NOBODY CARES AND*

WELLINGTON has justified his claim to the sobriquet of ‘the iron Duke’ by the manner in which he treated the deputation from Paisley. His Grace excused himself from listening to the tale of misery which several gentlemen had travelled 500 miles to narrate to him, on the plea that he was not a Minister of the Crown. Yet we have a right to presume that the Queen prorogued Parliament upon his Grace’s recommendation, so if he be not one of Peel’s Cabinet what is he? We suppose

* NOBODY NOSE.

HINTS HOW TO ENJOY AN OMNIBUS.

  1. On getting in, care neither for toes or knees of the passengers; but drive your way up to the top, steadying yourself by the shoulders, chests, or even faces of those seated.
  2. Seat yourself with a jerk, pushing against one neighbour, and thrusting your elbow into the side of the other. You will thus get plenty of room.
  3. If possible, enter with a stick or umbrella, pointed at full length; so that any sudden move of the “bus” may thrust it into some one’s stomach. It will make you feared.
  4. When seated, occupy, if possible, the room of two, and revenge the treatment you have received on entering, by throwing every opposition in the way of a new-comer, especially if it be a woman with a child in her arms. It is a good plan to rest firmly on your umbrella, with your arms at right angles.
  5. Open or shut windows as it suits you; men with colds, or women with toothaches, have no business in omnibuses. If they don’t like it, they can get out; no one forces them to ride.
  6. Young bucks may stare any decent woman out of countenance, put their legs up along the seats, and if going out to dinner, wipe the mud off their boots on the seats. They are only plush.
  7. If middle-aged gentlemen are musical or political, they can dislocate a tune in something between a bark and a grumble, or endeavour to provoke an argument by declaring very loudly that Lord R—— or the Duke “is a thorough scoundrel,” according to their opinion of public affairs. If this don’t take, they can keep up a perpetual squabble with the conductor, which will show they think themselves of some importance.
  8. Ladies wishing to be agreeable can bring lap dogs, large paper parcels, and children, to whom an omnibus is a ship, though you wish you were out of their reach.
  9. Conductors should particularly aim to take up laundresses returning with a large family washing, bakers and butchers in their working jackets, and, if a wet day, should be particular not to pull up to the pathway.
  10. For want of space, the following brevities must suffice:—Never say where you wish to stop until after you have passed the place, and then pull them up with a sudden jerk. Keep your money in your waistcoat-pocket, and button your under and upper coat completely, and never attempt to get at it until the door is opened, and then let it be nothing under a five-shilling piece. Never ask any one to speak to the conductor for you, but hit or poke him with your umbrella or stick, or rap his hand as it rests on the door. He puts it there on purpose. Always stop the wrong omnibus, and ask if the Paddington goes to Walworth, and the Kennington to Whitechapel: you are not obliged to read all the rigmarole they paint on the outside. Finally, consider an omnibus as a carriage, a bed, a public-house, a place of amusement, or a boxing-ring, where you may ride, sleep, smoke, chaff, or quarrel, as it may suit you.

PETER THE GREAT (FOOL?)

The following colloquy occurred between a candidate for suicidal fame and the City’s Peter Laureate:—