How to get white and shiny teeth with a homemade toothpaste

8 Aug 2008 at 5:54pm  How to get white and shiny teeth with a homemade toothpaste

43 sec - Aug 8, 2008

Watch this how to video and learn how to whiten teeth in under 5 minutes. It cost only pennies to whiten your teeth with this homemade toothpaste. Mix up a charcoal, baking soda, basic toothpaste and a little lemon for toothpaste the will whiten teeth. Also watch more diet & health how to videos including tips, tricks, advice, and directons on dental for free.

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Teeth Whitening Products - Save Money by Making Your Own

19 Jul 2008 at 9:16am  Expensive dental visits and store bought products have not been the only solution to teeth whitening. People in the past used homemade teeth whitening products to keep their teeth white because they f...

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Drop Dead Good Looks With Beautiful Teeth Whitening

18 Jul 2008 at 3:14pm  With more people becoming focused on improving their appearance, many are choosing teeth whitening. The natural color of teeth changes as we age. Stains from food, tobacco and liquids that we drink ca...

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www.moldytoaster.com

27 Jun 2008 at 10:07pm  www.moldytoaster.com

0 sec - Jun 28, 2008

which the law does not protect. This is a duty which you owe to yourselves. And in order that you may thoroughly carry out this principle, procure, if you can, a legal education; because there are a great many flaws in titles, agreements, and the like, the knowledge of which will often enable you to lay hands upon various kinds of property to which at first sight you might appear to have no claim. Should you ever be so circumstanced as to be beyond the control of the law, you will, of course, be able to take whatever you want; because there will be nothing then that will _not_ belong to you. This, my friends, is a grand moral principle; and, as illustrative of it, we have an example (as schoolboys say in their themes) in Alexander the Great; and besides, in all other conquerors that have ever lived, from Nimrod down to Napoleon inclusive. Speak evil of no one behind his back, unless you are likely to get anything by so doing. On the contrary, have a good word to say, if you can, of everybody, provided that the person who is praised by you is likely to be informed of the circumstance. And, the more to display the generosity of your disposition, never hesitate, on convenient occasions, to bestow the highest eulogies on those who do not deserve them. Be abstemious--in eating and drinking at your own expense; but when you feed at another person's, consume as much as you can possibly digest. Let your behaviour be always distinguished by modesty. Never boast or brag, when you are likely to be disbelieved; and do not contradict your superiors--that is to say, when you are in the presence of people who are richer than yourselves, never express an opinion of your own. Live peaceably with all mankind, if you can; but, as you cannot, endeavor, as the next best thing, to settle all disputes as speedily as possible, by coming, without loss of time, to blows; provided always that the debate promises to be terminated, by reason of your superior strength, in your own favour, and that you are not likely to be taken up for knocking another person down. It is very true that I, individually, _never_ shun this kind of discussion, whatever may be the strength and pretensions of my opponent; but then, I enjoy a consciousness of superiority over the whole world, which you, perhaps, may not feel, and which might, in some cases, mislead you. I think, however, that a supreme contempt for all but yourselves is a very proper sentiment to entertain; and, from what I observe of the conduct of certain teachers, I imagine that this is what is meant by the word humility. You must, nevertheless, be careful how you display it; do so only when you see a probability of overawing and frightening those around you, so as to make them contributors to the great aim of your existence--self-gratification. Be firm, but not obstinate. Never change your mind when the result of the alteration would be detrimental to your comfort and interest; but do not maintain an inconvenient inflexibility of purpose. Do not, for instance, in affairs of the heart, simply because you have declared, perhaps with an oath or two, that you will be constant till death, think it necessary to make any effort to remain so. The case stands thus: you enter into an agreement with a being whose aggregate of perfections is expressible, we will say, by 20. Now, if they would always keep at that point, there might be some reason for your remaining unaltered, namely, your not being able to help it. But suppose that they dwindle down to 19-1/2, the person, that is, the whole sum of the qualities admired, no longer exists, and you, of course, are absolved from your engagement. But mind, I do not say that you are justified in changing _only_ in case of a change on the opposite side: you may very possibly become simply tired. In this case, your prior promise to yourself will absolve you from the performance of the one in question. And now, my good friends, before we part, let me beg of you not to allow yourselves to be diverted from the right path by a parcel of cant. You will hear my system stigmatised as selfish; and I advise you, whenever you have occasion to speak of it in general society, to call it so too. You will thus obtain a character for generosity; a very desirable thing to have, if you can get it cheap. Selfish, indeed! is not self the axis of the earth out of which you were taken? The fact is, good people, that just as notions the very opposite of truth have prevailed in matters of science, so have they, likewise, in those of morals. A set of impracticable doctrines, under the name of virtue, have been preached up by your teachers; and it is only fortunate that they have been practised by so few; those few having been, almost to a man, poisoned, strangled, burnt, or worse treated, for their pains. But here comes the police, to interfere, as usual, with the dissemination of useful truths. Farewell, my good people; and whenever you are disposed for additional instruction, I can only say that I shall be very happy to afford it to you for a reasonable consideration. * * * * * A BOWER OF BLISS IN STANGATE. Oh, fly to the Bower--fly with me.--OLD OR NEW SONG (_I forget which_). If you take a walk over Waterloo-bridge, and, after going straight on for some distance, turn to the right, you will find yourself in the New-Cut, where you may purchase everything, from a secretaire-bookcase to a saveloy, on the most moderate terms possible. The tradesmen of the New-Cut are a peculiar class, and the butchers, in particular, seem to be brimming over with the milk of human kindness, for every female customer is addressed as "My love," while every male passer-by is saluted with the friendly greeting of "Now, old chap, what can I do for you?" The greengrocers in this "happy land" earnestly invite the ladies to "pull away" at the mountains of cabbages which their sheds display, while little boys on the pavement offer what they playfully designate "a plummy ha'p'orth," of onions to the casual passenger. At the end of the New-Cut stands the Marsh-gate, which, at night, is all gas and ghastliness, dirt and dazzle, blackguardism and brilliancy. The illumination of the adjacent gin-palace throws a glare on the haggard faces of those who are sauntering outside. Having arrived thus far, watch your opportunity, by dodging the cabs and threading the maze of omnibuses, to effect a crossing, when you will find Stangate-street, _running out_, as some people say, of the Westminster-road; though of the fact that a street ever ran out of a road, we take leave to be sceptical. Well, go on down this Stangate-street, and when you get to the bottom, you will find, on the left-hand, THE BOWER! And a pretty bower it is, not of leaves and flowers, but of bricks and mortar. It is not "A bower of roses by Bendermere's stream, With the nightingale singing there all the day long; In the days of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit 'mid the roses and hear the birds' song. That bower, and its music, I never forget: But oft, when alone, at the close of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet, Are the roses still fresh by the calm Bendermere?" No, there is none of this sentimental twaddle about the Bower to which we are alluding. There are no roses, and no nightingale; but there are lots of smoking, and plenty of vocalists. We will paraphrase Moore, since we can hardly do less, and we may say, with truth, "There's a Bower in Stangate's respectable street, There's a company acting there all the night long; In the days of my childhood, egad--what a treat! To listen attentive to some thundering song. That Bower and its concert I never forget; But oft when of halfpence my pockets are clear, I think, are the audience sitting there yet, Still smoking their pipes, and imbibing their beer?" Upon entering the door, you are called on to pay your money, which is threepence for the saloon and sixpence for the boxes. The saloon is a large space fitted up something like a chapel, or rather a court of justice; there being in front of each seat a species of desk or ledge, which, in the places last named would hold prayer-books or papers, but at the Bower are designed for tumblers and pewter-pots. The audience, like the spirits they imbibe, are very much mixed; the greater portion consisting of respectable mechanics, while here and there may be seen an individual, who, from his seedy coat, well-brushed four-and-nine hat, highly polished but palpably patched highlows, outrageously shaved face and absence of shirt collar, is decidedly an amateur, who now and then plays a part, and as he is never mistaken for an actor on the stage, tries when off to look as much like one as possible. The boxes are nothing but a gallery, and are generally visited by a certain class of ladies who resemble angels, at least, in one particular, for they are "few and far between." But what are the entertainments? A miscellaneous concert, in which the first tenor, habited in a _surtout_, with the tails pinned back, to look like a dress-coat, apostrophises his "pretty Jane," and begs particularly to know her reason for looking so _sheyi_--_vulgo_, shy. Then there is the bass, who disdains any attempt at a body-coat, but honestly comes forward in a decided bearskin, and, while going down to G, protests emphatically that "He's on the C (sea)." Then there is the _prima donna_, in a pink gauze petticoat, over a yellow calico slip, with lots of jewels (sham), an immense colour in the very middle of the cheek, but terribly chalked just about the mouth, and shouting the "Soldier tired," with a most insinuating simper at the corporal of the Foot-guards in front, who returns the compliment by a most outrageous leer between each whiff of his tobacco-pipe. Then comes an _Overture by the band_, which is a little commonwealth, in which none aspires to lead, none condescends to follow. At it they go indiscriminately, and those who get first to the end of the composition, strike in at the point where the others happen to have arrived; so that, if they proceed at sixes and sevens, they generally contrive to end in unison. Occasionally we are treated with Musard's _Echo quadrilles_, when the solos are all done by the octave flute, so are all the echoes, and so is everything but the _cada_. But the grand performance of the night is the dramatic piece, which is generally a three-act opera, embracing the whole debility of the company. There is the villain, who always looks so wretched as to impress on the mind that, if honesty is not the best policy, rascality is certainly the worst. Then there is the lover, whose woe-begone countenance and unhappy gait, render it really surprising that the heroine, in dirty white sarsnet, should have displayed so much constancy. The low comedy is generally done by a gentleman who, while fully impressed with the importance of the "low," seems wholly to overlook the "comedy;" and there is now and then a banished nobleman, who appears to have entirely forgotten everything in the shape of nobility during his banishment. There is not unfrequently a display of one of the proprietor's children in a part requiring "infant innocence;" and as our ideas of that angelic state are associated principally with pudding heads and dirty faces, the performance is generally got through with a nastiness approaching to nicety. But it is time to make our escape from the _Bower_, and we therefore leave them to get through the "Chough and Crow"--which is often the wind-up, because it admits of a good deal of growling--in our absence. We cannot be tempted to remain even to witness the pleasing performances of the "Sons of Syria," nor the "Aunts of Abyssinia." We will not wait to see Mr. Macdonald sing "Hot codlings" on his head, though the bills inform us he has been honoured by a command to go through that interesting process from "_nearly all the crowned heads in Europe_." * * * * * PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 1. FOR THE WEEK ENDING SEPTEMBER 25, 1841. * * * * * THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE. CHAPTER V. SHOWS THAT "THERE'S MANY A SLIP" BETWEEN OTHER THINGS BESIDE "THE CUP AND THE LIP." [Illustration: T]The heir of Applebite continued to squall and thrive, to the infinite delight of his youthful mamma, who was determined that the joyful occasion of his cutting his first tooth should be duly celebrated by an evening party of great splendour; and accordingly cards were issued to the following effect:-- MR. AND MRS. APPLEBITE REQUEST THE HONOUR OF ---- ----'s COMPANY TO AN EVENING PARTY, On Thursday, the 12th inst. _Quadrilles_. _An Answer will oblige_. It was the first home-made party that Collumpsion had ever given; for though during his bachelorhood he had been no niggard of his hospitality, yet the confectioner had supplied the edibles, and the upholsterer arranged the decorations; but now Mrs. Applebite, with a laudable spirit of economy, converted No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, into a perfect _cuisine_ for a week preceding the eventful evening; and old John was kept in a constant state of excitement by Mrs. Waddledot, who superintended the ornamental department of these elaborate preparations. Agamemnon felt that he was a cipher in the house, for no one condescended to notice him for three whole days, and it was with extreme difficulty that he could procure the means of "recruiting exhausted nature" at those particular hours which had hitherto been devoted to the necessary operation. On the morning of the 12th, Agamemnon was anxiously engaged in endeavouring to acquire a knowledge of the last alterations in the figure of _La Pastorale_, when he fancied he heard an unusual commotion in the lower apartments of his establishment. In a few moments his name was vociferously pronounced by Mrs. Applebite, and the affrighted Collumpsion rushed down stairs, expecting to find himself another Thyestes, whose children, it is recorded, were made into a pie for his own consumption. On entering the kitchen he perceived the cause of the uproar, although he could see nothing else, for the dense suffocating vapour with which the room was filled. "Oh dear!" said Mrs. Applebite, "the chimney's on fire; one pound of fresh butter--" "And two pound o'lard's done it!" exclaimed Susan. "What's to be done?" inquired Collumpsion. "Send for my brother, sir," said Betty. "Where does he live?" cried old John. "On No. 746," replied Betty. "Where's that?" cried the whole assembled party. "I don't know, but it's a hackney-coach as he drives," said Betty. A general chorus of "Pshaw!" greeted this very unsatisfactory rejoinder. Another rush of smoke into the kitchen rendered some more active measures necessary, and, after a short discussion, it was decided that John and Betty should proceed to the roof of the house with two pailsful of water, whilst Agamemnon remained below to watch the effects of the measure. When John and Betty arrived at the chimney-pots, the pother was so confusing, that they were undecided which was the rebellious flue! but, in order to render assurance doubly sure, they each selected the one they conceived to be the delinquent, and discharged the contents of their buckets accordingly, without any apparent diminution of the intestine war which was raging in the chimney. A fresh supply from a cistern on the roof, similarly applied, produced no better effects, and Agamemnon, in an agony of doubt, rushed up-stairs to ascertain the cause of non-abatement. Accidentally popping his head into the drawing-room, what was his horror at beholding the beautiful Brussels carpet, so lately "redolent of brilliant hues," one sheet of inky liquid, into which Mrs. Waddledot (who had followed him) instantly swooned. Agamemnon, in his alarm, never thought of his wife's mother, but had rushed half-way up the next flight of stairs, when a violent knocking arrested his ascent, and, with the fear of the whole fire-brigade before his eyes, he re-rushed to open the door, the knocker of which kept up an incessant clamour both in and out of the house. The first person that met his view was a footman, 25, dyed with the same sooty evidence of John and Betty's exertions, as he had encountered on entering his own drawing-room. The dreadful fact flashed upon Collumpsion's mind, and long before the winded and saturated servant could detail the horrors he had witnessed in "his missuses best bed-room, in No. 25," the bewildered proprietor of No. 24 was franticly shaking his innocently offending menials on the leads of his own establishment. Then came a confused noise of little voices in the street, shouting and hurraing in the fulness of that delight which we regret to say is too frequently felt by the world at large at the misfortunes of one in particular. Then came the sullen rumble of the parish engine, followed by violent assaults on the bell and knocker, then another huzza! welcoming the extraction of the fire-plug, and the sparkling fountain of "New River," which followed as a providential consequence. Collumpsion again descended, as John had at last discovered the right chimney, and having inundated the stewpans and the kitchen, had succeeded in extinguishing the sooty cause of all these disasters. The mob had, by this time, increased to an alarming extent. Policemen were busily employed in making a ring for the exhibition of the water-works--little boys were pushing each other into the flowing gutters--small girls, with astonished infants in their arms, were struggling for front places against the opposite railings; and every window, from the drawing-rooms to the attics, in Pleasant-terrace were studded with heads, in someway resembling the doll heads in a gingerbread lottery, with which a man on a wooden leg was tempting the monied portion of the juvenile alarmists. Agamemnon opened the door, and being flanked by the whole of his household, proceeded to address the populace on the present satisfactory state of his kitchen chimney. The announcement was received by expressions of extreme disgust, as though every auditor considered that a fire ought to have taken place, and that they had been defrauded of their time and excitement, and that the extinguishing of the same by any other means than by legitimate engines was a gross imposition. He was about remonstrating with them on the extreme inconvenience which would have attended a compliance with their reasonable and humane objections, when his eloquence was suddenly cut short by a _jet d'eau_ which a ragged urchin directed over him, by scientifically placing his foot over the spouting plug-hole. This clever manoeuvre in some way pacified the crowd, and after awaiting the re-appearance of the parish engineer, who had insisted on a personal inspection of the premises, they gave another shout of derision and departed. Thus commenced the festivities to celebrate the advent of the first tooth of the Heir of Applebite. * * * * * GRAVESEND. (_From our own Correspondent_.) This delightful watering-place is filled with beauty and fashion, there being lots of large curls and small bonnets in every portion of the town and neighbourhood. We understand it is in contemplation to convert the mud on the banks of the river into sand, in order that the idea of the sea-side may be realised as far as possible. Two donkey cart-loads have already been laid down by way of experiment, and the spot on which they were thrown was literally thronged with pedestrians. The only difficulty likely to arise is, that the tide washes the sand away, and leaves the mud just as usual. The return of the imports and exports shows an immense increase in the prosperity of this, if not salubrious sea-port, at least healthy watercourse. It seems that the importation of Margate slippers this year, as compared with that of the last, has been as two-and-three-quarters to one-and-a-half, or rather more than double, while the consumption of donkeys has been most gratifying, and proves beyond doubt that the pedestrians and equestrians are not so numerous by any means as the asinestrians. The first round of a new ladder for ascending the balconies of the bathing-rooms was laid on Wednesday, amidst an inconvenient concourse of visitors. With the exception of a rap on the toes received by those who pressed so much on the carpenter employed as to retard the progress of his work, all passed off quietly. After the ceremony, the man was regaled by the proprietor of the rooms with some beer, at the tap of the neighbouring hotel for families and gentlemen. * * * * * [Illustration] PUNCH'S ESSENCE OF GUFFAW. SCRUPULOUSLY PREPARED FROM THE RECIPE OF THE LATE MR. JOSEPH MILLER, AND PATRONISED BY THE ROYAL FAMILY, THE TWELVE JUDGES, THE LORD CHANCELLOR, THE SWELL MOB, MR. HOBLER, AND THE COURT OF ALDERMEN; ALSO BY THE COMMISSIONERS OF POLICE, THE SEXTON OF ST. MARYLEBONE, THE PHOENIX LIFE ASSURANCE COMPANY, THE KING OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDS, AND THE LONDON MISSIONARY SOCIETY. This inestimable composition, which cures all disorders, and keeps in all climates, may be had of every respectable bookseller on the face of the globe. Price 3d. TESTIMONIALS. TO MR. PUNCH. SIR,--Having incautiously witnessed two consecutive performances of Mr. Macready in the "Lady of Lyons," the comic portions of them threw me into a state of deep and chronic melancholy, which the various physicians employed were unable to cure. Hearing, however, of your excellent medicine, I took it regularly every Saturday for five weeks, and am now able to go about my daily employment, which being that of a low comedian, was materially interfered with by my late complaint. I remain, with gratitude, yours truly, JOHN SAUNDERS. _New Strand Theatre_. * * * * * SIR,--I was, till lately, private secretary to Lord John Russell. I had to copy his somniferous dispatches, to endure a rehearsal of his prosy speeches, to get up, at an immense labour to myself, incessant laughs at his jokes. At length, by the enormous exertions the last duty imposed upon me, I sunk into a hopeless state of cachinnatory impotence: my risible muscles refused to perform their office, and I lost mine. I was discharged. Fortunately, however, for me, I happened to meet with your infallible "Pills to Purge Melancholy," and tried Nos. 1 to 10 inclusive of them. With feelings overflowing with gratitude, I now inform you, that I have procured another situation with Sir James Graham; and to show you how completely my roaring powers have returned, I have only to state, that it was I who got up the screeching applause with which Sir James's recent jokes about the Wilde and Tame serjeants were greeted. I am, Sir, yours, GEORGE STEPHEN, Late "over"-Secretary, and Author of the "Canadian Rebellion." * * * * * SIR,--Being the proprietor of several weekly newspapers, which I have conducted for many years, my jocular powers gradually declined, from hard usage and incessant labour, till I was reduced to a state of despair; for my papers ceasing to sell, I experienced a complete stoppage of circulation. In this terrible state I had the happiness to meet with your "Essence of Guffaw," and tried its effect upon my readers, by inserting several doses of your Attic salt in my "New Weekly Messenger," "Planet," &c. &c. The effects were wonderful. Their amount of sale increased at every joke, and has now completely recovered. I am, Sir, JOHN BELL. _Craven-street, Strand_. _Note._--This testimonial is gratifying, as the gentleman has hitherto failed to acknowledge the source of the wonderful cure we have effected in his property. * * * * * SIR,--As the author of the facetious political essays in the "Morning Herald," it is but due to you that I should candidly state the reason why my articles have, of late, so visibly improved. In truth, sir, I am wholly indebted to you. Feeling a gradual debility come over my faceti\'ca, I tried several potions of the "New Monthly" and "Bentley's Miscellany," without experiencing the smallest relief. "PUNCH" and his "Essence of Guffaw" were, however, most strongly recommended to me by my friend the editor of "Cruikshank's Omnibus," who had wonderfully revived after taking repeated doses. I followed his example, and am now completely re-established in fine, jocular health. I am, Sir, THE "_OWN_ CORRESPONDENT." _Shoe-lane_. * * * * * Inestimable SIR,--A thousand blessings light upon your head! You have snatched a too fond heart from a too early grave. My life-preserver, my PUNCH! receive the grateful benedictions of a resuscitated soul, of a saved Seraphina Simpkins! Samuel, dearest PUNCH, was false! He took Jemima to the Pavilion; I detected his perfidy, and determined to end my sorrows under the fourth arch of Waterloo-bridge. In my way to the fatal spot I passed--no, I could _not_ pass--your office. By chance directed, or by fate constrained, I stopped to read a placard of your infallible specific. I bought one dose--it was enough. I have now forgotten Samuel, and am happy in the affection of another. Publish this, if you please; it may be of service to young persons who are crossed in love, and in want of straw-bonnets at 3s. 6d. each, best Dunstable. I am, yours, SERAPHINA SIMPKINS, Architect of Tuscan, straw, and other bonnets, Lant-street, Borough. * * * * * CAUTION.--None are genuine unless duly stamped--with good humour, good taste, and good jokes. Observe: "PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, price Threepence," is on the cover. Several spurious imitations are abroad, at a reduced price, the effects of which are dreadful upon the system. * * * * * W(H)AT TYLER. The following pictorial joke has been sent to us by Count D'Orsay, which he denominates [Illustration: TILING A FLAT.] All our attempts to discover the wit of this _tableau d'esprit_ have been quite fu-_tile_. Perhaps our readers will be more successful. * * * * * A MESMERIC ADVERTISEMENT. Wanted, by Mons. Lafontaine, a few fine able-bodied young men, who can suffer the running of pins into their legs without flinching, and who can stare out an ignited lucifer without winking. A few respectable-looking men, to get up in the room and make speeches on the subject of the mesmeric science, will also be treated with. Quakers' hats and coats are kept on the premises. Any little boy who has been accustomed at school to bear the cane without wincing will be liberally treated with. * * * * * AN ALARMING STRIKE. HORACE TWISS, on being told that the workmen employed at the New Houses of Parliament struck last week, to the number of 468, declared that he would follow their example unless Bob raised his wages. * * * * * SIR RHUBARB PILL, M.P. & M.D. "Now the Poor Law is the only remedy for all the distresses referred to contained in the whole of the Baronet's speech."--_Morning Chronicle_, Sept. 21. Oh! dear Doctor, Great bill And pill Concoctor, Most worthy follower in the steps Of Dr. Epps, And eke that cannie man Old Dr. Hanneman-- Two individuals of consummate gumption, Who declare, That whensoe'er The patient's labouring under a consumption, To save him from a trip across the Styx, To ancient Nick's In Charon's shallop, If the consumption be upon the canter, It should be put upon the gallop Instanter; For, "_similia similibus curantur_," Great medicinal cod (Beating the mode Of old Hippocrates, whom M.D.'s mostly follow, Quite hollow); Which would make A patient take No end of verjuice for the belly-ache; And find, beyond a question, A power of good in A lump of cold plum-pudding For a case of indigestion. And just as sage, In this wise age, 'Faith, Dr. Peel, is _your_ law; Which, as a remedy For poverty, Would recommend the Poor Law. * * * * * MATINEE MESMERIQUE _Or, Proc\'c8d\'c8 Humbugaresque._ There is at present in London a gentleman with an enormous beard, who professes the science of animal magnetism, and undertakes to deprive of sense those who come under his hand; but as those who flock to his exhibition have generally left all the sense they possess at home, he finds it difficult to accomplish his purposes. If it is animal magnetism to send another to sleep, what a series of _Soir\'c8es Mesm\'c8riques_ must take place in the House of Commons during the sitting of Parliament! There is no doubt that Sir Robert Peel is the Lafontaine of political mesmerism--_the fountain_ of quackery--and every pass he makes with his hand over poor John Bull serves to bring him into that state of stupefaction in which he may be most easily victimised. While Lafontaine thrusts pins into his patient, the Premier sends poor John into a swoon, for the purpose of, as it is vulgarly termed, _sticking it into him_; and as the French quack holds lucifers to the nostril, Peel plays the devil under the very nose of the paralysed sufferer. One resorts to _electrics_, the other to _election tricks_, but each has the same object in view--to bring the subject of the operation into a state of unconsciousness. If the Premier would give a _Matin\'c8e Politique_, it would prove a formidable rival to the _Soir\'c8e Mesm\'c8rique_ of the gentleman in the beard, who seems impressed with the now popular idea, that genius and a clean chin are wholly incompatible. * * * * * (H)ALL IS LOST NOW! 'Sir B. HALL is still Sir B. Hall. Where is the peerage--the "B-all and end-all" of his patriotism? Really the Whigs ought to have given the poor dog a bone, considering with what perseverance he has always been [Illustration: STANDING FOR MARROWBONE (MARYLEBONE).] * * * * * When a person holds an argument with his neighbour on the opposite aide of the street, why is there no chance of their agreeing?--Because they argue from different _premises_. * * * * * NOVEL SUBSCRIPTIONS. Looking into an Australian paper the other day, we cast our eye over a list of subscriptions for the "St. Patrick's Orphan School, Windsor;" which, after enumerating several sums, varying from 10l. to _five_ shillings, ended with the following singular contributions:-- MR. BURKE--A supply of potatoes. A FRIEND--Five pounds of beef, and a coat. A FRIEND IN NEED--A shoulder of mutton. A POOR WOMAN--A large damper. AN EMIGRANT--Ten quarts of milk. AN EMIGRANT--A frying-pan. At first we were disposed to be amused with the heterogeneous nature of the contributions, but, on reflection, we felt disposed to applaud a plan which enabled every one to bestow a portion of any article of which he possesses a superabundance. If, for instance, a similar subscription were began here, we might expect to find the following contributions:-- SIR ROBERT PEEL--A large stock of political consistency. LORD LONDONDERRY--An ounce of wit. LORD NORMANBY--A complete copy of "Yes and No." COLONEL SIBTHORP--A calf's-head, garnished. THE BISHOP OF EXETER--His pastoral blessing. LORD MELBOURNE AND LORD JOHN RUSSELL--A pair of cast-off slippers. MR. WAKELY--A dish of Tory flummery. DAN O'CONNELL--A prime lot of [Illustration: REAL IRISH BUTTER.] * * * * * SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.--NO. 7. Fair Daphne has tresses as bright as the hue That illumines the west when a summer-day closes; Her eyes seem like violets laden with dew, Her lips will compare with the sweetest of roses. By Daphne's decree I am doom'd to despair, Though ofttimes I've pray'd the fair maid to revoke it. "No--Colin I love"--(thus will Daphne declare) "Put that in your pipe, if you will, sir, and smoke it." Once I thought that she loved me (O! fatal deceit), For she wore at the dance the gay wreath I had twined her; She smiled when I swore that I envied each sweet, And vow'd that in love's rosy chains I would bind her. I press'd her soft hand, and a blush dyed her cheek; "Oh! there's love," I exclaim'd, "in that eye's liquid glancing." She spoke, and I think I can _still_ hear her speak-- "You know about love what a pig knows of dancing!" * * * * * JOE HUM(E)ANITY. The "late of" Middlesex, during his visit to Switzerland, happened to be charged, at a cottage half-way up the Jura, three farthings for seven eggs. Astonished and disgusted at the demand, he vehemently declared that things were come to a pretty [Illustration: PASS IN THE MOUNTAINS] * * * * * THE MINISTERIAL TOP. We understand Sir James Graham has lately been labouring under severe and continued fits of vertigo, produced, as his medical attendants state, by his extraordinary propensity for _turning round_. * * * * * BERNARD CAVANAGH AND THE POOR LAW COMMISSIONERS. It is not generally known that the above gentleman has been officially engaged by the eminent and philanthropic pauper-patrons, to put his principles into practice throughout the whole of the Unions in the United Kingdom. Knowing the extraordinary appetite of the vulgar for anything approaching the unintelligible and marvellous, we feel sorry to be obliged, by a brief detail of this gentleman's early life and habits, to divest the present phenomenon of much of its apparent wonder and romance. Mr. Cavanagh was in infancy rather remarkable for the many sleepless nights he occasioned his worthy parents by his juvenile intimations that fasting at that time was no part of his system. He progressed rapidly in his powers of consumption, and was indeed a child of [Illustration: A FULL HABIT;] or, as his nurse expressed it, he was _alwaist_ good for three rounds at breakfast, not at all to be sneezed at luncheon, anything but bad at dinner, hearty at tea (another three-rounder), and very consistent at supper. "Reverse of fortune changes friends"--reverse of circumstances, alas! too often changes feeds!--pecuniary disappointments brought on a reduction of circumstances--reduction of circumstances occasioned a reduction of meals, and the necessity for such reduction being very apparent to a philosophic mind, engendered a reduction of craving for the same. Perhaps nothing could have proved more generally beneficial than the individual misfortunes of Mr. Bernard Cavanagh, which transferred him to one of those Elysiums of brick and mortar, the "Poor Law Union." Here, as he himself expresses it, the fearful fallacies of his past system were made beautifully apparent; he felt as if existence could be maintained by the infinitesimal process, so benevolently advocated and regularly prepared, that one step more was all that was necessary to arrive at dietary perfectibility. That step he took, it being simply, instead of next to nothing, to live on nothing at all; and now, such was his opinion of the condiments supplied, he declares it to be by far the pleasantest of the two. It has been reported that Mr. Bernard Cavanagh's powers of abstinence have their latent origin in enthusiasm. This he confesses to be the case, his great admiration for fasting having arisen from the circumstance of his frequently seeing the process of manufacturing the pauper gruel, which sight filled him with most intense yearnings to hit upon some plan by which, as far as he was concerned, he might for ever avoid any participation in its consumption. That immense cigar, the mild Cavanagh! favours us with the following practical account of his system; by which he intends, through the means of enthusiasm, to render breakfasts a superfluity--luncheons, inutilities--dinners, dreadful extravagancies--teas, iniquitous wastes--and suppers, supper-erogatories. Mr. B.C. proposes the instant dismissal, without wages or warning, of all the cooks, and substitution of the like number of Ciceros; thereby affording a more ample mental diet, as the followers will be served out with orations instead of rations. For the proper excitement of the necessary enthusiasm, he submits the following Mental Bill of Fare:-- FOR STRONG STOMACHS AND WEAK INTELLECTS:-- Feargus O'Connor, as per Crown and Anchor. Mr. Vincent. Mr. Roebuck, with ancestral sauce--very fine, if not pitched too strong. N.B.--In case of surfeit from the above, the editor of the _Times_ may be resorted to as an antidote. Daniel O'Connell--whose successful practice of the exciting and fasting, or rather, starving system, among the rent contributors in Ireland, not only proves the truth of the theory, but enables B.C. to recommend him as the safest dish in the _carte_. FOR WEAK STOMACHS AND VERY SMALL IMAGINATIONS:-- D'Israeli (Ben)--breakfast off the "Wondrous Tale of Alroy." Bulwer--lunch on "Siamese Twins." Stephens--dine off "The Hungarian Daughter." Heraud--tea off "The Deluge,"--sup off the whole Minerva Library. N.B.--None of the above, will bear the slightest dilution. FOR DELICATE DIGESTIONS, AND LIMITED UNDERSTANDINGS, PERUSALS OF "World of Fashion." Lord John Russell's "Don Carlos." Montgomery's "Satan" (very good as a devil). "Journal of Civilization." Any of F. Chorley's writings, Robins' advertisements, or poetry relating to Warren's Jet Blacking. FOR MENTAL BOLTERS Ainsworth's "Jack Sheppard." Harmer's "Weekly Dispatch." "Newgate Calendar." "Terrific Register," "Frankenstein," &c. &c. &c. The above forms a brief abstract of Mr. B.C.'s plan, furnished and approved by the Poor Law Commissioners. We are credibly informed that the same enlightened gentleman is at present making arrangements with Sir Robert Peel for the total repeal of the use of bread by all operatives, and thereby tranquillising the present state of excitement upon the corn-law question; proving bread, once erroneously considered the staff of life, to be nothing more than a mere ornamental opera cane. * * * * * SYNCRETIC LITERATURE. _Concluding remarks on an Epic Poem of Giles Scroggins and Molly Brown._ The circumstance which rendered Giles Scroggins peculiarly ineligible as a bridegroom eminently qualified him as a tenant for one of those receptacles in which defunct mortals progress to "that bourne from whence no traveller returns." Fancy the bereaved Molly, or, as she is in grief, and grief is tragical, Mary Brown, denuded of her scarf and black gloves, turning faintly from the untouched cake and tasteless wine, and retiring to the virtuous couch, whereon, with aching heart, the poet asserts she, the said "Poor Molly, laid her down to weep;" and then contemplate her the victim of somnolent consequences, when-- "She cried herself quite fast asleep," Here an ordinary mind might have left the maiden and reverted "to her streaming eyes," inflamed lids, dishevelled locks, and bursting sigh, as satisfactory evidences of the truth of her broken-heartedness, but the "great anonymous" of whom we treat, scorns the application of such external circumstances as agents whereby to depict the intenseness of the passion of the ten thousand condensed turtle-doves glowing in the bosom of _his_ heroine. Sleep falls upon her eyes; but the "life of death," the subtle essence of the shrouded soul, the watchful sentinel and viewless evidence of immortality, the wild and flitting air-wrought impalpabilities of her fitful dreams, still haunt her in her seeming hours of rest. Fancy her feelings-- "When, standing fast by her bed-post, A figure tall her sight engross'd," and it cried-- "'I be's Giles Scroggins' ghost.'" Such is the frightful announcement commemorative of this visitation from the wandering spirit of the erratic Giles. Death has indeed parted them. Giles is cold, but still his love is warm! He loved and won her in life--he hints at a right of possession in death; and this very forgetfulness of what he _was_, and what he _is_, is the best essence of the overwhelming intensity of his passion. He continues (with a beautiful reliance on the faith and _living_ constancy of Molly, in reciprocation, though dead, of his deathless attachment) to offer her a share, not of his bed and board, but of his shell and shroud. There is somewhat of the imperative in the invitation, which runs thus:-- "The ghost it said so solemnly, 'Oh, Molly, you _must_ go with me, All to the grave, your love to cool.'" We have no doubt this assumption of command on the part of the ghost--an assumption, be it remembered, never ventured upon by the living Giles--gave rise to some unpleasant reflections in the mind of the slumbering Molly. _Must_ is certainly an awkward word. Tell any lady that she _must_ do this, or _must_ do that, and, however much her wishes may have previously prompted the proceeding, we feel perfectly satisfied, that on the very shortest notice she will find an absolute and undeniable reason why such a proceeding is diametrically opposed to the line of conduct she _will_, and therefore ought to, adopt. With an intuitive knowledge of human nature, the great poet purposely uses the above objectionable word. How could he do otherwise, or how more effectually, and less offensively, extricate Molly Brown from the unpleasant tenantry of the proposed under-ground floor? Command invariably begets opposition, opposition as certainly leads to argument. So proves our heroine, who, with a beautiful evasiveness, delivers the following expostulation:-- "Says she, 'I am not dead, you fool!'" One would think _that_ was a pretty decent clincher, by way of a reason for declining the proposed trip to Giles Scroggins' little property at his own peculiar "Gravesend;" but as contradiction begets controversy, and the enlightened poet is fully aware of the effect of that cause, the undaunted sprite of the interred Giles instantly opposes this, to him, flimsy excuse, and upon the peculiar veracity of a wandering ghost, triumphantly exclaims, in the poet's words--words that, lest any mistake should arise as to the speaker by the peculiar construction of the sentence, are rendered _doubly_ individual, for-- "_Says_ the _ghost_, says _he_, vy that's no rule!" There's a staggerer! being alive no rule for _not_ being buried! how _is_ Molly Brown to get out of that high-pressure cleft-stick? how! that's the question! Why not in a state of somnolency, not during the "death of each day's life; no, it is clear, to escape such a consummation she must be wide awake." The poet sees this, and with the energy of a master-mind, he brings the invisible chimera of her entranced imagination into effective operation. Argument with a man who denies first premises, and we submit the assertion that vitality is no exception to the treatment of the dead, amounts to that. We say, argument with such a man is worse than nothing; it would be fallacious as the Eolian experiment of whistling the most inspiriting jigs to an inanimate, and consequently unmusical, milestone, opposing a transatlantic thunder-storm with "a more paper than powder" "penny cracker," or setting an owl to outstare the meridian sun. The poet knew and felt this, and therefore he ends the delusion and controversy by an overt act:-- "The ghost then seized her all so grim, All for to go along with him; 'Come, come,' said he, 'e'er morning beam.'" To which she replies with the following determined announcement:-- "'I von't!' said she, and scream'd a scream, Then she voke, and found she'd dream'd a dream!" These are the last words we have left to descant upon: they are such as should be the last; and, like _Joseph Surface_, "moral to the end." The glowing passions the fervent hopes, the anticipated future, of the loving pair, all, all are frustrated! The great lesson of life imbues the elaborate production; the thinking reader, led by its sublimity to a train of deep reflection, sees at once the uncertainty of earthly projects, and sighing owns the wholesome, though still painful truth, that the brightest sun is ever the first cause of the darkest shadow; and from childhood upwards, the blissful visions of our gayest fancy--forced by the cry of stern reality--call back the mental wanderer from imaginary bliss, to be again the worldly drudge; and, thus awakened to his real state, confess, like our sad heroine, Molly Brown, he too, has _dreamt a dream_. FUSBOS. * * * * * FATHER O'FLYNN AND HIS CONGREGATION. Father Francis O'Flynn, or, as he was generally called by his parishioners, "Father Frank," was the choicest specimen you could desire of a jolly, quiet-going, ease-loving, Irish country priest of the old school. His parish lay near a small town in the eastern part of the county Cork, and for forty-five years he lived amongst his flock, performing all the duties of his office, and taking his dues (when he got them) with never-tiring good-humour. But age, that spares not priest nor layman, had stolen upon Father Frank, and he gradually relinquished to his younger curates the task of preaching, till at length his sermons dwindled down to two in the year--one at Christmas, and the other at Easter, at which times his clerical dues were about coming in. It was on one of these memorable occasions that I first chanced to hear Father Frank address his congregation. I have him now before my mind's eye, as he then appeared; a stout, middle-sized man, with ample shoulders, enveloped in a coat of superfine black, and substantial legs encased in long straight boots, reaching to the knee. His forehead, and the upper part of his head, were bald; but the use of hair-powder gave a fine effect to his massive, but good-humoured features, that glowed with the rich tint of a hale old age. A bunch of large gold seals, depending from a massive jack-chain of the same metal, oscillated with becoming dignity from the lower verge of his waistcoat, over the goodly prominence of his "fair round belly." Glancing his half-closed, but piercing eye around his auditory, as if calculating the contents of every pocket present, he commenced his address as follows:--"Well, my good people, I suppose ye know that to-morrow will be the _pattern_[1] of Saint Fineen, and no doubt ye'll all be for going to the blessed well to say your _padhereens_;[2] but I'll go bail there's few of you ever heard the rason why the water of that well won't raise a lather, or wash anything clean, though you were to put all the soap in Cork into it. Well, pay attintiou, and I'll tell you.--Mrs. Delany, can't you keep your child quiet while I'm spaking?--It happened a long while ago, that Saint Fineen, a holy and devout Christian, lived all alone, convaynient to the well; there he was to be found ever and always praying and reading his breviary upon a cowld stone that lay beside it. Onluckily enough, there lived also in the neighbourhood a _callieen dhas_[3] called Morieen, and this Morieen had a fashion of coming down to the well every morning, at sunrise, to wash her legs and feet; and, by all accounts, you couldn't meet a whiter or shapelier pair from this to Bantry. Saint Fineen, however, was so disthracted in his heavenly meditations, poor man! that he never once looked at them; but kept his eyes fast on his holy books, while Morieen was rubbing and lathering away, till the legs used to look like two beautiful pieces of alabasther in the clear water. Matters went on this way for some time, Morieen coming regular to the well, till one fine morning, as she stepped into the water, without minding what she was about, she struck her foot against a a stone and cut it. [1] _Pattern_--a corruption of _Patron_--means, in Ireland, the anniversary of the Saint to whom a holy well has been consecrated, on which day the peasantry make pilgrimages to the well. [2] Beads [3] Pretty girl "'Oh! Millia murdher! What'll I do?' cried the _callieen_, in the pitifulles voice you ever heard. "'What's the matter?' said Saint Fineen. "'I've cut my foot agin this misfortinat stone,' says she, making answer. "Then Saint Fineen lifted up his eyes from his blessed book, and he saw Morieen's legs and feet. "'Oh! Morieen!' says he, after looking awhile at them, 'what white legs you have got!' "'Have I?' says she, laughing, 'and how do _you_ know that?' "Immediately the Saint remimbered himself, and being full of remorse and conthrition for his fault, he laid his commands upon the well, that its water should never wash anything white again.--and, as I mentioned before, all the soap in Ireland wouldn't raise a lather on it since. Now that's the thrue histhory of St. Fineen's blessed well; and I hope and thrust it will be a saysonable and premonitory lesson to all the young men that hears me, not to fall into the vaynial sin of admiring the white legs of the girls." As soon as his reverence paused, a buzz of admiration ran through the chapel, accompanied by that peculiar rapid noise made by the lower class of an Irish Roman Catholic congregation, when their feelings of awe, astonishment, or piety, are excited by the preacher.[4] [4] This sound, which is produced by a quick motion of the tongue against the teeth and roof of the mouth, may be expressed thus; "tth, tth, tth, tth, tth." Father Frank having taken breath, and wiped his forehead, resumed his address. "I'm going to change my subject now, and I expect attintion. Shawn Barry! Where's Shawn Barry?" "Here, your Rivirence," replies a voice from the depth of the crowd. "Come up here, Shawn, 'till I examine you about your Catechism and docthrines." A rough-headed fellow elbowed his way slowly through the congregation, and moulding his old hat into a thousand grotesque shapes, between his huge palms, presented himself before his pastor, with very much the air of a puzzled philosopher. "Well, Shawn, my boy, do you know what is the meaning of Faith?" "Parfictly, your Rivirence," replied the fellow, with a knowing grin. "Faith means when Paddy Hogan gives me credit for half-a-pint of the best." "Get out of my sight, you ondaycent vagabond; you're a disgrace to my flock. Here, you Tom M'Gawley, what's Charity?" "Bating a process-sarver, your Rivirence," replied Tom, promptly. "Oh! blessed saints! how I'm persecuted with ye, root and branch. Jim Houlaghan, I'm looking at you, there, behind Peggy Callanane's cloak; come up here, you hanging _bone slieveen_[5] and tell me what is the Last Day?" [5] A sly rogue. "I didn't come to that yet, sir," replied Jim, scratching his head. "I wouldn't fear you, you bosthoon. Well, listen, and I'll tell you. It's the day when you'll all have to settle your accounts, and I'm thinking there'll be a heavy score against some of you, if you don't mind what I'm saying to you. When that day comes, I'll walk up to Heaven and rap at the hall door. Then St. Pether, who will be takin' a nap after dinner in his arm-chair, inside, and not liking ta be disturbed, will call out mighty surly, 'Who's there?'" "'It's I, my Lord,' I'll make answer. "Av course, he'll know my voice, and, jumping up like a cricket, he'll open the door as wide as the hinges will let it, and say quite politely-- "'I'm proud to see you here, Father Frank. Walk in, if you plase.' "Upon that I'll scrape my feet, and walk in, and then St. Pether will say agin-- "'Well, Father Frank, what have you got to say for yourself? Did you look well afther your flock; and mind to have them all christened, and married, and buried, according to the rites of our holy church?' "Now, good people, I've been forty-five years amongst you, and didn't I christen every mother's soul of you?" _Congregation._--You did,--you did,--your Rivirence. _Father Frank._--Well, and didn't I bury the most of you, too? _Congregation._--You did, your Rivirence. _Father Frank._--And didn't I do my best to get dacent matches for all your little girls? I And didn't I get good wives for all the well-behaved boys in my parish?--Why don't you spake up, Mick Donovan? _Mick._--You did, your Rivirence. _Father Frank._--Well, that's settled:--but then St. Pether will say--"Father Frank," says he, "you're a proper man; but how did your flock behave to you--did they pay you your dues regularly?" Ah! good Christians, how shall I answer _that_ question? Put it in my power to say something good of you: don't be ashamed to come up and pay your priest's dues. Come,--make a lane there, and let ye all come up with conthrite hearts and open hands. Tim Delaney!--make way for Tim:--how much will you give, Tim? _Tim._--I'll not be worse than another, your Riverence. I'll give a crown. _Father Frank._--Thank you, Timothy: the dacent drop is in you. Keep a lane, there!--any of ye that hasn't a crown, or half-a-crown, don't be bashful of coming up with your _hog_ or your _testher_.[6] [6] A _shilling_ or a _sixpence_. And thus Father Frank went on encouraging and wheedling his flock to pay up his dues, until he had gone through his entire congregation, when I left the chapel, highly amused at the characteristic scene I had witnessed. X. * * * * * A PRUDENT REASON. Our gallant Sibthorp was lately invited by a friend to accompany him in a pleasure trip in his yacht to Cowes. "No!" exclaimed Sib.; "you don't catch me venturing near _Cowes_." "And why not?" inquired his friend. "Because I was never vaccinated," replied the hirsute hero. * * * * * DOCTOR PEEL TAKING TIME TO CONSULT. Once upon a time--says an old Italian novelist--a horse fell, as in a fit, with his rider. The people, running from all sides, gathered about the steed, and many and opposite were the opinions of the sudden malady of the animal; as many the prescriptions tendered for his recovery. At length, a great hubbub arose among the mob; and a fellow, with the brass of a merryandrew, and the gravity of a quack-doctor, pressed through the throng, and approached the beast. Suddenly there was silence. It was plain to the vulgar that the solemn new-comer had brought with him some exquisite specific: it was evident, from the grave self-complacency of the stranger, that with a glance, he had detected the cause of sickness in the horse,--and that, in a few seconds, the prostrate animal, revivified by the cunning of the sage, would be up, and once more curvetting and caracoling. The master of the steed eyed the stranger with an affectionate anxiety; the mob were awed into breathless

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Homemade teeth whitener!!

15 Jan 2008 at 6:02am  Homemade teeth whitener!!
brainie23
35 sec - Jan 15, 2008

Wanna get your teeth whiter??? Here's a recipe to make your own homemade teeth whitener. So your teeth can be so white like the most superstars and hollywood people have them!!!!! Shiney white!!!! but look out: that you use the recipe just like in the video or else your teeth could be to white or fall out:P:P hahah the last comment whas a joke.....your teeth don't fall out!!! Oke greetsssssss me Ps: just subscripe or rate me iff you like;) i would appreciate that!!!!!!

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Remove Years Of Coffee Stains From Teeth-suss Sassy

7 Jan 2007 at 2:30am  Remove Years Of Coffee Stains From Teeth-suss Sassy

1 min - Jan 7, 2007

Bleach your own teeth practically FREE,This is the secret the dentist dont want you to know about

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Secrets For Achieving A Beautiful Celebrity Hollywood Smile

21 Apr 2006 at 10:03pm  Whenever a person smiles, it is a welcome feature in general. However, to find an answer for how to improve a beautiful smile like many Hollywood celebrities, one has to naturally think on the lighten...

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