[Illustration: ATTACHED TO THE LINE.]
—the penny-a-line we mean; but with a true gusto for accidents, and a relish for calamities, which nothing could subdue, he still pressed forward, with blood streaming from his fractured skull, for additional particulars. The American reporter whose hand was blown off, and had the good fortune to be upon the spot, is not to be compared with the hero who had the exclusive advantage of being able to supply practical information of the ruffianly conduct pursued by the soldiery.
It is not stated whether the fire-escape was on the spot; but as no one lived in the building that was burnt, it is highly probable that every effort was made to save the lives of the inhabitants. There is no doubt that the ladder was strenuously directed towards the clock tower, with the view, probably, of saving the “jolly cock” who used to adorn the top of it.
The reporters mark as a miracle the extraordinary fact, that during the whole time of the fire, the weathercock continued to vary with the wind. The gentlemen of the press, probably, expected that the awful solemnity of the scene would have rendered any man, not entirely lost to every sense of feeling, completely motionless. The apathy of the weathercock that went on whirling about as if nothing had happened, is in the highest degree disgusting, and we can scarcely regret the fate of such an unfeeling animal.
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PLEASE TO REMEMBER THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.
November, that month of fires, fogs, felo de ses, and Fawkes, has been ushered in with becoming ceremony at the Tower and at various other parts of the metropolis. In vain has an Act of Parliament been passed for the suppression of bonfires—November asserts her rights, and will have her modicum of “flare up” in spite of the law; but with the trickery of an Old Bailey barrister she has thrown the onus upon October. Nor is this all! Like a traitorous Eccalobeion she has already hatched several conspiracies, as though everybody now thought of getting rid of others or themselves.
The Right Hon. Spring-heel Rice Baron Jamescrow, commonly known as the Lord Monteagle, has, like his historical synonym, been favoured with a communication which being considerably beyond his own comprehension, he has in a laudable spirit submitted it to Punch—an evidence of wisdom which we really did not expect from our friend Baron Jamescrow.
We subjoin the introductory epistle—
DEAR PUNCH,—I hasten to forward you the awful letter enclosed—we are all abroad here concerning it—by the bye, how are you all at home—to say the least, it certainly does look very ugly. Mrs. P., I hope, has improved in appearance. Something terrible is evidently about to happen. I intend to pay you a visit shortly. I trust we may not have to encounter any more Guys—you may expect to see me on my Friday. I can only add my prayers for the nation’s safety and my compliments to Mrs. Punch and the young P.s.