“Words!  Words!  Words!”

In one column we give a common-place household and familiar term—­in the other we render it into the true Bulwerian phraseology: 

  Does your mother know | Is your maternal parent’s natural solicitude
  you are out? | allayed by the information, that you have for
                        | the present vacated your domestic roof?
                        |
  You don’t lodge here, | You are geographically and statistically
  Mr. Ferguson. | misinformed; this is by no means the
                        | accustomed place of your occupancy, Mr.
                        | Ferguson.
                        |
  See! there he goes | Behold! he proceeds totally deprived of one
  with his eye out. | moiety of his visual organs!
                        |
  Don’t you wish you | Pray confess, are you not really particularly
  may get it? | anxious to obtain the desired object?
                        |
  More t’other. | Infinitely, peculiarly, and most intensely
                        | the entire extreme and the absolute reverse.
                        |
                        |
  Quite different. | Dissimilar as the far-extended poles, or the
                        | deep-tinctured ebon skins of the dark
                        | denizens of Sol’s sultry plains and the fair
                        | rivals of descending flakes of virgin snow,
                        | melting with envy on the peerless breast of
                        | fair Circassia’s ten-fold white-washed
                        | daughters.
                        |
  Over the left. | Decidedly in the ascendant of the sinister.

* * * * *

From the nobleman who is selected to move the address in the House of Lords, it would seem that the Whigs, tired of any further experiments in turning their coats, are about to try what effect they can produce with an old Spencer.

* * * * *

As the weather is to decide the question of the corn-laws, the rains that have lately fallen may be called, with truth, the reins of government.

* * * * *

SPORTING IN DOWNING STREET.

“COME OUT—­WILL YOU!”

The extraordinary attachment which the Whigs have displayed for office has been almost without parallel in the history of ministerial fidelity.  Zoologists talk of the local affection of cats, but in what animal shall we discover such a strong love of place as in the present government?  Lord John is a very badger in the courageous manner in which he has resisted the repeated attacks of the Tory terriers.  The odds, however, are too great for even his powers of defence; he has given some of the most forward of the curs who have tried to drag him from his burrow some shrewd bites and scratches that they will not forget in a hurry; but, overpowered by numbers, he must “come out” at last, and yield the victory to his numerous persecutors, who will, no doubt, plume themselves upon their dexterity at drawing a badger.