SOMETHING OUTRAGEOUS.

All round my neck I vears the shirt collar,

"All round my neck I vears the shirt collar,All round the neck for a twelvemonth and a day;And if any one should ax you the reason vy I vears it;So, tell 'em 'cause it's now the fashionable vay."

"All round my neck I vears the shirt collar,

All round the neck for a twelvemonth and a day;

And if any one should ax you the reason vy I vears it;

So, tell 'em 'cause it's now the fashionable vay."

"Mr. Punch, Sir,

"What next? Have you read the servile inscription on Marlborough House Gates?—

"'The public isrespectfullyinformed, that admission is to be procured,' &c.

"'Respectfully informed,'Mr. Punch!Hity-tity! Well. This is something! Respectfully! And this is by a body of officials, and stuck on a house which is the property of a Royal Prince! The brewers and bakers and candlestick-makers are respectfully informed. Tag, rag, and bobtail are respectfully informed. The swinish multitude is respectfully informed by its own servants that it may see something it has paid for. I cannot trust myself to write. Times are changed,Mr. Punch, or officials are strangely altered from what they were in the time of

"Yours respectfully(!)

"Hampton Court.

An Old Official."

We doubt whether the Great Metropolis can parallel the following choice specimen of composition, which we find in theMorning Advertiserof the 16th:—

As Good Housemaid, in a small Family, where aFootmanis kept, who is a goodneedlewoman, who can attendon a lady, with a good character. Direct A. B. &c., Brompton.

We have seen footmen who were justly proud of their "pins", but never yet saw a footman who was a good needlewoman. But we quite approve of the advertiser's caution. Being a "good" housemaid, she will serve nobody but "a lady with a good character". This is very proper, and in consideration of the virtuous principle displayed, one can forgive the author's Random Recollections ofLindley Murray.

Flirting.(By an old Hand at it.)—Flirting is a most amusing game. It is true there is nothing gained by it, but then there is nothing staked. In fact you may call it, "playing at cards for love."

"Sweet Remembrancer!Now, good digestion wait on appetite,And health on both."—Successful Tragedy.

"Sweet Remembrancer!

Now, good digestion wait on appetite,

And health on both."—Successful Tragedy.

The City Remembrancer's post I hold.An office that's sacred, because 'tis old;I repel, I deny the assertion baseThat there isn't no use in that 'ere place!So you want to know what I've got to do?And, Imperance, what odds is that to you?But inquiry we court, as we've always done,And I scorn all concealment, myself, for one.I am only an image, you think, like Gog,Whereas I theLord Mayor'smemory jog,And the Aldermen also, in banquet met,I remind of the duties which some forget.His Lordship, for instance, perhaps I seeIs getting on slow with his callipee;And a slight squeeze of lemon I then suggest,With a dash of cayenne to impart a zest."My Lord-eh, my Lord!" says I, "why, look there!You're a spilling your dinner, I do declare!'Tis of haunch that you're eating; and don't you knowCurrant jelly should always with venison go?"Mr. Alderman, bless me! you faint and droop,As if you could hardly get through your soup.Glass of punch, Sir, of course, with the work you've got,You have surely been absent, Sir, have you not?"Dear me, Mr. Deputy—look, Sir, look!Excuse me; but you I must call to book:Allow me to push you the boat across,You are eating that bird, Sir, without bread-sauce!"Here's capon, mind, gentlemen; here's black cock;This wine, recollect, is peculiar hock:—This is peacock—that's cygnet, yon gent before,If you think you could manage a little more."Not feel quite the thing, don't your Lordship, eh?Hallo! bring the brandy, you Sir, this way.Now, my Lord, a small glass—just a toothful. No?Well then, come, try the least drop of Curaçoa."But I've other duties, which I dischargeIn warily steering the Civic BargeThrough St. Stephen's storms, whirlpools, rocks, and shoals,Safe and sound, with a cargo—we'll say—of coals.ThatMajor Benlow—what—ow—owski, heNot half a Remembrancer ain't, to me;And I gets a small pittance for all this here,Which is under a couple of thousand a year.

The City Remembrancer's post I hold.An office that's sacred, because 'tis old;I repel, I deny the assertion baseThat there isn't no use in that 'ere place!

The City Remembrancer's post I hold.

An office that's sacred, because 'tis old;

I repel, I deny the assertion base

That there isn't no use in that 'ere place!

So you want to know what I've got to do?And, Imperance, what odds is that to you?But inquiry we court, as we've always done,And I scorn all concealment, myself, for one.

So you want to know what I've got to do?

And, Imperance, what odds is that to you?

But inquiry we court, as we've always done,

And I scorn all concealment, myself, for one.

I am only an image, you think, like Gog,Whereas I theLord Mayor'smemory jog,And the Aldermen also, in banquet met,I remind of the duties which some forget.

I am only an image, you think, like Gog,

Whereas I theLord Mayor'smemory jog,

And the Aldermen also, in banquet met,

I remind of the duties which some forget.

His Lordship, for instance, perhaps I seeIs getting on slow with his callipee;And a slight squeeze of lemon I then suggest,With a dash of cayenne to impart a zest.

His Lordship, for instance, perhaps I see

Is getting on slow with his callipee;

And a slight squeeze of lemon I then suggest,

With a dash of cayenne to impart a zest.

"My Lord-eh, my Lord!" says I, "why, look there!You're a spilling your dinner, I do declare!'Tis of haunch that you're eating; and don't you knowCurrant jelly should always with venison go?

"My Lord-eh, my Lord!" says I, "why, look there!

You're a spilling your dinner, I do declare!

'Tis of haunch that you're eating; and don't you know

Currant jelly should always with venison go?

"Mr. Alderman, bless me! you faint and droop,As if you could hardly get through your soup.Glass of punch, Sir, of course, with the work you've got,You have surely been absent, Sir, have you not?

"Mr. Alderman, bless me! you faint and droop,

As if you could hardly get through your soup.

Glass of punch, Sir, of course, with the work you've got,

You have surely been absent, Sir, have you not?

"Dear me, Mr. Deputy—look, Sir, look!Excuse me; but you I must call to book:Allow me to push you the boat across,You are eating that bird, Sir, without bread-sauce!

"Dear me, Mr. Deputy—look, Sir, look!

Excuse me; but you I must call to book:

Allow me to push you the boat across,

You are eating that bird, Sir, without bread-sauce!

"Here's capon, mind, gentlemen; here's black cock;This wine, recollect, is peculiar hock:—This is peacock—that's cygnet, yon gent before,If you think you could manage a little more.

"Here's capon, mind, gentlemen; here's black cock;

This wine, recollect, is peculiar hock:—

This is peacock—that's cygnet, yon gent before,

If you think you could manage a little more.

"Not feel quite the thing, don't your Lordship, eh?Hallo! bring the brandy, you Sir, this way.Now, my Lord, a small glass—just a toothful. No?Well then, come, try the least drop of Curaçoa."

"Not feel quite the thing, don't your Lordship, eh?

Hallo! bring the brandy, you Sir, this way.

Now, my Lord, a small glass—just a toothful. No?

Well then, come, try the least drop of Curaçoa."

But I've other duties, which I dischargeIn warily steering the Civic BargeThrough St. Stephen's storms, whirlpools, rocks, and shoals,Safe and sound, with a cargo—we'll say—of coals.

But I've other duties, which I discharge

In warily steering the Civic Barge

Through St. Stephen's storms, whirlpools, rocks, and shoals,

Safe and sound, with a cargo—we'll say—of coals.

ThatMajor Benlow—what—ow—owski, heNot half a Remembrancer ain't, to me;And I gets a small pittance for all this here,Which is under a couple of thousand a year.

ThatMajor Benlow—what—ow—owski, he

Not half a Remembrancer ain't, to me;

And I gets a small pittance for all this here,

Which is under a couple of thousand a year.

The "old clothes" fraternity are advertising very briskly for left-off clothes for the Colonies, with a view, no doubt, to a sort of Holywell Street aristocracy that some people are desirous of establishing in Australia. Considering the many scamps that have attained to wealth at the "diggins," and knowing the slavish precedence that is always accorded to the possessors of gold, we may anticipate a peerage of regular "roughs," should an "Upper Chamber" be established at the Antipodes. The old clothes movement, in taking a colonial direction, shows a sympathy with the contemplated exportations of aristocratic distinctions to the New World, at a time when the Old World is exhibiting leniency to throw aside its old worn-out habits. Among the "left off clothes" we presume it will be a good speculation to include a few "coats of arms" for the use of the Antipodean aristocracy.

"The Englishman's House (says the Proverb) is his Castle;" and so it is, but then it is a castle which is subject to many attacks (such as the House Tax, Poor Tax, &c. &c.), and which requires for its defence no end of shot. The expenses of its support are fearful—so much so, that frequently is the castle swallowed up in its keep.

A Reflection(ByMechi).—It is not the sharpest blades that always are the truest steel.

THE REMONSTRANCETHE REMONSTRANCE.London Merchant."Why, what is the use of your being in a Respectable House of Business if you proceed in this absurd, vulgar manner? Now, take my word for it, unless you mend very considerably, you will go on from bad to worse. You will become a petty Huckster; from that you will, in all probability, get to be a mere Common Councilman; then an Alderman; when, after a course of Gluttony and Tom-Foolery, painful to think of, you will make a ridiculous termination to your Contemptible Career by actually becoming a LORD MAYOR!"

London Merchant."Why, what is the use of your being in a Respectable House of Business if you proceed in this absurd, vulgar manner? Now, take my word for it, unless you mend very considerably, you will go on from bad to worse. You will become a petty Huckster; from that you will, in all probability, get to be a mere Common Councilman; then an Alderman; when, after a course of Gluttony and Tom-Foolery, painful to think of, you will make a ridiculous termination to your Contemptible Career by actually becoming a LORD MAYOR!"

Air.—"And shallTrelawneydie?"

A baize board and a crafty 'and,And a racing print or two;Didn't we once just understand,The sporting gents to do?And 'ave they fixed the where and when,And shall the system die?Then 'alf a thousand betting menWill know the reason why.And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben,"And shall the system die?There's 'alf a thousand in our tradeWho'll know the reason why.Out spakeFlash Billy, blithe and bold.A horse-shoe pin wore he:"Deposits on a race to 'oldShall we no more be free?When we could grasp them in our 'and,The system used to pay;For when rum tidings reached the Strand,'Twas—'Shutters up—away!'"And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben," &c.A plague upon St. Stephen's wall,Where not one cove stood true;We'll make thatPalmerstonlook small.For working this 'ere screw:The Turf you 'ave betrayed, as 'owYou swear 'er lists shall die;But 'alf a thousand betting menWill know the reason why.And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben," &c.

A baize board and a crafty 'and,

And a racing print or two;

Didn't we once just understand,

The sporting gents to do?

And 'ave they fixed the where and when,

And shall the system die?

Then 'alf a thousand betting men

Will know the reason why.

And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben,"

And shall the system die?

There's 'alf a thousand in our trade

Who'll know the reason why.

Out spakeFlash Billy, blithe and bold.A horse-shoe pin wore he:"Deposits on a race to 'oldShall we no more be free?When we could grasp them in our 'and,The system used to pay;For when rum tidings reached the Strand,'Twas—'Shutters up—away!'"And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben," &c.

Out spakeFlash Billy, blithe and bold.

A horse-shoe pin wore he:

"Deposits on a race to 'old

Shall we no more be free?

When we could grasp them in our 'and,

The system used to pay;

For when rum tidings reached the Strand,

'Twas—'Shutters up—away!'"

And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben," &c.

A plague upon St. Stephen's wall,Where not one cove stood true;We'll make thatPalmerstonlook small.For working this 'ere screw:The Turf you 'ave betrayed, as 'owYou swear 'er lists shall die;But 'alf a thousand betting menWill know the reason why.And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben," &c.

A plague upon St. Stephen's wall,

Where not one cove stood true;

We'll make thatPalmerstonlook small.

For working this 'ere screw:

The Turf you 'ave betrayed, as 'ow

You swear 'er lists shall die;

But 'alf a thousand betting men

Will know the reason why.

And shall they scornMeg,Math, and "Ben," &c.

Our own ships have waited, whilst the Russian frigateAurorahas occupied a Portsmouth dock. We have suppliedNicholaswith the work of shipwrights and the stores of our Dockyard. This is Christianlike, and according to theAberdeenpolicy expressed by the Premier at the Mansion House. It is said the Noble Earl, in the excess of his benevolence, would—if he might—even go further: not only furnishing theEmperor'sfrigate with English stores, but with English sailors.

The City Corporation.—If this Corporation is compared toPlato's Republic, it can only be as "aKnife,Fork, andPlat(e)o" one.

It is a common saying in the City and elsewhere that "Time is money," and we cannot wonder at the existence of the maxim, when we look at the cost, of the representative of time at the Royal Exchange—no less than £2605 0s.8d.having been paid for the Exchange Clock. This sum is at the rate of about £217 per hour, taking the clock to consist of the usual number of hours, or nearly £40 per minute, if we make a calculation rather more minute.

The cost of the Clock is made up of a variety of items, which, for the enlightenment of the public, we subjoin.

It must be inferred from this, that after the Clocks had been purchased for £700, it resembled the donkey "what wouldn't go," and as there was nobody to cry "Gee Wo!" with the expenditure, £224 18s.6d.was sunk in alterations. As if the Clock itself was not sufficiently costly, it was proposed to convert it into a toy by having bells and chimes attached to it, which have already caused an outlay to the tune of upwards of One Thousand Pounds—a very pretty tune, no doubt, but hitherto the only tune to which the Bells and Chimes have contributed, for they cannot be got into play anyhow. The Common Council, however, will not admit there has been anything wrong in the matter, because "Professor Aireydeclares the bells and clock the most beautiful specimens of workmanship ever seen." We should have thought that bells and clocks were to be heard rather than seen; and that a clock, like the costermonger's horse, might be excused for being a "rum un to look at," if it's being a "good un to go" could be relied upon. The approval ofProfessor Aireymay be very satisfactory as far as it goes, but until we can look upon the loss of £2605 0s.8d.as an airy nothing, we can hardly reconcile ourselves to the facts we have called attention to.

Our latest news from the Theatre of War is from Astley's Theatre, where the War with Russia is being carried out with unflagging energy. Last night the Russians had entrenched themselves in a strong position in front of the enemy, and the Russian General,Widdicomb, turned the right wing—a wrong one having been turned by the negligence of a scene-shifter. The enemy were in position at nine o'clock, and a French officer made towards a standard, which he eventually carried. On Saturday afternoon a body of Russian soldiers received their pay from the treasury, which is understood to be amply supplied.

In the evening the battle was resumed with great vigour; but both parties eventually laid down their arms. The Russians were much harassed, and set fire to Moscow in several places with bits of tow steeped in spirits of wine. The city burnt with great fury for nearly an entire minute, when it was terminated by a decisive blow from the mouth of the master carpenter.

Why are diplomatic papers called Circular notes?—They are calledCircular, because they frequently arrive at no definite end.

A NEW CHIME FOR BOW BELLSA NEW CHIME FOR BOW BELLS.DON'TTURN AGAIN, WHITTINGTON;DON'TBE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON.

DON'TTURN AGAIN, WHITTINGTON;DON'TBE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON.

TTHE other day we read an account of a few complimentary words having been spoken by theEmperor of Russiato a French Opera dancer, from which someGobemouchehad drawn the inference that there would be no war between Russia and France. Upon a similar authority we might announce that there is no possibility of any collision between France and England. At one of the performances of"Tom" Matthews, as EnglishClown, during his engagement in Paris, the EmperorLouis Napoleonwas seen to applaud. It might also be inferred that the British Government stood pledged to support the Constitutional cause in Italy, becauseCostais a Sardinian, and is usually employed to preside at the piano when a concert is given at the Palace.

THE other day we read an account of a few complimentary words having been spoken by theEmperor of Russiato a French Opera dancer, from which someGobemouchehad drawn the inference that there would be no war between Russia and France. Upon a similar authority we might announce that there is no possibility of any collision between France and England. At one of the performances of"Tom" Matthews, as EnglishClown, during his engagement in Paris, the EmperorLouis Napoleonwas seen to applaud. It might also be inferred that the British Government stood pledged to support the Constitutional cause in Italy, becauseCostais a Sardinian, and is usually employed to preside at the piano when a concert is given at the Palace.

"Oh, I say!" says oldMartingale, bursting in upon the Tourist's morning meal, "I saw such a stunning play last night. Don't mind my weed, eh? I am not much of a playgoer myself, you know. You haven't got any Curaçoa I suppose? Oh, yes, Kirsch will do, thank you. Especially here, they speak so quick I can't follow 'em.Franconi'smore my line. But I tell you what, the piece last night was a fizzer, and no mistake; and a fellow sung no end of a good song in it," continued the dramatic enthusiast, jingling half-a-dozen sovereigns in his two hands in time to the tune he hummed, "Chink chink, chink chink, toodle um tum ti, chink chink, chink chink, toodle um tum ti. Clipping, by Jove; all about women not caring for love, or hops, and that kind of thing, but only for tin. How it must have riled them. I believe it's quite true, and yet—I don't know either. Some of one sort, and some of another, I suppose."

"Oh, I can't tell you the plot. It's a young fellow who goes away from home, the reprobate, and falls into what is called "bad company", and one of the bad company pretends to be spooney on him, and it's all very jolly at first. He swells about and spends a tremendous lot of tin, in the same way thatTom Hiltonand fellows of that sort are doing now. Horses, and dinners, and champagne, and jewellery; nothing is too good for him. And then, to mend matters, he takes to play, and of course is extensively legged by others of the bad company, and is ruined, in short. He tries to hold on by borrowing of oldShixty-per-Shent, just like fellows we know in town; and he comes to grief, and the mercenary female cuts him when she finds it out; and it's very affecting. Everybody cried all round the house; and, upon my word, I couldn't help doing a little in that way myself. Now, mind you go and see it. I intend to go every night till I know that song by heart." And he went away, warbling "Chink chink, chink chink," and smacking the sovereigns in his pocket.

More difficult critics thanMartingalehad spoken well of the last of that chain of dramas in whichLaisis made the heroine, and the bad or good side of her character is the point of interest. The Tourist, therefore, willingly installed himself with his double-barrel in afauteuil d'orchestre, and was forced to acknowledge the admirable constructive skill with which French dramatists ply their craft. No wonder our practical fellow-countrymen are tempted to carry off such capital ready-made articles, instead of being at the pains of hatching their own clumsy originals. Equally admirable was the acting for case, gaiety, and power. At the pathetic parts the audience wept freely, as my friend had said. There was no shame or reserve. One old fellow, with a cropped head and great grizzled beard, was quite inconsolable. He mopped his face with a red cotton handkerchief, and sobbed as if his heart would break. The severe moral of the piece seemed to displease certain ladies in beautiful bonnets, who murmured disapprobation. The satire conveyed by the piquant "chink chink" was overcharged; but the honestbourgeoisiedrowned all discontent with obstreperous applause. They had no doubt whatever thatLaiswas quite as bad as she was represented.

Before the audience had well dried their tears by a promenade in thefoyer, they were all laughing themselves into fits over a comic piece—which certainly was very funny—about the children of Albion. A party of French pleasure-seekers find themselves in the full-flavoured and highly-coloured atmosphere of London, and enter an hotel kept by a lady in a straw hat and Highland kilt. (The fashions of dear old England have, apparently, varied somewhat since the wanderer left her shores.) To every demand for victual or drink made by the famished travellers, the short-petticoated lady replies that it is impossible,parceque c'est Sonday.And the whole party come forward to sing in the pleasant manner of French vaudevilles,"C'est Sonday, Sonday, Sonday"&c. and make everybody laugh very much. Certainly it was a perfectly good natured joke, and after they had lashed themselves in the drama we could not complain of being tickled in the farce.

A nice old gentleman who occupied the next stall to the Tourist, and availed himself of Monsieur's lorgnette, asked whether we love to ridicule Frenchmen in a like manner on our stage; and, being answered in the negative, seemed disposed to congratulate himself that his countrymen were free from ridiculous customs, follies and vices.

"Pardon, my dear Sir: behold all the difference. Your writers are spiritual and ingenious, but they want one thing—conscientiousness. They care little for truth and justice if they can only say a good thing. The piece which has diverted us both so much supposes an audience as ignorant of us and of our manners as if we were Tartars or Japanese. A sketch so coarse and unfaithful could not be presented to even the least instructed play-goers of London. Forty years ago, I confess, when we had no intercourse with your charming Paris, they would have received it with delight at the first theatre of the King. But now they know too much; and any of our writers who should set himself to laugh at the grand nation without careful and candid observation of them in their own country, would be only makinghimselfridiculous. Now the more a traveller becomes familiar with the people amongst whom he lives, the less occasion he finds to smile at their peculiarities. He discovers good sense where at first he only saw eccentricity, and the material for mockery crumbles away when he attempts to grasp it. And hence it arises, my dear Sir, that almost the only sure way to raise a laugh in England against your witty compatriots is to carry out and improve their ignorant caricatures of us."

"Monsieur, it is impossible to say anything more true or more profound. Permit me to hope that, as the two sisters recognise each other's noble traits, they will never smile to deride, but only in admiration."

The Russians are not commonly supposed to be revolutionists, though the slaves of a sanguinary Autocrat are just as bad as Red Republicans. However it appears that they have embraced that revolution in naval warfare which is destined to result from the adoption ofColt'sRevolver. Armed with this instrument, these tools of absolutism are likely, in effect, to prove the most destructive levellers; flooring their antagonists left and right. Should these antagonists ever be British Tars, it will be a disgrace to the Admiralty if theQueen'ssailors have no better weapons than the superseded old pistol and common cutlass wherewith to encounter the crew ofNicholas. It is to be hoped that they will be supplied, without delay, with arms that will place them on an equality with whatsoever foe they may be called upon to conquer; so that they may defy oldNicholasand all his crew, and repel all other assaults of the enemy.

Lord Mayor Sidney, in presiding the other day at a meeting of those very common people, the Common Council, expressed himself excessively "anxious for the honour of the Corporation." We are delighted to have it in our power to relieveLord Sidneyfrom further solicitude, by entreating him to cease from all anxiety for "the honour" of the Corporation, as we can assure him that the alleged cause of his anxiety does not exist.

The two serpents thatHerculesstrangled in his cradle were a couple of bottles ofDaffy's ElixirandGodfrey's Cordial. If he hadn't killed them, they would have killed him.

We see announced the "Death of the Oldest Lawyer." How old he was, we cannot say—but we always thought "The Oldest Lawyer" what is properly called "The Nick of Time."

WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISSWHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS, ETC.

Plutarchdelighted in parallels:Punchtakes pleasure in the like intellectual exercise. Our friend of theNotes and Queriesspeaks of a "vastquantityof donkeys" at Malvern (for at that favoured place donkeys are measured by the peck and bushel). And amongst these donkeys was, until lately, a very superior ass named, for certain achievements performed in the cause of the lateQueen Adelaide, the "RoyalMoses." It seems that the goodQueenwas wont to be carried on the back of Moses—at the time simply Moses, and no more—to the summit of the thymy hills of Malvern; Moses, no doubt, inwardly rejoiced and comforted by a knowledge, or at least suspicion, of the preciousness of the burden (for he carried £100,000 per annum) that honoured him; for even asses have shrewd instincts in the presence of the Royal and the great. Well,Her Majestybeing about to leave Malvern, rewards the old woman whose property Moses is: at the same time, with her wonted benevolence, inquiring if she could do any further service, likely, in this world of nice distinctions, to give—in return for the many rides on Moses—the old woman a lift. After a while, pondering the matter, the old woman said—"Please yourBlessed Majesty, give a name to my donkey." Now, as the animal was an ass upon four legs, there was no precedent for bestowing upon him a baronetcy or even a knighthood: he could not be calledSir Moses Asinus, Bart.—neither dubbed simplySir Moses. Otherwise, in the latter case, we doubt not the good-naturedQueen, calling for a bulrush from the ponds of Malvern, the donkey sagaciously going upon his knees, would have been melodiously commanded to "Rise,Sir Moses." The four legs, however, stood in the way of such an honour. Therefore,Queen Adelaide, looking benevolently upon the donkey, said—"Henceforth, be known to all men as the ROYALMoses." A peck of beans would, probably have been quite as acceptable as the regal prefix; nevertheless, the ass—like the ass ofPeter Bell—

"—— the ass, with motion dull,Turn'd, on the pivot of his skull,His long left ear!"

"—— the ass, with motion dull,

Turn'd, on the pivot of his skull,

His long left ear!"

The dignity was thus loyally acknowledged by the ennobled donkey, andQueen Adelaidedeparted. And the glory of the Royal Moses grew exceeding bright. Everybody would ride him. "That roan shall be my throne," criesHotspur. "For that Moses I proposes," cried every Cockney visitor. What was the result? No ass could bear to be so put upon. The ass died; but—it is said—has left several sons behind him; one and all called, even as the sire,"The Royal Moses". But this is a miserable imposture—an ignorant, wretched ambition. Asses—assuredly asses on four legs—have no hereditary titles. There can be but one Royal Moses—the sons are simply donkeys, and no more.

And London supplies a parallel with Malvern. Once upon a time there was a Mayor. Now, this Mayor would take upon himself the burden of the reputation of a Royal Prince; would carry it at public meetings; would especially insist on trotting with it into Hyde Park? And for what purpose? We—Punch—have written to the old woman at Malvern, the owner of the dead Royal Moses, to inquire of her—(for at a critical moment she proved herself a shrewd, worldly-wise old woman)—to inquire her opinions upon the conduct of ourMayor, self-burthened with the crystal glory of a graciousPrince. We have received her answer, and duly give it:—

"To Mr. Punch,—The owner of the Royal Moses as was, ofQueen Adelaideof blessed memory [this is writ for me by the Parish Clerk], presents her duty toMr. Punch, and searching her own bosom for what was there when she was emboldened to ask a favour ofHer Majesty—

"The owner of the Royal Moses as was (his sons are like him, as beans are like beans) thinks theMareaswilltrot about with thePrince, only does it that he may—copying of me—say, 'Please your Royal Highness to give a name to my donkey, or mare, as the case may be.'

"And this,Mr. Punch, is my belief, judging from the secrets of my own breast. And am

"Your Humble and Dutiful Servant,"The owner of the Royal Moses,

"HerXmark."

"P.S.—Donkeys always on hand."

"Thus, the old dame of Malvern, divining aright, ourChallismay ask, or hint—"Please your Royal Highness, give a handle to my challice".

Died the other day, by Act of Parliament, that time-honoured old nuisance, the City of London: very sincerely execrated by all who knew it, its civic brethren alone perhaps excepted. Though sudden at last, its death, by no means, was an unexpected one: for in the public estimation it was known that the deceased had long been sinking. Among the causes which chiefly led to its dissolution, we believe especial prominence must be given to its fondness for good living. Its favourite dish perhaps was turtle soup, of which its consumption was habitually enormous. We believe it has been even known to devour as many as four hundred quarts at a single dinner.

Gluttony, however, was not its only failing. Its love of "good things" was by no means confined to those of the dinner-table: for its appetite for venison was more than equalled by its thirst for wealth. We might enumerate many acts of extortion by which its existence was rendered infamous. The blackest of these however was, we think, its coal-tax; of which its imposition was regarded as such, in more than one sense of the substantive, being justly complained of, as a burning shame, by all who suffered from it.

Another failing of the deceased was its utter want of taste—in everything but what had emanated from the kitchen. Of this the strongest instance was its strenuous upholding of Temple Bar: an ugly structure, but for the keeping up of which people had to pay pretty handsomely. Nor was its sense of smell less impaired, apparently, than that of taste: as was shown especially by the strange degree of fondness it evinced for Smithfield Market, although that place was continually in bad odour.

Throughout its existence, the deceased was extremely subject to fits—of indiscretion—which it is thought materially impaired its constitution. Perhaps the most distressing of these was that which annually recurred on the 9th of November, when it experienced for hours a congestion of its arteries, which seriously impeded its vital circulation. In some of its later paroxysms, the deceased so far forgot itself as to betray a slight attention to the Arts, to which it previously had maintained the most complete indifference—except, indeed, to that which we now see daily advertised as the "Art of Dining."

It is expected that the funeral will take place in the middle of next week, when theLord Mayorof course will officiate as Chief Mourner. Service will be performed by one of the Sheriffs, whose officers have long discharged that duty. We are not aware that any monument will be erected to the deceased, though a column to its memory will probably be placed in the pages of our contemporaries.

The past week affords another argument for the removal of Temple-Bar. On Tuesday last, a distinguished Alderman having to go west, was stopped by the fog at Temple-Bar. Fog and alderman were both so thick, it was impossible that both could go through together. We have not heard how the dilemma was settled.

The Present Fashion of Bonnets.—A lady dresses first, and then puts on her bonnet. The bonnet is, now, completely an "after-thought."

Great Theatrical Event.—The last week has produced an entirely new—translator!

TTHE papers announced the other day in "second editions," by "submarine and electric telegraph," the important fact that "theDuke de Nemourshad called on theCount de Chambordat Frohsdorf;" and a subsequent communication brought the equally important intelligence that thePrince de Chambordhad since returned the call. How it can signify to Europe in general, or to England in particular, to be told that these two princes are now on visiting terms is a puzzle to us, who look upon the affair with as much unconcern as we should have felt at the intimation thatJoneshad been toRobinson's, and thatRobinsonhad returnedJones'scard. We suppose, however, that the electric telegraph will speedily be put into requisition to communicate the progress of the fusion through all its stages, from the first interchange of the conventional pasteboard, to the final drawing up of a family compact. We shall expect to meet with such passages as the following in the columns of our contemporaries before the end of the month:—

THE papers announced the other day in "second editions," by "submarine and electric telegraph," the important fact that "theDuke de Nemourshad called on theCount de Chambordat Frohsdorf;" and a subsequent communication brought the equally important intelligence that thePrince de Chambordhad since returned the call. How it can signify to Europe in general, or to England in particular, to be told that these two princes are now on visiting terms is a puzzle to us, who look upon the affair with as much unconcern as we should have felt at the intimation thatJoneshad been toRobinson's, and thatRobinsonhad returnedJones'scard. We suppose, however, that the electric telegraph will speedily be put into requisition to communicate the progress of the fusion through all its stages, from the first interchange of the conventional pasteboard, to the final drawing up of a family compact. We shall expect to meet with such passages as the following in the columns of our contemporaries before the end of the month:—

"By Submarine and Electric Telegraph.—TheCount de Chambordasked theDuke de Nemoursto breakfast this morning, and theDuke de Nemoursreturned the compliment by inviting thePrince de Chambordto tea in the afternoon."

"By Special Courier from Vienna.—The representative of the elder branch of the House of Bourbon has offered a cigar to the representative of the Orleans family, who has acknowledged the courtesy by presenting his illustrious relative with afuseeto light his Havannah.

"Latest from Frohsdorf.—TheCount de Chambordand theDuke de Nemoursare now, at near midnight, drinking grog together. The elder branch poured in the water; the younger branch has added the spirits; each of the royal personages acted as spoon, and after a stirring interview of several seconds, the fusion may be considered to have been complete."

It is proposed by certain well-meaning persons, to erect ragged churches on purpose only for the poor, the wretched, and the ragged. Probably a church of this sort will be built in the district ofSt. Giles; to be dedicated, however, in honour ofSt. James, the patron saint, whatever his square may think, of ill-dressed church-goers. We are getting on in matters of this kind. We are making a sort of railway progress. By and by we shall have churches for different sets of people; first, second, and third class churches. They will be churches of different orders, not only architectural but social. Perhaps the third class won't be covered in, and in that case it might be constructed on the simplest model of a Greek Temple; the rather, as the whole arrangement would certainly look somewhat pagan.

Matters being thus in train—rather on the broad gauge line, with an inferior terminus, some may say—the adoption of steam-organs might be suggested, together with the substitution of locomotives for clergymen, as soon as scientific improvement shall enable us to construct such engines, capable of performing their duties mechanically.

The Ragged Churches, we suppose, will be built of ragstone; the pulpit-cushion, the altar-cloth, will be all rags. The clergy will officiate in tatters; so as to preclude the possibility of any surplice controversy, by rendering it impossible to tell what kind of vestments they have on. The church will be ragged, the parson ragged, the congregation ragged—all ragged together. Perhaps, also, the doctrine ought, in a manner, to be ragged too; for, suppose the Church Triumphant to correspond to the Church Militant, and it would be requisite to preach a Ragged Heaven. And though there is one place for the poor and another for the rich in this world, it will be well for the rich if there is not one place for themselves and another for the poor in the next.

If a secret is a little weak, and looks as if it was likely to die, there is nothing for recovering it equal to a cup of tea—but then the tea must be administered by the hand of a lady, rather advanced in years. After a cup or so, the secret will imbibe fresh strength, and will be good for, at least, another ten years. N.B. This remedy has never been known to fail, more especially if there happen to be two or three elderly ladies present, and they take good care, at the time the secret is recovering, to give the poor thing plenty of circulation.

For Law and Ruth, and Faith and Truth,With my jackboot's heel I'll spurn 'em!March, my Cossacks, o'er the Pruth,Non confundar in æternum!Hot with blood-drouth from North and South,Let my grim field-batteries thunderChorus from each iron mouth,In æternum non confundar!No laurels grow in Russian snow,Southwards I must look to earn 'emBy cheating friend and robbing foe—Non confundar in æternum!Rich Jassy's plain I want for grain,Bucharest I want for plunder;I've knouts for all who dare complain—In æternum non confundar!What treaties make for me, I take,What against me make, I burn 'em;I burrow where I cannot break—Non confundar in æternum!With half the West in neutral rest,T'other half in active blunder('Tis hard to say which serves me best)—In æternum non confundar!Count Nesselrodemy rights has showed;Who to ridicule dares turn 'em?I but claim debts most clearly owed—Non confundar in æternum!A new crusade I preach to aidChristians by vile Turks kept under,Whom I'd convert by cannonade—In æternum non confundar!Peter the Greatleft words of weight(All ofRomanzoffrace learn 'em),Foreshadowing Russia's glorious fate;(Non confundar in æternum!)Which is to be Suzerain in fee,O'er all Europe's tracts, that sunderThe Baltic from the Euxine Sea.(In æternum non confundar!)Me it doth irk, to see the Turk,(Abeit mox in infernum!)Set himself against this Holy Work—(Non confundar in æternum!)Check with a lath a torrent's wrath,If it sweep you off what wonder?Such is the Turk who'd stop my path—In æternum non confundar!Finland is ours; Denmark our powers,Or has learnt, or soon shall learn 'em;Poland beneath our Eagle cowers,—(Non confundar in æternum!)The Euxine's gates are Russian straits;(Thanks to English heads so dunder)By us choked up the Danube waits—In æturnum non confundar!Who checks my course? Use fraud and force—Bribe 'em—beat 'em—brand 'em—burn 'em!The Russian's God knows no remorse,(Non confundar in æternum!)Forth with the sword, the knout, the cord,Hang, and scourge, and hew asunder!With rites like these while I'm adored—In æturnum non confundar!

For Law and Ruth, and Faith and Truth,

With my jackboot's heel I'll spurn 'em!

March, my Cossacks, o'er the Pruth,

Non confundar in æternum!

Hot with blood-drouth from North and South,

Let my grim field-batteries thunder

Chorus from each iron mouth,

In æternum non confundar!

No laurels grow in Russian snow,Southwards I must look to earn 'emBy cheating friend and robbing foe—Non confundar in æternum!Rich Jassy's plain I want for grain,Bucharest I want for plunder;I've knouts for all who dare complain—In æternum non confundar!

No laurels grow in Russian snow,

Southwards I must look to earn 'em

By cheating friend and robbing foe—

Non confundar in æternum!

Rich Jassy's plain I want for grain,

Bucharest I want for plunder;

I've knouts for all who dare complain—

In æternum non confundar!

What treaties make for me, I take,What against me make, I burn 'em;I burrow where I cannot break—Non confundar in æternum!With half the West in neutral rest,T'other half in active blunder('Tis hard to say which serves me best)—In æternum non confundar!

What treaties make for me, I take,

What against me make, I burn 'em;

I burrow where I cannot break—

Non confundar in æternum!

With half the West in neutral rest,

T'other half in active blunder

('Tis hard to say which serves me best)—

In æternum non confundar!

Count Nesselrodemy rights has showed;Who to ridicule dares turn 'em?I but claim debts most clearly owed—Non confundar in æternum!A new crusade I preach to aidChristians by vile Turks kept under,Whom I'd convert by cannonade—In æternum non confundar!

Count Nesselrodemy rights has showed;

Who to ridicule dares turn 'em?

I but claim debts most clearly owed—

Non confundar in æternum!

A new crusade I preach to aid

Christians by vile Turks kept under,

Whom I'd convert by cannonade—

In æternum non confundar!

Peter the Greatleft words of weight(All ofRomanzoffrace learn 'em),Foreshadowing Russia's glorious fate;(Non confundar in æternum!)Which is to be Suzerain in fee,O'er all Europe's tracts, that sunderThe Baltic from the Euxine Sea.(In æternum non confundar!)

Peter the Greatleft words of weight

(All ofRomanzoffrace learn 'em),

Foreshadowing Russia's glorious fate;

(Non confundar in æternum!)

Which is to be Suzerain in fee,

O'er all Europe's tracts, that sunder

The Baltic from the Euxine Sea.

(In æternum non confundar!)

Me it doth irk, to see the Turk,(Abeit mox in infernum!)Set himself against this Holy Work—(Non confundar in æternum!)Check with a lath a torrent's wrath,If it sweep you off what wonder?Such is the Turk who'd stop my path—In æternum non confundar!

Me it doth irk, to see the Turk,

(Abeit mox in infernum!)

Set himself against this Holy Work—

(Non confundar in æternum!)

Check with a lath a torrent's wrath,

If it sweep you off what wonder?

Such is the Turk who'd stop my path—

In æternum non confundar!

Finland is ours; Denmark our powers,Or has learnt, or soon shall learn 'em;Poland beneath our Eagle cowers,—(Non confundar in æternum!)The Euxine's gates are Russian straits;(Thanks to English heads so dunder)By us choked up the Danube waits—In æturnum non confundar!

Finland is ours; Denmark our powers,

Or has learnt, or soon shall learn 'em;

Poland beneath our Eagle cowers,—

(Non confundar in æternum!)

The Euxine's gates are Russian straits;

(Thanks to English heads so dunder)

By us choked up the Danube waits—

In æturnum non confundar!

Who checks my course? Use fraud and force—Bribe 'em—beat 'em—brand 'em—burn 'em!The Russian's God knows no remorse,(Non confundar in æternum!)Forth with the sword, the knout, the cord,Hang, and scourge, and hew asunder!With rites like these while I'm adored—In æturnum non confundar!

Who checks my course? Use fraud and force—

Bribe 'em—beat 'em—brand 'em—burn 'em!

The Russian's God knows no remorse,

(Non confundar in æternum!)

Forth with the sword, the knout, the cord,

Hang, and scourge, and hew asunder!

With rites like these while I'm adored—

In æturnum non confundar!

We read inHousehold Wordsan account of a house sent over to Australia, which was made, chimney-pots and all, entirely of paper. This is not the first establishment of the kind that has been so constructed, for looking at Austria, who never has any money, and is always begging for money, may we not say that the House of Hapsburgh wouldn't be standing at the present moment, if it wasn't for paper?

Modern Philosophy.—The Gammon ofBacon.

THE STORY OF A PORTRAIT

THE FIRST SITTING. FINISHED. EXHIBITED.

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