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Fails Turn

THE DRAMA DEAD.

HERE now! let me bo a little, for
mv heart is dull as lead,
Swift have I returned to Lon-
don, and I find the Drama
dead.

Pheasant covers, croquet-
parties, I have left (and, ah!
such eyes!)
Shouting, "Where is gay ex-
citement?" Echo simply
"Where?" replies.
In the autumn towns provincial

actors, ever active, quit,
In the autumn youths light-
hearted strugglo to the stuffy
pit.

Every autumn gloom and gaslight find us in dramatic mood,

London managers, in autumn, ought to bring out something good.

Is it well to make me savage?

when you know I execrate Groans of a degraded drama which men call legitimate.

Cursed be such social humbug,
turning pleasure into pain—
Cursed be one wear)' evening
when I slept at Drury Lane.

there yet another instance of a now degraded school—
I then to that Princess's where " sensation" is the rule.

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Better thou and I were eating young green peas with two-pronged fork,

Than beholding scenes disgusting—hideous nightmares born of pork!

Falsest of all fancy titles is the play, Love leveh all.

Based on morals so degrading that ono shudders in one's stall.

Never comes a point—for ever wearily the speeches flag:

Tired's the word, till fustian passion brings Tom Taylor to his tag.

Once I bore it; all my nature fired by Ivan Khor's caresses,
Now, alas! my lovesome counteBS wears dilapidated dresses.—

I, to gazo at classic Menken, vacant of her woman's dress!
Shall I pin my faith to posters and a trumpeted success?

What is this P my wrath is heavy, think not I am turned a fool,
I have visions of a Sothern, and a too-long absent Toole.

Maybe I am termed censorious, that my growling is a bore,

Don't I love my Charlie Matthews? don't I worship Nelly Moore?

Comrades, leave me now a little, let me wocp my drama dead,

Just ono "chop and stout" at Paddy's, and then sulky homo to bed.

Draws my poem to its margin—I must finish it and bolt;
Drama's all but past—deplore it, for the stage is on the moult.

Hang it all, tho theatres pall! But, rain or heat or frost or snow,
When a decent pieco arises, please to tell me, and I'll go!

OUR LIBRARY TABLE.

It has long been a complaint that we have no epic poem of the 19th century. That complaint must cease now. The author of the Londoniad has supplied the desideratum of the age. This remarkable work gives "a full description of the principal establishments in the capital of England." It would appear at first sight that such a performance could be only a series of puffs of tradesmen, but a glance at it dispels any such idea; Mb. James Torrinoton Spencer Lidstone (ho couldn't help being a poet with so many names) has exerted his muse on tradesmen who are not met with among the usual large and respectable advertisers, and the quality of his "poems" is such that it would be ridiculous to suppose any one would venturo to offer such a poet any remuneration. Our space will unfortunately not allow us to quote largely from the Londoniad, or we would extract at length tho praises of a firm of chemists who

"On the storm of competition looked calm and placid,
Known for the superiority of their Gallic acid."

and whose

"worth itself discloses
In pure chemicals for photographic purposes."

or we would give in extemo an ode which says:—

"Bees inspired Maro's classic song in Rome's meridian day,
And tipp'd the lips of Plato as he in the cradle lay j
St. Ambrose and St. Chrybostom have bees as attributes,
Bees have charmed bright lyres and themes and woke the B
But now I strike a newer note and wake the loudest shell
For a hero rising into fame, unique of Clerkenwell."*

One quatrain, however, we must give our readers ontire :—

"p.s.—I could not suspend even for an hour the forceful lyre,
Nor bid the muse rest with any degree of propriety,
Without a personal notice here of John Moor, Esq.,
Fellow of the Anthropological Society."

and another:—

"I took some of his Shaving Cream once to Sir John Colbornr,
Who thanked me and ordered more from King-street in Holborn.
I consigned some to th* nephews of England's much loved primate,
They analyzed and found it fit for any climate."

If this is not poetry we should like to know what is. But our author's prose is very exalted too:—

"P.S.—That glorious specimen of humanity, prince of millionaires, the Honour, able Billa Flint, of Belleville, far-famed City of the Bay, would do well to by so doing generally introduce the products of into Upper Ca

He is full of information too—not only about tho addresses of tradesmen, but on various topics:—

"P.S.—Experiments made by mc, in conjunction with a few scientific men, and what those observations demonstrated of what the Instrument is composed, etc., will be shortly published."

Tho following piece of information will be new to most people :—

"John Crkiohton, of Kingston, C.W., he himself set up the poem written by m* for that—1 suppose I must say—City, it having been a former capital of the province, a copy of which will be found in the British Museum."

We did not know the Museum contained a copy of the province of Western Canada. When our author says that some subjects are "too trady for a poem on Art," the reader will not be surprised to find how he can soar on the theme of biscuits:—

"Maccaroons, Maizena, which doth ye Western Lands adorn,
Medium (9 kinds), Orange, Rock, Oriental, and Osborne,
With Presburg and Ratafias, the Minstrel might fill a
Vol., Hail Raspberry, Shrewsbury, Soiree, and Vanilla,
Plain Arrowroot, Albert, Brighton, those known as Brown College,
I ne'er saw them surpassed nor equalled to my knowledge."

These poems abound in classical and other references; tho poet wanders from the antique—

"Midst serial revellings and pomp I did sight a
Transpaceous bridal train led by HirroLiTA."

to tho scientific—

"Microscopic objects here the ardent minBtrcl sees,
And Fnftaii nifttnmappm from thousand localities."

And Fossil D: tho beautiful—

"Aurora Borealia Sent their flashing light through the dome of a fairy palace."

and the majestic—

"Careering now the muse of science rides on the western gale,
And entrances distant nations with the Brothkrs Smalb."

We congratulate the 19th century on having at last found its bard, who will, to quoto his own words (applied to tho Mayor of Buffalo), hand it down

"Clad in the deathless splendours of your poet's lay." Well might the inhabitants of Buffalo (including a plumber, a currier, an upholsterer, a lumberer, and a coachbuilder) present this groat man with an address when he withdrew from among them!

"P.S." (to borrow a figure the bard loves).—We see it stated on the cover that tho book "contains pieces of some of the most celebrated personages in the United Kingdom"—as we don't find them in our copy, we suppose they must have fallon out. Perhaps the author will rectify this—wo should like our piece out of a living celebrity, <i 1'Abyssiniene. We see he has cut up a few tradesmen—probably thoso who wouldn't pay for a puff—we bog pardon, a blast on the trumpet of famo, but ho needn't send a slice of them.

Not Quite.

Dear Fun.—A man in "Vienna was caught trying to throw a Hebrew baby into tho Danube in order to preserve hiiaself from cholera. If it had boen at Berlin I could have made a joke—in fact a little Jew de Spree. HI had would you have inserted it f

An Anxious-to-db Wit.

Why is Fenianism hot? Becanse it is '98 in the shade.

• It is only fair to the reader to say the hero is a stereoscope-maker.

THE CABINET COUNCIL.

Russell.—Yes; on that point I am sure we are all agreed, and so are all the honest men in Europe; but now we must really get to business. I had brought down a little essay on the British Constitution with me —but I seem to have mislaid it. At any rate it 'll keep.

Gladstone.—Anxious to agree with your lordship on every point, I really think it will.

Russell.—Now, of course, you know, we are extremely strong in the House of Lords.

Clarendon.—Yes. You don't object to smoking, by the bye, do you? You do? Pity; you shouldn't. Yes ; we are strong— especially at the Foreign Office.

Russell.—True; and I shall look in occasionally and write a little despatch myself.1

Clarendon (wflo voce).—The deuce you will!

Somerset.—Then we couldn't be better off as regards the navy.

Russell.—No. By the bye, of course, I shall often drop in at Somerset HVjoso. You know that joke of Sydney Smith's? Channel fleet, and so on? But, quite seriously, I have long wanted to have a little to do with the management of the iron-clads. I flatter myself

Somerset (mtto roce).—Yes; it's a way you've got!

De Grey.—The War Office, I take it, is all right.

Russblt..—Couldn't be better. By-the-byo, I'vo got a few alterations to make in the Articles of War. I'll take Pall Mall on my way home.

Gladstone.—Invariably anxious to coincide with your lordship, so

wm i:

Granville.—When they do agree, their unanimity is wonderful— and apropos des bottes, I wish you'd all dine with me on Monday. Delighted to see you, I'm shaw. Picked up an idea or two in Paris, by the bye, that I rather think you'd like, Clarendon. Illustrious personage gave me some wonderful weeds. Delighted to offer you one, I'm shaw, only Russell don't like smoking in business hours. He's quite wrong!

Russell —Really, my dear Granville, this desultory conversation is quite contrary to all precedent. Do you imagine that the late Mr. Bnai

Granville.Connu .' I beg pardon. Pray proceed.

Russ*tx.—I am obleeged. Oil! yes. I was going to observe that we are terribly weak in the Commons. Of course I can help, administratively; but what we want is debating power.

Gladstone.—Deeply impressed with tho necessity of concord at such a crisis, I would echo your lordship's remark—Wo do!

Sir George Grey.—I can really see no reason

Granville.—Just so, you know. That's exactly what the people complain of?

Sm Charles Wood.—Well, for my own part, I don't know—

Russell.—Quite true, Charles; but I'll attend to the real business of the India Office myself.

Wood (delighted).—Will you, though? Well now, that's what I call really kind; for what with the war in Bhootan, and what with the caves of Elephanta, and what with the ryots, and Rohilcunds, and palanquins, and sirdars, and what with Lawrence always complaining that I interfere with his policy, when goodness knows I really mean no harm, and what with Cape Comorin, and

Duke Of Argyll.—Has it never occurred to this assembly that the true panacea for tho troubles of Ilindostan would be to have at the India Office a statesman young in years, but old in experience, a contributor to Good Wwds, and a countryman of the late Lord Clyde ':

Russell.—No, I confess it hasn't. At least, not to me.

Gladstone.—I think we shall get on capitally together! No, nor to me.

Russell.—Well, we must look out for some new recruits.

Grey.—Excellent! I happen to have a relation who

Gladstone.—No, hang it all! I beg pardon—but that won't do. John Bull's pretty patient; but he wouldn't stand any more of that! Now; you must get new men: men with brains—no offence, Wood.

Wood.—Oh, no, quite the contrary. Tho remark couldn't apply to me, you know; for what with land-settlement and what with

Gladstone.—Exactly. I mean men like Goschen, like Forster, like Stanspield; aye, or Mill himself, if he'd serve. We want to get the whole brain of the country with us.

Russell.—There is, undoubtedly, great advantage in community of action; and if you like, Gladstone, I think I have a few notions about the next Budget that perhaps

Gladstone.—Well, we'll talk of that by and bye.

A MISNOMER.

A New omnibus has made its appearance under the name of "The Volunteer." We cast a glance inside it the other day, and there we I saw—a dozen pressed men!

IN THE MATTER OF OLD AGE.

Being A Letter To A Young Nobleman Of Seventy-thrbe.

My Dear John,—Old age is venerable, and there is often much moral beauty in grey hair.

In accordance with the traditions of our people, you have just been called to a very high office, which you have accepted with that generous alacrity which invariably distinguishes you on such occasions. It is delightful to know that the event has called forth a remarkable exhibition of self-sacrifice on the part of younger politicians. It must be charming to you to witness such civic virtue as that of Mr. Gladstone, the more especially since it has been very profitable to yourself. Abnegation, self-sacrifice, these are qualities which I presume to be unnecessary in a man of seventy-three; but, oh, how fortunate it is for you that they havo been displayed by a man of fifty-six.

Personally, I can't help wishing that Mr. Gladstone had been a little more selfish, and I am inclined to fancy that the country at large is very much of my opinion; but it is, of course, consolatory to know that we are again ruled by a scion of the historic house of Russell.

When a Russell loses his head—pardon me, I am not alluding to a certain plenipotentiary who went to Vienna, but to your ancestor Lord William, who perished on the scaffold in the cause of English liberty after amicably accepting money from the King of France.— When a Russell, I say, loses his head, that article is adroitly picked up by his clever survivors, who use it very much after the manner of the Anthropoglossos.

Loud William has been useful, I take it, to Lord John; nor has that statesman suffered from his connection with the ducal house of Bedford.

But even on your own account you have rendered the country certain noble services, which I should be very sorry to forget.

I only want to ask you whether you think, yourself, that seniority is exactly a sufficient qualification for the Premiership't

Because, if it is, you know, we must again put faith in octogenarian admirals and generals, whom we were rather getting to distrust; we must keep the younger man down; and I am not sure whether we ought hot to insist that Mr. William Harrison is our ablest English tenor—which I deny!

I don't deny your achievements with regard to tho Reform Bill— you are an "institution;" you are a fine old crusted Whig; and I respect you, as I respect the barons who won Magna Charta. But if De Montford had survived to the present year of grace, 1865—nay, if even Lord Somers had done the same—I doubt whether I should think either nobleman the best man for Prime Minister now.

And, my dear Lord Russell, the world is moving rather swiftly, as I am informed. Stage coaches, I am credibly given to understand, have been superseded by railways; the electric telegraph has come into active operation; and Queen Anne is really dead. I doubt whether you are accustomed to bear these facts sufficiently in mind.

You have a man of genius for your subordinate, and you may, therefore, succeed. Only I don't quite like your relative positions. Mr. Gladstone, at fifty-six, can hardly be considered an inexj>crienced boy; you, yourself, at seventy-three, can hardly be considered as quite in the full vigour of manhood.

I wish you well; and I am going to offer you, with all duo deference, a little advice.

Do you remember why, when your first ministry fell, no man said "god bless it?" It was because you had made it simply a family party, much to the delight of the Elliotts and the Greys, but a good deal to the detriment of the British Empire.

You must learn, then, I fancy, to enlarge the circle of your sympathies. Have you any recollection of ever leaving your colleagues in the lurch? Do you remember that you were, for a considerable time, the most heartily abused man in the United Kingdom?

You must learn, my lord, to be faithful to your friends.

Do you remember the expression, "Rest and be thankful"? I am inclined, myself, to alter the spelling of that famous phrase; and to say that unless you recommence as a Reformer, those very rights, which are now denied to them, the people will Meat — and Be Thankful!

Pray ponder upon these matters. Be a little less exclusive. Talk less of the Test and Corporation Acts, &c, &c, &c. Refrain from volunteering snatches of political autobiography. Do not try to thwart the infinitely greater man who has consented to hold office under you; and although even then I doubt whether you are the best man to be Premier, you shall have, my lord, what is called "a sincere but a disinterested support" from

Your candid counsellor,

I forbid your offering any appointment whatever to Lord Amberley.

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ins&M's to CatTfspnknts.

Senex, Lloyd's, J. T., A Subscriber, &c.—In accordance with your wishes, "Gone from the Helm," will he reprinted on toned paper.

Miss A. P., Dublin.—How A. P. we should be if we could use the contribution! Many thanks all the same.

C. N., Strand.—We havo, as you advise, "leniently committed the M.S. to the waste basket." It was not nigh good enough.

S. S. O, Southport.—If it were in our power we should puhlish the verse, obeying your instructions "not to alter them in any way, excepting in errors of orthography," and "adhering strictly" to the punctuation. But what you sent us was not verse.

T. D. B. kindly forwards an article which he informs us we are, if wo think them good enough, welcome to use as wo like, gratis. We appreciate, even in declining it, his generosity, the more especially as the M.S. is not his, hut written by "a clever lady."

A Fluttering Querist.—There is not tho slightest foundation for yeur belief that our esteemod correspondent "Snarler" is deeply attached to Miss Ann Thropt.

Gobemoccke.—It was, as you suggest, on account of their possible employment by rebels in the event of tho great Fenian invasion that the authorities directed the romoval of all the pikes on the southern side of the Thames.

A Canny One.—Thanks! But wo don't care about the Falkirkshirc something-or other, and other Scottish provincial papers, howling at our lash to Sabbatarianism. In the words of their own bard, we reply " Hoot awa'!"

Charity.---When you give to a beggar in the street, first make sure that he is not an incorrigible one—there aro several " mend-Ican't's" about.

We have awordtosayto two correspondents. "G. E.," of Manchester, who appeals to be a commercial gentleman given to lying in bed late, thinks it " uncommonly good " that he should lie in bed at eleven to the annoyance of tho inn servants "who were evidently anxious to

got on with their work in order to go out in the afternoon and flutter in the breeze." "Expectans" sees exquisite humour in the fact of an omnibus driver having a week's holiday and going out of town. For shame, gentlemen, both! Why shouldn't the poor girls get their outing, and why shouldn't a bus-driver have a trip in the country? If there is anything funny in the notions, it is to bo found in the dignified way in which you look down on the inferior creatures—one from the commercial-room and the other from the knifo-board. Good morning!

THOSE REPORTERS AGAIN! In a recent police-case where a broker had behaved like a brute—or a broker, it was stated that his victim, in describing his evil practices, said he was *' a second Dando." This is clearly a mistake of tho reporters—she thought ho was a ^aunbroker, and said he was a Second-hand-o.

Worth, a Straw.

A Young gentleman has called at the office to ask us to tell him how to write a " chaffy" letter. He had better go to Parkins And Gotto and get some straw paper.

NOTICE.Finely printed on Toned Paper, with numerous illustrations,

FUN ALMANACK,

will appear on the 6th November. Price Twopence.

Now ready, printed on Toned Paper, price Twopence,
"GONE FBOM THE HELM,"

In consequence of the demand, Buoyed With Hope has been again reprinted, and may be obtained at the Office, price One Penny.

Now ready, Vol. VIII. (1st Vol., New Series), pries 4». 6rf. the Title, Preface, And Index, price One Penny. To The Trade.Number 24 is now reprinted.

London: PriEted by JUDD & GLASS, Phoenix Works, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons, and Published (for the Proprietors) by THOMAS BAKER,

at 90, Fleet-street, E.C.—November 4, 1865.

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A DIFFICULT COMMISSION.

Laura:—" Now Don't Forget, Charley, To Ask Captain Chatter For His Photograph. He's Promised It Bo Often. But The Poor Man Has Oot No Hbad At All."

Charley:—" Then He Won't Havb The Face To Refuse.'

ONLY SEVEN.

A Pastoral Story, After Wordsworth.

I Marvelled why that simple child

Made faces like the Gorgons,
And c!apt its hands, with moanings wild,

On its digestive organs.

Adopting a parental tone,

I asked her why she cried,
The damsel answered with a groan,

"Ive got a pain inside."

"I thought it would have sent me mad

Last night about eleven;"
Said I, "What is it makes you bad?
How many apples have you had?"

She answered, " Only seven!"

"And are you sure you took no more,

My little maid P" quoth I. "Oh ! please, sir, mother gave me four,

"But they were in a pie!"

"If that's the case," I stammered out,
"Of course you've had eleven;"

The maiden answered with a pout,
"I ain't had more nor seven!"

I wondered hugely what she meant,

And said, " I'm bad at riddles,
But I know where little girls are sent

For telling taradiddles.

"Now, if you don't reform," said I,

"You'll nevor go to heaven." But all in vain; each time I try,' That little idiot makes reply,

"I ain't had more nor seven!"

Postscript.

To borrow Wordsworth's name was wrong,

Or slightly misapplied;
And so I'd better call my song,

"Lines after Acue-insidb."

A CONSUMMATION DEVOUTLY' TO BE WISHED.

A 80NTEMPORARY says, "The Courts of Exchequer and Common Pleas are about to bo ventilated." Oh, why don't they ventilate Chancery P

OUR LIBRARY TABLE.

The Christmas books, rather later than usual this year, are beginning to put forth their leaves like the Glastonbury thorn. Foremost of all, like the primroses that tako the winds of March with beauty comes the Round of Days, amply deserving the flowery language in which we herald it. The cover, the paper, and the printing would constitute a treat in themselves. But the matter is as good as the manner—how delightful, now that his pencil is so rarely at work, to have half a dozen illustrations by Walker in one book, and better still that two of them should be reminders of his lovely pictures in the two last exhibitions of the Old Water Colour—Spring and Autumn! Then we have also drawings by Houghton, Pinwell, Watson, MorTen, Gray, and Burton, and T. Dalziel drops in here and there with little strips of landscape and sea-coast. Tho engraving by Messrs. Dalziel Is excellent, evon for the first engravers in England. Among the contributors there are many poets of note. Jean Inoelow, Christina Rossetti, and Dora Gkeenwell seldom write anything that is not well worth reading: the latter, in this instance, has unfortunately got some echo of Browning, perplexing one in some of her titles, and speaks of some one singing "a song of lovo and death," which expression Tennyson has made his own. Amema B. Edwards' verse is clever, and Locker's two poems are piquant. Robert BuchaNan writes like the poet he is, and George Macdonald's contribution is finely thoughtful. There is also a good poem by William AllingHam. Then we meet again with old friends and favourites, William and Mary Howitt, and Mrs. Norton. In one or two instances, however, tho writers have not done work worthy of the splendid setting prepared for their compositions. We can't all of us be poets, but wo can at least refrain from committing what is hardly verse oven. A mere apprentice in the art of versification ought to know that to give only two rhymes in every four lines is laziness and shirking. Suoh slovenly work was not fair to the spirited producers of this really splendid volume. The cluef sinners in this respect aro Messrs. Tom

Taylor, Hain Fiuswell, and the author of "Tho Gentlo Life." The last-named gentleman but one has this verso:

"Until at last the sun goes down

And tinU the sky again,
"With solemn purple hues; as if
A great king died in pam."

Not to mention the awkwardness of line three's not rhyming, and endingin the monosyllablo "if," which is not quite strong enough for the place, we should liko to know whether the invariable effect of a fatal regal stomach-ache is to turn majesty purple? Or is "pain" only a handy rhyme for " again," because if so, wo are glad to hoar it in the interests of royalty.

Another fact of which apprentices in verse should not be ignorant is that verse should flow instead of halting, that "expletives their feeble aid do join" to the damage of lines, and that a rythmical accent should not bo allowed to fall on a wrong word. These rules havo been slightly overlooked by the sacred muse of Mr. Tom Taylor in these lines:

"Hark, how outside the wind doth roar 1

See, how chill driTcs the sleet;
He came for shelter to our door,

Of all doors in the street."

In which, if rythmical accent means anything, we have such scnsiblo music as " See how chill drives tho sleet, Ho came for shelter to our door."

Wo have ventured to point out theso blemishes boldly, because we feel that literary gentlemen should, if they can, ho more conscientious, in working for a book which is so admirably got up, so finoly illustrated, and in which their writing is associated with so much roally good poetry.

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TOWN TALK.

By The Satjntereu In Society.

HE Cabinet has mot, and all is going smoothly. There are rumours of ono or two alterations which arc to he made in order to bring heads of Departments into the Lower House instead of the Upper, which will he an advantage. A — little bird tells me that Gladstone (russell wisely playing his lordly second and behaving himself) will go forward now, and that the ma'jority of the Ministry are prepared to do the same, thoy having all held back out of deference to the lato Premier's known opinions on reform. In this case we may look for a terrific battle—the two great parties will be onee more marshalled and blows interchanged vigorously. Of tho result of tho contest I for ono have not the slightest doubt in tho world.

"what a contrast thero is between tho funeral sermons of Dean Stanley and Doctor Cummino! I am not a great reader of sermons, but I confess I have gone through tho reports of these two discourses with interest. Tho Dean's treatment of tho theme is just what ft should be—I should say ho preached like "a scholar and a gentleman," if the Blood and Culturo School had not so misused tho term, that it means nothing. But the Doctor! Why doesn't he stick to bees and pious Zadkielism? Do we want to hear that tho late nobleman, who would have taken off his hat to a civil crossing-sweeper, onee shook hands with Da. Cummino? Or of what valuo is it to the world at largo that Lord Palmbhston, who, good judge as he was of most things, probably knew little about sermons, onco said that a discourse of the Doctor's was " very useful and very instructive "? Snobbory is bad enough anywhere, but hateful in tho pulpit; and what shall we "say about a preacher, who goes out of his way to lug in the fact, that ho was once associated with the Duke Of Arqyle on tho committeo of a charity? It doesn't quite bring this small talk up to tho sermon standard, oven to let off a firework out of Revelation at the end.

While I am on the subject, I must put in my protest against such an article as tho Pall Mall published on tho very day of tho late Premier's funeral. Even Blood and Culture might respect tho feelings of his lordship's surviving relations. What would the Pall Mall have said to anyone, not connected with B. and C, raking up the privato lifo of a public man, in order to point a moral, with sins, of which, at all events, the editor of the P. M. G. has not been appointed judge in any gazette I ever saw.

Mr. Samuel Lucas—who, report says, is to edit Moxon's Miniature Poet» (it's timo somebody did, but I hopo he'll do it bettor than he loes tho Shilling Magazine)—was apparently vory anxious to inform Lho world that ho was literary critic of tho Times, but I should say he will be equally desirous of disclaiming the reviews that have ippeared there of late. Here's an extract from a notice of Miss Berry's Journals

"Miss Berry (fives many a graphic anecdote conflrminir (If confirmation were leeded) the impression made on the people by the ill-used and ill -conducted consort >f that selfish and profligate Kins of the ' Fair Star of Brunswick.'"

[f this mean anything (and the construction is rather queer), it means ,hat the anecdotes now related confirm an impression in tho minds of jeoplo who have been dead any number of years.

The Saturday—oh, usually correct Saturday .'—also made a queer jlunder the other day.

"The most prominent difference between ourselves and onr next neigh bonrs is the

■ate at which population increases. Attliepresentrateofprojrress theFrench would inly double themselves in two years, whereas we should do so in a little over fifty."

Chat is to say population increases twenty-five times as fast in France is it does in England. This is a discovery!

A New giant! Anak the Anakim, as he is called, which is much he samo as calling him "Giant the Giants." He is a fine specimen, )ut the dwarf is a mere precocious baby. Why does not Professor. Anderson occasionally try something original f It is not in tho best aste for one who is just retiring from the profession to display so

much of the dog-in-tho-manger temperament. TT;» opposition cabinet seances in the time of the Davenport swindle wore fair enough; but their success seems to have induced him to repeat the dose, and now he does the basket trick and the giant and dwarf business. I think it a great pity.

I Have taken a stroll through the two winter exhibitions. They arc both good, but Mr. Wallis, having a larger gallery to fill, has more "padding." As his is the original exhibition, I'll notice it first. There are a couple of pictures by Pbttie, very fine; one of Orchaudeon not so good; a noblo painting by Barnes, "Never Again," and some beautiful landscapes by Leader. Tourrier has a clever Turk smoking, and there are good Watsons, bettor than he has been on the wood of late. Vicat Cols and Warren have both got oxquisite specimens of their stylo in oil, and water. Mb. Davis has an excellent painting of sheep in a drought, and there are promising works by other rapidly rising artists. Two rooms of water-colours contain many charming things—some Birket Fosters for example, and there are some good paintings in the room devoted to foreign artists. In tho room devoted to the works of female artists, the most noticeable features are a picture of Rosa Bonueur's, one by Miss Ellen Edwards (hardly as lovely as the drawing of the samo subject which she did for London Society) and a clever bit of still life by Mies Coleman. The gallery is really a marvellous collection, when you think it is all got together by the taste and energy of an individual.

HER MAJESIY'S OPPOSITION.

Derby.—Hearken, oh chieftains of the Trojan tribe!

As when a shepherd, in his mind perplexed,
Hearing the howl of wolves upon the hill,
Gathers together all his flecoy charge,
The loudly-bleating lamb, the tender ewe,
The ram, the hoary father of the flock,
And seeks for shelter—haply he may find
The safety of the fold ere evening fall:—
So I, within whose hearing echoes yet
The thunder of Peelides, terrible,
Remorseless, swift of speech, invincible,
Gather together ye, my silly sheop!

(Marts of disapprobation.)
Cranbohnb, my bleating lamb, Disraeli; you;
And Nbwdeoate, tho fine old Tory ram!
That haply ye may counsel me for good.
Speak, each in order:—first of all, do thou.
Oh Benjamin, tho sen of Isaac, speak!

Omnes.—Bravo, bravo! Ever so much better than Pope's.

Newdeoate.—If the wicked occupants of the Vatican are mentioned in such terms of levity, I shall consider it my Christian duty to withdraw.

Disraeli.—The Roman Empire has passed away; the Venetian oligarchy is a tradition of the past; kingdoms have risen; kingdoms have fallen; and tho one fact which is eternal is that of Race. Proscribe him, banish him, trample him undor foot, tho Jew is sure to como back, and as certain to conquer. The Sybil domanded for her last Book more than she had asked for all the rest. Conciliate the Hebrew whilst there is yet time; or when he has even less to give you than at present ho will ask you cent, per cent. He mocks your clumsy occidental systems; ho despises your traditions of yesterday; ho tolerates your creed with an equable disdain; he

Nbwdeoate.—I don't care a straw, I tell you, Northgote, whether tho party needs him or not; but I wiU not sit here, and listen to such abominable language. I'm an old man, I know; but if anybody else spoke ill of tho Church of England anywhere outside these walls, by George, sir, I'd knock him down!

Derby.—As when •

Newdeoate.—Oh, all right, my lord, I won't mako any disturbance; only I ask you, is he quite right in his mind?

Disraeli (rousing himself for a supreme effort).—Yes, the Vcnotian oligarchy is, indeed, no more; nor could even the genius of Hannibal perpetuate tho power of Carthage; yet Carthage was the Great Britain of tho Mediterranean, and Venice was the England of the Adriatic. A similar fate may yet bo our own under the incapable rule of a minister whose polioy is prccArious and whose antecedents are disgraceful. Sir, when I look around me

Omnes.—Hear, hear! That's it! That's what wo want! Hear, hear!

Disraeli.—When I look around mo—when I see, as I do see

Omnes.—Hear, hear! Hear, hear!

Disraeli.—When I see, sir, as I do see, the House which has echoed to the eloquenco of a Chatham reduced to subjeotion by tho offensive insignificaneo of a Russbi.l—when I see an Empire which was gained by a Warren Hastings handed over to tho imbecile

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