The Sun.
London, England, 1834-11-07 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1835.
C. Tilt. London, 1835.
We shall be surprised if this clever little work do
not succeed. It is a smart, pointed jeux d'esprit, full
of all sorts of predictions, as humourous as old Cob-
bctts', and as likely to be realized as old Moore's.
Each month has its peculiarities catalogued with whim-
sical minuteness, and its weather prognosticated in that
ingenious and dubious style which an expert politician
makes use of, when, without committing himself, he

wishes to be thought to say something very emphatic
and unequivocal on some great popular question. Thus
our astrologer (Rigdum Funnidos, Esq.), in specu-
lating on January, says of it,

" Weather likely to be cold
If the frost is very old;
If no snow should chance to fall,
Then perhaps no snow at all,"
a prediction not less remarkable for its discreetness

than its sagacity ; the word " perhaps" in particular, is
as fine a sample of the " saving-clause" as we ever
met with, even in the speeches of a politician who has
his fortune to make. Of February we are told :
" Rain or hail, or snow or sleet
In this month you're sure to meet ;
Perhaps there won't be one nor t'other,
Why then 'twill happen in some other."
It is the highest effort of human ingenuity so to
predict results, that let them turn out which way they
will, you are sure to be right. How admirably is this
effected in the above passage 1 First, we are positively

assured that there will be either rain or hail, or snow
or sleet—which, it will be observed, embrace all the

forms and varieties in which the element of water can
possibly develope itself—in February ; but then, as if
even this prophecy were too positive, the astrologer
delicately backs out of it by the qualifying declaration,
that if these phenomena do not take place in the se-
cond month of the year, they will most probably in
one or other of the twelve months. That must be a
most ingenious February, that can falsify such a
prognostication as this March is introduced to our
notice as follows :

" I fear I am a sinner lost,
For often do I pray,
That I could read in Times or Post
The death of Lady-day."
The death of Lady-day ! What a natural wisl
Where is the man who has not a thousand times
wished the same ? And no wonder, for so utterly
offensive is this day, (the 25th we believe) to the
sensibilities of that unhappy portion of the community
who come under the denomination of " rent-payers,"
that, by way of rendering it endurable, it has been
found expedient to baptize it by the magic appellative
of " Lady." Shame that the holy name 9f the di-
vinest part of the creation should be prostituted to
such a purpose ! The embellishments to the Comic
Altnanack are twelve—one for each month—and all
are by Cruickshank. The one which illustrates
" March," represents various groupes, male and
female, seriously incommoded by a north-easter.
The scene is the corner of a street, where this crafty,
crocodile wind—as Lord Castlereagh would have
called it—always makes a point of lying in wait for
the unprepared pedestrian. Two elderly gentlemen
have just spiked each other with their umbrellas ;
the eldest has lost his hat, which has taken a
a fancy to rise in the world ; and the younger, who
feels his also on the move, has clutched it fast in his
hand ; but by so doing, has reduced his parapluie to
the disagreeable necessity of turning inside out. Close
behind them stands a spacious, agreeable-looking lady,
busily engaged in reducing to order the folds of a most
refractory and tempestuous petticoat, which, however,
despite all her efforts, persists in displaying the full
proportions of a leg, that modesty would fain hide, in-
asmuch as it is as thick round the ankle as the calf.
The predicament of this poor gentlewoman is most
distressing, for she has evidently just caught a glimpse
of a slim dandy, criticising her understandings.through
an eye-glass. The fat man in the back-ground, who
has made up his mind, that let the wind blow its worst,
he at least cannot be blown away, is an irresistible
touch of the philosophic. " May" is represented by
the street vagaries of the chimney-sweeps, all of whom
are tipsy, except the Jack in the Green, who is what
may be called, specially drunk. The very grouping
of these figures, to say nothing of their faces—on which
mud and dirt rest with all the becoming propriety of
nature—is in itself a joke. " June" hits off the So•
merset House Exhibition, which is crowded by vi-
sitors, all more or less in a state " of grievous dissolu-
tion and thaw." We feel, in particular, for the poor clergy.
man, who, though he came in as fat as a rector, bids
fair to go out as lean as a curate. There is an air of
meek, helpless resignation about this Gent, highlybecom-
ing in a Christian Minister. He sees that he must
dissolve, so welcomes dissolution with a smile.
" July" introduces us to Vauxhall, and its unrivalled
ornament, Mr. Simpson, on whom hundreds of lovely
ladies are gazing, with an admiration which, though we
may envy, we cannot wonder at. The running waiter in
the foreground, with a napkin under his arm, and a tray
of sandwiches in his hand, is a happy illustration of
the perpetual motion. " September " places before
us all the glories of Bartholomew Fair, against which
it may be remembered, the Rev. Mr. Dillon, author
of the " Lord Mayor's Voyage to Oxford," once
preached a sermon, wherein he introduced a truant
servant maid in the act of " cutting away the an-
chor of her virginity "—a touching description, which
from its evident truth and sincerity, bore all the
appearance of having been drawn from life.
As lovers of physiology, we must confess, we should
like to have witnessed such an occurrence. " Novem-
ber," as it should be, is represented by .a long, dark,
dingy street, the very houses of which look hypochon-
driacal, and along which some ten or dozen people are
pacing, exhibiting in their countenances all the varie-
ties of wretchedness. That spindle-shanked gentle-
man in the corner, is evidently meditating suicide ; and
it is equally evident, that the old maid under the
gas-light is far gone in a fit of the vapours. We
have no space for the other embellishments ; but they
are all worthy of George.

JACQUEMONT'S LETTERS FROM INDIA
THIBET, LAHORE, AND CASHMERE.
2 Vols. Bvo. London. Churton, 1834.
_ _

These letters were written by an amiable and enter-
prizing young man, who afterwards fell in the very
flower and promise of his manhood, a victim to his too
eager pursuit of science. Having from his earliest
years evinced a predilection for the study of botany and
mineralogy, he was, through the interest of his friends,
appointed Travelling Naturalist to the Jardin des
Plantes, and sent to explore the British possessions in
India. The station which he consequently took in
society, by opening every door to him, gave him unusual
facilities for indulging his powers of observation, and
his off-hand and graphic sketches abundantly testify
' that he made the best use of the opportunities thus
afforded him. These letters are mostly the out-pour-
ings of a lively and affectionate mind, and were chiefly
addressed 'to his father and brothers, and other near
relatives and friends. Bating his excessive egotism he
is a most agreeable companion : these is a naivete
about some of his remarks which is highly amusing,
and the description he gives of English manners in the
East is graphically and smartly sketched. There is
besides a quaintness in his humour which renders him
an entertaining cicerone.
The following amusing sketch may give the reader