'My hearers, let us pray that this Abomi-Nation may be rooted out from the face of the earth.'
That was so. Consummatum est.
No wonder we hear so much of the sufferings and sorrows of the Third Estate—which is the editorial.
'Wine is sometimes wine, but not very often in these days:' what it very often is not when labelled 'Heidsick' and 'Rheims.' 'But then the cork proves it, you know,'—for, by a strange superstition, it is assumed that when the cork is correct the wine is not less so; a theory which is exploded by a revelation in the following by no means Bacchanalian lyric:—
Bogus Champagne.
Fill up your glass with turnip-juice,
And let us swindled be;
Except in England's cloudy clime
Such trash you may not see.
With marble-dust and vitriol,