For dignity not caring,
Common lawyers, clerks of all sorts, down to office drudge.
Never was a rougher set of noisy individuals,
Hanging round the chamber doors to go before the Judge.
A French Feast of the Poets.
Beranger the poet is, we are told by the paragraph-mongers, continually receiving presents of jam from his enthusiastic countrymen. We regret to say that our own poets meet with no such sweets, and frequently pass a life of unmitigated bitters. Instead of presents of jam (now let the reader prepare to be knocked down by a fearful blow to his common sense)—we repeat—instead of presents of jam our poets too often meet with a gelid indifference—jam and gelid; does the reader see what we are aiming at?
A FAIRY WISH.
Oh, that the million million million billions of seeds of corn rotting on the Danube were "corned" into gunpowder, and swallowed by Nicholas. Having no bowels, how could it hurt him?