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HAMLET’S SOLILOQUY.

PARODIED BY A XX TEETOTALLER.

  To drink, or not to drink?  That is the question. 
  Whether ’tis nobler inwardly to suffer
  The pangs and twitchings of uneasy stomach,
  Or to take brandy-toddy ’gainst the colic,
  And by imbibing end it?  To drink,—­to sleep,—­
  To snore;—­and, by a snooze, to say we end
  The head-ache, and the morning’s parching thirst
  That drinking’s heir to;—­’tis a consummation
  Devoutly to be wish’d.  To drink,—­to pay,—­
  To pay the waiter’s bill?—­Ay—­there’s the rub;
  For in that snipe-like bill, a stop may come,
  When we would shuffle off our mortal score,
  Must give us pause.  There’s the respect
  That makes sobriety of so long date;
  For who could bear to hear the glasses ring
  In concert clear—­the chairman’s ready toast—­
  The pops of out-drawn corks—­the “hip hurrah!”
  The eloquence of claret—­and the songs,
  Which often through the noisy revel break,
  When a man—­might his quietus make
  With a full bottle?  Who would sober be,
  Or sip weak coffee through the live-long night;
  But that the dread of being laid upon
  That stretcher by policemen borne, on which
  The reveller reclines,—­puzzles me much,
  And makes me rather tipple ginger beer,
  Than fly to brandy, or to—­
  [Illustration:  —­HODGE’S SIN?]
  Thus poverty doth make us Temp’rance men.

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“TRY OUR BEST SYMPATHY.”

It is a fact, when the deputation of the distressed manufacturers waited upon Sir Robert Peel to represent to him their destitute condition, that the Right Honourable Baronet declared he felt the deepest sympathy for them.  This is all very fine—­but we fear greatly, if Sir Robert should be inclined to make a commercial speculation of his sympathy, that he would go into the market with

[Illustration:  A VERY SMALL STOCK-IN(G) TRADE.]

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THE MAN OF HABIT.

I meet with men of this character very frequently, and though I believe that the stiff formality of the past age was more congenial than the present to the formation and growth of these peculiar beings, there are still a sufficient number of the species in existence for the philosophical cosmopolite to study and comment upon.

A true specimen of a man of habit should be an old bachelor,—­for matrimony deranges the whole clock-work system upon which he piques himself.  He could never endure to have his breakfast delayed for one second to indulge “his soul’s far dearer part” with a prolonged morning dream; and he dislikes children, because the noisy urchins make a point of tormenting him wherever he goes.  The Man of Habit has a certain hour for all the occupations