Moreover, why allow the ruin principle to rest with the mere announcement of the fact, why not act a little melodrama or so to make the destruction more real and palatable. Thus the enterprising tradesman might take a hint from the plague of London, and when a carriage rolled by, or a crowd collected at his shop front, he might throw up his window, wring his hands, and scream, instead of "death! death!"—as of old—"ruin! ruin! despair!" and then disappear suddenly. Or why not, when the shop was crowded, let the shop-walker (who might be a leading tragedian engaged for the express purpose) suddenly rush down the middle, with his shirt collar open, followed by six despairing clerks, and holding an empty pistol to his forehead, which, after a desperate struggle, he might allow them to wrest from him. This would certainly succeed. Again, what a grand effect would be produced by letting an advertising cart perambulate the streets, surmounted by a _tableau vivant_ of the luckless linendraper, having his bed taken from under him by the sheriffs' officers, his wife and six interesting children weeping over him, and the whole surmounted by flags of posters announcing that the effects were selling off at desperate prices. In the evening there must be a transparency of "Despair seizing the till," and a grand display of fireworks from the attics on closing the shop at midnight previous. [Illustration] After all, perhaps, the linendrapers are not more to blame than lovely woman. She drives them to the despair they glory in. Let the fond mother see her Tommy want shirts, and she will, like a prudent body, wait for the next bankruptcy rather than visit some house where honest prices prevent clap-trap trickery. But no! there is a moment's vain-glory to be had, a few words of praise to be earned, when, untying the brown paper parcel before the wondering husband, she can hold up the bargains that could "never have been made for the money." [Illustration: MODERN BALLOONING, OR THE NEWEST PHASE OF FOLLY. ] Let us hope, however, we shall grow wiser, and that in a few years no housewife will believe in a draper's failure—that alarming sacrifices will sink down to the level of the Waterloo bullets; and a mercer's ruin, like the stucco ones at the Colosseum, be called a very good imitation that will not bear looking into too closely. TO THE EDITOR OF "THE COMIC ALMANACK." Sir,—I reside near a place of popular amusement "al fresco." I am of a cheerful though quiet disposition, and should be perfectly happy but for one circumstance. During the entire summer season I am in a continual state of terror from Balloons.