--there's my name on the brass-plate--that's my knocker, as I can prove by the bill and receipt; and, yet, here I am about to sneak in like a burglar. Old John sha'n't go to bed another night; I'll not indulge the lazy scoundrel any longer, Yet the poor old fellow nursed me when a child. I'll compromise the matter--I'll knock, and let myself in." So saying, Collumpsion thumped away at the door, looked around to see that he was unobserved, applied his latch-key, and slipped into his house just as old John, in a state of great alarm and undress, was descending the stairs with a candle and a boot-jack. * * * * * AN ACUTE ANGLE. We read in the _Glasgow Courier_ of an enormous salmon hooked at Govan, which measured three feet, three inches in length. The _Morning Herald_ mentions several gudgeons of twice the size, caught, we understand, by Alderman Humphery, and conveyed to Town per Blackwall Railway. * * * * * [Illustration] IMPORTANT NEWS FROM CHINA. ARRIVAL OF THE OVERLAND MAIL! _August 28, 1841._ We have received expresses from the Celestial Empire by our own private electro-galvanic communication. As this rapid means of transmission carries dispatches so fast that we generally get them even before they are written, we are enabled to be considerably in advance of the common daily journals; more especially as we have obtained news up to the end of next week. The most important paper which has come to hand is the _Macao Sunday Times_. It appears that the fortifications for surrounding Pekin are progressing rapidly, but that the government have determined upon building the ramparts of japanned canvas and bamboo rods, instead of pounded rice, which was thought almost too fragile to resist the attacks of the English barbarians. Some handsome guns, of blue and white porcelain, have been placed on the walls, with a proportionate number of carved ivory balls, elaborately cut one inside the other. These, it is presumed, will split upon firing, and produce incalculable mischief and confusion. Within the gates a frightful magazine of gilt crackers, and other fireworks, has been erected; which, in the event of the savages penetrating the fortifications, will be exploded one after another, to terrify them into fits, when they will be easily captured. This precaution has been scarcely thought necessary by some of the mandarins, as our great artist, Wang, has covered the external joss-house with frantic figures that, must strike terror to every barbarian. Gold paper has also been kept constantly burning, on altars of holy clay, at every practicable point of the defences, which it is hardly thought they will have the hardihood to approach, and the sacred ducks of Fanqui have been turned loose in the river to retard the progress of the infidel fleet. During the storm of last week the portcullis, which hail been placed in the northern gate, and was composed of solid rice paper, with cross-bars of chop-sticks, was much damaged. It is now under repair, and will be coated entirely with tea-chest lead, to render it perfectly impregnable. The whole of the household troops and body-guard of the emperor have also received new accoutrements of tin-foil and painted isinglass. They have likewise been armed with varnished bladders, containing peas and date stones, which produce a terrific sound upon the least motion. An Englishman has been gallantly captured this morning, in a small boat, by one of our armed junks. He will eat his eyes in the Palace-court this afternoon; and then, being enclosed in soft porcelain, will be baked to form a statue for the new pagoda at Bo-Lung, the first stone of which was laid by the late emperor, to celebrate his victory over the rude northern islanders. _Canton_. The last order of the government, prohibiting the exportation of tea and rhubarb, has been issued by the advice of Lin, who translates the English newspapers to the council. It is affirmed in these journals, that millions of these desert tribes have no other beverage than tea for their support. As their oath prohibits any other liquor, they will be driven to water for subsistence, and, unable to correct its unhealthy influence by doses of rhubarb, will die miserably. In anticipation of this event, large catacombs are being erected near their great city, on the authority of Slo-Lefe-Tee, who visited it last year, and intends shortly to go there again. The rhubarb prohibition will, it is said, have a great effect upon the English market for plums, pickled salmon, and greengages; and the physicians, or disciples of the great Hum, appear uncertain as to the course to be pursued. The emperor has issued a chop to the Hong merchants, forbidding them to assist or correspond with the invaders, under pain of having their finger-nails drawn out and rings put in their noses. Howqua resists the order, and it is the intention of Lin, should he remain obstinate, to recommend his being pounded up with broken crockery and packed in Chinese catty packages, to be forwarded, as an example, to the Mandarin Pidding, of the wild island. An English flag, stolen by a deserter from Chusan, will be formally insulted to-morrow in the market-place, by the emperor and his court. Dust will be thrown at it, accompanied by derisive grimaces, and it will be subsequently hoisted, in scorn, to blow, at the mercy of the winds, upon the summit of the palace, within sight of the barbarians. LEVANT MAIL. CONSTANTINOPLE, ALEXANDRIA, AND SMYRNA. _August 30._ The Sultan got very fuddled last night, with forbidden juice, in the harem, and tumbled down the ivory steps leading from the apartment of the favourite, by which accident he seriously cut his nose. Every guard is to be bastinadoed in consequence, and the wine-merchant will be privately sewn up in a canvas-bag and thrown into the Bosphorus this evening. A relation of Selim Pacha, despatched by the Sultan to collect taxes in Beyrout, was despatched by the Syrians a few hours after his arrival. The periodical conflagration of the houses, mosques, and synagogues, in Smyrna, took place with great splendour on the 30th ult., and the next will be arranged for the ensuing month, when everybody suspected of the plague will receive orders from the government to remain in their dwellings until they are entirely consumed. By this salutary arrangement, it is expected that much improvement will take place in the public health. The inundation of the Nile has also been very favourable this year, The water has risen higher than usual, and carried off several hundred poor people. The Board of Guardians of the Alexandria Union are consequently much rejoiced. * * * * * TO MR GREEN, THE INSPECTOR OF HIGHWAYS. ON HIS RECENT SKYLARK. "The air hath bubbles as the water hath." Huzza! huzza! there goes the balloon-- 'Tis up like a rocket, and off to the moon! Now fading from our view, Or dimly seen; Now lost in the deep _blue_ Is Mr. _Green_! Pray have a care, In your path through the air, And mind well what you do; For if you chance to slip Out of your airy ship, Then _down_ you come, and all is _up_ with you. * * * * * FASHIONABLE ARRIVALS. Two thousand and thirty-five remarkably fine calves, from their various rural pasturages at Smithfield. Some of the _heads_ of the party have since been seen in the very highest society. * * * * * ADVICE GRATIS. "What will you take?" said Peel to Russell, on adjourning from the School of Design. "Anything you recommend." "Then let it be your departure," was the significant rejoinder. * * * * * PLEASANT CROPS ABROAD.--A GOOD LOOK OUT FOR THE SYRIANS. "French agents are said to _be sowing discontent_ in Syria."--_Sunday Times_. * * * * * THE GENTLEMAN'S OWN BOOK. Having advised you in our last paper of "Dress in general," we now proceed to the important consideration of DRESS IN PARTICULAR, a subject of such paramount interest and magnitude, that we feel an Encyclop\'cadia would be barely sufficient for its full developement; and it is our honest conviction that, until professorships of this truly noble art are instituted at the different universities, the same barbarisms of style will be displayed even by those of gentle blood, as now too frequently detract from the Augustan character of the age. To take as comprehensive a view of this subject as our space will admit, we have divided it into the quality, the cut, the ornaments, and the pathology. THE QUALITY comprises _the texture, colour, and age of the materials_. Of the texture there are only two kinds compatible with the reputation of a gentleman--the very fine and the very coarse; or, to speak figuratively--the Cachmere and the Witney blanket. The latter is an emanation from the refinement of the nineteenth century, for a prejudice in favour of "extra-superfine" formerly existed, as the coarser textures, now prevalent, were confined exclusively to common sailors, hackney-coachmen, and bum-bailiffs. These frivolous distinctions are happily exploded, and the true gentleman may now show in Saxony, or figure in Flushing--the one being suggestive of his property, and the other indicative of his taste. These remarks apply exclusively to woollens, whether for coats or trousers. It is incumbent on every gentleman to have a perfect library of waistcoats, the selection of which must be regulated by the cost of the material, as it would be derogatory, in the highest degree, to a man aspiring to the character of a _distingu\'c8_, to decorate his bosom with a garment that would by any possibility come under the denomination of "these choice patterns, only 7s. 6d." There are certain designs for this important decorative adjunct, which entirely preclude them from the wardrobes of the \'c8lite--the imaginative bouquets upon red-plush grounds, patronised by the ingenious constructors of canals and rail-roads--the broad and brilliant Spanish striped Valencias, which distinguish the _savans_ or knowing ones of the stable--the cotton (must we profane the word!) velvet impositions covered with botanical diagrams done in distemper, and monopolized by lawyers' clerks and small professionals--the _positive_ or genuine Genoa velvet, with violent and showy embellishments of roses, dahlias, and peonies, which find favour in the eyes of aldermen, attorneys, and the proprietors of four-wheel chaises, are all to be avoided as the fifth daughter of a clergyman's widow. It is almost superfluous to add, that breeches can only be made of white leather or white kerseymere, for any other colour or material would awaken associations of the dancing-master, the waiter, the butler, or the bumpkin, or, what is equally to be dreaded, "the highly respectables" of the last century. The dressing-gown is a portion of the costume which commands particular attention; for though no man "can appear as a hero to his valet," he must keep up the gentleman. This can only be done by the dressing-gown. To gentlemen who occupy apartments, the _robe de chambre_, if properly selected, is of infinite advantage; for an Indian shawl or rich brocaded silk (of which this garment should only be constructed), will be found to possess extraordinary pacific properties with the landlady, when the irregularity of your remittances may have ruffled the equanimity of her temper, whilst you are [Illustration: INCLINED TO TAKE IT COOLLY;] whereas a gray Duffield, or a cotton chintz, would be certain to induce deductions highly prejudicial to the respectability of your character, or, what is of equal importance, to the duration of your credit. The colour of your materials should be selected with due regard to the species of garment and the tone of the complexion. If the face be of that faint drab which your friends would designate _pallid_, and your enemies sallow, a coat of pea-green or snuff-brown must be scrupulously eschewed, whilst black or invisible green would, by contrast, make that appear delicate and interesting, which, by the use of the former colours, must necessarily seem bilious and brassy. The rosy complexionist must as earnestly avoid all sombre tints, as the inelegance of a healthful appearance should never be obtrusively displayed by being placed in juxta-position with colours diametrically opposite, though it is almost unnecessary to state that any one ignorant enough to appear of an evening in a coat of any other colour than blue or black (regimentals, of course, excepted), would certainly be condemned to a quarantine in the servant's hall. There are colours which, if worn for trousers by the first peer of the realm, would be as condemnatory of his character as a gentleman, as levanting on the settling-day for the Derby. The dark drab, which harmonises with the mud--the peculiar pepper-and-salt which is warranted not to grow gray with age--the indescribable mixtures, which have evidently been compounded for the sake of economy, must ever be exiled from the wardrobe and legs of a gentleman. The hunting-coat must be invariably of scarlet, due care being taken before wearing to dip the tips of the tails in claret or port wine, which, for new coats, or for those of gentlemen who do _not_ hunt, has been found to give them an equally veteran appearance with the sweat of the horse. _Of the age_ it is only necessary to state, that a truly fashionable suit should never appear under a week, or be worn longer than a month from the time that it left the hands of its parent schneider. Shooting-coats are exceptions to the latter part of this rule, as a garment devoted to the field should always bear evidence of long service, and a new jacket should be consigned to your valet, who, if he understands his profession, will carefully rub the shoulders with a hearth-stone and bole-ammonia, to convey the appearance of friction and the deposite of the rust of the gun[1]. [1] Gentlemen who are theoretical, rather than practical sportsmen, would find it beneficial to have a partridge carefully plucked, and the feathers sparingly deposited in the pockets of the shooting-jacket usually applied to the purposes of carrying game. Newgate Market possesses all the advantages of a preserved manor. Of the cut, ornaments, and pathology of dress, we shall speak next week, for these are equally essential to ensure [Illustration: AN INTRODUCTION TO FASHIONABLE SOCIETY.] * * * * * BEGINNING EARLY. We are informed by the _Times_ of Saturday, that at the late Conservative enactment at D.L., not only his Royal Highness Prince Albert, but the _infant_ Princess Royal, was "drunk, with the usual honours."--[_Proh pudor!_--PUNCH.] * * * * * SIBTHORP'S VERY BEST. Sibthorp, meeting Peel in the House of Commons, after congratulating him on his present enviable position, finished the confab with the following unrivalled conundrum:--"By the bye, which of your vegetables does your Tamworth speech resemble!"--"Spinach," replied Peel, who, no doubt, associated it with _gammon_.--"Pshaw," said the gallant Colonel, "your rope inions (_your opinions_), to be sure!" Peel opened his mouth, and never closed it till he took his seat at the table. * * * * * BEAUTIFUL COINCIDENCE!--A PAIR OF TOOLS. Sir Francis Burdett, the superannuated Tory _tool_, proposed the Conservative healths; and _Toole_ the second, as toast-master, announced them to the assemblage. * * * * * THE CURRAH CUT; OR, HOW WE ALL GOT A FI'PENNY BIT A-PIECE. "Are the two ponies ready?" "Yes!" "And the ass?" "All right!" "And you've, all five of you, got your fi'pennies for Tony Dolan, the barber, at Kells?" "Every one of us." "Then be off; there's good boys! Ride and tie like Christians, and don't be going double on the brute beasts; for a bit of a walk now and then will just stretch your legs. Be back at five to dinner; and let us see what bucks you'll look with your new-trimmed curls. Stay, there's another fi'penny; spend that among you, and take care of yourselves, my little jewels!" Such were the parting queries and instructions of my kind old uncle to five as roaring, mischievous urchins as ever stole whisky to soak the shamrock on St. Patrick's day. The chief director, schemer, and perpetrator of all our fun and devilry, was, strange to say, "my cousin Bob:" the smallest, and, with one exception, the youngest of the party. But Bob was his grandmother's "ashey pet"--his mother's "jewel"--his father's "mannikin"--his nurse's "honey"--and the whole world's "darlin' little devil of a rogue!" The expression of a face naturally arch, beaming with good humour, and radiant with happy laughter, was singularly heightened by a strange peculiarity of vision, which I am at a loss to describe. It was, if the reader can idealise the thing, an absolute "beauty," which, unfortunately, can only be written about by the appliances of some term conveying the notion of a blemish. The glances from his bright eyes seemed to steal out from under their long fringe, the most reckless truants of exulting mirth. No matter what he said, he looked a joke. Now for his orders:-- "Aisy with you, lads. Cousin Harry, take first ride on St. Patrick (the name of the ass)--here's a leg up. The two Dicks can have Scrub and Rasper. Jack and Billy, boys, catch a hold of the bridles, or devil a ha'p'worth of ride and tie there'll be in at all, if them Dicks get the start--Shanks' mare will take you to Kells. Don't be galloping off in that manner, but shoot aisy! Remember, the ass has got to keep up with you, and I've got to keep up with the ass. That's the thing--steady she goes! It's an elegant day, and no hurry in life. Spider! come here, boy--that's right. Down, sir! down, you devil, or wipe your paws. Bad manners to you--look at them breeches! Never mind, there's a power of rats at Tony Carroll's barn--it's mighty little out o' the way, and may be we'll get a hunt. What say you?" "A hunt, a hunt, by all manes! there's the fun of it! Come on, lads--here's the place!--turn off, and go to work! Wait, wait! get a stick a-piece, and break the necks of 'em! Hurrah!--in Spider!--find 'em boy! Good lad! Tare an ouns, you may well squeak! Good dog! good dog! that's a grandfather!--we'll have more yet; the family always come to the ould one's berrin'. I've seen 'em often, and mighty dacent they behave. Damn Kells and the barber, up with the boords and go to work!--this is something like sport! Houly Paul, there's one up my breeches--here's the tail of him--he caught a hould of my leather-garter. Come out of that, Spider! Spider, here he is--that's it--give him another shake for his impudence--serve him out! Hurrah!" "Fast and furious" grew our incessant urging on of the willing Spider, for his continued efforts at extermination. At the end of two hours, the metamorphosed barn was nearly stripped of its flooring--nine huge rats lay dead, as trophies of our own achievements--the panting Spider, "by turns caressing, and by turns caressed," licking alternately the hands and faces of all, as we sat on the low ledge of the doorway, wagging his close-cut stump of tail, as if he were resolved, by his unceasing exertions, to get entirely rid of that excited dorsal ornament. "This is the rael thing," said Bob. "So it is," said Dick; "but"-- "But what?" "Why, devil a ha'p'orth of Kells or hair-cutting there's in it." "Not a taste," chimed in Jack. "Nothing like it," echoed Will. "What will we do?" said all at once. There was a short pause--after which the matter was resumed by Dick, who was intended for a parson, and therefore rather given to moralising. "Life," quoth Dick--"life's uncertain." "You may say that," rejoined Bob; "look at them rats." "Tony Dowlan's a hard-drinking man, and his mother had fits." "Of the same sort," said Bob. "Well, then," continued Dick, "there's no knowing--he may be dead--if so, how could he cut our hair?" Here Dick, like Brutus, paused for a reply. Bob produced one. "It's a good scheme, but it won't do; the likes of him never does anything he's wanted to. He's the contrariest ould thief in Ireland! I wish mama hadn't got a party; we'd do well enough but for that. Never mind, boys, I've got it. There's Mikey Brian, he's the boy! "What for?" "To cut the hair of the whole of us." "_He_ can't do it." "Can't! wait, a-cushla, till I tell you, or, what's better, show you. Come now, you devils. Look at the heels (Rasper's and Scrub's) of them ponies! Did ever you see anything like them!--look at the cutting there--Tony Dowlan never had the knack o' that tasty work in his dirty finger and thumb--and who done that? Why Mikey Brian--didn't I see him myself; and isn't he the boy that can 'bang Bannaker' at anything! Oh! he'll cut us elegant!--he'll do the squad for a fi'penny--and then, lads, there's them five others will be just one a-piece to buy gut and flies! Come on, you Hessians!" No sooner proposed than acceded to--off we set, for the eulogised "Bannaker banging Mikey Brian." A stout, handsome boy he was--rising four-and-twenty--a fighting, kissing, rollicking, ball-playing, dancing vagabone, as you'd see in a day's march--such a fellow as you only meet in Ireland--a bit of a gardener, a bit of a groom, a bit of a futboy, and a bit of a horse-docthor. We reached the stables by the back way, and there, in his own peculiar loft, was Mikey Brian, brushing a somewhat faded livery, in which to wait upon the coming quality. Bob stated the case, as far as the want of our locks' curtailment went, but made no mention of the delay which occasioned our coming to Mikey; on the contrary, he attributed the preference solely to our conviction of his superior abilities, and the wish to give him a chance, as he felt convinced, if he had fair play, he'd be engaged miles round, instead of the hopping old shaver at Kells. "I'm your man, Masther Robert." "Who's first?" "I am--there's the fi'penny--that's for the lot!" "Good luck to you, sit down--will you have the Currah thoro'bred-cut?" "That's the thing," said Bob. "Then, young gentlement, as there ain't much room--and if you do be all looking on, I'll be bothered--just come in one by one." Out we went, and, in an inconceivably short space, Bob emerged. Mikey advising: "Master Robert, dear, keep your hat on for the life of you, for fear of cowld." A few minutes finished us all. "This is elegant," said Bob. "Mikey, it will be the making of you; but don't say a word till you hear how they'll praise you at dinner." "Mum!" said Mikey, and off we rushed. I felt rather astonished at the ease with which my hat sat; while those of the rest appeared ready to fall over their noses. Being in a hurry, this was passed over. The second dinner-bell rang--we bolted up for a brief ablution--our hats were thrown into a corner, and, as if by one consent, all eyes were fixed upon each other's heads! Bob gave tongue: "The Devil's skewer to Mikey Brian! and bad luck to the Currah thoro'bred cut! Not the eighth part of an inch of 'air there is amongst the set of us. What will the master say? Never mind; we've got the fi'pennies! Come to dinner!--by the Puck we are beauties!" We reached the dining-room unperceived; but who can describe the agony of my aunt Kate, when she clapped her eyes upon five such close-clipped scarecrows. She vowed vengence of all sorts and descriptions against the impudent, unnatural, shameful monster! Terms which Mikey Brian, in the back-ground, appropriated to himself, and with the utmost difficulty restrained his rising wrath from breaking out. "What," continued aunt Kate, "what does he call this?" "It's the thoro'bred Currah-cut, ma'am," said Bob, with one of his peculiar glances at Mikey and the rest. "And mighty cool wearing, I'll be bail," muttered Mikey. "Does he call that hair-cutting?" screamed my aunt. "That, and nothing but it," quietly retorted Bob, passing his hand over his head; "you can't deny the cutting, ma'am." "The young gentlemen look elegant," said Mikey. "I'm told it's all the go, ma'am," said Bob. "Wait!" said my aunt, with suppressed rage; "wait till I go to Kells." This did not happen for six weeks; our aunt's anger was mollified as our locks were once more human. Upon upbraiding "Tony Knowlan" the murder came out. A hearty laugh ensured our pardon, and Mikey Brian's; and the story of the "thoro'bred Currah-cut" was often told, as the means by which "we all got a fi'penny bit a-piece."--FUSBOS. * * * * * There is a portrait of a person so like him, that, the other day, a friend who called took no notice whatever of the man, further than saying he was a good likeness, but asked the portrait to dinner, and only found out his mistake when he went up to shake hands with it at parting. * * * * * An American hearing that there was a fire in his neighbourhood, and that it might possibly consume his house, took the precaution to _bolt_ his own door; that he might be, so far at least, beforehand with the _devouring_ element. * * * * * BAD EITHER WAY. The peace, happiness, and prosperity of England, are threatened by _Peel_; in Ireland, the picture is reversed: the safety of that country is endangered by _Re-peal_. It would be hard to say which is worst. * * * * * A CONSTANT PAIR. Jane is a constant wench (so Sibthorp says); For in how _many_ shops you see _Jean stays_! * * * * * A COUNT AND HIS SCHNEIDER. The Count's fashioner sent in, the other day, his bill, which was a pretty considerable time overdue, accompanied by the following polite note:-- "Sir,--Your bill having been for a very long time standing, I beg that it may be settled forthwith. "Yours, "B----." To which Snip received the following reply:-- "Sir,--I am very sorry that your bill should have been kept standing so long. Pray request it to _sit_ down. "Yours, "**" * * * * * NARRATIVE OF AN AWFUL CASE OF EXTREME DISTRESS. It was in the year 1808, that myself and seven others resolved upon taking chambers in Staples' Inn. Our avowed object was to study, but we had in reality assembled together for the purposes of convivial enjoyment, and what were then designated "sprees." Our stock consisted of four hundred and twelve pounds, which we had drawn from our parents and guardians under the various pretences of paying fees and procuring books for the advancement of our knowledge in the sublime mysteries of that black art called Law. In addition to our pecuniary resources, we had also a fair assortment of wearing-apparel, and it was well for us that parental anxiety had provided most of us with a change of garments suitable to the various seasons. For a long time everything went on riotously and prosperously. We visited the Theatres, the Coal-hole, the Cider-cellars, and the Saloon, and became such ardent admirers of the "Waterford system of passing a night and morning," that scarcely a day came without a draft upon the treasury for that legal imposition upon the liberty of the subject--the five-shilling fine; besides the discharge of promissory notes as compensation for trifling damages done to the heads and property of various individuals. About a month after the formation of our association we were all suffering severely from thirsty head-aches, produced, I am convinced, by the rapid consumption of thirteen bowls of whiskey-punch on the preceding night. The rain was falling in perpendicular torrents, and the whole aspect of out-of-door nature was gloomy and sloppy, when we were alarmed by the exclamation of Joseph Jones (a relation of the Welsh Joneses), who officiated as our treasurer, and upon inquiring the cause, were horror-stricken to find that we had arrived at our last ten-pound note, and that the landlord had sent an imperative message, requiring the immediate settlement of our back-rent. It is impossible to paint the consternation depicted on every countenance, already sufficiently disordered by previous suffering and biliary disarrangement. I was the first to speak; for being the son of a shabby-genteel father, I had witnessed in my infancy many of those schemes to raise the needful, to which ambitious men with limited incomes are so frequently driven. I therefore bid them be of good heart, for that any pawnbroker in the neighbourhood would readily advance money upon the superfluous wardrobe which we possessed. This remark was received with loud cheers, which, I have no doubt, would have been much more vehement but from the fatal effects of the whiskey-punch. The landlord's claim was instantly discharged, and after several pots of strong green tea, rendered innocuous by brandy, we sallied forth in pursuit of what we then ignorantly conceived to be pleasure. I will not pause to particularise the gradual diminution of our property, but come at once to that period when, having consumed all our superfluities, it become a serious subject of consideration, what should next be sacrificed. I will now proceed to make extracts from our general diary, merely premising that our only attendant was an asthmatic individual named Peter. _Dec. 2, 1808._--Peter reported stock--eight coats, eight waistcoats, eight pairs of trousers, two ounces of coffee, half a quartern loaf, and a ha'p'orth of milk. The eight waistcoats required for dinner. Peter ordered to pop accordingly--proceeds 7s. 6d. Invested in a small leg of mutton and half-and-half. _Dec. 3._--Peter reported stock--coats _idem_, trousers _idem_--a mutton bone--rent due--a coat and a pair of trousers ordered for immediate necessities--lots drawn--Jones the victim. Moved the court to grant him his trousers, as his coat was lined with silk, which would furnish the trimmings--rejected. Peter popped the suit, and Jones went to bed. All signed an undertaking to redeem Jones with the first remittance from the country. Proceeds 4
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