of a king; merely observing, that what makes his Majesty very savage,
makes hundreds of thousands of Englishmen mighty glad. There are now two
cradles between the Crown of England and the White Horse of Hanover.

We have a Prince of Wales! Whilst, however, England is throwing up its
million caps in rapture at the advent, let it not be forgotten to whom we
owe the royal baby. In the clamourousness of our joy the fact would have
escaped us, had we not received a letter from Colonel SIBTHORP, who
assures us that we owe a Prince of Wales entirely to the present cabinet;
had the Whigs remained in office, the infant would inevitably have been a
girl.

For our own part--but we confess we are sometimes apt to look too soberly
at things--we think her Majesty (may all good angels make her caudle!) is,
inadvertently no doubt, treated in a questionable spirit of compliment by
these uproarious rejoicings at the sex of the illustrious little boy, who
has cast, if possible, a new dignity upon Lord Mayor's day, and made the
very giants of Guildhall shoot up an inch taller at the compliment he has
paid them of visiting the world on the ninth of November. In our playful
enthusiasm, we have--that is, the public _We_--declared we must have a
Prince of Wales--we should be dreadfully in the dumps if the child were
not a Prince--the Queen must have a Prince--a bouncing Prince--and nothing
but a Prince. Now might not an ill-natured Philosopher (but all
philosophers are ill-natured) interpret these yearnings for masculine
royalty as something like pensive regrets that the throne should ever be
filled by the feminine sex? For own part we are perfectly satisfied that
the Queen (may she live to see the Prince of Wales wrinkled and
white-headed!) is a Queen, and think VICTORIA THE FIRST sounds quite as
musically--has in it as full a note of promise--as if the regal name had
run--GEORGE THE FIFTH! We think there is a positive want of gallantry at