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The red sun through the window gleams,

And thy small leg's a-cold I wis. Thy mother smiles—but 'tis too true, Thy nose y-pinch'd is growing blue.

A day may come thou shall be clad

In doublet of the cramoisie,
And eke thy heart shall be right glad,

With surcoat of embroiderie.
I'fackinsboy! a coat of vair
May shield thee from the nipping air!

. Sweet maids in wimples fair y-wrought, Shall smile upon thee. Thou shalt say, Oft, by thy Halidome, there's naught

So gracious and so fair as they.
But what thy Halidomo may be—
I trow it's useless asking me.

And when the hours shall wind-a-mort,
Whatever wind-a-mort may mean,

Thy jerkin fashionably short,
Shall be of richest Lincoln green;

And on thy jennet fair to see,

Thoul't caracoll, child, on the lea!

Beshrew me, boy! thy father's eyes
May like to see thee knight of shire,

He's but a wittol now who flies
At humble game; do thou rise higher.

By'r, ladye, I can soothly say

Thy mother will be proud that day.

And, now, to bed. I will i

The wine that cometh from J The Taverner at close of day

Will trust thy father. Now, child, go! Odd's life! But there's a fearsome Bcore Against me, on yon traitour door.

IN THE MATTER OF PROMOTION.

Bei.no A Letter To A Venerable Premier.

Mr Lord,—Marry come up, your lordship's grace, I prytheo why doth a miller wear a white hat? Gadzooks, to keep his head warm!

Having thus discharged, in the manner that I consider best adapted to your lordship's capacity, my melancholy duties as a jester, I will now avail myself of the jester's time-honoured prerogative, that of telling the most disagreeable truths in the most disagreeable manner.

The Whigs have broken down: they have collapsed—gone under— "gin out." Even your lordship, generally ready enough to serve your friends, has not ventured on promoting any young man of your own sacred set to high office, and for the simplest of all reasons. My

lord, there are no Whigt under seventy. That marvellous party, which has so gallantly accepted for many years the task of governing the British empire—that heroic party is nearly extinct. Ma. Ckaslm Darwin, a naturalist, who, I am sure, must regard your lordship with a peculiar interest, tells us how, in the stern struggle for existence, only the stronger types are able to perpetuate themselves. There us plenty of Tories left, there are plenty of Liberals, but that interesting link between the two species, or rather that melancholy high-bred hybrid, the Whig—the Whig is gone.

The Whig is as dead as the Dodo—in contradistinction to which lamented bird, perchance, he will be known to future and almost incredulous ages as the Don't-don't! For, of late years, the onlything that any Whig ever did, was his country.

By a sort of prosaic justice, it has been reserved for your lordship to make the last supreme confession of incapacity on behalf of the dozen families that you represent. You have wanted a Cabinet Minister, and after almost swamping the public service under a flood of your relations, you have been obliged to ask a young gentleman of German extraction to leave his counting house in Austin Friars, and step, without any previous official training, into the mystic circle of the Cabinet. I don't remember in all history a more signal humiliation to an insolent and exclusive class than this promotion of Mr. Goschbj. Don't imagine, my lord, that lam sneering at "the pampered oligarch," or " the proud patrician." I sneer at a worn-out clique that cannot even breed men fit to keep what their fathers held. Lord Dbkbt is i patrician, but Lord Derby's son is Lord Stanley. Your lordship is a Whig, and your lordship's son is Lord Ambbrley.

I daresay Mr. Goschbn will hardly feel at home in the Cabinet How should he? He is a man of the nineteenth century, and he must bo rather lonely when Mr. Gladstone is conversing with anybody else.

It was in the power of your lordship, however, even whilst signing the last confession of your party's imbecility, to inflict a sliglt-s alur—almost an insult, on a very clever man. Few people could ten done the thing so completely.

One of your subordinates is Mr. Layard. Yera made political capital out of his appointment thirteen years ago, as you have nude political capital out of everything else, including the execution of an ancestor. Mr. La Yard's appointment was dwelt upon by your friends in the press—you have not very many—as a proof that the old Whig party, which was despised even in 1852, was to be recruited; that its vigour was to be restored by new blood.

Let me be just to the Whig party. From the days of Ricaim Brinsley Sheridan to the days of Austen Henry Latak», it hi! generally known where to find "new blood," and it has sucked it lit a leech.

Your ministry fell. Lord Derby succeeded you. With a generous instinct, he asked Mr. Layard to retain his office. Mr. LiiiA whoso politics were then not so clearly defined as at present, might have accepted the offer without dishonour. He consulted his Whig acquaintances, and refused. In other words, he made a personal sacrifice for a party which was merely using him, which so far a"1 cared for him at all was simply trading on his name.

A dozen years have gone by. He has had a long and hard experience of office. He has had, night after night, to defend voir lordship's foreign policy—to vindicate it in the House of Commons when Russia snubbed you for your language to the Poles, and wbei Bismarck cuffed you for your language to the Danes.

And really, all things considered, he did it very well. The task, you know, was not particularly easy.

Mr. Layard is a "young politician," in other words, he is amao of forty-nine, who has been for thirteen years incessantly engaged ■ political life and whose name was known to the whole world, heron" he entered Parliament, as that of a clever man, a gallant traveller, at accomplished scholar. You " reconstruct" your ricketty Cabinet, a'4 you can find no place in it for such a man.

Is he too young? Then you have no business with Me. Gsscbb

Is he too old? .... But, my dear lord, in that case what or. earth would become of you ? . .

Is he not, by sacred birth, a Whig P . . . . But, again, u «*

GoSCHEN?

Is he, perchance, not rich enough? .... Then your system"610 more ignoble than we thought. „

But one objection you cannot, you dare not, make to him-I cannot say that he is not clever enough, for your Cabinet mcM* Sir Charles Wood! . ,

Let the last doctrine of the moribund Whig faction be duly pl"^ on record. There are but two avenues in England to high office, Fl must either be related to Lord Minto, or you must be a merchant a millionaire. Your lordship's loving gossip,

Penny Readings (the most popular selection):—This week's Fx*

THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA.

Sin,—Managers complain that they can't get anybody to write pieces that will d*, or find actors that are equal to the performance of leading parts, Why, look you here, sir—I havo run my eye down a column of theatrical advertisements in the Daily Telegraph, and what do I see? Why, I see that, " at the T. R. Drury Lane, in consequenco of the great demand for places," &c. At the Adelphi, I read that, "in consequenco of the immense success of Mb. J. Jefferson, the Freo List is suspended." Under the head " Haymarket Theatre," I read, "great success of Planchk's Orpheus in the Haymarket. At the Prince of Wales's, "most brilliant success of tho Grand Christmas Operatic Extravaganza." At the Strand, "unprecedented success of Burnand's new and original Opera Burlesque." That, "me. Horace Wioan begs to announce that in consequenco of the great success of Henry Dunbar," and even of Messrs. Best and Bellinqham. Under "St. James's Theatre," I read, " unprecedented success of the School for Scandal." At tho Lyceum, "the Matter of Bavenewood having proved a most decided success," &c. At the Princess's, "Mr. Vinino begs to announce that, in consequonce of its extraordinary success and continued attraction, tho great drama of the day will be repeated," &c. I read, moreover, that "the Pantomimo at Astley's is again triumphant over all, and it is pronounced by all tho London Press, and by tho universal public voice, the greatest success of the season." Of the Surrey, it will be enough to say that the word " success " recurs sine times in its advertisement. The New Royalty picco "has been pronounced by the unanimous voice of tho press and the public the very beBt extravaganza since tho world-renowned Ixion." Sadler's Wells has "tho best pantomimists in London,—tho ballot and transformation scenes are the theme of wonder and delight." The Great National Standard Theatre also boasts " the best pantomime in London." And the Alexandra Theatro declares that, "everybody should see the Great Pantomime of Blue Beard, allowed by the ontire press to be the best ever produced."

In short, the only house that does not trumpet the great beauty and extraordinary success of its Pantomime is Covent Garden—which has, one of tho best Pantomimes in London, and which, I hear, is full every night. May good digestion wait on

A. Pittite.

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O si sic Omnes!

A Paragraph is going the rounds describing how, in consequence of the gas suddenly going out, the rector of St. Nicholas Church, Guildford, preached for only nine minutes. Will our architects and gasfitters keep this in mind, and make arrangements in laying on gas in churches, so that it only allows nine minutes for she discourse. A similar plan might be adopted in tho House of Commons—though we fear the sudden extinction of the gas there would not stop the flow of oratory. Parliamentary orators are accustomed to being in the dark when spooking on any subject.

ART IN THE PROVINCES.

What it tho meaning of this police-case before the Worksop magistrates?—

"Police-constable Middup charged two gipsies, named Jama Smith and Mlija * Smith with having unlawful possession of a pheasant, on the 16th inst. Evidence not being forthcoming, the Bench decided to dismiss the charge on condition that the two men agreed to have their portraits taken. To this they readily agreed."

Does the Worksop Bench consist of amateur photographers, who cannot prevail on their friends to sit to them, and are they, therefore, glad of any opportunity of exercising their skill? Or were Jakes and Elizah immortalized as the bearers of the new and startling name of Smith f We should liko to hear an explanation of the mystery, and are anxious to learn whether the likenesses were mere photographs, or works in oil, or water. And then what size aro they P Doos a vagrant merely sit for the head and shoulders, while a murderer is drawn at full length? One thing is very evident—that there is more art than justice on the Worksop Bench. For, as there was no evidence against the gipsies, they ought to have been unconditionally

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OUR PARIS COMMISSION.

-THE BOTJVELABOO EES IT ALIENS.

By Our Rheumatic Special.

Parts certainly is a delightful place, but it is too much in the open air for me. My nerves won't stand it. I prefer England, where people have homes to live in—and live in 'em. Here one lives out of doors:—to be sure the climate is milder, if it wasn't, I don't know what they'd do. As it is, rain can hardly drive tho French from their little tables outside the cafes. Down it comes, a real geod shower, sixpenny drops and plenty of 'em. Itrains for ten minutes, say,—and no sooner has the last drop fallen than out rush the Parisians and occupy their places again. And then not content with this open-air existence, they dress as if thoy wero in-doors. Look at the nurses going about without any bonnets—and as for their mistresses, they're not much better—the bonnets they wear are caps without any backs!

And while I'm speaking of the ladies—who said crinoline was

foing outP I don't believe I have seen a single instance of its abanonment. By the way, there's one thing I forgot to say when I was speaking of their dress. They most of them have a coat of paint to start with—they even raddle the tips of their little ears, which is dreadful!

Next time you send me out here I'll trouble you not to send me with two wild young men again. Shedds and your other artist have been going in for the al fresco business, dining on those little tables and living in the open, and I've had to do the same, and the result is that I have ceased to be a human being and have become a ganglion of rheumatic and neuralgic twinges. And there's no getting anything for it:—I bought a native paper of a withered old girl who sat in a sort of sentry-box dispensing journals, and I couldn't find any advertisements of Chlorodyne or Nervine or anything of that sort.

You will be happy to hear your literary commissioner turned up this evening, and has explained his delay to complete satisfaction. The fact was a distinguished personage had to compose an address for the opening of a distinguished assembly, and he required the aid of a distinguished author to put it into shape—need I say the distinguished author was your L. C.? But that gentleman had before him'

—as he always has—the interests of the journal and his duty to his editor, and therefore, after hastily jotting down a few hints for the high and distinguished personage, he refused firmly, but most politely, all invitations to partake of the magnificent hospitalities of a Court always celebrated for the honour it pays to literary men, and ho is hero now labouring in the cause of the journal. At this moment he is smoking a cigar at tho window, and as I have undertaken to write this report for him I may say behind his back that he is a most active and intelligent commissioner as well as an amusing writer.

[The whole of the last paragraph is written in a hand which more closely resembles that of our special literary commissioner than that of our rheumatic correspondent. The latter gentleman has never before expressed himself so warmly about the former—indeed, we have heard him call him a muff, and wish lie had rheumatics, and then he wouldn't laugh at other people Under these circumstances, therefore, we venture to conjecture that our commissioner has availed himself of the interval afforded by our special's paroxysm of neuralgia to supplant him and complete the report.] £

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THE MONEY MARKET.

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EFOKK you outer on a spec

It's always well the cost to count up;
"Look ore you leap!" saves many a neck,

And small expenses quickly mount «p.
To have the power to gratify

One's every wish were pleasant, clearly;
But then reflect that one might buy

E'en Fortunatus' purse too dearly.
It's nice to live in Belgrave Square,

Twelve flunkeys your commands to wait on—
A chariot when you'd take the air—

French dinners served the finest plate on.
But if they're bought by risks on 'Change

That make you dread your Times to take up—
Such risks that it would scarce be strango

Should you some day a beggar wake up:
You'd happier be by far to make

A two-pair back your humble station-
To have a simple chophouse steak

Than such a stake in speculation.
The peccant clork who cuts a dash

By stealing funds from his employer,
Gots little pleasure for his cash—

Contentment is than Fortuno coyer.
Go—rob a hive? You'll find the stings

Take all the sweetness from the honey;
And so upon surrounding things

Depends the value of one's money.

■ OUR LIBRARY TABLE.

Tub Spiritual Magazine lies—in more senses than one—beforo us, and before committing it to its fitting place, the fire, we are desirous of making an indignant protest against it as a disgrace to our country and our literature.

Spiritualism is simply a mischievous delusion, and its believers may be exhaustively classsd under two heads—the knaves and the dupes. Of course the spiritualist will meet this statement with the reproachful query, "What! is the distinguished Mr. So-and-so a dupe?" To be sure he is, is our answer. Any one who has studied the chronicles of delusion and imposture knows that the successful swindles are generally remarkable for the fact that the knaves are shallow and ignorant, and the dupes intelligent—even gifted. There has never been an imposture yet that did not deceive some eminent people, and there has seldom been an imposture that has not been originated by an uneducated sharper or self-deluded ignoramus. The fact that distinguished mathematicians, philosophers, and writers have been found to believo in persons like Home and the Davenports, only adds one or two more to a long list of similar infatuations.

It is on behalf of these misguided votaries and for the sake of names we respect, that we protest against the Spiritual Magazine. "We are pained to see the name of William Howitt in the same pages with the scurrilities of Mr. Benjamin Coleman. This person, enraged at the exposure of the spiritualist humbug by Mr. Sothbrn, dedicates a large portion of this infamous publication to abuse of him. Rising above the dull level of his usual effusions about gyrating tables and twangling instruments, he soars to a depth of indeceny which we should have thought even the editor of a spiritual magazine would not have aimed at. He begins by saying that Mr. Sothbrn's doings are so wonderful that he must be a medium mdlgri lui, and then says he never did anything at all wonderful:—that is spiritual logic. But then he goes beyond this. Every one has heard the saying," so and so can't be true because it is in the papers," and every one knows that this is strictly true as regards the majority of American papers. To write for some Transatlantic journals a man must be, not to put too fine a point on it, a ruffian as well as—an unveracious person. But Mr. Coleman does not hesitate to quote from a New York paper with as much solemnity as if he were extracting from Scripture a statement which no respectable English journal would print, and he takes care to admit passages wholly irrelevant and entirely libellous—with what intent may be easily inferred, from a threat to " recur to the subject" if Mr. Sothern continues the controversy. There is only one word that can characterize such conduct, but as we would not appear to attack the editor of the S. M. with his own weapons wo shall not put our readers to the pain of reading it.

The rest of the magazine is made up of tho usual drivel, as ungrammatical as it is ridiculous. We read of the usual table that throws summersaults, and of a lively four-poster—not to mention " a lump of clay which is placed on tho table, bursts into a flame of fire, and

leaves a dense cloud of sulphurous odour"—in short, a Pharaoh's serpent. Then there is a Mr. A. P., who is carried out of the room into the next, "passing up the ceiling through the cornice." Then we have a rhapsody about Miss Hardinoe, whose orations are no credit to the spirits supposed to inspire them. At the close of this article there is a bit of ignorance quite characteristic of the spiritualist. "We have been informed that Mr. Scott, the editor of the Saturday Review, was the writer of the article." Wnere was the spirit of Paul Prv, that he didn't tell Mr. Coleman that the name of the_editor of the Saturday is not Scott F

But it is like crushing a butterfly on a wheel—no, we beg the butterfly's pardon—it is like taking a Nasmyth's hammer to destroy a Norfolk. Howard, to criticise Mr. Coleman and his magazine. We would simply ask those respectable people who are quoted as believers, whether they like to have their names connected with such a scurrilo publication't

THE FENIAN REBELLION.

(by Tbll-it-to-the-marines And Trans-binistral Tblboraph.)

The long-expected rising has taken place, and the Irish republic is everywhere triumphant. Mr. Dion Boucicault has been proclaimed emperor. The regiments quartered at the Curragh were desirous of coming over to tho popular party, but the proposal has been negatived in the Fenian Congress, on the ground that if they did there would be no fighting. Large bodies of Irish and American peasants are going about singing the national anthem,

"The captain with the whiskers
Took to wearin' of the green."

Later Information. There has been a serious disturbance here. The more peaceable section of the rebels has beaten the other section out of Dublin, and has now broken up into two parties. The one party deprecates the violence which was used in ejecting the warlike section, and has come to blows with the other party in consequence. Peace is again restored.

Ground and Lofty—Melodrama.

Six brothers of tight-rope and trapeze celebrity are about to appear at a New York Theatre in a piece (called a melodrama), specially written for them, and the event, says the advertisement, will institute "a pure gymnastic literature." We suppose there will be a good deal of word-twisting in it, and would suggest it should be called a burlesque. The scheme opens a new field of dramatic writing, and will offer a fine opportunity for some of our farce writers whose feats on the English language are quite as wonderful if not as graceful as anything done on the rope or trapeze.

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TOWN TALK.

By The Saunters*, In Society.

IFLEMEN should take a note of somo excellent practical remarks made by the Earl Of Dalhousie the other day at the meeting of the Anpps and Moams Rifle Association. His lordship drew attention to the decrease in the number of competitors for smallbore prizes, and pointed out the reason of it very clearly.

11 There are a Bomber of small-bore shooters who hare carried the art to a high pitch of perfection. They come on the field with such ■weaponB that they entirely drore out those who came in with rifles wanting those mechanical appliances, which many cannot afford to adopt, and which many, il tin v could afford the expense, have not tune to practise sufficiently. Such men as Captain Ross and his sons, and Lord Aberdeen and others, came in with mechanical appliances to their rifles, which told them exactly what allowance to make for wind, exactly what to make for various states of the atmosphere; but others came in with rifles without any of those appliances at all. The very first shot 'Captain Ross or Lord Aberdeen] took they hit the ceatro of the target at once, whereas the others wandered about for two or three shots before finding the target at ail."

I am very glad his lordship has drawn attention to this, and hope that the arrangements he [proposed to rescue the prizes from the "crack shots" with their mechanical appliances, and give a chance to the men, who work the weapon put in their hands by the Government withont such aids, will be generally adopted. The volunteer movement was intended to make men useful soldiers in the field, not to present scientific shots with pieces of plate. It would be absurd to think of men on active service being provided with the cumbrous paraphernalia which the "crack shot" uses.

Thb Conservatives, whatever their opponents may have to urge against their principles, have always been acknowledged to be the gentlemen of England. What a pity it is that a person like Ma. KuiiRANn can with impunity inflict himself on a party which has Earl Dbhby for its leader! I don't envy the feelings of the fine old Tory' gentleman when ho roads Mr. Ferrand'h speech at Leeds, and remembers that the blatant and illogical demagogue describes himself as a Conservative. It is not a habit of tho Conservative gentleman to speak of "snivelling Whigs," to call tho Premier "little finality John," or to tell a political opponent "he is tottering on the very grave," and taunt him with being "seventy-three years of age, and infirm and weak in body." I hope the English gentlemen whose cause he is injuring, will fling this Jonah overboard next session. He is- not a Conservative, but is merely burlesquing. He tells us Mr. Bright at Rochdale "showed tho cloven hoof." Mr. Fbbrasd is more fortunate, his disguise will not bo betrayed in the same way. The animal which masqueraded in the lion's skin, and is noted for its obstinacy, and its bray, does not " divide the hoof." But I hope the compiler of the next edition of Bod, will not class Mr. Ferrand with the Conservatives.

I Suppose everyone read the account of the finding of a skeleton in the bed of tho Thames near Somerset House during the embankment excavations. It was remarkable because, although only a few articles, an eye-glass, a pencil-case, and such trifles were found near it, the fact of a key made by Mr. Chubb being among them seemed likely to load to the identification of the body. Mr. Chubb was able to state that the key was one of a set of thirty made as far back as 1839 for a Government office. Tho keys unlocked somo official repository, and were only given to certain officers; naturally, therefore, people inexperienced in Government offices thought the mystery would be cleared up. Not a bit of it! At tho adjourned inquest tho coroner said he had communicated with the particular department, and had received an answer, stating that a search of the books, etc., had led "tea negative result." Of courso it did:—that's tho only result ono expects of a Government office.

What a splendid season it is for the theatres and places of amusement! Everyplace is filling, although it was feared that the high price of provisions would tell heavily this season. How is it? I think, perhaps, that our commercial prosperity and the increase of employment overbalance the failure of the agricultural interest—so it's an argument in favour of Free Trade. But tho places of amusement deserve support, however it may he derived. Tho Crystal Palaco, for

instance, gives such a shilling's worth of entertainment as was never heard, of before. I hear, and am glad to hear, that the prospects of the Palace are looking up, and that prosperity is about to reward its long and plucky struggle.

There has been a brief and brisk correspondence in the Timet between Ruskin and Cole, C.B. I am not going to discuss the merits of the case—in fact, it is unnecessary to do so, for although he is a little eccentric at times Ruskin does not often go far wrong, while the time when Colb, C.B., has distinguished him for anything but blunders, and a belief in Cole, C.B., and all his belongings, is unknown. I merely draw attention to it to censure tho monarch of tho Boilers for his rude language. When he speaks of a great man like Ruskin having "a temporary attack of common sense" one feels inclined to say of Mr. Cole "o si rie(k) " of the same complaint.

In an account of the Princb Of Wales's visit to Shropshire I read tho other day a little bit which must be very unpleasant to the "proud Salopians." The reporter says:—

After the royal party had completed their luncheon, the ladies and gentlemen

of the 1

of the locality, who were permitted to be spectators of to take the vacated seats, and with great remnant of the royal meal disappeared."

were allowed med, and the

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Many a league, many a league,
Many a league onward,
Down to tho polling booths,

Went tho six hundred!
"Seats" was their leaders' cry;
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to wet the dry,
Theirs but the votes to buy.
Down to the polling booths"

Went the six hundred!

"Voters to right of them,
Voters to left of them,
Voters in front of them,

Bellow'd and thunder'd!
Storm'd at with shout and' yell,
Taunted with many a sell,
Down at the polling booth.
Far from their loved Pall Mall,

Stood the six hundred.

Lash'd out the Squibbers Making tho people stare, Telling of deeds unfair,

Everyone blunder1 d! Plung'd in tobacco Fiercely they fought and Many a numskull broke,— Making the people feel

Strangely dumfounder'd!

Agents to right of them,
Agents to left of them*
Agents in rear of them,

Pillaged and plunder'd. Storm'd at with shout and yell, Taunted with many a sell, Back from the polling booths, Back by the quickest train, Baek to their loved Pall Mall Came those return'd of them—

Not quito six hundrod!

Honour tho brave and bold,
Long shall the tale bo told,
How they woro bought and sold,
How thoy were plunder*d!

A Spirited Advertiser.

A BrniiT merchant of Killamey announces in a Kerry fctrnmT, that he has still on sale a small quantity of the whisky which was drunk by the Pkixcb or Wales. Tho spirit must be the ghost of the whisky if, as stated, His Royal Highness actually drank it

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