Volume 25 — THE ALDERMAN'S HOPE.
Reading edition
Stand Prince Albert a Statue—it then mayn't be hard To induce him to stand, by and by, for a Ward; There ain't any lor, as I knows on, agin it, And there's nothing, as I see, preposterous in it. The wery next year pop him into the Chair, And have the Prince Consort himself for Lord Mayor, With an out-and-out Show on the ninth of November— Of the Prince of Wales that, too, 's the birthday, remember. What a sight!—to behold it all London would trudge— The Recorder presenting the Prince to the Judge, Relating his history, birth, education. And how he has always behaved in his station. His R'y'l Highness to see, his official robes drest in, A countin' the hobnails—oh how interstin'! The Illustrious News would set forth the whole story, With a beautiful cut of the Prince in his glory. Only fancy the feast at Guildhall—'t would be splendid, And then what if the Lady May'ress condescended To honour the spread—and to give circulation To the Loving Cup—kissed to her liege Corporation! Why there we should witness—whilst we was a-dining— The Mace and the Sceptre in friendship combining, Bound together with garlands of laurel and myrtle; What a comfort to view as we sucked up the turtle! Because we should hail in that union a token Of a tie to be never undone, cut, or broken; And a pledge that, as long as the Crown stands unshaken, From Reform London City shall save its fat bacon.
Man Loves—with a Saving Clause.
An Old Maid, who confesses to thirty-five, says: "She doesn't believe—not a bit of it—in the nonsense that men talk about breaking their hearts! It's her firm belief there never was a man yet who broke his heart—or if there was, that he broke it as a lobster breaks one of his claws, another one shooting up very quickly in its place."
THE DEMON OF THE MONEY-MARKET.
Any success gained by the Russians over the Turks causes a fall of the funds of course; because the Czar's invasion of the Principalities is in fact a mere Bear Speculation.
A NEAT CHRISTMAS BOX.
There is a little book called "What Shall I Do with my Money?" Had not the author better send a copy of it to the Registrar of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury?
The Good Old Drinking Days.—When every Jack had his Gill.