It's rather "too bad," if an ignorant elf,
Who has caught a rich patient 'twere madness to kill,
Should have all the credit, and pocket the pelf,
Whilst you are requested to furnish the skill.
No! no! _amor patriæ_'s a phrase I admire,
But I own to an _amor_ that stands in its way;
And if England should e'er my assistance require,
_She must_--

[Illustration: "WAIT TILL I'M CALL'D IN A REGULAR WAY."]

* * * * *


ON DITS OF THE CLUBS.

Peter Borthwich has expressed his determination--not to accept of the
speakership of the House of Commons.

C.M. Westmacott has announced his intention of _not_ joining the new
administration; in consequence of which serious defection, he asserts that
Sir Robert Peel will be unable to form a cabinet.

"You have heard," said his Grace of Buckingham, to Lord Abinger, a few
evenings ago, "how scandalously Peel and his crew have treated me--they
have actually thrown me overboard. A man of my weight, too!" "That was the
very objection, my Lord," replied the rubicund functionary. "Their rotten
craft could not carry a statesman of your ponderous abilities. Your dead
weight would have brought them to the bottom in five minutes."