OUR QUARTER'S ACCOUNT.

"One branch of English tradesmen."

That is to say, they are the Metropolitan Omnibus Proprietors, complaining by the pen ofMr. H. Gray, their Chairman, toLord Aberdeen, against certain clauses of the Hackney Carriage Act. We dare say this "one branch of English tradesmen" will no more be rendered subject to an "irresponsible police power" than any other branch of the same tree; but if "like master like man" is a true proverb, the proprietors of omnibuses are gentlemen whom it is quite right the police should "look after," and, at least, have power to make them "move on." We are glad to see that they admire the onward progress of civil freedom, and hope they will contrive to make their drivers and conductors stick to that; for the liberty which those persons are in the habit of taking is too often destitute of civility.

Mr. Punch with two ladies

Mr. Punch'sQuarterly account has, like that of the nation, been duly made up, and presents equally satisfactory results with the national finance sheet.

There has been an increase of 537 Epigrams on the corresponding quarter in last year.

In the Jokes department there has been no very great increase, but this is accounted for by the contributor whose business it is to make them having fancied himself in love, and taken to ultra-sentimental poetry. But we are happy to state that he has been unmistakeably thrown over by the young lady, and will at once return to his duties.

On the Capital Hits the increase is very large, and although this may in some measure be due to the military array at Chobham, there is no reason to think there will be a drawback, especially as no announcement has appeared of any intention to close Parliament or the Princess's Theatre.

On the Imports and Stamps, that is to say, the original plays, and the actors' displays, there is a small diminution, owing to a pair of spectacles and the warm evenings, butMr. Punchanticipates that he shall have a different account to give at his next return, and after his next return check.

The Great Cuts show their usual average of 13 to the quarter, but evince the remarkable progressive phenomenon of each being more supernaturally brilliant than its predecessor, and adding a new lustre to this unparalleled gallery of Social and Political Satire, prompted by Philanthropy, elevated by High Art, recognised by the Million, and published at 85, Fleet Street.

On every item in the Miscellaneous List the return is comparatively, as well as positively and superlatively satisfactory. To the Bride in her Honeymoon, to the Cabman and the Cabinet Minister at their respective boxes, to the Bribed Elector in his Dungeon and to the Spirit Rapper in his Sell, to the Artist before, the Candidate after, and the Soldier under, his Canvass, to the woman-smiting ruffian, now (thanks toFitzroy) catching it from Beak and Clause, to the spoiled juvenile at the Jellies and the Undergraduate at the Isis, to the Actor at the Wing and the Author at the Tale, to the Fisherman at the Perch and to the Politician knocked off it, to the Turk by his Port, to the Guardsman by his Tent, to the Policeman by his Cape, the Exeter Arcade Beadle by his White Hermitage, and to the Masquerader by his patron saintJullien,Mr. Punchis delighted to say that they will all find their account in looking through his accounts for the last quarter.

(To the Member for Lincoln.)

It is,Colonel Sibthorp, as you say, a mean, dirty, shabby, and disgraceful measure—that Expenses of Elections Bill, which prohibits flags and bands of music at Parliamentary elections. Flags, no doubt, materially assist a thinking man in the process of deliberation, by which he determines on a fit and proper person to represent him in Parliament. But, waving the flags, let us more particularly denounce the prohibition of music. The proposal, of course, arose from an absence of music in the soul, and a fitness for treasons on the part of the revolutionist who originated it.

But abuse,Colonel, is not argument. Relinquishing the former, let us bring forward the latter.

Election music is an institution of our ancestors; and,youmay say, was intended for the promotion of harmony between opposite parties. When it was first introduced, philharmonic art was in the state wherein it had been left by SaintCecilia, and had not arrived at the perfection which it has attained to underM. Jullien. The wisdom of our ancestors was greatly in advance of their music; their common sense was acute, but their perception of sweet sounds obtuse; they had "a reasonable good ear in music," according toBottom'sidea thereof; let them have the tongs and bones—give themBumper Squire Jones,Old Sir Simon the King,The Roast Beef of Old England, and the like, and they were content. Tunes that the old cow died of animated them: they were enchanted by melodies that now only charm the hearts of broomsticks. Elevated, however, they were by these old rugged but patriotic strains, and in a state of elevation they rushed to the poll, and did their duty as men and Britons.

But now, what with the performances at Exeter Hall and the Promenade Concerts, what with hearingIsrael in Egypt, andRigoletto, andBeethoven'sSymphony in C. Minor, andMozart'sRequiem, andPop goes the Weasel, the public ear has got educated, and looks down—if an ear can look, as perhaps it can in a state of clairvoyance—on a perambulatory orchestra of free and independent Britons: independent chiefly in their playing.

What then? Abolish election music? Do away with a great institution because it has been inefficiently carried out? No; to be sure. Improve it, in accordance with the requirements of the age. Don't put down election bands; but give them better music to play; not,Colonel, that I shall contradict you if you say that there can be none better thanThe Roast Beef, &c. Have pieces composed on purpose for elections; symphonies breathing loyalty and order together with a spirit of economy and retrenchment; pastoral symphonies expressive of the feelings of the agricultural interests; marches infusing into the minds of voters courage to resist attempts at intimidation: overtures of a lofty character, different fromCoppock's. At Lincoln, where you could have it all your own way, you might cause to be performed music descriptive of dislike of the Whigs, and of want of confidence inHer Majesty'sGovernment. There are, doubtless, musical effects representative of all human emotions; disgust, even, at the recollection of the Crystal Palace.

To prevent Ministerial jobbery, let the candidates have to find the music; composers as well as executants; base is the slave who cannot pay his expenses, and something more: like a gentleman, like yourself, and like

PUNCH

P.S. Solos to the tune of £.s.d.to be performed by any candidates who choose, as they have a right, to do what they like with their own. TheRogue's Marchwould be an appropriate air to celebrate the next return of the Noble Lord the Member for London. Eh?

(As Sung bySir John Pakingtonat St. Stephen's Theatre in the new Musical Comedy of the Successions' Tax.)

Sure Derbyites were born to sorrow,Kicked out to-day, and mocked to-morrow;By Dizzy I'm snubbed, and byCobdenI'm rated,Ne'er was Chairman of Quarter Sessions so sittivated.There'sGladstoneswears the squires shan't trick him,And vote as they may, it seems they can't lick him.Their Taxation Area he enlarges,And a Succession Tax on real property charges.Oh! lackaday,PityJohnny, lackaday!I denounced the bill in a voice of thunder,And a House of fifty Members as "FraudandPlunder:"But they only grinned at my desperationAnd my lack of all "powers of ratiocination."ThatGladstonehe has quite undone me;Like any bashaw looks down upon me,When I kneels to ax for the squires some mercy,It does no good—but vice varsey.Oh! lackaday,PityJohnny, lackaday!

Sure Derbyites were born to sorrow,

Kicked out to-day, and mocked to-morrow;

By Dizzy I'm snubbed, and byCobdenI'm rated,

Ne'er was Chairman of Quarter Sessions so sittivated.

There'sGladstoneswears the squires shan't trick him,

And vote as they may, it seems they can't lick him.

Their Taxation Area he enlarges,

And a Succession Tax on real property charges.

Oh! lackaday,

PityJohnny, lackaday!

I denounced the bill in a voice of thunder,And a House of fifty Members as "FraudandPlunder:"But they only grinned at my desperationAnd my lack of all "powers of ratiocination."ThatGladstonehe has quite undone me;Like any bashaw looks down upon me,When I kneels to ax for the squires some mercy,It does no good—but vice varsey.Oh! lackaday,PityJohnny, lackaday!

I denounced the bill in a voice of thunder,

And a House of fifty Members as "FraudandPlunder:"

But they only grinned at my desperation

And my lack of all "powers of ratiocination."

ThatGladstonehe has quite undone me;

Like any bashaw looks down upon me,

When I kneels to ax for the squires some mercy,

It does no good—but vice varsey.

Oh! lackaday,

PityJohnny, lackaday!

[Exit L.

Hoping against Hope.—Taking a ticket in a Betting-Office.

WWE agree withProfessor Faradaythat there is something very startling in the condition of the public mind in regard to scientific reasoning. Here is a specimen—if correctly reported—of the ratiocination of a British Legislator, and a gentleman of more than average education, moreover, a polemic of considerable celebrity; relative to a simple question of evidence. At a recent meeting of the "English Homœopathic Association," according to theMorning Post:—

WE agree withProfessor Faradaythat there is something very startling in the condition of the public mind in regard to scientific reasoning. Here is a specimen—if correctly reported—of the ratiocination of a British Legislator, and a gentleman of more than average education, moreover, a polemic of considerable celebrity; relative to a simple question of evidence. At a recent meeting of the "English Homœopathic Association," according to theMorning Post:—

"Mr. Miall, M.P., moved the adoption of the report, and stated that he had become a convert to the truth of the principles of Homœopathy from seeing their effects as regarded a relative—though, thanks to the goodness of Providence, he had no personal experience of them."

To any one possessed of common understanding and decent information, who is accustomed to exercise the least caution in drawing inferences, who has the slightest glimmering of an idea of the nature of inductive proof, who does not, in short, jump to his conclusions like a kangaroo, it is truly marvellous that any sane human mind should be capable of such a generalization as the above.Mr. Miallsays that he became "a convert to the principles of Homœopathy"—whence? From carefully sifting an accumulation of evidence, patiently comparing and analysing hosts of facts? No; but "from seeing their effects as regarded a relative."

This is just the mental process by which an old woman arrives at a faith inHolloway'sorMorison's Pills.

Observe, too, that the thing whichMr. Miallis persuaded of with such facility, is one which is, so far from being in itself likely, anteriorly improbable in the very highest degree, and, indeed, ridiculously absurd on the first face of it.

It is curious how nonsensically men, otherwise intelligent, will argue whenever they meddle with a question relative to medicine. A man is reckoned a fool for talking about any other subject which he does not understand; but it seems to be assumed that there is a specialty in medical matters, which admits of sound opinions being formed respecting them by people who are entirely ignorant of them.

Mr. Miall, however, uses a correct expression when he calls himself a "convert" to Homœopathy. Science has no "converts." Scientific truths are either self-evident or demonstrable. Philosophical systems are not "denominations" or "persuasions." It is systems of another kind that exercise faith—such faith as Mr.Miallappears to repose in Homœopathy.

To medical nonconformity, however, letMr. Miallbe welcome, if he will only suffer nonconformity of another kind to constitute him no obstacle to that "secular" education which is so needful a preservative against all manner of humbug.

We say Amen to Mr.Miall'sthanksgiving for never having experienced the effects of Homœopathy in his own person; that is to say, never having experienced the effects of a serious illness unchecked by the quackery resorted to for its cure.

The Jews are excluded from Parliament by bigotry—but not merely by the bigotry of the House of Peers.

Facts are stubborn things; they are also bigoted things: at least Matter-of-fact exhibits a remarkable bigotry in regard to the Jews.

Last week, in the law reports, appeared the old story of the plucked pigeon; dissipation, horse-dealing, bill-discounting, cheating, and rascality. Bigoted Matter-of-fact, as usual, exhibited the scoundrel of the tale as a gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion.

How is it, that if there is any villany, if there is any wickedness of a particularly dirty sort; a case of bill-stealing, receipt of stolen goods, fraudulent gambling, marine store-shop, or other disreputable establishment, the party chiefly implicated is sure, in the great majority of instances, to be a gentleman rejoicing in the name, slightly corrupted, of one of the prophets or patriarchs? For so it is, according to bigoted Matter-of-fact.

While so much bigotry exists, a corresponding amount of prejudice must also exist, tending to obstruct the entrance of Israelites into the House of Commons. For if the bigot Matter-of-fact's assertion, that in nine cases out of ten a bill discounter, low-hell-keeper, fence, or other trader in wickedness, is a Jew, be believed, then the supposition that it is ten to one that a Jew is a rogue, is not very unreasonable.

Now the Jewish community is not numerous and poor, but just the reverse; and its chiefs are wallowing in riches. Would they not take the most effectual means of getting their disabilities removed, if, by diffusing education throughout their body, they could manage to abate that bigotry of Matter-of-fact which ascribes to it so large a portion of discreditable members?

ON HIS ASTONISHMENT AT THE EXTENT OF POPULAR DELUSION WHICH HAS BEEN DISCLOSED BY "TABLE-TURNING."

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Much as you've discovered touching chemic laws and powers,Strange, that you should, till now, never have discovered howMany foolish dunces there are in this world of ours!Nature's veracity, whilst with perspicacity,Vigilantly, carefully, you labour to educe,Little do you suspect how extremely incorrectCommon observation is, and common sense how loose.Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Did you of enlightenment consider this an age?Bless your simplicity, deep in electricity.But, in social matters, unsophisticated sage!Weak Superstition dead; knocked safely on the head,Long since buried deeper than the bed of the Red Sea,Did you not fondly fancy? Did you think that necromancyPractised now at the expense of any fool could be?Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Persons not uneducated—very highly dressedFine folks as peer and peeress, go and fee a Yankee seeress,To evoke their dead relations' Spirits from their rest.Also seek cunning men, feigning, by mesmeric ken,Missing property to trace and indicate the thief,Cure ailments, give predictions: all of these enormous fictionsAre, among our higher classes, matters of belief.Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Past, you probably supposed the days ofDr. Dee,Up turned his Crystal, though, but a little while ago,Full of magic visions for genteel small boys to see.Talk of gentility! see what gullibilityFashionable dupes of homœopathy betray,Who smallest globules cram with the very biggest flam,Swallowing both together in the most prodigious way.Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Men of learning, who, at least, should better know, you'd think,Credit a pack of odd tales of images that nod,Openly profess belief that certain pictures wink,That saints have sailed on cloaks, and without the slightest hoax,In the dark, by miracle, not like stale fish, did shine,Nor phosphorus, that slowly, might, in personages holy—As in others, possibly, with oxygen combine.Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Guided by the steady light which mighty Bacon lit,You naturally stare, seeing that so many areFollowing whither fraudulent Jack-with-the-Lanterns flit.Of scientific lore, though you have an ample store,Gotten by experiments, in one respect you lack;Society's weak side, whereupon you none have tried,Being all Philosopher and nothing of a Quack.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!

Much as you've discovered touching chemic laws and powers,

Strange, that you should, till now, never have discovered how

Many foolish dunces there are in this world of ours!

Nature's veracity, whilst with perspicacity,

Vigilantly, carefully, you labour to educe,

Little do you suspect how extremely incorrect

Common observation is, and common sense how loose.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Did you of enlightenment consider this an age?Bless your simplicity, deep in electricity.But, in social matters, unsophisticated sage!Weak Superstition dead; knocked safely on the head,Long since buried deeper than the bed of the Red Sea,Did you not fondly fancy? Did you think that necromancyPractised now at the expense of any fool could be?

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!

Did you of enlightenment consider this an age?

Bless your simplicity, deep in electricity.

But, in social matters, unsophisticated sage!

Weak Superstition dead; knocked safely on the head,

Long since buried deeper than the bed of the Red Sea,

Did you not fondly fancy? Did you think that necromancy

Practised now at the expense of any fool could be?

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Persons not uneducated—very highly dressedFine folks as peer and peeress, go and fee a Yankee seeress,To evoke their dead relations' Spirits from their rest.Also seek cunning men, feigning, by mesmeric ken,Missing property to trace and indicate the thief,Cure ailments, give predictions: all of these enormous fictionsAre, among our higher classes, matters of belief.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!

Persons not uneducated—very highly dressed

Fine folks as peer and peeress, go and fee a Yankee seeress,

To evoke their dead relations' Spirits from their rest.

Also seek cunning men, feigning, by mesmeric ken,

Missing property to trace and indicate the thief,

Cure ailments, give predictions: all of these enormous fictions

Are, among our higher classes, matters of belief.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Past, you probably supposed the days ofDr. Dee,Up turned his Crystal, though, but a little while ago,Full of magic visions for genteel small boys to see.Talk of gentility! see what gullibilityFashionable dupes of homœopathy betray,Who smallest globules cram with the very biggest flam,Swallowing both together in the most prodigious way.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!

Past, you probably supposed the days ofDr. Dee,

Up turned his Crystal, though, but a little while ago,

Full of magic visions for genteel small boys to see.

Talk of gentility! see what gullibility

Fashionable dupes of homœopathy betray,

Who smallest globules cram with the very biggest flam,

Swallowing both together in the most prodigious way.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Men of learning, who, at least, should better know, you'd think,Credit a pack of odd tales of images that nod,Openly profess belief that certain pictures wink,That saints have sailed on cloaks, and without the slightest hoax,In the dark, by miracle, not like stale fish, did shine,Nor phosphorus, that slowly, might, in personages holy—As in others, possibly, with oxygen combine.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!

Men of learning, who, at least, should better know, you'd think,

Credit a pack of odd tales of images that nod,

Openly profess belief that certain pictures wink,

That saints have sailed on cloaks, and without the slightest hoax,

In the dark, by miracle, not like stale fish, did shine,

Nor phosphorus, that slowly, might, in personages holy—

As in others, possibly, with oxygen combine.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!Guided by the steady light which mighty Bacon lit,You naturally stare, seeing that so many areFollowing whither fraudulent Jack-with-the-Lanterns flit.Of scientific lore, though you have an ample store,Gotten by experiments, in one respect you lack;Society's weak side, whereupon you none have tried,Being all Philosopher and nothing of a Quack.

Oh,Mr. Faraday, simpleMr. Faraday!

Guided by the steady light which mighty Bacon lit,

You naturally stare, seeing that so many are

Following whither fraudulent Jack-with-the-Lanterns flit.

Of scientific lore, though you have an ample store,

Gotten by experiments, in one respect you lack;

Society's weak side, whereupon you none have tried,

Being all Philosopher and nothing of a Quack.

We are continually hearing of some individual or other who is remarkable for what is called an "Enlarged Benevolence." We wishMr. Donovanwould explain to us the meaning of this phrase, for though we sometimes hear of an enlargement of the heart, or of a newspaper having been "permanently enlarged," we are puzzled to understand how there can be an enlargement of an individual's benevolence.

One great cause of the heaviness of Parliamentary debates is the jokes with which they are interspersed, although these are not numerous. A speech may contain but a single joke; but that one joke, or attempt at joking, is such as to give a weight to the whole discourse which it would not derive from the arguments advanced in it. To quote a House of Commons' witticism is generally to quoteJoe Miller, whom Honourable Gentlemen seem to cram in order to amuse, as they cramAdam Smithwith a view to instruct one another. Their jokes, like a very different kind of things, Chancery decisions, are warranted by precedent. Liberals though some of them may be in earnest, they are all Tories in fun.Stare super antiques jocosis the motto of the extremest Radicals among them. The boldest innovators of the Manchester School show a veneration for antiquity as far as that goes. When the cellars of the House of Commons are searched forGuy Fawkes, it is wonderful that no explosive matter is found in them; no jokes in bottles, laid down many years ago, full of beeswing, so to speak; old and dry. The foregoing reflections were suggested by a report, in the Parliamentary intelligence, of the most brilliant joke that has for a long time, as a gentleman in the Brigade might say, shaken the walls of St. Stephen's. This highly successful sally was made in Committee on the Expenses of Elections' Bill by

"Mr. Elliott, the Member for Roxburghshire, who expressed anxiety to know, as the clauses prohibited persons playing, whether in future any of his constituents would be fined for playing the Scotch fiddle?"

If this pun is not very witty, at least it savours of the quality nearest allied to wit.Mr. Elliott'shumorous question, moreover, is no unmeaning joke. It expresses a feeling probably very general among his constituents, who, we trust, will not, by any ungenerous legislation, be deprived of that relief, under circumstances of suffering, which they have always enjoyed under the ancient Scottish constitution.

A FAST MINOR.

My son, a father's warning heed;I think my end is nigh:And then, you dog, you will succeedUnto my property.But, seeing you are not, just yet,Arrived at man's estate,Before you full possession get,You'll have a while to wait.A large allowance I allotYou during that delay;And I don't recommend you notTo throw it all away.To such advice you'd ne'er attend;You won't let prudence ruleYour courses; but, I know, will spendYour money like a fool.I do not ask you to eschewThe paths of vice and sin;You'll do as all young boobies, whoAre left, as you say, tin.You'll sot, you'll bet; and being green,At all that's right you'll joke;Your life will be a constant sceneOf billiards and of smoke.With bad companions you'll consort,With creatures vile and base,Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short,The puppy's common case.But oh, my son! although you mustThrough this ordeal pass,You will not be, I hope—I trust—A wholly senseless ass.Of course, at prudence you will sneer,On that theme I won't harp;Be good, I won't say—that's severe;But be a little sharp.All rascally associates shunTo bid you were too much,But oh! beware, my spooney sonBeware one kind of such.It asks no penetrative mindTo know these fellows: whenYou meet them, you, unless you're blind.At once discern the men.The turgid lip, the piggish eye,The nose in form of hook,The rings, the pins, you tell them by,The vulgar flashy look.Spend every sixpence, if you please,But do not, I implore,Oh! do not go, my son, to theseVultures to borrow more.Live at a foolish wicked rate,My hopeful, if you choose,But don't your means anticipateThrough bill-discounting Jews.

My son, a father's warning heed;I think my end is nigh:And then, you dog, you will succeedUnto my property.

My son, a father's warning heed;

I think my end is nigh:

And then, you dog, you will succeed

Unto my property.

But, seeing you are not, just yet,Arrived at man's estate,Before you full possession get,You'll have a while to wait.

But, seeing you are not, just yet,

Arrived at man's estate,

Before you full possession get,

You'll have a while to wait.

A large allowance I allotYou during that delay;And I don't recommend you notTo throw it all away.

A large allowance I allot

You during that delay;

And I don't recommend you not

To throw it all away.

To such advice you'd ne'er attend;You won't let prudence ruleYour courses; but, I know, will spendYour money like a fool.

To such advice you'd ne'er attend;

You won't let prudence rule

Your courses; but, I know, will spend

Your money like a fool.

I do not ask you to eschewThe paths of vice and sin;You'll do as all young boobies, whoAre left, as you say, tin.

I do not ask you to eschew

The paths of vice and sin;

You'll do as all young boobies, who

Are left, as you say, tin.

You'll sot, you'll bet; and being green,At all that's right you'll joke;Your life will be a constant sceneOf billiards and of smoke.

You'll sot, you'll bet; and being green,

At all that's right you'll joke;

Your life will be a constant scene

Of billiards and of smoke.

With bad companions you'll consort,With creatures vile and base,Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short,The puppy's common case.

With bad companions you'll consort,

With creatures vile and base,

Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short,

The puppy's common case.

But oh, my son! although you mustThrough this ordeal pass,You will not be, I hope—I trust—A wholly senseless ass.

But oh, my son! although you must

Through this ordeal pass,

You will not be, I hope—I trust—

A wholly senseless ass.

Of course, at prudence you will sneer,On that theme I won't harp;Be good, I won't say—that's severe;But be a little sharp.

Of course, at prudence you will sneer,

On that theme I won't harp;

Be good, I won't say—that's severe;

But be a little sharp.

All rascally associates shunTo bid you were too much,But oh! beware, my spooney sonBeware one kind of such.

All rascally associates shun

To bid you were too much,

But oh! beware, my spooney son

Beware one kind of such.

It asks no penetrative mindTo know these fellows: whenYou meet them, you, unless you're blind.At once discern the men.

It asks no penetrative mind

To know these fellows: when

You meet them, you, unless you're blind.

At once discern the men.

The turgid lip, the piggish eye,The nose in form of hook,The rings, the pins, you tell them by,The vulgar flashy look.

The turgid lip, the piggish eye,

The nose in form of hook,

The rings, the pins, you tell them by,

The vulgar flashy look.

Spend every sixpence, if you please,But do not, I implore,Oh! do not go, my son, to theseVultures to borrow more.

Spend every sixpence, if you please,

But do not, I implore,

Oh! do not go, my son, to these

Vultures to borrow more.

Live at a foolish wicked rate,My hopeful, if you choose,But don't your means anticipateThrough bill-discounting Jews.

Live at a foolish wicked rate,

My hopeful, if you choose,

But don't your means anticipate

Through bill-discounting Jews.

Cartoon fish

Of all the indignities to which the legal profession has been exposed, we know of nothing to equal the insult just passed upon it by the parish authorities of St. James's, Westminster, who have advertised for a first-rate lawyer to fill the place of Parochial Messenger. Our assertion might appear incredible, were it not sustained by the following extract from one of theTimes'Supplements:—

PAROCHIAL MESSENGER.—St. James's, Westminster—WANTED, by the Governors and Directors of the Poor, a respectable PERSON, of active habits, to fill the above situation. He must be thoroughly acquainted with the Law of Settlement, the practice at sessions relating to appeals, and with parish business generally concerning the poor. The duties and salary annexed to the appointment may be ascertained at my office, No. 50, Poland Street, Oxford Street, daily, between 9 and 6 o'clock; where also applications, accompanied by testimonials of character and ability, are to be left on or before Thursday, the 14th instant.

By order,

George Buzzard, Clerk.

Now every lawyer is perfectly aware that the law of settlement is a subject so abstruse and difficult that a "thorough acquaintance" with it can only be derived from years of study and practice at the Bar; and it is, therefore, quite evident that the Guardians of the Poor of St. James's, Westminster, expect one of the ablest Sessions barristers that can be found to undertake the place of messenger. We will admit that business has sadly fallen off, but we are not yet prepared to believe that ourBodkinsand ourBallantines, or even ourHorridsand ourFlorids, will yet be content to undertake the task of running on parochial errands, and delivering parochial messages. We shall, however, not be surprised at finding a forensic sergeant advertised for as a sergeant of police, because it is necessary the latter should know the law; but we hope it will be long before ourWilkinsescease to ornament our Bar by their splendid talents, and begin to exchange the coif for the cape, or the big wig for the baton.

Sunday at Blackwall—Mr. Punchwould be glad to know where a letter would find you.

THE GREENWICH DINNER.—A CONVIVIAL MOMENTTHE GREENWICH DINNER.—A CONVIVIAL MOMENT.Gentleman (under the influence of White Bait)."Well, old Fella—Reklect—Preshent Company dine here with me every Monday, Thursday, an' Sat'dy—Friday—No—Toosday, Thursday, an' Sat'dy—Mind an' don' forget—I say—What a good fella you are—Greatest 'steem and regard for you, old fella!!"

Gentleman (under the influence of White Bait)."Well, old Fella—Reklect—Preshent Company dine here with me every Monday, Thursday, an' Sat'dy—Friday—No—Toosday, Thursday, an' Sat'dy—Mind an' don' forget—I say—What a good fella you are—Greatest 'steem and regard for you, old fella!!"

Bermondsey is a great place for tanners. According to theRev. Dr. Armstrong, the incumbent of St. Paul's in that district, the converts to Protestantism from Popery therein residing get thrashed by their quondam co-religionists. Is it thegenius locior the genius of Roman Catholicism that suggests this tanning of the hides of heretics? which, one would think, if it cured their skins, would scarcely heal their souls, and instead of re-converting them to Romanism would only convert them to leather.

Prospect in Foreign Politics.—When Austria and Russia fall out,KossuthandMazziniwill come by their own.

Query for Table-Turners.—Have you ever turned a square table round?

ONE OF THE HORRORS OF THE CHOBHAM WARONE OF THE HORRORS OF THE CHOBHAM WAR

The dashing Protestant candidate for Sligo in his address advised his intended constituents to beware of the "priestlyLegreeswho seek to reduce them to politicalUncletomitude." We should say that he—but, on second thoughts, we scorn to put two good things into the same paragraph.

One of the daily journals constantly warns the present age against its tendency to succumb to the Lawyers, and "the legal mind." But the mammas and nurses of England are beforehand with the journalist. Nearly the first lesson and warning a child receives is, "Bar, Bar—Black Sheep."

An Aching Void.—A hollow tooth.

THE BEAR AND THE BEESTHE BEAR AND THE BEES.—A NEW VERSION OF AN OLD STORY.

Not the less apart for ever,Europe's coast, and Asia's shore,Though two continents to sever,Scarce a mile of sea doth roar;Though, whene'er that ocean-musicSinks upon the summer air.You may near Sultanieh's bulbulsAnswering those of Buyukdère.To that belt of rolling water,In the early Grecian age,Came the Argive king's fair daughterFleeingJuno'sjealous rage.Zeushad wrought the maid dishonour;And to hide her from his spouse,Working foul defeature on her,Changed her fair form to a cow's.But the lynx-eyed wife discoveringWhat the heifer's form concealed,As a gad-fly quickly hovering,Stung her rival from the field;Driving on that hapless maiden—Mad with pain and flecked with gore—Till she staggered, sorrow-laden,To the far Propontid shore.Pausing there, perforce, to breathe her,Faint, and frenzied, and foredone,She beheld the sea beneath herBasking lucid in the sun.In she dashed—the grateful chillnessBrought assuagement to her pain,Gave her throbbing pulses stillness,Calmed the fever of her brain.Junothen her chase arrested,And the gad-fly stung no more;On swamIo, unmolested,Till she reached the Asian shore,Hence that strait, the poets tell us,Took the name it bears till now,"Bosporus," in tongue of Hellas,Meaning "Passage of the Cow."Age on age has since passed overThose wild waters in their flow—They have seen the Carian rover,Seeking wealth with sling and bow—Seen the sun in his meridianGlinted back from countless arms,When to Greece the turbaned MedianLed his hosts, like locust-swarms.For the lordship of that regionEvery race hath drawn the sword—Grecian phalanx, Roman legion,Norse Vikinger, Vandal horde.Still, through all, that strait retainethIts old name in Hellas' song;"Bosporus" it still remaineth,"Bosporus" it shall be long.But from this our day the meaningOf the word we cast anew,Now that Russia's Czar o'erweening,His war-vultures doth unmew.Onward like a base marauderThreatening force, when foiled in sleight,He hath crossed the Turkish borderIn contempt of law and right.While the Turk, in force unequal,But with heart that scorns to flee,Dauntlessly awaits the sequelOf the war, if war must be.Of the West he claims alliance;France and England meet the call,And their flags in proud defianceSoon may float by Stamboul's wall.In the outraged cause of nations,Turk and Christian will be one;When the fleets are at their stations—Every man beside his gun.But our place must be the vanward,Other leading brook not we—Bearing England's banner onward,TheBritanniacleaves the sea.When defiant but unvaunting—Hull by hull, slow surging on—Tricolor and red cross flaunting,Euxine-wards the fleet hath gone.Bosporus! thine ancient glory,This thy new renown shall dull;"Passage of the Cow," in story,Changing to "Passage ofJohn Bull."

Not the less apart for ever,

Europe's coast, and Asia's shore,

Though two continents to sever,

Scarce a mile of sea doth roar;

Though, whene'er that ocean-music

Sinks upon the summer air.

You may near Sultanieh's bulbuls

Answering those of Buyukdère.

To that belt of rolling water,In the early Grecian age,Came the Argive king's fair daughterFleeingJuno'sjealous rage.Zeushad wrought the maid dishonour;And to hide her from his spouse,Working foul defeature on her,Changed her fair form to a cow's.

To that belt of rolling water,

In the early Grecian age,

Came the Argive king's fair daughter

FleeingJuno'sjealous rage.

Zeushad wrought the maid dishonour;

And to hide her from his spouse,

Working foul defeature on her,

Changed her fair form to a cow's.

But the lynx-eyed wife discoveringWhat the heifer's form concealed,As a gad-fly quickly hovering,Stung her rival from the field;Driving on that hapless maiden—Mad with pain and flecked with gore—Till she staggered, sorrow-laden,To the far Propontid shore.

But the lynx-eyed wife discovering

What the heifer's form concealed,

As a gad-fly quickly hovering,

Stung her rival from the field;

Driving on that hapless maiden—

Mad with pain and flecked with gore—

Till she staggered, sorrow-laden,

To the far Propontid shore.

Pausing there, perforce, to breathe her,Faint, and frenzied, and foredone,She beheld the sea beneath herBasking lucid in the sun.In she dashed—the grateful chillnessBrought assuagement to her pain,Gave her throbbing pulses stillness,Calmed the fever of her brain.

Pausing there, perforce, to breathe her,

Faint, and frenzied, and foredone,

She beheld the sea beneath her

Basking lucid in the sun.

In she dashed—the grateful chillness

Brought assuagement to her pain,

Gave her throbbing pulses stillness,

Calmed the fever of her brain.

Junothen her chase arrested,And the gad-fly stung no more;On swamIo, unmolested,Till she reached the Asian shore,Hence that strait, the poets tell us,Took the name it bears till now,"Bosporus," in tongue of Hellas,Meaning "Passage of the Cow."

Junothen her chase arrested,

And the gad-fly stung no more;

On swamIo, unmolested,

Till she reached the Asian shore,

Hence that strait, the poets tell us,

Took the name it bears till now,

"Bosporus," in tongue of Hellas,

Meaning "Passage of the Cow."

Age on age has since passed overThose wild waters in their flow—They have seen the Carian rover,Seeking wealth with sling and bow—Seen the sun in his meridianGlinted back from countless arms,When to Greece the turbaned MedianLed his hosts, like locust-swarms.

Age on age has since passed over

Those wild waters in their flow—

They have seen the Carian rover,

Seeking wealth with sling and bow—

Seen the sun in his meridian

Glinted back from countless arms,

When to Greece the turbaned Median

Led his hosts, like locust-swarms.

For the lordship of that regionEvery race hath drawn the sword—Grecian phalanx, Roman legion,Norse Vikinger, Vandal horde.Still, through all, that strait retainethIts old name in Hellas' song;"Bosporus" it still remaineth,"Bosporus" it shall be long.

For the lordship of that region

Every race hath drawn the sword—

Grecian phalanx, Roman legion,

Norse Vikinger, Vandal horde.

Still, through all, that strait retaineth

Its old name in Hellas' song;

"Bosporus" it still remaineth,

"Bosporus" it shall be long.

But from this our day the meaningOf the word we cast anew,Now that Russia's Czar o'erweening,His war-vultures doth unmew.Onward like a base marauderThreatening force, when foiled in sleight,He hath crossed the Turkish borderIn contempt of law and right.

But from this our day the meaning

Of the word we cast anew,

Now that Russia's Czar o'erweening,

His war-vultures doth unmew.

Onward like a base marauder

Threatening force, when foiled in sleight,

He hath crossed the Turkish border

In contempt of law and right.

While the Turk, in force unequal,But with heart that scorns to flee,Dauntlessly awaits the sequelOf the war, if war must be.Of the West he claims alliance;France and England meet the call,And their flags in proud defianceSoon may float by Stamboul's wall.

While the Turk, in force unequal,

But with heart that scorns to flee,

Dauntlessly awaits the sequel

Of the war, if war must be.

Of the West he claims alliance;

France and England meet the call,

And their flags in proud defiance

Soon may float by Stamboul's wall.

In the outraged cause of nations,Turk and Christian will be one;When the fleets are at their stations—Every man beside his gun.But our place must be the vanward,Other leading brook not we—Bearing England's banner onward,TheBritanniacleaves the sea.

In the outraged cause of nations,

Turk and Christian will be one;

When the fleets are at their stations—

Every man beside his gun.

But our place must be the vanward,

Other leading brook not we—

Bearing England's banner onward,

TheBritanniacleaves the sea.

When defiant but unvaunting—Hull by hull, slow surging on—Tricolor and red cross flaunting,Euxine-wards the fleet hath gone.Bosporus! thine ancient glory,This thy new renown shall dull;"Passage of the Cow," in story,Changing to "Passage ofJohn Bull."

When defiant but unvaunting—

Hull by hull, slow surging on—

Tricolor and red cross flaunting,

Euxine-wards the fleet hath gone.

Bosporus! thine ancient glory,

This thy new renown shall dull;

"Passage of the Cow," in story,

Changing to "Passage ofJohn Bull."

Miss Carolineto her brother, student at Haileybury College.

"My dear Henry,

"Mamma and Papa desire me to say that they were very much gratified at reading that you acquitted yourself so well at the examination, and Papa has given me a cheque to enclose which, I dare say, you horrid creature, will make your sister's letter less of a 'baw' than usual. I sincerely hope that you will profit by the address of that dear old white-headedSir James, and learn to be "considerate of the feelings and wishes of those around you;" that is, that you will not grumble in the holidays at having to takeJuliaand me to the Opera, or insist on smoking in your bedroom when you know that the smoke comes underMaria'sdoor. However, I won't scold you as you have been such a good boy at school—bless me, College, I mean; ten millions of pardons, I'm sure.

"On Monday we all went to the Camp at Chobham, choosing the day quite accidentally, but so fortunately. The next morning while I was cutting theTimesfor Papa, I was greatly delighted to read this:—

"'The ladies especially showed a surprising knowledge and appreciation of the manœuvres performed. Should our brave defenders ever be called upon to protect our homes and altars, regiments such as those now at Chobham will not, despite the Peace Society, want Daughters—though in these piping times they have none.'"

As to the last part, if one could hope to equal that dear divineJenny LindinLa Figlia, one would almost not mind wearing the odious costume, though of all the ungraceful—but what do you boys know about such things? I want to assure you that the first part of the story is quite true, and shows that the clever gentleman who wrote it sets more value on the opinion of young ladies thansomeyoung gentlemen do whom Icouldname, but willnot. Now, as an account of what we saw must be useful to you in your studies (though you areonlyin the Civil Service), I will tell you a little about it, and Papa says you are to send him a comparison between the battle of Cannæ (is that spelt right?) and the battle of Curley.

"We got a capital place for seeing, and we had not been on the ground many minutes before some one blew a horn, and out ran numbers of those large green beetles of Riflemen, and began to pretend to skirmish but, as there was nobody to face them, they looked great sillies. But presently there was a heavy tramping, and on came the Guards, looking perfectlysplendid, and ran up a hill. But I should tell you that on the top of this hill were some Sappers and Miners (it seemed an odd place to put them), and some soldiers with short guns, and when the Guards had gone a little way up the hill, the others let off their guns at them. Then the Guards pretended they could not advance any higher, so the great cannons were set roaring off, and I thought I should never get the throbbing out of my ears. Well, I suppose this encouraged the Guards, for they made another rush; and, at the same time, the Household Troops and the Light Dragoons went galloping and tearing in the same direction, and looking as if they could ride overeverything in the world. However, they didn't, for it seems that it was necessary to fire more cannons, only this time it was the Horse Artillery. After this there was great confusion, and I do not believe thatanybodyknew what he was to do; however, they all got upon the hill, and their swords and helmets sparkled beautifully in the sunshine. Lastly, those Highlanders, with the legs, made a long line, and then gave way for the others to come through it, like the opening figure in the First Set, and the green beetles began popping again, and the cannons were let off once more. Then they all went off the ground, and we had a dreadful to-do with a gipsy baby, whichJuliahad foolishly taken to hold; and the mother went away, leaving the brown little creature with us, and could not be found until long after we were ready to go.Jamessaid that if we left it on the grass it would be all safe; but this we would not hear of. The poor child would have been the better for the tub you used to hate so a few years ago whenMr.Henrywas onlyMaster.

"Now, you are to say whether this was like the battle of Cannæ—I don't mean as to the baby, of course. And, if you will take my opinion, the evolutions were all nonsense. I do not see the use of cannon at all, and I am quite certain that, if the Guards rushed at an enemy as they ran up that hill at first, the enemy would run away at once. Also I think the cavalry and the infantry ought to be mixed up together, because then the soldiers on horseback could protect the others, and change with them when the poor men on foot were tired. Besides those dear horses never kick, so it would be quite safe; a soldier told me that, as I was giving his lovely black horse a sponge cake which he eat out of my hand. I think that if you gave this idea to the masters at your school—College, I mean—you would be thought very clever. But decidedly I do not like the cannons, and I amcertainthey are of no use.

"You are to write directly to say that the cheque is all safe, and everybody unites in love.Fan'sguinea-pig is dead. Baby has had the measles, like thePrince of Wales. Can you polk better than you did? What is good for my canary while it is moulting? Do not forget about Cannæ, and if I have spelt it wrong take no notice to papa.

"Your ever affectionate sister,

"Caroline Bertha Louisa.

"P.S.—Your flirt,Marion Waters, is going to be married. Hee, hee, hee!!!"

Talleyrand, talking of a man, who dealt in nothing but quotations, said, "That fellow has a mind of inverted commas."

cartoon, cabman visualising 6d.

Though on the principle of "Hear both sides," we have no objection to allow even the hoarse voice of a cab-driver to address itself to the polite ears of the public on the great question of Cab Reform, we must protest against many, if not all, of the positions taken up and set down by the editor of the New Hackney Carriage Act, in the following edition of that useful measure. We have not taken the trouble to answer the arguments of the unlearned annotator, inasmuch as we feel it to be quite unnecessary; for every one will see at a glance what the cabman is driving at.

EDITED BY A CABMAN.

This here measure sets out at a sort of full gallop, which is nothing more nor less than furious driving against us poor cabmen, by saying that it is "Enacted by theQueen'smost Excellent Majesty,"—which I don't deny that she is—and "with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual"—(them's the bishops: which I should like to know who ever seed a bishop in a cab, or on a 'bus, and therefore what have they to do with it?). The Act has twenty-two clauses; and every clause is intended to stick it into us. I shall take them clauses one by one, and if I use a little more license than the Commissioners like, they must recollect they makes us pay precious dear for our license, so we may as well have our say for our money.

1. Everybody who wants a license must apply in writing; so, if a poor unfortnate feller can't comply with the letter of the law by writing a letter which he never learnt to do, he must take to thieving, or something else, for he mustn't keep no cab, nor nothing.

2. The Commissioners is to have power to inspect your wehicles and your cattle whenever they like, so that when your 'bus is full and your passengers in a hurry to go by the train, you may all be pulled up whileSir Richardturns over the cushions, and sees if you've got any broken windows in your 'bus, or any broken winder drawin' of it. Of course nothin' will be good enough, unless we have velvet hottermans to keep the insides warm, and downy cushions for the outsides, as if we wasn't downy enough already. As to the horses, I don't know where we are to get 'em good enough. Praps they'll expect us to buy all the Derby winners and them sort of cattle to do our opposition work with. But I suppose there'll be a grant of money next year from the public purse, for private speckelation won't make it pay anyhow.

3. Purwides that, if we don't keep hansom private carriages for the public, and first-rate cattle to draw four on 'em about at three-halfpence a mile a-piece, we are to be fined three pounds a day, and go to prison a month for every day; so that, if we've done it for a whole year, we may be fined upards of a thousand pound, and be locked up for about five-and-thirty years. Consekwently three years would give us a hundred and five years imprisonment.

4. This takes all the crummy part of the bread out of our mouths by reducing our fares to sixpence a mile, which it used to be eightpence, which meant a shilling. Never mind! We'll get it out of 'em somehow, for we may charge twopence a package for luggage that won't go inside the cab; and we'll take care nothin' shall go in, for we'll have the doors so narrow that we can't be made to open our doors to imposition.

5. By this they compel us to have the fares painted up, and to carry a book of fares. What right have we to turn our cabs into a library or bookcase? When we make a mistake about a fare they always tell us we "ought to know the law." Why ought we to know it better than them as hires us? Let them carry books themselves. We've got enough to do to carry them.

6. In case of disputes the Police is to have it all their own way, for what they says is law, and what we says is nothin'.

7, 8, and 9. Compel us to go with anybody anywhere; give him a ticket with our number on—as if he couldn't use his eyes—and carry as many as our license says—though, sometimes, one fat rider would make three; so that if we get four such customers we shall as good as carry a dozen.

10. This is the unkindest cut of all, for it says we shall carry a "reasonable quantity of luggage." Why, with the women, there's no end to what they call a "reasonable quantity of luggage." I wish the Parlyment would have just settled that for us; for, if four females is going off to a train to spend a month at the sea-side, who is to say what will be a "reasonable quantity" of bonnet-boxes, carpet-bags, pet dogs, and bird-cages, that each on 'em may want to carry?

11. This makes us pay for other people's carelessness; for if anybody goes and leaves anything in any of our cabs, we mustn't earn another sixpence by taking another fare, but we must drive off in search of a police-station; and how, in our innocence, are we to know where to look for such places? If we don't, we must pay ten pounds penalty or stay a month in prison.

12 and 13. Purwides for turning adrift all the poor old watermen, and for putting Peelers in their stead. Praps they'll get a new Act next year to make us keep all the poor old coves that are cut out of the bread they used to get by giving us our water on the Cab Stands.

14. Says we shall have a lamp burning inside. Who's to trim it, I should like to know?

15, 16. As if we wasn't pitched into enough by redoosin our fares! We ain't to stand a chance of getting an odd sixpence out ofNicholsorMoses, or the Nutty Sherry, or any of them dodges, that used to advertise in our vehicles. There's nothin' said again the Railway people a doin' it. But Guvament is evidently afeard of them Railway chaps, so they are to go on doin' as they like with the public; and the public's to do as they like with us by way of recompense.

17. This says over agen what's been said already about reasonable luggage; and then says further, that we shall drive at least six miles an hour. I should like to see one on 'em who made the law drivin' six mile an hour down Cheapside, at four o'clock in the afternoon. But we must do it, or pay forty shillins, or go to prison for a month, if we like that better.

18. According to this claws if any feller wants to cheat us, or gets up a dispute with us, though he's in the wrong, and we right, we must drive the gentleman in our own carriage to the nearest police court. This ought to be good on both sides anyhow. And if we are in the right the law ought to be that the gent who made us drive him should be obliged to order out his own carriage, if he's got one—and be made to hire one if he hasn't—to drive us home again.

19. As if there warn't penalties enough, this claws throws a penalty of forty shillin or a month's imprisonment in, for anything in general, or nothin particular, at the hoption of the magistrate.

20, 21, 22. These three last clawses says nothin, and so there's nothin to say about 'em, unless to notice the stoopidity of sayin' that this Act and two others shall be read as one, as if anybody could read three Acts of Parlyment at a time, and think he is only readin' one—but it's just like 'em.

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