It used to be affirmed that London streets were paved with gold, and, by the side of the above, the story hardly seems beyond one's power of credulity. Land worth nineteen pounds per foot must be wellnigh as good as gold to its fortunate possessor, and the man who owned an acre of it would hardly need to emigrate to any other diggings. Assuredly, to any Fortunatus who owns much land in Lombard Street, London may be looked on as the true Tom Tiddler's Ground.
The New Judge.
Mr. Punch hears that Lord Chief Justice Cockburn (one of our most accomplished Latin writers) intimated to the Chancellor that the appointment of the new Judge for the Queen's Bench was a Sine Quainon.
WANTED—SIMPLICITY.
Mr. Punch
Is the English language a thing to be ashamed of? I put the question, because in a weekly literary journal, printed and published in London in the mother tongue, I have just read, not without some rubbing of eyes and much mental bewilderment, the following singular announcement:—
"Institution of Civil Engineers.—The Emperor of Brésil was elected an Honorary Member."
I have never heard that Brazil has become a French possession, and I am positive that the Institution of Civil Engineers is not in Paris, but in Great George Street, Westminster. Why, then, Brésil? Crack this Brazil-nut for