Hatfield “men-of-elegant-crimes” school of novel-writing—the
archives of Newgate and Horsemonger-lane being open at all times to
the inspection of the favoured purchaser.
“YES” OR “NO”
will determine the sale of this desirable lot in a few days.
SECRETARY OF STATE FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS,
now in the occupancy of Lord Palmerston. Possesses advantages rarely
to be met with. From its connexion with the continental powers, Eau
de Cologne, bear’s grease, and cosmetics of unrivalled excellence,
can be procured at all times, thus insuring the favour of the divine
“From the rich peasant-cheek
And large black eyes that flash on you a volley
Of rays, that say a thousand things at once,
To the high dama’s brow more melancholy.”
The only requisite (besides money)
for this desirable lot is, that
the purchaser must write a bold round hand for
understand French and Chinese, and be an
SEVERAL UNDER SECRETARYSHIPS,
admirably adapted for younger sons and poor relatives.
The whole of the proceeds (by the
advice of her Majesty’s Cabinet
Council) will be devoted to the erection of a
UNION FOR DECAYED MINISTERS.
Cards to view may be had at the Treasury
any day after the meeting of
* * * * *
“Very like a whale!” as the schoolmaster said when he examined the boy’s back after severely flogging him.
* * * * *
THE DIARY OF A LORD MAYOR.
All the world is familiar with the “Diary of a Physician,” the “Diary of an Ennuyee,” the “Diary of a Lady of Rank,” and Heaven knows how many other diaries besides! but who has ever heard of, or saw, the “Diary of a Lord Mayor,—that day-book, or blotter, as it may be commercially termed, of a gigantic mind? Who has ever perused the autobiography of the Lama of Guildhall, Cham of Cripplegate, Admiral of Fleet Ditch, Great Turtle-hunter and Herod of Michaelmas geese? We will take upon ourselves to answer—not one! It was reserved for PUNCH to give to his dear friends, the public, the first and only extract which has ever been made from the genuine diary of a late Lord Mayor of London, or, as that august individual was wont, when in Paris, to designate himself on his visiting tickets—
“FEU LORD MAYOR DE LONDRES.”
How the precious MS. came into our possession matters little to the reader; suffice it to say, it is a secret which must ever remain confined to the bosoms of PUNCH and his cheesemonger.