Newcastle-street, July —­, 1841.

MR. PUNCH,—­Little did I think wen i’ve bin a gaping and starin’ at you in the streats, that i shud ever happli to you for gustice.  Isntet a shame that peeple puts advurtusmints in the papers for a howsmaid for a lark, as it puts all the poor survents out of plaice into a dredfool situashun.

As i alwuss gets a peep at the paper on the landin’ as i takes it up for breckfus, i was unfoughtunite enuf to see a para—­thingem-me-bob—­for a howsmaid, wanted in a nobbleman’s fameli.  On course, a young woman has a rite to better hursef if she can; so I makes up my mind at wunce—­has i oney has sicks pouns a ear, and finds my own t and shuggar—­i makes up my mind to arsk for a day out; which, has the cold mutting was jest enuf for mastur and missus without me, was grarnted me.  I soon clears up the kitshun, and goes up stares to clean mysef.  I puts on my silk gronin-napple gownd, and my lase pillowrin, likewise my himitashun vermin tippit, (give me by my cussen Harry, who keeps kumpany with me on hot-dinner days), also my tuskin bonnit, parrersole, and blacbag; and i takes mysef orf to South-street, but what was my felines, wen, on wringing the belle, a boy anser’d the daw, with two roes of brarse beeds down his jacket.

“Can i speek a word with the futman?” says i, in my ingaugingist manner.

“i’m futman,” says he.

“Then the cook,” says i.

“We arn’t no cook,” says he.

“No cook!” says i, almose putrifide with surprise; “you must be jokin’”—­

“Jokin’,” says he; “do you no who lives here?”

“Not exacly,” says i.

“Lord Milburn,” says he.

i thort i shud have dropt on the step, as a glimmerin’ of the doo shot aX my mine.

“Then you don’t want no howsmaid?” says i.

“Howsmaid!” says the boy; “go to blazes:  (What could he mean by

[Illustration:  GOING TO BLAZES?)]

“No; i’ve toled fifty on ye so this mornin’—­it’s a oaks.”

“Then more shame of Lord Milborn to do it,” says i; “he may want a place hissef some day or other,” sayin’ of which i bounsed off the doorstep, with all tho dignity i could command.

Now, what i wants to no is, wether i can’t summons his lordship for my day out.  Harry sais, should i ever come in contract with Lord Milborn, i’m to trete him with the silent kontempt of

Yours truly,

[Illustration:  AN INDIGNANT HOUSEMAID.]

* * * * *

A MOVING SCENE.

The present occupants of the government premises in Downing-street, whose leases will expire in a few days, are busily employed packing up their small affairs before the new tenants come into possession.  It is a pitiful sight to behold these poor people taking leave of their softly-stuffed seats, their rocking-chairs, their footstools, slippers, cushions, and all those little official comforts of which they nave been so cruelly deprived.  That man must, indeed, be hard-hearted who would refuse to sympathise with their sorrows, or to uplift his voice in the doleful Whig chorus, when he hears—­