room outside, is audible in this ghastly apartment
in some of the stormier and more
untidy passages of the overture to the Bronze
Horse, as well as in the last tune but one of
the Maritana Quadrilles.

There is in the Chamber of Horrors a figure in
the shadow of one of the docks which struck your
Eye-witness as the most frightful of all the
models exhibited. It is a representation of one
John Thom, alias Sir William Courtney, who
raised an insurrection in the neighbourhood of
Canterbury, in the course of which a humane
young officer was shot by this maniac under
peculiarly distressing circumstances. It is
mentioned in the catalogue that the poor vain wretch
is dressed as the King of Jerusalem, which he
professed to be. On reading this announcement, the
visitor to the Chamber of Horrors, hastens to
examine the costume of the King of Jerusalem, and is
probably as much surprised as your Eye-witness
was, to find that it consists of a dress-coat, a pair
of black trousers tightly strapped over the boots,
a huge turn-down collar, and a dark blue cloak
with a velvet collar, and black cords and tassels.

For a comfortable, bold, unconscientious, and
jovial villain, let us rest contented with Nana
Sahib. The model of this Eastern reprobate is
the only element of hope in the room, and this
fact carries out the theory propounded above,
that an additional horror is imparted to crime
when its perpetrators are clothed in the ordinary
costume of our day. It is the Eastern dress
worn by this potentate, which takes the edge off
his criminal repulsiveness.

Suppose some of these murderers to be
transplanted into the other room, and to be
labelled as great philanthropists, should we
find ourselves in a state of admiration at
their benevolent expression? Your Eye-witness
is disposed to think that there is much in
position. He has himself, in looking at a
collection of heads in a phrenologist's window, all of
which he understood to be heads of murderers,
found himself dwelling at length, on the
especial villany of some one specimen amongst them,
when, his eye happening to light upon the label
affixed to this particular cast, he has discovered
with shame that it is the head of the admirable
Howard, or the Man of Ross, or Dr. Jenner.
Does anybody look to advantage in the dock of
the Old Bailey?

Enough of the Old Bailey and of horrors. We
may now, without any imputation on our nerves,
skipout of our gloomy apartment as fast as we like;
as soon, at least, as we have glanced at the
Napoleon relics, we may get out again into the frosty
open air. The Napoleon relics are really in some
instances very remarkable, and are authenticated
on good authority. The carriage taken after
the battle of Waterloo is especially interesting,
and, with its huge wheels and immense strength
and solidity of construction, is highly suggestive
of the rough roads which have to be rattled
over in the course of a campaign. The
contrivances of which it is full, for the Emperor's
convenience, are very curious. The visitor to
this part of the Tussaud collection, is allowed to
get into the carriage, and sit there if he chooses,
examining the inside of this very interesting
vehicle at his ease. It is a noisy and jingling
process though, the getting into this conveyance
—as the E. W. can affirm by personal
experience—and is not done without attracting
the attention of everybody in the room ; so let
all modest and embarrassed persons think twice
before they attempt it.

"The piece of cloth of gold, from the field
of that name," sounds dubious; and though
the "paste star worn by the Duke of
Sussex," the pair of spurs worn at court by
the same prince, and the sashes of the late
Dukes of Kent and Cambridge, are doubtless
genuine relics, the Eye-witness does not find
that they have impressed his mind as strongly
as might have been expected.

What shall be said of the man who could
stand at the door of the Chamber of Horrors
eating a pork pie? Yet such a man there was—
your Eye-witness saw him; a young man from
the provinces; a young man with light hair, a
bright blue neckcloth, and a red and beefy
neck. His eye was on the model of Marat,
assassinated in a bath, and with this before him
he could eat an underdone pork pie.

It is the last straw that breaks the laden
camel's back; it was this last horror that sent
your Eye-witness out of Madame Tussaud's, as
fast as his legs would carry him.

VERY COMMON LAW.

I

WHATEVER reputation, in a metallic point of
view, this age may possess; whether it be termed
a Golden Age, an Iron Age, an age of Brass, or
Tin, or Aluminum; there is one characteristic of
it sufficiently conspicuous "that all manner of
knowledge be made as pleasantly accessible as
possible."

If our ancestors, aided by such machinery as
they possessed, obtained their supplies from the
Pierian spring with painful toil and most
uncomfortable energy (as they were wont to
perform weary journeys in very slow coaches), we,
who know better, will use hydraulic pressure
and the steam ram, as befits the spirit of the
times!

Not to be behindhand in this pleasant
characteristic of the age, we find that the law itself
has been coerced into light handybooks for
general reading, and delectation of the public
mind; that whilst the cheerful narrative of the
rule in Shelly's case beguiles the tedium of
Jones's railway journey, the history of contingent
remainders solaces the leisure hours' of
paterfamilias in his lodgings by the sea. Nor
do we mean for one moment to object to such
gilding of unpleasant pills.

So far, indeed, from this, it is our present
purpose (with as little exhibition as may be of
the pill) to let the readers of this journal know
what things the law—the very common law—
allows them in the routine of their daily lives
to do, and what the law forbids. If we fail in