THE TOWN CRIER.

Thames Guardian and Mining Record, Volume I, Issue 25, 4 November 1871, Page 3

THE TOWN CRIER.

“ Quiou lacotanni tlialca va henaca cuita sa rida na satha onqo." — Cakabau’s Advice to his Son. I was very much pleased with an article (or rather a portion of one) which appeared in the Intelligent Vagrant last Saturday.- He gave us a most graphic and also strictly true account of the sayings and doings at the Academy of Music on a certain evening. I have heard many people observe, since reading the article, that they thought it contained too much of the sanguinary element. I cannot agree with them—let them think for a moment, and they will find that the expressions in the said frightfully profane production are merely a'recapitulation of the ordinary conversations which arc carried on every day between the said parties and their friends. I think they will' agree With me when’ I Soirrewhat alter Burns’ remarks, and say, “ Oh, would that God the gift would give us to hear ourselves as others write us.” This is not quite the poet’s ideas, per-j haps, but still it is near enough to convey wliat I mean. In days of yore when time was young, And men got tight as well as sprung, A genius of the drinking crowd Would often curse and swear aloud. He’d boast of it ’twere vain to follow, And as to sailors, beat them hollow. K One night he to a Theatre went, And as on pleasure he was bent, He did not notice in a nook The Vagrant cutely with his book A few short notes just taking down Of his deportment whilst in town. The fellow wouldn’t take a hint, To dry up sharp and keep from print. The morning came : to his surprise Found epithets about his eyes Had thus been carefully collected, As he might justly have expected. His wrath was groat, his hack was up. • “ Confound' thc coolfaess of the pup, On my bad language to comment; Of such, a thing I never dreamt.” Just so, and that'is now the reason I give a hint to you in season : Use not bad language, but refined, And leave all adjectives behind. The Vagrant, then, has done his best To check your fault, a common pest. The following short account will give your readers some idea of the style in which our interests in a certain quarter are looked after by tho authorities : Scene-. A Room. —Furniture, long deal table, with three lamps on, and a few forms ranged round it. Enter Secretary of a certain Board. Soto voce, “ I hope to goodness no one will come. Perhaps the Chairman is ill in bed with diptheria, and yet there cannot be such luck in store for me.” Secretary is convinced on that point by entrance of chairman carrying several rolls of manuscript. Secretary looks at them, and then mechanically hums the tune of “ We won’t go Home till Morning.” Secretary: “Good evening, sir. Very glad to see you. I trust your cold is much better.” Chairman bows. Enter five more members of the Board and two reporters. Members smoking questionable lookingpipes. Chairman : Now, gentlemen, to business. Member with dirtiest pipe proposes, and member next seconds confirmation of the minutes, or more properly speaking, the hours. Member with head on tho table fast asleep, and going through a little organic exercise, rouses himself, and having very carefully placed both his legs over the back of a chair, and his own back turned to the chairman, proposes a resolution. The chairman, using a slight expletive, calls him to order. The speaker does ditto for swearing. Sundry little epithets ensue, when the speaker is interrupted by being asked if it is a fact that Billy Rowe is going to pat up for Howick. Quiet member in corner : Oh, shut up. I’m agreeable to anything. Only let us get away. I want to see the last part of the “ Lancashire Lass.” All agree. This is the best policy to be adopted in the interest of the public at large, and so the resolution is carried non con. Is this sort of thing to he allowed in the nineteenth century. It is said that “ Fine feathers make fine birdsso, on the same principle, fine ribands make fine “beaks.” I was always under the impression that this functionary had never been in service or smelt powder, unless it was baking-powder, and how he comes to have the decoration, and display it in Court, I am at a loss to know. I once heard of a child being found in the bulrushes, but never till last week had I ever seen one in a waste-paper basket, covered with paid and unpaid bills, dressmakers’ circulars, and various other literary ornaments. I never saw anything more amusing) and the best of the fun was that on our friend being extricated (I use tho word in its full sense, for he couldn’t get out himself). His pockets were found to- contain a fortnight’s supply of sandwiches,, which his kind and considerate wife ha.d given him each morning, becanse he hadn’t time (?) to 4 leave his business during the day. Imagine her surprise at findin,g the first week’s consignment thoroughly petrified, and the remainder in a very- questionable shape and colour.