Our babbling, anile friend, in the very looseness of her prating has let out the truth.  Or rather—­a common custom with her—­she has talked in her sleep.  Her very weakness has, however, given a point to her revelation.

  “Diamonds dart their brightest lustre,
  from a palsy-shaken head!”

In the midst of her snores she has but revealed the plot entered into between those most respectable conspirators, Broad Cloth and Beef, against those old offenders, those incorrigible miscreants, Rags and Want!  The confederacy is, to be sure, older than the crucified thieves; but then it has not been so undisguisedly avowed.  Broad Cloth has, on the contrary, affected a sympathy with tatters, though with a constancy of purpose has refused an ell from its trailing superfluity to solace the wretchedness; the tears of Beef dropt on the lank abdomen of Starvation, are ancient as post diluvian crocodiles.—­but it has spared no morsel to the object of its hypocritic sorrow.  Now, however, even the decency of deceit is to be dropt, and Broad Cloth is to make sport with the nakedness of the land, and merry Beef is to roar like the bulls of Bashan at the agonies of famine!

As the winter approaches we are promised increasing sources of amusement from the manufacturing districts.  What sunny faces will break though the fogs of November—­what giggling will drown the cutting blasts of January!  Eschewing the wise relaxation of pantomimes, we shall be taught to consult the commercial reports in the newspapers as the highest and fullest source of salutary laughter.  How we shall simper when mills are stopped—­how crow with laughter when whole factories are silent and deserted!  How reader—­(for we acknowledge none who are not well-dressed and well-to-do)—­how you will scream with joy when banks break!—­and how consult the list of bankrupts as the very spirit and essence of the most consummate fun.  Insolvency shall henceforth be synonymous with repartee—­and compositions with creditors practical bons mots.

Oh! reader—­(but mind, you must, we say, to be our reader, be well-dressed and well-to-do; for though we owe the very paper beneath your eye to rags, we trust we are sufficiently in the mode to laugh contemptuously at such abominations)—­oh! reader, quit your lighter recreations; seek not for merriment in fictitious humour; it is a poor, unsatisfactory diet, weak and watery; but find substantial drollery from the fluttering of tatters—­laugh, and with the crowing joy, grow sleek and lusty at the writhings and the lamentations of want!

We have, however, a recent benevolent instance of the political and social power of dress—­an instance gathered from the Court of Spain.  The organ (or rather barrel-organ of Toryism, for it has only a set number of tunes) which played our opening quotation, also grinds the following:—­