The crown now devolved upon William and Mary, upon whom half-a crown a-piece was thus settled by the liberality of Parliament. William was Prince of Orange, a descendant probably of the great King Pippin.
Anne of Denmark comes next on our list, but of her we shall say nothing; and as the Georges who followed her are so near own time, we shall observe, with regard to them, an equally impenetrable mystery.
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WAR TO THE NAIL.
The British Critic, the high church, in fact, steeple Tory journal, tells its readers, “if we strike out the first person of Robert’s speeches, ay, out of his whole career, they become a rope untwisted,” &c. &c. &c. This excited old lady is evidently anxious to disfigure the head of the government, by scratching Sir Robert Peel’s I’s out.
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MOLAR AND INCISOR.
Muntz, in rigging Wakley upon the late article in the Examiner, likening the member for Finsbury, in his connexion with Sir Robert Peel, “to the bird which exists by picking the crocodile’s teeth,” jocularly remarked, “Well, I never had any body to pick my teeth.” “I should think not, or they would have chosen a much better set.”
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READER, did you ever want twenty pounds? You have—you have!—I see it—I know it! Nay, never blush! Your hand—your hand!
Silence!—nonsense—stuff; don’t, don’t prevaricate—own it as I do,—own it and rejoice.
READER.—Really, sir, this conduct—
Is strange. Granted; don’t draw back; come, a cordial gripe. We are friends; we have both suffered from the same cause. There, that’s right—honest palm to palm. Now, how say you—have you ever wanted twenty pounds?
READER.—Frankly, then, I have.
Mind to mind, as hand to hand. Have you felt as I did? Did its want cloud the sun, wither the grass, and blight the bud?
But how, marry, how? What! you decline confession—so you may—I’ll be more explicit. I was abroad, far from my “father-land”—there’s a magic in the word!—the turf we’ve played on, the hearts we love, the graves we venerate—all, all combine to concentrate its charm.
READER.—You are digressing.
Thank you, I am; but I’ll resume. While I could buy them, friends indeed were plenty. Alas! prudence is seldom co-mate with youth and inexperience. The golden dream was soon to end—end even with the yellow dross that gave it birth. Fallacious hopes of coming “posts,” averted for a time my coming wretchedness—three weeks, and not a line! The landlord suffered from an intermitting affection, characteristic of the “stiff-necked