CHRISTMAS WAITS EXTRAORDINARY.
(From our own Reporter.)
There are some remarkable additions to the usual Waits this year, which the papers have uniformly neglected to notice. As Corrector-General of the Press, it devolves on Mr. Punch of course to supply the omission. Half a moment's reflection will, he thinks, convince any of his readers who would be styled "intelligent," that—
There's the Earl of Aberdeen Waiting—for the protracted war which will result most probably from his protracted peace policy.
There are the Rotten Boroughs Waiting—for the expected Reform Bill which is to put them in good odour.
There are the Inhabitants of London (and twenty miles about it) Waiting—for the extinction of that truly burning shame, the City Coal-Tax.
There are the Keepers of the Betting-shops Waiting—to evade the recent Act which apparently has shut them up.
There are the Women of England Waiting—for a law that will effectually protect them against brutal assaults.
There are the English Tourists Waiting—for hotels where they may enter without being let in.
There's many an English Operative Waiting—to find that his strike is in the end a heavy blow to him.
There's many an English Curate Waiting—to find that his income will exceed a London footman's.
There are the Readers at the Museum Waiting—for the end of the world, or that of the catalogue.
There's the Corporation of London Waiting—to be crushed by the Commission which is now sitting on them.
There's the Emperor of Russia Waiting—for the spring which will enable him to jump into Turkey.
And finally, there's Mr. Punch himself Waiting—very pleasantly on The Universe with his Twenty-fifth Volume.
What is the World like?—Why, the world is like a stubble-field—in which the greatest geese generally pick up most of the golden grains.