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PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE.

Dear PUNCH,—­Will you inform me whether the review of the troops noticed in last Saturday’s Times, is to be found in the “Edinborough,” “Westminster,” or “Quarterly.”

Yours, in all mayoralties,
PETER LAURIE.

P.S.—­What do they mean by

[Illustration:  SALUTING A FLAG?]

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“GO ALONG, BOB.”

Sir Bobby Peel, who, before he got into harness, professed himself able to draw the Government truck “like bricks,” has changed his note since he has been put to the trial, and he is now bawling lustily—­“Don’t hurry me, please—­give me a little time.”  Wakley, seeing the pitiable condition of the unfortunate animal, volunteered his services to push behind, and the Chartist and Tory may now be seen every night in St. Stephen’s, working cordially together, and exhibiting an illustration of the benefits of a

[Illustration:  DIVISION OF LABOUR.]

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CONS BY OUR OWN COLONEL.

Why is a loud laugh in the House of Commons like Napoleon
Buonaparte?—­Because it’s an M.P. roar (an Emperor).

Why is a person getting rheumatic like one locking a
cupboard-door?—­Because he’s turning achy (a key).

Why is one-and-sixpence like an aversion to coppers?—­Because it’s hating pence (eighteen-pence).

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PUNCH’S THEATRE.

DIE HEXEN AM RHEIN; OR, RUDOLPH OF HAPSBURGH.

Mysterious are thy ways, O Yates!  Thou art the only true melodramatist of the stage and off the stage!  When a new demonology is compiled thou shalt have an honourable place in it.  Thou shall be worshipped as the demon of novelty, even by the “gods” themselves.  Thy deeds shall be recorded in history.  It shall not be forgotten that thou wert the importer of Mademoiselle Djeck, the tame elephant; of Monsieur Bohain, the gigantic Irishman; and of Signor Hervi o’Nano, the Cockneyan-Italian dwarf.  Never should we have seen the Bayaderes but for you; nor T.P.  Cooke in “The Pilot,” nor the Bedouin Arabs, nor “The Wreck Ashore,” nor “bathing and sporting” nymphs, nor other dramatic delicacies.  Truly, thou art the luckiest of managers; for all thy efforts succeed, whether they deserve it or not.  Sometimes thou drawest up an army of scene-painters, mechanists, dancers, monsters, dwarfs, devils, fire-works, and water-spouts, in terrible array against common sense.  Yet lo! thou dost conquer!  Thy pieces never miss fire; they go on well with the public, and favourable are the press reports.  Wert thou a Catholic thou wouldest be canonised; for evil spirits are thy passion; the Vatican itself cannot produce a more indefatigable “devils’ advocate!”