ODE TO THE BULLET THAT DID NOT SHOOT THE KING OF HANOVER.

BY SIR TICKELEM TENDER.

"At the King's late hunting party, the fowling-piece that was standing near His Majesty went off, in consequence of the jolting of the car

O little ball,

riage, and the ball passed but a few inches from the King's head."-Letter from Hanover.

Fatal as forty-pounder though but small!
Exiguous bullet,

Yet all-sufficient, lodged in brain or gullet,
Ah, why didst not take pity
On Hanover-that ancient city,
And shape a course a little more direct?
The man in missing,

Whom hosts are hissing,

Our hopes, as well as their's, alas! are wrecked.
Pleasant concetto,

Thus easy ridded of a King in petto!
It was in you a bull, O bullet!
To make so rascally a dull hit.
But thou art truly lead,

Like to his head,

Else hadst thou twigged that tyrant sternest,
And flown in E(a)rnest!

The Reverend Dr. Dionysius O'Lardner's style epistolary is a fine specimen of the effrontery which is characteristic of a large portion of his countrymen. "A number of ladies of the highest distinction were eager to enjoy the pleasure of his conversation." Yes, drivelling, pseudoscientific dotards, doubtless! No man ever sought his company, or thought of him otherwise than as a feebleminded fribble, and antiquated beau. What the gentler sex could see in an overdressed "forked radish," with green eyes, a sickly, whey face, a transparent wig, and a most disgust

ing obtrusiveness of manner, we cannot perceive. But hold, gentle devil." Yes, they saw in him the man whose name was prefixed to a score of books! Ye, who aspire to be gay Lotharios, get distinguished for anything-we do not mean solid reputation-but " get your names up," if it were only for tenth-rate strutting in a barn, or the wholesale poisoning of a parish with Morrison's pills, and you are sure to be successful with the bulk of the sex, which is as easily captivated as a turkey by the dangling of, a showy rag!

Yes, Colonel Hodges, to his words

To pin the Viceroy try!
Good sir, pray what could you expect
From Mehemet-A-lie!

The absurd minuteness of modern journalism has diffused the penny-a-lining system over the entire of our "broad-sheets." The most paltry particulars connected with Louis Napoleon's political farce have been noted down with as much infinitesimal fidelity of detail, as was employed in the olden time in commemorating the exploits of British valour in the Peninsula. The various

uniforms of the prince's valets have been most accurately described, and soda-water and ginger-beer bottles have been summed up to a cipherin which respect, alas! they resemble the poor Prince!

Vauban's will soon become a vulgar science. Every man in Paris will soon have artillery within his reach!

In all the recent articles of the Journal des Debats upon the Eastern question, there is a ridiculous hankering after the good opinion of England. "What will the Chronicle say of this ?”—“ What will the Times say

of this?"-such have been the questions which Bertin has put to himself daily and hourly in his bureau. This is quite as absurd in one extreme, as the Bombastes Furioso vein of the Thiersist Journals on the other.

Let Palmy once to Mounseer truckle, To all the earth we soon must knuckle. Gadzooks! we've roses, shamrocks, thistles To prick French braggarts, brawlers, Pistols; If Palmy e'er to Mounseer truckle, Lord! how his hide we'll cuff and knuckle. When were our palmy days? Oh, damme, Ere protocols were writ by Palmy! BORING EXTRAORDINARY.The Paris papers assert that the greatest boring instrument in the world is now at work at the Abattoir de Grenelle, where the Artesian well is being constructed. It has already penetrated to the depth of 508 metres, or 1666 feet. It requires four horses and twelve men to keep the apparatus in action; and it is daily hoped to see water burst up. A mere gimlet like this the greatest bore! Pooh, pooh! They can never have heard of the Member for Kilkenny. True, he has not the depth of an Artesian well, nor the slightest pretension to depth at all; and equally true is it that he is utterly incapable both of penetration and penetrability; yet JOE is, nevertheless, the only veritable Brobdignag Bore in existence. We have a strong intention of reviving the Bore's Head in East Cheap, and employing our friend Leech to transfer the winning lineaments of the Member for Kilkenny to wood, as a most fitting sign-post (ligneum sacrum), which we have no doubt would be a capital financial arrangement; and assuredly we should be considered in the light of national benefactors, could we only seduce JOE to spend a few of his evenings in our comfortable back parlour over a pipe and a pot of heavy wet, instead of boring the Third Estate with his pseudo-arithmetical garbage. The Frenchman has bored nearly a mile without one burst of water, while JoE, although certainly "not" as profound as a drawwell, is a capital ready-made pump, that

Cicero expresses his surprise that the Augurs of ancient Rome could meet each other without laughing outright in each other's face. We are equally surprised at the passive rencontres of those modern Augurs, or Bores (or Ogres, if you will), JOE HUME and SMITH O'BRAY-on.

"Coolly spouts, and spouts, and spouts away,

In one weak, washy, everlasting flood!"

VOL. II.

his late return from Eglintoun, re-Lord Waterford, shortly after suming his old tricks, was hauled up before the Marlborough-street magistrates, for knocking down a policeman, when, as usual, he had "the devil's luck and his own," and escaped with the payment of three or number waz E 50, and out of this he four sovereigns. The policeman's manufactured a very passable joke. Upon driving home to breakfast in his cab, which remained for him at the police-office door: "Well, Watty," said his fine old venerable uncle, "what new scrape have you got yourself into now?"

Oh, nothing, nothing (was the reply) a mere trifle! Got among only knocked down FIFTY!" some saucy fellows last night, and

ROCK IN LONDON.-An individual, named Rock, has created a terrible sensation amongst the members of the Corporation of London, by blowing them up in petitions to the House of Commons, and otherwise, for exclusive trading. The secret of Rock's patriotism is, that he is not permitted the privilege of Rock exclusive dealing himself. threatens to deprive the corporation of the conservancy of the Thames. The next thing Rock will do will be to set fire to the river!

R

the Royal Marriage. How gracefully would it not commemorate the Royal Christening. Let us also ask what has

become of the projected restoration of the female branch of the illustrious Order of the Garter?

I WENT TO THE VALE.

BT THEODORE DE BRUNNE.

I went to the vale where the nightingale dwells,
And the sweet scented lilies with delicate bells;
As bright the flowers blossomed, as sweet the birds sung,
As they did in the days when I was young.

But where was that presence, that spell of delight,
Which once made this Eden unspeakably bright;
That presence had faded, the magic had gone,
And thus 'mid these beauties I wander'd lone.

I said to the birds, and the trees, and the flowers,
What change hath been wrought in this valley of ours;
When sweetly responded bird, blossom, and tree,
"Tis thou and thy bosom are changed, not we.

"Though winter comes on and the summer fleets by,
And the birds become mute, and the blossoms they die;
Yet summer returns like a beautiful strain,
Awakening the birds and the flowers again."

I felt then how false was refinement and art,
In the cold-hearted world where I now take a part;
And I thought of its pleasures so sparkling and gay,
Remembering how fleeting and false were they.

I wept, too, to think that those joys when possessed,
Like serpents would charm yet envenom the breast;
And deaden the feelings and senses within,
As mine by their poisonous fangs had been.

A NOBLE SMUGGLER: We
extract the following from Miss Sin-
clair's pleasant, gossipping book about
"Shetland and the Shetlanders :”-
"One of the most amusing stories of
smuggling I know, took place at
Barrogill Castle, when the late Lord
Duffus resided there as guardian to
the late Earl of Caithness. Having
clandestinely imported sixty hogs-
heads of claret for his own private
drinking, Lord Duffus thought it
might be unsafe to lodge them all in
the house; therefore he built fifty-
eight of them up under so enormous
a peat-stack, that it became the asto-
nishment and admiration of the
whole neighbourhood. He then car-
ried the remaining two hogsheads

Lord Duffus re

into Barrogill Castle, and wrote an
anonymous information against him-
self to the excise-officer at Thurso,
who hurried over immediately to in-
vestigate the case.
ceived him as a friend, cordially in-
vited him to dinner, whispered con-
fidentially that he could give him a
capital bottle of claret, and after din-
ner, when the worthy man was nearly
half seas over, showed him the two
hogsheads, and said they were scarcely
worth seizing, but he hoped his friend
would return often, as long as they
lasted, and share the last drop with
him; after which they shook hands,
and made their exit in mutual good
humour."

THE WORKHOUSE FAIR.
The Workhouse Fair! what sad complaints
Of porridge, and beer, and bread!
But chiefly this-the soup's too thin,
And crones too thick in a bed!