Who in spite of all temptation
To belong to his own nation,
Did become an Englishman!
Yes! an English Alderman!
Even as our latest Lord Mayor, he cannot expect to be exempt from the penalties which a British climate enforces from all citizens of London. During the twelve months reign of Polyglot it is probable that the tune of The Roast Beef of Old England will not be heard at Civic festivities, but instead, a new Waltz will be performed entitled Brussels Sprouts, which, as a matter of course,—third or fourth course,—will be a favourite dish at the Munching House.
Very Polite.—A certain Civic dignitary who enjoyed the Guildhall Feast on the Ninth, felt uncommonly unwell the next day. Out of compliment to the New Lord Mayor's nationality, the worthy citizen, in answer to kind inquiries, sent to say that he was only suffering from Mal de Maire.
In Good Hands.—"Electric lighting," it is said, "is still in its infancy"—for which fact we could not have better authority than its Nursey,—we mean the Past-President of the Society of Engineers.