Stalls have been fitted up in the Royal nursery for the reception of two Alderney cows, preparatory to the weaning of the infant Princess; which delicate duty Mrs. Lilly commences on Monday next.

Sir Robert Peel has been seen several times this week in close consultation with the chief cook.  Has he been offered the premiership?

Mr. Moreton Dyer, “the amateur turner,” has been a frequent visitor at the palace of late.  Palmerston, it is whispered, has been receiving lessons in the art.  We are surprised to hear this, for we always considered his lordship a Talleyrand in turning.

* * * * *

A QUARTER-DAY COGITATION.

(WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF A “NOTED” TAILOR’S BILL.)

  By winter’s chill the fragrant flower is nipp’d,
    To be new-clothed with brighter tints in spring;
  The blasted tree of verdant leaves is stripp’d,
    A fresher foliage on each branch to bring;

  The aerial songster moults his plumerie,
    To vie in sleekness with each feather’d brother: 
  A twelvemonth’s wear hath ta’en thy nap from thee,
    My seedy coat!—­When shall I get another?

NOTE.—­Confiding tailors are entreated to send their addresses, pre-paid, to PUNCH’S office.

P.S.—­None need apply who refuse three years’ acceptances.  If the bills be made renewable, by agreement, “continuations” will be taken in any quantity.—­FITZROY FIPS.

* * * * *

STREET POLITICS.

A DRAMATIC DIALOGUE BETWEEN PUNCH AND HIS STAGE MANAGER.

(Enter PUNCH.)

PUNCH.—­R-r-r-roo-to-tooit-tooit?

(Sings.)

  “Wheel about and turn about,
    And do jes so;
  Ebery time I turn about,
    I jump Jim Crow.”

MANAGER.—­Hollo, Mr. Punch! your voice is rather husky to-day.

PUNCH.—­Yes, yes; I’ve been making myself as hoarse as a hog, bawling to the free and independent electors of Grogswill all the morning.  They have done me the honour to elect me as their representative in Parliament.  I’m an M.P. now.

MANAGER.—­An M.P.!  Gammon, Mr. Punch.

THE DOG TOBY.—­Bow, wow, wow, wough, wough!

PUNCH.—­Fact, upon my honour.  I’m at this moment an unit in the collective stupidity of the nation.

DOG TOBY.—­R-r-r-r-r-r—­wough—­wough!

PUNCH.—­Kick that dog, somebody.  Hang the cur, did he never see a legislator before, that he barks at me so?

MANAGER.—­A legislator, Mr. Punch? with that wooden head of yours!  Ho! ho! ho! ho!

PUNCH.—­My dear sir, I can assure you that wood is the material generally used in the manufacture of political puppets.  There will be more blockheads than mine in St. Stephen’s, I can tell you.  And as for oratory, why I flatter my whiskers I’ll astonish them in that line.