PROPOSALS FOR A NEW ART OF PUFFING.
It has long been felt that all the old arts of puffing have been exhausted, and the consequence is that some of the most renowned masters of the arts formerly in vogue have retired from a field in which nothing more can be gathered. The poet has departed from the Mart of Moses, and the Muses that once hung round the brilliant jet of Warren have deserted those extensive premises in the Strand where every blacking-bottle used to be, as it were, a jet of the Fount of Castaly.
The harp that once in Warren's Mart
The soul of Music shed,
Now mutely lies in Warren's cart,
Or under Warren's bed.
So sleeps the source of Moses' lays,
So Rowlands' puffs are o'er;
And heads once wreathed in poets' bays