But hence, ideas like these――avaunt! delusions vain, Far be from me the thought of coward flight, Or unmatured resolve. * * * * * This is the road to _rhino_ and revenge, And on this road, in spite of former vows, In spite of all my ancient predilections, In spite of Argus, hand bills, nicknames, jeers, In spite of what the minister may think In spite of fate, or e’en the devil himself, This road I’ll travel. (_Exit_ waddling). _The Argus._ April 16, 1831. This little Journal was published in Southampton during the stirring times just previous to the election of the Parliament which settled the first great Reform Bill. _The Argus_ strongly advocated the cause of Reform, supporting the candidatures of Messrs. ATHERLEY & PENLEAZE, in opposition to Messrs. DOTTIN & HOY. At the election ATHERLEY polled 732 votes; PENLEAZE 663, whereas HOY had only 391 votes, and with the general victory of the Reform question the necessity for such a political journal as _The Argus_ was at an end. It contains many parodies satirising the prominent men of Southampton, of whom TUNBELLY was one. ――――:o:―――― THE JOURNEYMAN TAILOR’S SOLILOQUY. To stitch or not to stitch――that is the question! Whether ’tis better on the board to suffer The stings of needles for capricious masters, Or throw away one’s thimble, shears, and bodkin, And so by tramping end them. To stitch and sweat, No more, and by a tramp to say we end The head-ache, and the thousand cramps and pains We cross-legg’d folks are heirs to; ’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To walk, to take a trip, To rove at large――perchance to beg one’s bread! Aye, there’s the rub―――― For by this strolling trade what want may come, When we have shifted from a constant place, Must give us pain. There’s the respect that keeps One willing prisoner to the shop board still, For who would bear the frowns of angry masters, The jokes and jeers of scavengers and soot-boys With all the insult of _unmanly title_, The _honest_ tailor is obliged to take, When he himself might his quietus make With trav’ling. Who would slavery bear, And groan and sweat upon a dreary shop board, But that the thought of something worse than stitching That sting of poverty, whose unwelcome gripe, Few travellers escape――puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear the ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of. And thus necessity keeps us tailors still: And thus the native hue of resolution is kept up By each industrious thought; and tailors too Of no small pith and moment, by this regard From tramping turn away, and lose the name Of _vagrants_. J――M――――N. _The Mirror._ ――――:o:―――― THE CABMAN’S SOLILOQUY.