“We regret to hear that Col.  Sibthorp has suffered severely by cutting himself in the act of shaving.  His friends, however, will rejoice to learn that his whiskers have escaped, and that he himself is going on favourably.”

We spent an entire night in endeavouring to discover where the wit lay in this cutting paragraph; but were obliged at last to give it up, convinced that we might as well have made

[Illustration:  AN ATTEMPT TO DISCOVER THE LONGITUDE.]

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE SEEDY.—­No.  V.

  What am I?  Mary, wherefore seek to know? 
    For mystery’s the very soul of love. 
  Enough, that wedding thee I’m not below,
    Enough, that wooing thee I’m not above. 
  You smile, dear girl, and look into my face
    As if you’d read my history in my eye. 
  I’m not, sweet maid, a footman out of place,
    For that position would, I own, be shy. 
  What am I then, you ask?  Alas! ’tis clear,
  You love not me, but what I have a year.

  What am I, Mary!  Well, then, must I tell,
    And all my stern realities reveal? 
  Come close then to me, dearest, listen well,
    While what I am no longer I conceal. 
  I serve my fellow-men, a glorious right;
    Thanks for that smile, dear maid, I know ’tis due. 
  Yes, many have I served by day and night;
    With me to aid them, none need vainly sue. 
  Nay, do not praise me, love, but nearer come,
  That I may whisper, I’m a bailiff’s bum.

  Why start thus from me? am I then a thing
    To be despised and cast aside by thee? 
  Oh! while to every one I fondly cling
    And follow all, will no one follow me? 
  Oh! if it comes to this, dear girl, no more
    Shalt thou have cause upon my suit to frown;
  I’ll serve no writs again; from me secure,
    John Doe may run at leisure up and down,
  Come to my arms, but do not weep the less,
  Thou art the last I’ll e’er take in distress.

* * * * *

A PAIR OF DUCKS.

“Pray, Sir Peter,” said a brother Alderman to the City Laurie-ate the other day, while discussing the merits of Galloway’s plan for a viaduct from Holborn-hill to Skinner-street, “Pray, Sir Peter, can you inform me what is the difference between a viaduct and an aqueduct?” “Certainly,” replied our “City Correspondent,” with amazing condescension; “a via-duck is a land-duck, and an aqua-duck is a water-duck!” The querist confessed he had no idea before of the immensity of Sir Peter’s scientific knowledge.

* * * * *

PUNCH’S THEATRE.

MARGARET MAYFIELD; OR, THE MURDER OF THE LONE FARM-HOUSE.