of us have known what it is to climb; and, as my honourable friend on the left says-I may say I've been up five thousand chimneys, long and short, and never failed in doing my duty to my employers-but what was it repaid me for my toil-what was it that cheered me in my labour the sixpence as I got when I kimm'd down?-or the bread and cheese the kitchen-maid would give me afore I went out?—No, sir; it was not that-no-neither the one nor the other; it was the smile of ooman-lovely ooman, which rules us all ;-in her favour there is indeed a sweeping clause; and I have the pleasure to tell you, that there is a splendid assembly of the dear crechurs a waiting in the next room, ready to trip it on their fantastic toeses-so, if you please, gemmen, we 'll wind up the arternoon, by drinking- Success to the brush and shovel all over the world! '—and then join the fair."

To this proposal no possible objection could be made; and the doors being thrown open, a most splendid collection of the dear creechurs appeared ready for the quadrilles, which commenced about five.

The refreshments were of the first quality, and the whole day passed off with the greatest hilarity.

THE TOADY.

WHOM shall the Muse essay to sing?
Whose praises wake the slumbering string?
Thine humble, inoffensive thing,

My Toady.

Who, when I sigh, breathes forth a groan ?
Who listens to my voice alone,

Nor dare's surmise her soul's her own?

My Toady.

Who, when I doze, my elbow jogs?
Who feeds my bulfinch, combs my dogs,
And carries, as I walk, my clogs ?

Who, when my cheeks new tints assume,

Laid on within my dressing-room;
Says "Exercise gives such a bloom?"

My Toady.

Who, if to raise a smile I try,
By some trite story, dull and dry,
Laughs till her cracking laces fly?

My Toady.

Who, when my life's gay scene is o'er,
Thinks to inherit all my store,

And cringe, and fawn, and sneak no more?

My Toady.

Who'll find by will bequeathed her then,
A vinaigrette, a silver pen,

A muff, a shawl, and three pounds ten?

My Toady.

SUNDAY BILLS.

We regret to see that a well-meaning gentleman of the name of Peter is trying to get up a second edition of the exploded Agnew absurdity. Whatever the object of these efforts may be, it is clear that nothing can more effectually tend to array the country in two classes against each other,—the one of Atheists and Liberals, and the other of Puritans and Fanatics.

How can a gentleman of honour, like Sir Andrew Agnew, prevail upon himself-we are quite sure he is too independent to permit any other person to prevail upon him-to declare in the House of Commons that all classes of operatives are anxious for the closest restrictions on the Sabbath which the House

can enforce? It is not the case.

As far as working

goes, the operatives are at this moment entirely protected; no master can compel his journeymen to work on Sunday, and as for menial servants, they are excepted out of the bill.

Does Sir Andrew Agnew believe, or wish anybody else to believe, that the operatives want to be "cribbed, cabined, and confined" on a Sunday, debarred from their excursions to tea-gardens, their little voyages upon the river, their social pipes and ale, or to have their wives or sweethearts mulcted of their cakes and tea upon the only day in the week in which they can enjoy them? Does he really mean seriously to say that hard-working people, who for six consecutive days have been shut up to labour and toil in heated rooms, in factories, or in gas-lit workshops, desire that they may be hindered from breathing the pure air on the seventh?

And what to the poor-or, indeed, to the richis an excursion without refreshment-without the enjoyment of the Sunday's dinner, the weekly festival at which his family enjoy his society, and in his society the treat of something "good to eat?" Why may not these relations, if they prefer good air to bad, go to those "Ordinaries on Sundays at two o'clock" which may be seen announced on every sign-board round London? or why, if they prefer it, may they not travel thither in chaises or other carriages, if they can afford it? Whether this is sinful or not Messrs. Agnew and Peter may perhaps decide; but of this we are sure, that the operatives, except the already benighted Puritan Radicals, must be, and are opposed, heart and soul, to the monstrous restrictions

which a couple of very small men are endeavouring to bring them under, because they think it right, and good, and wise.

The beneficial effects of the measure upon society may be guessed from the following dialogue between Snip, a tailor, and Snob, a shoemaker, living in the same house, each having a wife-one having a child. Time, Sunday morning.

Snip.-Vell, Snob-arn't you shaved? Vy the bells is a going for church-ye von't be ready in time.

Snob.-Church-bless your heart, I can't go to church to-day-the bill's come into play. Snip.-Ah-I know that to my cost. Snob.-How can I go to church?

Ve used to send

our bit of wittels to the bakus, and then I and Sal used to go to church, and so give Jenny Walker sixpence to mind the babby till we come back; then arter dinner Sal and I and the babby used to go to Chalk Farm, as reglar as clockwork, every blessed Sunday. She had a cup of the best bohea, with milk hot from the cow-I smoked my pipe and had a pint of ale. Little Jenny used to go to church in the arternoon, and come and jine us, and so help bring babby back. Now we marn't get the things baked at the bakus, and Jenny marn't come and earn sixpence by looking after the babby-so Sal has to cook the wittels, and I have to mind the child-so there's no church for us.

Snip.-My missus says she won't do no workSundays, cause she's afeard of her life of Bill Byers

so we avn't got a morsel of grub for dinner, and neither of us knows where to get none-I won't go