Your obedient servant,

D.W.  OSBALDISTON.

D.  O’Connell, Esq.

Royal Pavilion Theatre.

SIR,—­If you mean to come on the stage, come to me.  I know what suits the public.  If you can’t come yourself, send your cocked hat, and Mrs. Denvil shall dramatise it.  We have a carpenter of your name; we can gag him and gammon the public, as follows:—­

IMMENSE ATTRACTION!

SCENERY MOVED BY

O’CONNELL;

FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE

GREAT AGITATOR!!!

“REAL COCKED HAT.”

Yours, &c.

HY.  DENVIL.

Garrick Theatre.

SIR,—­We should be proud to avail ourselves of your professional services to do a little in the domestic and appalling murder line; but our forte is ballet or pantomime; perhaps, as you have your own silk tights, the latter department might suit you best.  Our artist is considered very great, and shall convert our “Jim Along Josey” wood-cuts into your portrait.  We will also pledge ourselves to procure an illuminated cocked hat.  An early answer, stating terms, will oblige

Your obedient Servants,

GOMERSAL AND CONQUEST.

D.  O’Connell, Esq.

T.R.  Sadler’s Wells.

SIR,—­Understanding you are about to figure publicly and professionally in London, may I draw your attention to my unique establishment.  I can offer you an excellent engagement as the figure-head of a vessel about to be produced in a new nautical drama.  It is at present called “The Shark and the Alligator,” but may be altered with equal effect to “The Mayor and the Agitator.”  Begging a reply,

I remain, Sir,

Your’s obediently,

ROBERT HONNER.

D.  O’Connell, Esq.

P.S.  Do you do anything in the hornpipe line?

* * * * *

A PAEAN FOR DAN.

BY ONE OF THE “FINEST PISANTRY IN THE WORLD.”

We have received the following genuine “Irish version” of a scene from and for the times, from our own peculiar and poetic correspondent:—­

      “DEAR PUNCH,—­
          I beg pardon that yoursilf I’m now troublin,
  But I must let you know what I just seen in Dublin;
  There Daniel O’Connell,—­Mayor and great agitator,—­
  Has been making a Judy of himself, the poor unhappy cratur. 
  At his time of life, too! tare and ounds its mighty shocking! 
  He shoved ach of his big legs into a span bran new silk stocking: 
  How the divil them calves by any manes was thrust in,
  Is a mistery to ev’ry one, without them black silks busting. 
  And instead of a dacent trousers hanging to his suspenders,
  He has button’d-up one-half of him in a pair of short knee-enders.