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In This Issue

• The Mighty Hunter
• The Orphan: Victim or Commodity?
• Sex and the City, Victorian Style
• Choose Your Own Victorian Adventure!
• Letters to the Feditors
• Lay A (Caucasian) Burden Down
• Missives From My Mother
• A Cautionary Invective On Throttling One's Own Fowl
• Change Comes To Constants
• London's Burning!
• "Green Sickness": For That Vintage Venereal Burn
• Dear Fundamentalists: Get Down And Get With It
• Fed Sudoku Challenge!
• Connect-the-Dots
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 21.6

Michael Bredin

Ria Mar-Fan

As many of my learned companions have by now realized, it is imperative that this problem of poor, orphaned, and unwashed children peopling our streets be resolved. There are hardly enough governesses to make their being educated a possibility. What, then, is to be done with these unclaimed, innocent young creatures?

At our orphanage, we provide an adoption outreach program-the first of its kind-for children who would otherwise have no other destination but that of the glue factory. We have a goodly selection of misfits and miscreants at prices befitting our uncertain economy. I am certain you will find children to fulfill every need and occupation in our list below.

For example, the last child to leave this establishment was adopted by a family with a country estate.  They are ever so fond of game and other pleasantries out there.  Unfortunately, as fox hunting is not currently in season, the master of the house found himself in a bind, what with his foxhounds swiftly becoming fat and lazy without a suitable quarry to pursue. Maxwell, a lad of roughly three years old, obviously lacks the speed, cunning, and fine red tail of our favorite game, but the family reports back to me that he is at any rate faster than a game cock, and almost as quick-witted as a wild turkey. I warmly wished them well, and promised them at least three more heads for next year.

Now this child, Bridget, is small, of murky complexion, and quite unfortunately female. At five years old, she is a perfect example of how our fine British stock has been compromised through the regrettable coupling of an Asiatic harlot with an Englishman. Young Bridget's veins course with Oriental blood, making her quite unfit for society in general. Her father, quite out of sorts that his superior English breeding had no effect on his daughter's countenance, had no choice but to leave his uncertain offspring to us. Alas, such are the necessary risks of taking up the white man's burden. However, I feel quite confident in offering her to any chimney sweeps in the area who are in need of assistance. Her rather foreign features recommend her for the job, as being covered in chimney soot will likely not be as noticeable, and as she is small in stature, she will fit most assuredly in chimneys of all sizes. Best of all, her vocal chords are equally small-if one finds it difficult to retrieve her from said chimney, rest confident that her cries will not attract much attention.

Another child, Oliver, was a less than ideal candidate for adoption. Rotund in bearing, stout in stature, and phlegmatic and asthmatic in temperament, Oliver seemed ill-suited to most pursuits. However, the use that Lord Kensington found for him illustrates both the altruistic nature of our dear patron, and the versatility of the children housed at our fine establishment. When Lord Kensington took it upon himself to brave the war being battled in Crimea, Oliver was sent along to accompany the esteemed gentleman, as perhaps he might provide amusement, or at the very least, collateral with which to support Lord Kensington's ever increasing predilection for cards. However, when Britannia found itself at a loss for weaponry, our fine British cannons housed young Oliver comfortably. Oliver was a rather paltry attempt at a child; but as a cannon ball, he rose to the occasion. Lord Kensington, however, was unable to comment favorably upon our product's fine uses, as he contracted a viral infection and died soon after his return to London.

We are in possession of a number of older children, barely out of their adorable, cherubic youth. Too young for the workhouses and too old for any of the above mentioned prospects, we were initially at a loss for what to do with them. Yet a particularly tall eleven year old male served Lady Wickham quite well in the heat. The poor lady finds that sporting a parasol in our humid climate to be far beyond her capabilities; this hulking brute of a lad, however, shields her from our fine British rays, keeping her complexion as pale and un-ravaged as ever. He's made it possible for her to brave the outdoors without resorting to either laudanum or a fainting spell. As his pale features seem to have burnt out somewhat, we have on order several fine looking specimens coming straight from the Orient, whose rough complexions and tolerance of harsh climates may do just the trick.

Finally, we also possess children of a somewhat...distempered nature. These children appear to have been subjected to difficult times in their formative years, and many of them are far too savage to serve the usages of a proper middle class family. Thus, we recommend them to the more downwardly mobile of our constituency. Take young Baldrick. Truly, a phrenologist would have a fine time diagnosing the young imp's ills and woes. Baldrick has a tendency towards collecting and hoarding objects, particularly those belonging to others. He is utterly incorrigible: a series of burns over the young creature's forearms and hands attest to his imperviousness to physical punishments, and chastising the devil only leads to laughter. His skills have yet to be honed; perhaps under the tutelage of a strong willed master, he will grow to hone his craft. Theft, murder, grave robbing, and more await him in his new life.

It seems that children, too, have a place in the Empire. Though they may appear useless and insignificant, they in fact serve many a function. And as every day they multiply, more and more appear on our doorstop. Won't you do your part to give these bedraggled creatures a livelihood and a home?