The late Mr. Tilt, of Fleet Street, first conceived the idea of the "Comic Almanack," and at various times there were engaged upon it such writers as Thackeray, Albert Smith, the Brothers Mayhew, the late Robert Brough, Gilbert A'Beckett, and it has been asserted, Tom Hood, the elder. Thackeray's stories of "Stubbs' Calendar, or the Fatal Boots," which subsequently appeared as "Stubbs' Diary;" and "Barber Cox, or the Cutting of his Comb," formed the leading attractions in the numbers for 1839 and 1840. The Almanack was published at 2_s._ 6_d._, but in 1848-9 the size was reduced and the price altered to 1_s._ The change did not produce the increased circulation expected, and in 1850 it was again enlarged and published at 2_s._ 6_d._ In this year some very spiritedly designed folding plates were added, and this feature continued until 1853, when Mr. Tilt's partner, the late Mr. Bogue, thought proper to discontinue the work. For many years past, sets of the Almanack have been eagerly sought after by collectors, and as much as 6_l._ and 7_l._ have been given for good copies. THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1835. PRELUDIUM. SCENE.—_An Apartment in the House of_ FRANCIS MOORE, _in which that renowned Physician and Astrologer is discovered, lying at the point of death_. _The_ NURSE _is holding up his head, while a skilful_ MEDICINER _is dispensing a potion_. _Sundry_ OLD WOMEN _surround his couch, in an agony of grief_. _The_ ASTROLOGER _starteth up in a paroxysm of rage_. _Moore._ "Throw physic to the dogs," I'll gulp no more. I'm done for: my prophetic life is o'er. Who are these hags? and wherefore come they here? _Old Women._ Alack! he raves, and knows us not, poor dear! To think he should his _only friends_ forget! Who've fostered him, and made him quite a pet. _Moore._ Begone, ye beldames! wherefore do ye howl? _Old Women._ We've come to comfort your unhappy sowl. _Nurse._ 'Tis the Old Women,—pr'ythee, do not scare 'em,— Who to the last have bought your VOX STELLARUM; They're sorely griev'd, and fear that you will die; And then, alack-a-day! who'll read the sky? _Moore._ Oh, ah!—yes—well,—just so—just so, I see—I feel—I smell—I know—I know. _Nurse._ Poor soul! he's going fast. Oh! shocking shock! So kind a master.... Bless me! there's a knock! _Enter_ RIGDUM FUNNIDOS, _in deep mourning_. _Rig. Fun._ "Ye black and midnight hags! what is't ye do?" _Nurse._ Speak softly, Sir; my master's turning blue. He's not been sensible since last November. _Rig. Fun._ (_aside_) Nor ever was, that I can e'er remember. But we must talk before his course is run. _Moore._ Who's that?—my sight grows dim—Is't RIGDUM FUN? _Rig. Fun._ The same, great MOORE!