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MRS. BROWN AT THE OPERA.

"was ever you at the Italian opera, Mrs. Brown?" says Mrs. Walters to molast weok, as I was a-drinking tea along with her, as has a genteel apartment just close by tho Middlesex 'Ospital, thro' being in the straw-bonnet line, as isn't what it were, when I've give a guinea for a Dunstablo, as was all the fashion, out of my own pocket, as would turn to the last, and then dye equal to new. So I says, "No, mum," I says, "I never were, tho' I've heerd tell on it often and often, thro' my dear mother's own sister, as had a husband a fireman thero night and day, and I know well as she's often heerd them Italians a-doing their music beautiful thro' him. Not as all Italian means music, for I'm sure there's Mr. Jennings, as keeps the Italian warehouse next door but one to where we used to lodge, there wasn't much music in his hollaring at his 'prentice in langwidgo as was downright low-lived, that it was; and as to Italians I don't hold with their ways, as I'm sure had something of a hand in my silver teaspoons, as was took, I may say, under my very nose, while they was a-playing of their bagpipes and a-daneing like maniacs broke loose all over tho place; but certainly they must be fond on it as I should say." "Oh, yes," says Mrs. Walters, "it's well known as they is, and I've heard 'em myself and often." "So have I," says I, "and late o' nights, too, a-playing on their orgins thro' tho pouring rain, as nobody wasn't a-listening to, so must have been a-doing it for their own amusements." "Well," says Mrs. Walters, "would you like for to go and hear the Italian Opera?" "Won't it be late?" I says. "Oh, no," says she, "wo can come away whenever we likes thro' mo a-having of a friend as can get us in, and it's close by, not threo streets off." "Well," I says, " Brown can't be here to fetch mo till ten at the earliest, and it may be half-past; but," I says, "no scrouging and pushing, Mrs. Walters, if you please." "Oh, dear, no," says she. "I'm glad of that," says I, "for I'm not one for no crowds, as is a deal too free in their ways for me." So when tea was over, and mo being refreshed, as is a meal as will do it when beef and mutton won't, Mrs. Walters says, "There's plenty of time, and wo won't have no hurry-skurry." I says, "Not if I knows it; for," I says, "I'm warm clothed, and the least thing would throw mo into that violent glow as taking of A sudden chill on might be tho death on me ;" for thro' tho weather a-looking lowery, and being far from settled, and never knowing how to dress, I'd took precautions in my Saxony cloth, as look equal to French merino, a black volvet bonnet, and my Angola shawl. I was warm, not to say hot. So we was a-chatting friendly over a little drop warm, thro' being old friends, as lived oncet in a family in the Regency Park, as she married from. I says, "Mrs. Walters, mum, what is tho name of this hero Italian Opera as we'ro a-goin' to?" "ThePrincoof Wales's Theatre," says Bhe. "Oh, indeed," I says; "I'm sure I hope they don't go on thoro as they do at his ma's." "Well," she says, "it was the Queen's oncet." "Oh, really," I says. "Yes," says she ; "but thro' her 'eavy inflictions she's give it up to the Prince Op Wales along with all the other grand things as she don't take no pleasure in now; as I can feel for hor, for when I buried Walters it seemed as tho' all was took." "Ah!" I says, "poor thing! she takes on dreadful, I'm told, as is nat'ral. I often thinks on her when I sees poor Mrs. GroniNOS, as lives at the back of mo, as was left with nine straggling infants, with nothin' to cling to but the mangle, as is dragging her into the grave; and lost two families thro' taking on and not goin' for the work regular." Says Mrs. Walters, "Why, there goes eight. Bless my heart! how we have been a-chattering." So as we had our things on wo started off, rather too sharp for me, but soon got there, as is a elegant place, and ladies a-goin' in dressed liko ball-rooms, as we had to stop till they was in, and was then showed up two pair of stairs quite genteel, and real gentlemen a-standin' about, as was that polite to Mrs. Walters as makes me say, "Well, to be sure, it's fine to be you," as certainly 'as a noble way with her, thro' bein' used to quality in working for West-end 'ouses. ,So we got comfortable seats, tho' there was more light than I cared for, thro' having eyes as is easily infected; but certainly it was lovely—I nover see, and the music a-playin', and a sweet pretty picter to look at, and all tho ladies and gentlemen down below as looked like a flower-garden, and some on 'em a-looking out of windows, leastways they was like windows in having of curtains, but no glass. I says, "Are they the singers?" Mrs. Walters says, "No—the boxes." "Oh," I says, "indeed." Whatever she meant by boxes I can't think, for just then they pulls up the picter and showed another as was beautiful, the snow a-laying deep, as made it feel quite cool and refreshing where wo was, but must be cold for them as lives thero. So I asks Mrs. Waltbrs, " Wherever is it?" She says, "Over there." I says, "Indeed!" I says; " I hopes not among the Hottentots, as didn't ought to be showed, as I oncet sec a Wcnus myself of that persuasion as was a sight for quantity; but just as I was a-asking, in come a lot of young gals a-dancing like mad, as their shoes was noisy, but p'raps they did it for to keep thcirsclvcs warm, tho' I must say as all tho ladies didn't seem to

mind tho cold a bit in low necks and short sleeves, and it's well it's, no worse, for some of them foreigners don't wear nothing at all, 03 I've heerd my own godfather say as is their ways over there. I couldn't exactly make out what it was all about, no more couldn't Mrs. Walters, as the heat makes sleepy; but of course, thro' it's being Italian, wasn't to be looked for. Certainly I never did see nicer-looking young gentlemen, and dressed for all the world like Cheyney ornaments—dears, thoy was. I wanted to ask Mas. Walters about them, but whenever I opened my mouth parties hished and hushed dreadful. Well, one young gentleman, with lovely hair, in particular took my fancy, as spoko out reglar English, and made parties as didn't know thcirselvos keep busting out a-laughing. I wonder as the young gentleman wasn't hurt; but no, he kep' on a-smiling quite pleasant; and then there comes in a young lady—I won't say a fine gal, but certainly a fine ooman, with a 'cad of 'air as was wonderful. Well, when she come for'ard I'm blest if they didn't clap their hands and roar with laughter. I'm sure if it had been me I should have got my temper up, and I wonder it didn't hern, for them foreigners is 'ot-tompered and up in a mlnit, as I've often heerd them say as has been in them parts; indeed, my own aunt thro' marriage, as never could bear the foreigners, thro' having a niece of hem eat by them, as emigrated to South Wales, thro' living in a missionary family, as was all oat down to the baby in tho cradle, as couldn't have done nothing to provoke their appetites, being that tender, as is nat'ral. Well, they all got a-dancing and a-singing, as is the ways with them foreigners, and a party come in black, as had a muff on his head, and looked that solemn as I should say he'd known sorrers; and then there was more singing and dancing, and one young fellow he jumped enough for to bring the place down, as was a 'eavenly dancer. But, 'pon my word, my head got a-aching thro' peoplo a-laughing like mad all about; so I says to Mrs. Walters, "Whatever is thero to laugh at?" I says. "I can't hear a word for them," for with my volvet bonnet I'm rather hard of hearing. So I says to a young chap a» was a-setting next me, "I wish as you wouldn't keep a-shouting out in my ear. Whatever is there to laugh at? I can't see nothing to keep a-yelling like that;" for, indeed, the place looked solemn thro' being of a bedroom, leastways I should say a shake-down for a mako-shift; and there was the solemn gent a-goin' to bed, when if that fine gal as we'd seen afore didn't come in thro' the winder! "Well," I says, "I never see such boldness in my born days." I says, "mrs. Walters, mum, if it don't make no difference to you, p'raps you wouldn't mind a-coming 'omo; for," I says, "it's all very well for Royal families to go on like this," I says, "but I should say as it didn't ought to bo allowed. I'm sure as no Queen as is a lady wouldn't have such goin's-on under her nose." So people begins to hollar from behind, "Set down!" "I shan't," I says; "I'm a-going." Just then a young fellow reaches over and fetched me such a bonneter, as the saying is, that if Mrs. Walters hadn't havo ketched mo I should have pitched over. I ups with my umbrella for to give him ono back, when it missed, and came down on a old gentleman's bald head as was setting by. "What do you mean by that?" says he. "I didn't goto do it," says I. "Come out!" says Mrs. Walters, "you're a outraging decency." "What," I says, "anna Maria Walters, you turn agin me !" I says ; and I was that 'urt as I busted into tears. I says, "You've been and sent a harrow thro' mo as will kindle in my bussim to the last." Well, parties hollared so, and Mrs. Walters sho forces me into my seat, where I was a-sobbing fit to break my heart, and didn't take no notice of nothing till after a deal more singing and dancing they dropped a large dark thing. "Well," I says, "mrs. Walters, mum, if you please, let me go home." So we was a-going out when the young chap as was close by ho bust out a-laughing, and says to another hidjeot, "I'm blest if that old gal ain't took it all in earnest." I says, "You did ought to bo'ashamed of yourselves a-grinning there." I says, "If I was your mother I'd keep you at home; for," I says, "you ain't fit company for the Prince of Wales, you ain't." But they only grinned the more, and I comes out with Mrs. Waltbrs, as says, "Whatever made you go on like that? I think you must have been a-dreaming." "Well," I says, "Mas. Walters, I don't want no words with you," I says. "Not as I calls it friendly in you to have took up agin me; but," I says, "certainly that opera was uncommon lovely; and no wonder as princes is took with such a lovely gal as that; but why ever she should come a-walking about into people's rooms like that puzzles me." "Oh," says she, "she's a snambler." "A what?" says I. "Why, ono as walks in her sleep." I says, " Oh, indeed; why didn't you mention it?" "Well, then," I says, "I'd cure hor quick, as is easy done, thro' a-sewing their bedgowns to tho ticking, tying of their legs, or even a thorough draught took sudden; but," I says, " in my opinion, them operas ain't much better than plays, and I don't hold with them;" and we was home afore Brown come, and I never said a word to him, for he's reglar play-mad, and if he was to know as I'd been even to the opera he'd be always wanting to drag mo about to theayters, as don't suit my complaint, so I don't go.

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IIERE'S a tempting bit of greenery—of rus in urbe scenery—
That's haunted by the London " upper ten ;"
Where, by exercise on horseback, an equestrian may force back
Little tits of tedium vita now and then.

Oh, the times that I have been there, and the types that I have seen there

Of that gorgeous cockney animal, the " swell,"
And the scores of pretty riders (both patricians and outsiders)

Are considerably more than I can telL

When first the warmer weather brought these peoplo all together,

And tlve crowds began to thicken through the Row,
I reclined against the railing on a sunny day, inhaling
All the spirits that the breezes could bestow.

And the riders and the walkers, and the thinkers and the talkers,

Left me lonely in the thickest of the throng.
Not a touch upon my Bhoulder—not a nod from one beholder—
As the stream of Art and Nature went along.

But I brought away ono image, from that fashionable scrimmage,

Of a figure and a face—ah, such a face!
Love has photographed the features of that loveliest of creatures
On my memory, as Love alone can trace.

Did I hate the little dandy with long whiskers (they were sandy),

Whose absurd salute was honoured by a smile f
Did I marvel at his rudeness in presuming on her goodness,
When sho ovidently loathed Mm all the while?

Oh, the hours that I have wasted, the regrets that I havo tasted,

Since the time (it seems a century ago),
When my heart was won instanter by a lady in a canter,
On a certain sunny day in Rotten-row!

A DAY'S RIDE.

A Lira's Romanoe, In Three Tableaux. Morning.The Sttamboat, Dramatis PersonaAugustus and a Gentleman.

I never could guess a conun

Auo.—How balmy is tho breeze! Gent {decisively).—I must give it up. drum.

Aug.—No, no, I don't mean that! All I wish to remark is

Gent.—Oh, don't say all, because I feel that I could go on listening to you for years—for centuries!

Aug.—But how should you manage about food P

Gent {timidly).—I fancy that a half-quartern loaf and a littlo

Sorringer of water from tho neighbouring brook would suffice for my aily wants.

Aug.—It shall bo arranged. And now let us return to the breeze—■ the river, tho barges, and those few portions of tho Thames Embankment which are already visible above the undulating surface of the

Gent.—I say, did you ever try to write a book?

Aug. {after a pause).—I cannot remember the incident. Why?

Gent.—Because—but, no, I never could guess a conundrum. Go home, admirablo young man, and write original poems without an instant'B delay. Bring me several of them in three days. My name is Lonoman, or else Murray, I forget which, but it's in tho Directory somewhere.

Auo. {emptying his poekets).—And I—fool that I am—have left my Directory at home.

Gent.—Never mind, here's my card. Young man, tho path to famo lies before yqu. In threA months the wholo of Europe will resound with your praises.

Auo.—Oh, horror!—I mean, oh, rapture! My generous benefactor, how can I repay this kindness?

Gent.—By—but, no, I never could guess a conundrum. Now I indeed feel what it is to be a publisher.

Tablbau.The boat stops.

Noon.The Omnibus. Augustus and a Lady.

Lady.—Sir, you have trodden upon a corn of mino which never injured you. Therefore

Auo.—Nay, madam, the action was involuntary, and the explanation shall be unpremeditated. When a man

Lady {hastily).—" Travels, ho mustn't look queer'." I anticipate your paltry subterfuge, but I look on Charles Mathews as a brilliant sophist, and even a quotation from 1'atter versus Clatter cannot alter my conviction.

Aue.—A conviction onco formed is Kko tho South American anaconda, which coils itself into inextricable knots, and then refuses to yield to external pressure

Lady.—Sir, you have an encyclopnedio mind. I onco had an uncle whose mind was nearly as encyclopaedic as yours. He is gone, though, and I am left alone in the world to bo trodden on—especially the corns.

Auo. {passionately).—Is there no remedy? Mr. Eisenbero has extracted

Lady.—Your suggestion comes like a ray of light across a path where all was dark before. If the devotion of a lifetime

Auo. (kneeling).—Then you accept the poet's love? My lot is humblo, but we will share it together.

Lady.—I will work for you, slave for you. I will take in washing. I will

Conductor {outside).—Paddington!

Tableau.Omnibus draws up.

Night.The Train. Augustus and a Stranger.

Stranger (anxiously).—Can you tell me whether this train stops at London? Auo. (enjoying his confusion).—I can.

Stranger.—Then do. The information will be considered perfectly confidential. I am rich, but honest.

Auo.—Then mako it worth my whilo and you shall know everything. Listen, old man. This morning I was friendless, hopeless, destitute. I now possess the plighted word of a young and lovely femalo—at all events, a female—who is shortly to be mine. In three months I shall have achieved a proud position in tho world of letters, and

Stranger.—Hold hard! I've heard something very likb this in a Btage-play.

Auo.—Of course you havo. It's tho business of the drama to hold the mirror up to nature, to show vice her own image, &c. But let us talk about me. I was thinking that money

Stranger (smiling).—Come, come, I see what it is. Young peoplo will be young people, so I forgive you, Harry; and if our kind patrons will only Ah, ycu should have seen Jack Bannister, young man.

Auo.—And the money?

Stranger (pulling out a pocket-book).—Tako it, marry and bo happy. Buy a semi-detached villa, and get as much horse exercise as possible. How about London? Shall we soon be there?

Auo. (pocketing the bank-notes).—It strikes me that you'ro in the wrong train. We are going auay from London, liberal but careless old man!

Tableau.Train goes on.

FROM OUR STALL.

No sooner aro tho early gooseberries pendent from their uninteresting stalks or tranches than our stall begins to be too hot to bo comfortable, and wo envy the ladies that cool costume that has no burden of cravat, collar, coat, or waistcoat over the neck and shoulders. Tho atmosphere of a theatre is stifling in the extreme There aro the gaslights above us and the horsehair below. Somo of the springs in tho seats of tho stalls aro broken; there is ono seat in one stall—wo will not mention its number—from which we havo suffered martyrdom.

Tho pleasantcst production of the past week has been a comio drama at tho Prince of Wales's Theatre. The title of War to the Knife has a thoroughly melodramatic sound about it, and savours more of the old Queen's Theatro, when it was devoted to such pieces as The Dying Words of Sill Jones; The Maniac's Last Curse but One; The Seven Scaffolds of SchwartiSurg; JBosen Billy, and the Flag that Braved a Thousand Years and never Surrendered to a Foe; or, The Executioner's Daughter; Jonathan Wild's Son, and True Blue for Ever,—than of tho elegant timo of modern extravaganzas; nevertheless, it treats of modern social life in quiet, orderly Bayswater. Tho belligerent parties aro a fashionable swindler and two ladies. A kick injudiciously given at an improper timo and place by tho fashionable swindler to a humble but dishonest greengrocer, rouses beneath the greongrocer's vest a hatred which would almost seem incompatible with bis peaceful vegetable calling. It is needless to say that the fashionable swindler comes to grief. Two ladies against one man are long odds, to say nothing of the greengrocer. Tho characters in the drama arc Captain Chisleton (mr. Sidney Bancroft), the fashionable swindler; John Blunt (mr. Dbwar), an honest Somersetshire gentleman; Mr. Ilarooort (mr, Montgomery), weak-minded, though married, and apt to bo led away by clubs and captains from the conjugal tete-a-tete and domestic tea-urn (as the author, Mr. Btron, might say, he is not of a domestic tea-urn of mind); Nobley, the groengrocor (mr. John Clarkb), selfish though dishonest, and tipsy though revengeful; Mrs. Harcourt (Miss Fannt Josephs), too charming; Mrs. Dclacour, a young widow (Mrss Marie Wilton), charming too; Tarson and Trimmer (Miss Lavine and Miss Bella Wilton), Arcade* amtt>, i.e., ladies' maids,both of inquiring minds and matrimonial proclivities. Tho piece was capitally acted, the audience were highly pleased, and, it is to bo presumed, the author was too—at least he looked Tory pleased when he bowed his acknowledgments from the stage.

Many morals may be deduced from War to the Knife. Here are a few: never marry a woman who had a.sweetheart before she saw you; never keep quinine in the drawing-room, it is a temptation to tho visitors; never go to sleep in presence of a lady unless she be your wife, and as such, entitled to every inattention; never eat seventeen bundles of asparagus in a week; never kick a greengrocer who waits at table, you might hurt yourself; never have shares in a bank that is shaky; nevor defraud nobody; pay your own debts—if you can't, get somebody elso to pay them for yon; lastly, get married, affectionately if you can, but get married.

Of the revival of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night at the Olympic we cannot speak except in terms of dispraise. We elect, therefore, not to speak of it at all, hoping that it is one of those mistakes that will not occur again.

The story of Oertldine, the new tragic play at the Adelphi, had it been clothed in modern garb would have made an excellent sensation drama. A proud and beautiful hau-ess, in tho absence of her betrothed, becomes a hunchback. She droads to meet her lover's eyes, and when she does so, offers to annul the marriage contract. But the lovor is a true gentleman, and insists on taking for richer and for poorer, for handsomer and uglier. They aro married. An insidious priest— whose utter villany would confirm Mr. Whallet in his rather strong convictions—persuades tho wife that her husband and her sister love each other. Tho wife thinks of her sister's loveliness and of her own deformity—" Haply for I am"—hunchbacked, 4c.—and is stung to madness. She enters her sister's bedchamber resolved to murder her. Now all this in coats, trousers, Belgravia or Paddingtonia, among tho appliances of every-day life, and made to look probable by allusions to modem manners, would have had a great effect. Unluckily the dramatist has thought proper to lay the scene in Wales, which is a long way off, and in the time of Edward The First, which is still further off, and people care more now-a-days for yesterday's police reports than for legends and stories of the Crusades. We do not say that this is not a want of taste, or that the cry of "St. Gboroe for Merrio England!" is not preferablo to that of " Mill for Westminster!" only that the success of a play depends considerably on its being well-timed and on its date and costume. The Colleen Baum and Arrah-na-Pogue would have been less successful in the year 1800 than in 1862 and 1865. Miss Batbman plays the heroine of tho play with sweetness in its earlier portions, and with great energy and power in the two last acts. Miss Clara Dsnvil's performance of the innocent sister was also highly commendable. Mr.

Miss Batsman's father, made his debit as an aged Welsh harper, and delivered a curse with startling melodramatic effect.

Tho new operatic burlesque at the Strand, Windsor Cattle, is tho work of Mr. Burnand. It is founded on the romance of the same name by Mr. Harrison Ainsworth. It is full of the fun, pun, wordcatching, and wit peculiar to its author's other efforts. Our limits will not permit us to describe it at length; but it must bo mentioned that it is an operatic burlesque—that is, that all the music is original, and that Mr. Frank Musokave has composed such sparkling melodies and quaint concerted pieces as to induce a hope that this sort of entortainment will become naturalized among us.

Apropos of music, I hear that L'Africaine is to be produced this season at Covont Garden. We havo heard the opera, and, therefore, know how noblo an enjoyment is preparing for amateurs and artists.

ODE.

By An Impecunious Poet.

How fresh and innocent the breeze

That skims the morning milk, and meads!

It hovors now among^ the trees,
And then to othor spots proceeds.

I love the air so calm, so cool,
That breathes upon my fevored brow.

It wakes my appetite; poor fool,
I'd break my fast, but don't know how.

For, ah! the wind, I love so well,
Unfeeling macks me while I praise it,

Because I cannot—cannot tell
What means X can adopt to raise it!

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

A Querist.—We really cannot inform yon what is intended by the term, '* a literary effort," unless it alludes to a gentleman attempting to balance his books.

An Italian Scholar.—As you surmise, the expression, "Aw ri, ole f ler! (hie)" may be described as being spoken sotto voce.

Pobtigus is anxious to know when morning breaks. lie should apply to " The Registrar for tho Day" at the Court of Bankruptcy.

A Correspondent, wto has neglected to sign his name, states that he sends us "The Forgettings of a Defective Memory" as a scries of interesting recollections. Unluckily ho has omitted to enclose tho MS. When he recollects himself perhaps ho will remember what ho has not done.

Parser wishes to know whether we have ever met with "Caou Tchouc, or the Indian Robber." We have never rubbed shoulders with him to our knowledge.

A Man Op The Times.—We have not got the book in question; but we venture to guess that you will find on reforence to it that the Rev. Newman Hall, subsequently raised to the peerage as Lord Lyyeden for his able editing of the Art Journal, is not related to the Egyptian Halls, and only very distantly connected with the Marble Halls of Bohemia.

Polly Trx.—We agree with yon that M.P.ricism is only another name for quackery very often.

Tan-hawser is anxious for informatioaas to tho removal of freckles. Loosen tho epidermis round them gently with a spado, sprinkle cayenne over the spot, pot them out as soon as they begin to strike, and tell Pickford to call for them in a few days. This is neverfailing.

An Antiqijart.—The motto of the Ancient and Honourable Company of Parcels Delivery is "PackrooHscum."

STUDious.-»The best naturalists acquit the London sparrow of intentional cynicism in the manner in which he applies tho term „"cheep" to every relation of life.

A Fellow Of The Horticultural Society.—The society is about to give a dinner-table show, and we can see no reason why your proposal for a canine exhibition should bo set aside. It has stronger claims on tho support of the society than the dinner-tables, because we have all of us seen dog-roses ; but then, tables havo leaves, you sec.

Proverbial Philosophy.

A Youno friend of ours, whose opinions derive a tinge of bitterness from the beer he imbibes, says that although it is quite true that " one swallow does not make a summer," a summer like this makes one swallow—a good deal of liquid.

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I Hate them all!

Of course I know Tory well that it's no use crying over spilt milk, and that when an unfortunate monkey has been torn from his homo and dragged away from his wives and families, the best thing he can do is to grin and bear it. But I do hate them, for all that!

Yes; by Africa, and Asia! By the equator, by the tropics, and by my own blue tail!

Oh, you dear little boy, do put your darling little hands into the cage—just a little further, dear. Don't be afraid of its own old monkey-monkey ! No—you won' I!

Lucky for you, my beauteous babe; for imprisonment sharpens the teeth, but it don't improve the temper.

I fancy that if I swing round to the next bar I can get a good clutch at that swell's long yellow whiskers, . .

Missed him, by Jupiter Ainmon!

After all, might isn't right. Why on earth, because they happen to excel me in mere brute force, should they clap me up in a cage, with some of the very lowest of my race P

A bun p Oh, yes, Miss; and very charitable you think yourself, no doubt. / know you, you yellow-haired minx. I see you, showing off your daintily-gloved little paw, you blue-eyed hy

What's that you say, you chattering little a

ou blue-eyed hypocrite! Yah

the rock of

_.dtar? The keeper's coming, is he? Let him come, sir! he won't find me a toady; he won't find me a sneak ; he won't find me trying to curry favour with him. Hot, hot, hot! How my eyes blink!

I wonder how the other fellows like it? I don't believe there's one of us in tho whole garden that doesn't hate and despise our cowardly gaolers. . . . Ah, there's the lion roaring, and well he may, poor old fellow, cooped up as he is, and with not so much as a baby to munch until it pleases the keeper to bring him round some raw beef! And even then, how do you suppose that he, a gentleman, every inch of him, from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail, likes to take his meals in the presence of a crowd of gaping Cockneys? Yah! It's absolutely indecent; it's unworthy even of a man! Man, forsooth 1 And they talk about anthropoid apes, do they, and "development?" I'd anthropoid 'em! I'ddevelope 'em!

Oh, Mr. Chaw.es Darwin, if I had but hold of the fingers that you wrote your absurd book with, for just a little quarter of an hour, I'd Origin of Species you!

"Lords of the creation," they call themselves, do they? I dare say. Look at 'em, covered all over with clothes! Why there's not one of the whole set that could climb a palm-trae. And then tho wretched, meanness of wearing trousers simply because they haven't any tails! Hang it all, it's their misfortune rather than their fault, and I should be ashamed to sneer even at a man, for a merely physical defect. But what sickens me is the wretched hypocrisy of the whole thing!

But it's no use talking. I shall have my forty winks.

EN AVANT.

"'Tis false to say through i« Art backward falls,'
Cries Podger, manager of music-halls,
"For though we gave the public one long course
Of the best music from the highest source,
Music of Britain, Italy, and France,
The public still compels us to add-Vance."

LIGNUM "V1TTY." A Paragraph having recently appeared, announcing the invention of "a new process for photographing on wood," the Secretary of State for India is most anxious it should be stated that he is not the Wood in question. He doesn't like anything telegraphic or photographic— or graphic in any way ; but specially with regard to this process wishes to have his negative taken as positive.

A Legal Ostrich.

A Parliamentary paper has just been issued, containing a supplementary estimate of £.5,000, proposed to bo voted for the year ending 31st March, 1866, to meet the expense of beginning a digest of the law of England. In the present state of the law we should think it would be difficult to prevail upon anybody to swallow it for that sum; and it, we don't believe that possible.

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L'AMOUR A LA MODE.

I Could love you, dearest creature,

Had you but a better rental; You are fair of form and feature,

And so sweetly sentimental.

I could love you, fairest lady,
You should take my heart in keeping1,

But my income's rather shady,
And your dress is Very sweeping.

And love within a cottago

Pleasant is, but prudence "axes,"

Will Cupid make the pottage,
And will Amor pay the taxes?

I love you very dearly,

And Love says "no longer tarry;" |p But I really don't see clearly

How on earth we are to marry.

Life can't be always Maying—

May-flowers fade, and so does pleasure

And you doubtless know the saying, "Wed in haste, repent at leisure."

To get married and be happy,

Would most certainly be jolly; • But when you get old and " cappy,"

We'd be rather melancholy.

The parson he would "jino us,"
But my small account at Cox's

Would soon be on the minus
Side, with balls and opera boxes.

Come, let's get the parting over,
We'll be friends still, true and steady,

And you'll wed this other lover,
Who has far more of the " ready."

At many another meeting,

We shall flirt and laugh together; Yet no more tender greeting,

i a chat about the weather.

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he'll never know, dear, will he, Of our walks in woodlands shady? We'll forget we've been so silly, When I greet you as "My lady!"

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the honour of re-election at your .t the Truthful and the Beautiful

Gentlemen,—In again soli' hands, permit me to remind y< are One.

In distant ./Eons the Attic Philosophers of the Garden and the Porch worshipped, under Melodious Types, the Graceful and the Strong.

I am, therefore, distinctly in favour of a large reduction of the Malt Tax.

Beautiful Tusculum! There Cicero musod as he wandered through the Shady Grove or listened to the murmur of the Classic Stream. Yes, there is a spell in its very name for the Scholar and the Poet!

Accordingly, I would support any well-considered measure for the extension of Reform in a Lateral Direction.

Oh, Eros, young God of Love! Oh, Aphrodite, Fairest of the Celestials! Oh, Hebe and Others! Ye still rule, ye Olympians, in the hearts of Men!

I shall, therefore, not attempt to interfere with Sir J. P. Wilde's administration of Justice in the Divorce Court.

Genius, thou art Immortal and Supreme!

Matters it whether thy Votary finds Expression for his Dream of the Ideal in the Chisel of the Sculptor or the Gillott of the Bard P

Again reminding you that the Truthful and the Beautiful are One, I have only to state in conclusion that I would give a consistent support to the policy of the Earl Of Derby ; and I am, gentlemen, Your faithful servant,

E. G. E. Lytton Bilwer Lttton.

P.S.—Do not forget tho identity of the Truthful and the Beautiful. It is an unstatesmanlike falsehood to say that they are not The Same Concern.

No. 2.—To Tite Electors Of Peterborough.

Gentlemen,—My principles have long been well-known to you; and in again requesting the distinguished honour of your suffrages I have nothing to retract.

Positive information has reached ate that the Superior of the Jesuits, disguised as a milkman, is at present lurking about the lowest purlieus of your ancient cathedral city, seeking whom he may devour.

With a view to the prevention of railway accidents I am prepared to bring in a bill prohibiting the employment of any Roman Catholic as a plate-layer, stoker, engine-driver, or guard.

The condition of our workhouses has deservedly attracted much attention. It is my determination to move that every Papistical pauper shall be put on low diet (except on Fridays, when he shall be 1 compelled to eat two pounds of beef-steak), flogged twice a week, and refused all medical aid.

I am not at present prepared to sing, unless my constituency should really desire it. Even in that case my conscience would forbid my attempting the well-known ditty, " The Pope he leads a happy life! I am, gentlemen,

Your faithful servant,

G. H. Whalley.

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