The Scene represents Ludgate Hill in the middle of the day; Passengers, Omnibuses, etc., etc., passing to and fro.

MEADOWS enters, musing.

Meadows. I stand at last on Ludgate's famous hill;
I've traversed Farringdon's frequented vale,
I've quitted Holborn's heights-the slopes of Snow,
Where Skinner's sinuous street, with tortuous track,
Trepans the traveler toward the field of Smith;
That field, whose scents burst on the offended nose
With foulest flavor, while the thrice shocked ear,
Thrice shocked with bellowing blasphemy and blows,
Making one compound of Satanic sound,

Is stunned, in physical and moral sense.
But this is Ludgate Hill-here commerce thrives;
Here, merchants carry trade to such a height
That competition, bursting builders' bonds,

Starts from the shop, and rushing through the roof,
Unites the basement with the floors above;
Till, like a giant, that outgrows his strength,
The whole concern, struck with abrupt collapse,
In one 66 tremendous failure" totters down!

'Tis food on which philosophy may fatten.

[Turns round, musing, and looks into a shop window,

Enter PRIGWELL, talking to himself.

Prigwell. I've made a sorry day of it thus far;
I've fathomed fifty pockets, all in vain;
I've spent in omnibuses half-a-crown;

I've ransacked forty female reticules—

And nothing found-some business must be done.

By Jove-I'd rather turn Lascar at once:
Allow the walnut's devastating juice

To track its inky course along my cheek,
And stain my British brow with Indian brown.
Or, failing that, I'd rather drape myself
In cheap white cotton, or gay colored chintz—
Hang roung my ear the massive curtain-ring-
With strings of bold, effective glassy beads
Circle my neck-and play the Brahmin Priest,
To win the sympathy of passing crowds,
And melt the silver in the stranger's purse.

But ah! (seeing MEADOWS) the land of promise looms before me:
The bulging skirts of that provincial coat

Tell tales of well-filled pocket-books within.

I scarce can say; I'm but a stranger here,

I should not like to misdirect you.

Prigwell.

Thank you,

I'll find the way to Newgate by myself.

Meadows (still musing). This is indeed a great Metropolis.

Enter BLIND VOCALIST.

[Exit.

Blind Vocalist (singing). Hey, the bonny! (Knocks up against MEADOWS, who exit). Ho! the bonny-(A passenger knocks up against the BLIND VOCALIST on the other side). Hey, the bonny-(A butcher's tray strikes the BLIND VOCALIST in the chest)-breast knot. As he continues singing "Hey, the bonny! ho, the bonny," the BLIND VOCALIST encounters various collisions, and his breath being taken away by a poke or a push between each bar, he is carried away by the stream of passengers.

Enter BROWN and JONES. Meeting, they stop and shake hands most cordially for several minutes.

Brown. How are you, JONES?

Jones.
'Tis quite an age since you and I have met.

Brown. I'm quite delighted.
Jones.

Why, BROWN, I do declare

I'm extremely glad.

[An awkward pause.

Brown. Well! and how are you?

Jones. Oh!--by the way--have you seen THOMSON lately? Brown. Not very lately. (After a pause, and as if struck with a happy idea). But I met with SMITH

A week ago.

Jones.

And how was SMITH?

Brown.

Oh! did you though, indeed?

Why, he seemed pretty well.

[Another long pause; at the end of which both appear as if they were going to speak to each other.

Jones. I beg your pardon.

Smith.

You were going to speak?

Oh! nothing. I was only going to say—

Jones.
Good morning.

Smith.

Oh! and so was I.

Good-day.

[Both shake hands, and are going off in opposite directions, when
Smith turns round. Jones turning round at the same time
they both return and look at each other.

Jones. I thought you wished to speak, by looking back.
Brown. Oh no. I thought the same.

Both together.

Good-by! Good-by!

[Exeunt finally; and the conversation and the curtain drop together.

PROCLIVIOR.

(A slight Variation on LONGFELLOW's "EXCELSIOR.")

THE shades of night were falling fast,
As tow'rd the Haymarket there pass'd
A youth, whose look told in a trice
That his taste chose the queer device—
PROCLIVIOR!

His hat, a wide-awake; beneath

He tapp'd a cane against his teeth;
His eye was bloodshot, and there rung,
Midst scraps of slang, in unknown tongue,
PROCLIVIOR!

PUNCH.

In calm first-floors he saw the light
Of circles cosy for the night;
But far ahead the gas-lamps glow;

He turn'd his head, and murmur'd “Slow,"
PROCLIVIOR!

"Come early home," his Uncle said,
"We all are early off to bed;

The family blame you far and wide;"
But loud that noisy youth replied--

PROCLIVIOR !

Stay," said his Aunt, "come home to sup, Early retire-get early up."

A wink half quivered in his eye;

He answered to the old dame's sigh-
PROCLIVIOR!

"Mind how you meddle with that lamp!
And mind the pavement, for it's damp!"
Such was the Peeler's last good-night.
A faint voice stutter'd out "All right."
PROCLIVIOR!

At break of day, as far West-ward
A cab roll'd o'er the highways hard,
The early mover stopp'd to stare
At the wild shouting of the fare—
PROCLIVIOR!

And by the bailiff's faithful hound,
At breakfast-time, a youth was found,
Upon three chairs, with aspect nice,
True to his young life's queer device,
PROCLIVIOR!

Thence, on a dull and muggy day,
They bore him to the Bench away,
And there for several months he lay,
While friends speak gravely as they say--
PROCLIVIOR!

JONES AT THE BARBER'S SHOP.

PUNCH.

SCENE. A Barber's Shop. Barber's men engaged in cutting hair, making wigs, and other barberesque operations.

Enter JONES, meeting OILY the barber.

Jones. I wish my hair cut.

Oily. Pray, sir, take a seat.

[OILY puts a chair for JONES, who sits. During the following dialogue OILY continues cutting JONES's hair.

Oily. We've had much wet, sir.

Jones. Very much, indeed.

Oily. And yet November's early days were fine.

Jones. They were.

Oily. I hoped fair weather might have lasted us

Until the end.

Jones. At one time--so did I.

Oily. But we have had it very wet.

Jones. We have.

[A pause of some minutes.

Oily. I know not, sir, who cut your hair last time; But this I say, sir, it was badly cut:

No doubt 't was in the country.

Jones. No! in town!

Oily. Indeed! I should have fancied otherwise.
Jones. 'T was cut in town-and in this very room.

Oily. Amazement !-but I now remember well.

We had an awkward, new provincial hand,
A fellow from the country. Sir, he did
More damage to my business in a week
Than all my skill can in a year repair.

He must have cut your hair.

Jones (looking at him). No-'t was yourself.
Oily. Myself! Impossible! You must mistake.
Jones. I don't mistake-'t was you that cut my hair.

[A long pause, interrupted only by the clipping of the scissors. Oily. Your hair is very dry, sir.

Jones. Oh! indeed.

Oily. Our Vegetable Extract moistens it.
Jones. I like it dry.