I have the honour to be, yours, &c. 
A. SPOONEY.

* * * * *

FEARFUL STATE OF LONDON!

A country gentleman informs us that he was horror-stricken at the sight of an apparently organised band, wearing fustian coats, decorated with curious brass badges, bearing exceedingly high numbers, who perched themselves behind the Paddington omnibuses, and, in the most barefaced and treasonable manner, urged the surrounding populace to open acts of daring violence, and wholesale arson, by shouting out, at the top of their voices, “O burn, the City, and the Bank.”

* * * * *

“WHO ARE TO BE THE LORDS IN WAITING.”

  “We have lordlings in dozens,” the Tories exclaim,
    “To fill every place from the throng;
  Although the cursed Whigs, be it told to our shame,
    Kept us poor lords in waiting too long.”

* * * * *

LOOKING ON THE BLACK SIDE OF THINGS.

The Honourable Sambo Sutton begs us to state, that he is not the
Honourable ——­ Sutton who is announced as the Secretary for the Home
Department.  He might have been induced to have stepped into Lord
Cottenham’s shoes, on his

[Illustration:  RESIGNING THE SEALS.]

* * * * *

AWFUL CASE OF SMASHING!—­FRIGHTFUL NEGLIGENCE OF THE POLICE

Feargus O’Connor passed his word last week at the London Tavern.

* * * * *

NEW SWIMMING APPARATUS.

At the late collision between the Beacon brig and the Topaz steamer, one of the passengers, anticipating the sinking of both vessels, and being strongly embued with the great principle of self-preservation, immediately secured himself the assistance of the anchor!  Did he conceive “Hope” to have been unsexed, or that that attribute originally existed as a “floating boy?”

* * * * *

SYNCRETIC LITERATURE.

    “The Loves of Giles Scroggins and Molly Brown:”  an Epic Poem. 
    London:  CATNACH.

The great essentials necessary for the true conformation of the sublimest effort of poetic genius, the construction of an “Epic Poem,” are numerically three; viz., a beginning, a middle, and an end.  The incipient characters necessary to the beginning, ripening in the middle, and, like the drinkers of small beer and October leaves, falling in the end.