A HINT.
You read my verse; the praises you bestow
Can make innocuous the critic's curse,
Vain his attack, unfelt his shrewdest blow,
You read my verse.
You like the rhymes; think not their writer worse
If just one hint he cannot well forego,
The bard, to put it in a manner terse,
Does not exist on praise alone, you know,
And sympathy can hardly fill his purse;—
You borrow, and you do not buy, although
You read my verse!
"Gone Nap!"—It is all up with Mr. G.! The distinguished M.P. for St. Pancras, in whose lineaments Mr. Punch traced a marked resemblance to the features of the Great Emperor of the French, and there and thenceforth raising him from the rank of Mr. Pell as he was formerly known, immediately christening him "Napoleon Boltonparty" (with likeness drawn by Lika-Joko), even he has joined the Unionist Opposition. He is no longer "Going Nap," he has gone. Doubtless, Conservatives have their eye on him: but Napoleon Boltonparty is too wary to be caught "napping."
