The _Kentish Herald_ lately contained the following notice: "Ranelagh Gardens, Margate--last night of Mount Vesuvius, in consequence of an engagement with the Patagonians." This is tragical enough; but _The Times_ outdoes it in horror by informing us that "The Nunhead Cemetery is now open for _general_ interment"; and immediately afterwards comes an advertisement of "The London General Mourning Warehouse, Oxford Street"; and then, to crown all, Mr. Simpson, of Long Acre, declares himself ready to make "Distresses in Town and Country, so as to give general satisfaction." In 1847 _Punch_ recurs to the subject in a spirit foreshadowing the activities of that excellent society which of late years has striven to restrain the excesses of the advertiser:-- Advertisements are spreading all over England--they have crept under the bridges--have planted themselves right in the middle of the Thames--have usurped the greatest thoroughfares--and are now just on the point of invading the omnibuses. Advertising is certainly the great vehicle for the age. Go where you will, you are stopped by a monster cart running over with advertisements, or are nearly knocked down by an advertising house put upon wheels, which calls upon you, when too late, not to forget "Number One." These vehicles, one would think, were more than enough to satisfy the most greedy lover of advertisements, but it seems that there is such an extraordinary run for them that omnibuses are to be lined and stuffed with nothing else. We have long acquiesced in this invasion of the sanctity of the omnibus. It is the desecration of the countryside that chiefly disgusts the fastidious of to-day. PART II THE SOCIAL FABRIC THE COURT