"I am willing to guide the movement. I demand the head of Toole! I refuse to be any more treated as a social vassal, 'tailléable et corvéable à merci' by Hospitals; by Asylums; by blind, deaf, dumb, halt, lame, and maimed Institutions; by Curates', Governesses', Printers', Clerks', Widows', Orphans', Shoeblacking boys', Image boys', Climbing boys', or any other kind of boys' Aid Societies; by Young men's, Old men's, Middle-aged men's, Bargemen's, Market-Gardeners', or any other Mutual Instruction Associations! By Funds-Literary, Dramatic, Musical, or Equestrian; by Scotch Widows; by Decayed or Shipwrecked Mariners; by Foreigners in distress; by Distressed Needlewomen; by Oppressed Dressmakers; by Intending Emigrants; by Club-footed persons, or those afflicted with Spinal Disorders, or Ophthalmia; by Invalid Gentlewomen, or Sick Children, or Incurables; by Licensed Victuallers, Butchers, and Bakers. I fling all the objects of this association' to the wind. I will not be a steward, though tempted by a dinner-card gratis; I will not put down my name for a handsome donation, though quite aware that I never shall be asked to pay up; I will cut my tongue out rather than acknowledge a toast; I will mount the scaffold sooner than the chair; and I will perish before I pay for a ticket. I am ready to enroll members in an Anti-Public Dinner Association, the foundation of which shall be celebrated by a public- Good gracious! How difficult it is to shake off the habits of the prison-house! Men who have long worn fetters will ever after, we know, walk as if the iron was still about their ankles.

"I and my association were on the verge of self-destruction, about to be rendered up again, by this hand of mine, to the tough mercies of Messrs. Bathe and Breach, and the tortures of Toole! Not that the tyranny of these men is ever openly protested against. There is either a hollow submission to it, or a callous courting of it, and an exultation under it like that of French galériens singing in their chaine. There are few things sadder than to see a prisoner insensible to his shame. To hear John Bull talk, you would imagine he looked upon the public dinner as a privilege and not as a punishment.

"We English'-he will tell some poor,

eagerly-assenting, smiling, galvanic foreigner, who bows affirmatives to every sentence before it is well spoken-'We English are cold, shy, stiff; but at bottom we are a social people, Mosoo. We can do nothing without a dinner. When our hearts are warmed with a good meal and a social glass of wine, Mosoo-'Gad, we are the best company in the world-can't refuse each other anything;-we are full of enthusiasm, sir-running over with loyalty and brotherly love ;—we think nothing, Mosoo, of collecting a thousand pounds in the room while the singing's going on.'

"And the foreigner is amazed at the 'force d'aglommeration sociale' among these English, and goes home and tries to intrude the public dinner on his countrymen, and government perishes in the attempt.

"How should we like to see introduced among us those Chinese punishments, of which such agreeable representations have been figuring of late in the cheap printshop windows, of people being sawn to death between planks, planted up to the neck in the ground to starve, with food and drink just out of reach of the lips, and so forth?

"I look on the introduction of the public dinner into any country where it is unknown, in much the same light as I should the extension to our criminal system of these penal refinements of the Celestial Empire. When I hear a brother Bull cramming such statements as are above written into foreign ears, I blush for my species.

"For whatever outward submission there may be amongst ourselves, I know that I never mention the public dinner to an Englishman singly, but I find him, like myself, glowing with impatient disgust of that infliction, and ready to join in any attempt to put it down. Unless, indeed, he happen, at the moment, to have been sentenced as a steward with the aggravation of a list to make up-added, as they add private whippings to a term of imprisonment, sometimes-or, still worse, condemned to the chair, with hard labor at the toasts. In such cases, instead of responding to one's own impatience, men will endeavor to draw one on into participation in their punishment-as convicts are always found anxious to do.

"But with foreigners it is not uncommon. to hear the tone taken which I have described above.

"Now, the man who talks thus knows, as well as you or I, that it is all humbug; that there is no sociality in the public dinner; no real kindliness of heart engendered by it; no wholesome and blessed charity set flowing by its aid; that the speeches spoken at it are tissues of gross and fulsome flattery; that its enthusiasm is as evanescent and spurious as the bead in its gooseberry champagne; that its brotherhood is maudlin; its philanthropy a sham; its music generally the grossest form of the art; its cookery and its wine frequently abominable; its talk either stammering, incoherent imbecility, or fluent balderdash. In short, if I were asked to sum into the briefest expression the spirit of the public dinner, I know of no better words than 'SHAM' and 'SNOBBISHNESS.'"'

Mr. Ten-thousand-a-year Warren has made not a constructive, but a positive failure. Mr. Samuel Warren and Mr. Martin Farquhar Tupper are the Gemini of the English literary Zodiac:

"It must be not a little scandalous, in the eyes of many persons, to see in a newspaper report of a speech in Parliament the quotation of a solemn text of Scripture followed by the words 'roars of laughter.' Now, it was Mr. Warren, and not the House, who was answerable for that unseemliness. If that gentleman could deliver what sounded like a wild chapter from the 'Lily and the Bee' (can the force of language further go?) in a tone which can only be described by a seeming contradiction in terms-namely, as that of a High Church conventicle (there are such things as High Church Radicals, be it observed) -members could hardly be blamed for yielding to their risible impulses before they had time to consider the exact sentence they were laughing at. The honorable member for Midhurst is, unless he is much belied, capable of better things than the speech he was unwise enough to deliver on the Oaths Bill."

Here is a strain beneath Our Window, suggestive of the manner whereby Gibson lost his pantaloons. The profound public interest in that inquiry will now be put at

rest, and, at the same time, the claim of a new voice, to be ranked with our most humorous singers, be justified. Our readers will recognize our bard of "1775" and "1693."

NIP AND TUCK.

A BALLAD.

'Twas on a bright October day,
When every crimson leaf was still,
That Gibson took his usual walk
Along the brow of Staddle Hill.
The chattering chipmunk hears his step,
With tail erect and eager ears,
While master woodchuck, waddling off,
Straight for his distant burrow steers.
Now, Gibson was a brawny man,

Of lofty port and mighty limb,
And all the country wrestlers stood
In reverential awe of him.

The famed athlete could boast no form
Of nobler mould, in olden days,
Than our good friend, whose ponderous
strength

Belied his gentle thoughts and ways.

And as, in meditative mood,

He wandered on his lonely way, Behold a bear's neglected cub

Right in the open pathway lay. To see if its' wild dam were near,

One searching glance he cast around, Then cried "a prize!" and lightly raised The struggling vagrant from the ground. The cub across his shoulder flung,

He started off with rapid stride,
Mistrustful that the young one's cries
Might bring its mother to his side.
And so they did. For Bruin heard,
And, leaping to the fierce attack,
Cried out, as plain as bear could cry,
"You rascal, bring my baby back!"
But deuce a bit for that cared he-

So, straightway starting on a run,
He cursed the brute, and only wished
That he had thought to bring his gun.
Now for a race! The man's ahead

But Bruin gains at every bound
Four legs are more than match for two,
And Gibson's plainly losing ground.
One desperate leap, and Bruin's teeth
The robber's linsey-wolsey tore;
The nip was close, but only urged

The wounded man to run the more.
Another spring-when Gibson dodged
Behind a hemlock, neat and clever,
But all too late-for Bruin's grip

Had spoiled his pantaloons forever!
Down went the cub-and Gibson turned,
With rearward smart, to face the foe,
And hand to foot they had now,
With hug for hug, and blow for blow.
But, quite accomplished in the art

To scientific wrestlers known,
The man displayed his skill, and soon
His brute antagonist was "thrown."
But neither one was freed as yet

From that uncomfortable hug,
And Bear, defiant, gnashed his teeth,
While Gibson cursed her ugly mug.

The grim embrace, to both, was like
The anaconda's crushing fold,
As o'er the bank and down the hill

The desperate couple, fighting, rolled.

The snapping twigs, the rattling stones, And clouds of dust betrayed their track, Until the two, with sudden jolt,

Brought up against a hackmatack.
With one accord they loosed the hold
That bound them in this social tie,
And, sadly blown, and bruised and banged,
Each turned and bid his foe good-by.

'Twas a drawn game-and victory raised
No flag when the encounter ceased,
But that rough tussle was enough
To satisfy both man and beast.
And thus came off this raciest

Of all impromptu rigadoons,
Where Bruin lost her precious cub,
And Gibson lost his pantaloons.

"The following official announcement lately appeared in the London papers:'Major-General Sir Richard Airey, Quartermaster-General, having received such numerous applications for tickets for admission of persons to witness the distribution by Her Majesty of the Victoria Cross on the 26th inst., regrets that he has not been able to comply with the requests of all the applicants, the tickets to the full extent of the accommodation having been already appropriated, and begs to express his regret that the press of business entailed upon him, by the arrangement for the intended ceremony, prevents his replying otherwise to such persons to whom he has not been able to send tickets."

Rumor declares that Mesdames Alboni and Nantier-Didiée are to form part of the company at the Italian Opera this winter; and (as usual) that Madame Stolz is so distracted by the magnificent engagements offered to her, that she has not decided whether she goes to America or to Montpellier. Among events which have just happened, or are "coming off," meetings are mentioned of the "Orphéons" at Bordeaux-of the Swabian Liedertafel societies at Tubingen-one at Revel, at which thousands of singers were, orientally, ex

A musical and competent John Bull says of our pretty Pyne what none of us will believe. To the ear of the most English Bull, any singer probably is spoiled who has warbled in America. She must get the Yankee air out of her lungs before they will generate notes which the amiable Bull will honor. Thus, he says:

"If Miss L. Pyne had determined to show that an American tour is not to be gone through without wear and tear,' she could not have accomplished her object more completely than by selecting the Trio of voice with flutes, from 'L'Étoile du Nord,' as her song of return. This too, she sang in its shortened version (the one arranged by M. Meyerbeer for the stage), and not as a concert-piece. But the attempt proved that her voice stands in need of rest; and the style, formerly so neat and pointed, of being polished anew."

Mr. Henry F. Chorley, a caustic, but competent, critic, says that "Paradise Lost" seems to have been found tempting by the composers of late years (not excluding the poets, and thus comprehending Mrs. Browning, whose "Drama of Exile" was dared successfully, even though Eve had been already the heroine of Milton's epic). Two English composers, Dr. Wylde and Mr. Lodge Ellerton, have attempted the subject and last, and most aspiring of all, comes M. Rubinstein. It seems, Mr. Chorley says, full of matter to advance the young composer's reputation-the first part being devoted principally to the battle of the angels and the fall of the rebels, with Lucifer, "son of the morning," at their head; the second, to "the Creation" of the world and of our first parents; the third, to the temptation-" Man's first disobedience," and the expulsion of the pair from the garden of Eden.

It is announced that Signor Verdi has contracted to compose a new opera for Her Majesty's Theatre, which, we presume, will follow the production of his longtalked of "King Lear" at Naples.

Her name was Dinah-many were her spoons Both present and prospective-peerless girl! How sad thy fate! How doubly sad to think

That thou did'st live and die before my time!

Of course fair Dinah had a host of youths, Self-offered victims to her priceless charmsBut, of this mass of palpitating hearts, Two only on th' historic page survive; And, of this pair, we know but one by name, Hight Villikins, and him sweet Dinah loved; The other was a party vaguely called By Dinah's governor, this here young

man'

Gladly to thee my fortune I'll resign

If single I may live a twelvemonth more!"' To whom, her parient thus, with angry tone:

"Go! boldest daughter! Get thee from my sight!

An thou wilt not consent to be the bride
Of this here youth, thy fortune I'll bestow
Upon the next of kin, and thou shalt reap
Not e'en the benefit of one poor pin!"
He spoke, and swiftly, wrathfully withdrew.

The evening came, and with it Villikins,
To meet his Dinah in the garden's shade-
The other garden this-where grew in rows
The huge cab-bah-jes," and the pommes de

terre.

To the appointed spot he softly stole,

And whistl'd low the tune that Dinah lov'd. Time fled-no Dinah came! Impatient grown, He sought the garden round with hasty step. At last he found her-oh distressing find! Stretch'd on the ground, beneath the moon's pale beam

Stiff as a poker, as a snow-ball cold,

Poor Dinah lay! Beside her stood a cup, And by that cup a letter-ah, poor girl! She'd been and gone and done it-for the

cup

Held the remains of what had been a pint Of lodamon-cold poison! And the letter, A billy-dux to her dear Villikins,

Told how, despairing, she for love of him Had killed herself, and hoped he would not grieve.

Not grieve indeed! But then she meant not that,

Or little had she known the wealth of love That gush'd from out his loving soul towards

her!

Upon his knees down went the poor young

man,

Called her his Dinah with a voice of woe, Kiss'd her "cold corpus" some ten thousand times,

Then seized with trembling hand the poison'd cup,

Drained it with courage like a lovyer true, And fell" a body"-by his Dinah's side!

They buried them together where they died,

And o'er the grave was raised a sculptured stone,

Telling the sad particulars at length,
In Roman letters of befitting size.

The parient stern in twenty days went mad,
And ceaselessly would sing a childish song,
Something like this—" Tooral-lal-looral-lay."
Now listen to the moral: Maidens all
Take warning--be good girls and mind Papa!
And you, oh fellows in your youthful prime!
When tempted from prudential path to stray,
Take special heed-remember Villikins!
The poison'd cup and Dinah's hapless fate!-
And all you stern parients I pray draw it
milder,

Or you'll come to grief like your unhappy childer.

Mr. Conner was a well-meaning man, of very little energy of character, and was completely under the control of his wife. Mrs. Conner was continually boasting no man should rule her, that she took care to let her husband see that she had spirit, and that she could make him do what she liked at any time. Poor Mr. Conner submitted to this thraldom very patiently, rather than contend with her; for, when he did try to contend with her, she got into such dreadful passions that she actually terrified him half out of his senses, and he trembled like one in an ague: to secure his own peace, therefore, he consented to her ruling him, and rule him she did in everything.

Mr. Cooper, a neighbor, was fond of laughing at Mr. Conner's weakness.

"Would I," he often said, "be such a poor, spiritless being as to be ruled by my wife? No, never! Poor Conner dares not say that the sun shines, without asking leave of his wife; but my wife knows pretty well that my will must be obeyed."

Now, this very positive, overbearing disposition on Cooper's part enabled his wife to manage him easily. If she wanted to stay at home, she proposed to go out, when he immediately determined not to stir a foot out of doors, to show he was master; if she really wished a walk, she had only to request him to allow her to finish what she was engaged in within doors, and he would put on his hat, and in a dictatorial manner tell her to put on her bonnet.

Mrs. Conner and Mrs. Cooper once agreed to have a day's pleasure; it was, therefore, settled between them, that their husbands should take them to a place of popular resort, about twelve miles distant. It was only necessary for Mrs. Conner to express her intention in a determined way, when her husband, to avoid a quarrel, agreed directly to drive her over. Mrs. Cooper, however, went another way to work. She was determined to go, and commenced to her husband as follows:

"Would you believe," said she, "that our neighbors, the Conners, are silly enough to spend a whole day in a visit to Boxhill? they mean to go to-morrow."

Says Mr. Cooper-"I do not know there is anything so silly in it; if I felt disposed to go there or anywhere else, I would go." "Certainly," said Mrs. Cooper, "you

might go, but you would not be so unreasonable as to take me there against my will."

66

"Against your will, indeed!" said Mr. Cooper; a wife ought to have no will but that of her husband; if I thought proper for you to go, you should go."

"Excuse me," said Mrs. Cooper, you have had your own way too much; if I were determined not to go, you would find some trouble in persuading me."

"Trouble in persuading you," said Cooper; "then I am resolved to go, and you shall go, too. I will have my way, Mrs. Cooper, and no wife in the world shall control me; so to-morrow morning prepare to go to Boxhill, for, whether you will or not, there shall you go."

"Mr. Cooper," said his wife, “I know, when you take a thing into your head, you will have your own way; I never yet met with so determined a man."

"Well," retorted Mr. Cooper, "I will have my way, and to show you that I will, I will have a chaise at the door at eight o'clock."

In the morning Mr. and Mrs. Connor set off, and, soon after, the Coopers. Mr. Cooper fully determined to convince his wife that he was master; his wife secretly delighted to think how well she had managed him.

A number of politicians, all of whom were seeking office under government, were scattered on the tavern porch talking, when an old toper, named DJ- came up to them. Now D. is a person who is very loquacious when drunk, but directly the reverse when sober. At the present time, being " tight," he said if the company had no objection, he would tell them a story. They told him to "fire away," whereupon he spoke as follows:

"A certain king-don't recollect his name-had a philosopher, upon whose judgment he always depended. Now, it so happened that, one day, the king took it into his head to go a-hunting, and, after summoning his nobles, and making all necessary preparations, summoned his philosopher and asked him if it would rain. The philosopher told him it would not. and he and his nobles departed. While journeying along, they met a countryman mounted on a jackass; he advised them to return, 'For,' said he, 'it will certainly