A CELESTIAL CON.

Why is wit like a Chinese lady's foot?--Because brevity is the _sole_ of
it!

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THE PRINCE OF WALES.--HIS FUTURE TIMES.

A private letter from Hanover states that, precisely at twelve minutes to
eleven in the morning on the ninth of the present November, his Majesty
King ERNEST was suddenly attacked by a violent fit of blue devils. All the
court doctors were immediately summoned, and as immediately dismissed, by
his Majesty, who sent for the Wizard of the North (recently appointed
royal astrologer), to divine the mysterious cause of this so sudden
melancholy. In a trice the mystery was solved--Queen Victoria "was happily
delivered of a Prince!" His Majesty was immediately assisted to his
chamber--put to bed--the curtains drawn--all the royal household ordered
to wear list slippers--the one knocker to the palace was carefully tied
up--and (on the departure of our courier) half a load of straw was already
deposited beneath the window of the royal chamber. The sentinels on duty
were prohibited from even sneezing, under pain of death, and all things in
and about the palace, to use a bran new simile, were silent as the grave!

"Whilst there was only the Princess Royal there were many hopes. There was
hope from severe teething--hope from measles--hope from hooping-cough--but
with the addition of a Prince of Wales, the hopes of Hanover are below
par." But we pause. We will no further invade the sanctity of the sorrows