them will be relieved (as Tom Thumb is at this moment, in the
intervals of his performance) by a wild man; and a British Grenadier
will either go into a quart pot, or be an Old Boy, or Blue Gull, or
Flying Bull, or some other savage chief of that nature.

I will not expatiate upon the number of dwarfs who will be found
representing Grecian statues in all parts of the metropolis; because
I am inclined to think that this will be a change for the better;
and that the engagement of two or three in Trafalgar Square will
tend to the improvement of the public taste.

The various genteel employments at Court being held by dwarfs, sir,
it will be necessary to alter, in some respects, the present
regulations. It is quite clear that not even General Tom Thumb
himself could preserve a becoming dignity on state occasions, if
required to walk about with a scaffolding-pole under his arm;
therefore the gold and silver sticks at present used, must be cut
down into skewers of those precious metals; a twig of the black rod
will be quite as much as can be conveniently preserved; the coral
and bells of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, will be used in
lieu of the mace at present in existence; and that bauble (as Oliver
Cromwell called it, Mr. Hood), its value being first calculated by
Mr. Finlayson, the government actuary, will be placed to the credit
of the National Debt.

All this, sir, will be the death of the constitution. But this is
not all. The constitution dies hard, perhaps; but there is enough
disease impending, Mr. Hood, to kill it three times over.

Wild men will get into the House of Commons. Imagine that, sir!