* * * * * And now do I most entreatingly invite thee to cast a Parthian glance at my foregone prophetic lucubrations, and especially towards that symbolical prefiguration or _hieroglyphic_, by which I brightly shadowed forth _a certain notable event_, the fulfilment whereof did so closely follow the heels of the prediction as to cause the multitude to marvel;— and when thou hast sufficiently pondered thereupon, I would ask thee whether thou dost not in verity deem me a fit and worthy successor of the renowned FRANCIS MOORE, defunct? I do thus throw myself on thy candour, because certain of mine adversaries do most unworthily insinuate, that my astrological skill is stark naught; that I hold no correspondence with the stars; that I am no more acquainted with the Great Bear than with the Great Mogul; that I gather no signs of the Times from the signs of the Zodiac; and, in brief, that I am _no conjuror_! My only familiar, they affirm, is a little, insignificant, diminutive thing, called _Common Sense_, whose aid any one may have if he chooses; that the said _Common Sense_ collects together certain things called _Past Events_, with which he compares _Present Appearances_, and they help him to _Future Probabilities_; they are then put into the crucible of _Ordinary Judgment_; and my sagacious and veracious prophecies and hieroglyphics are the result of this simple alchemy! CANDID READER! Let thine own discretion decide, whether logical judgment or astro-logical fudgement be the art which influenceth my lucubrations. * * * * * INVITATION OF "THE SELECT" To Bartholomew Fair. COME, buffers and duffers, and dashers and smashers, Come, tag, rag, and bobtail, attend to my call; Ye pickpockets, sally from court, lane, and alley, The LORD MAYOR in person has open'd the ball. Come, Billingsgate sinners, and cat and dog skinners, And play up a game to make Decency stare: A fig for propriety, sense, and sobriety! They never were known at fam'd BARTLEMY FAIR. Come, nightmen and dustmen, and rovers and drovers; Come, Whitechapel butchers, and join in the throng! With marrow-bones and cleavers, delight the coal-heavers, While broken-nose Billy shall snuffle a song. Ye lazy mechanics, who dearly love one day, For wives and for children who never know care; Who reckon Saint Monday more holy than Sunday, Come and spend all your earnings at BARTLEMY FAIR.