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A PRIVATE BOX.

During the clear-out on Wednesday last in Downing-street, a small chest, strongly secured, was found among some models of balloting-boxes.  It had evidently been forgotten for some years, and upon opening it, was found to contain the Whig promises of 1832.  They were immediately conveyed to Lord Melbourne, who appeared much astonished at these resuscitation of the

[Illustration:  HOME OFFICE.]

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THE LOST MEDICAL PAPERS OF THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.

“It is somewhat remarkable,” observe the journals of the past week, “that the medical division of this scientific meeting has not contributed one single paper this year in furtherance of its object, although the communications from that section have usually been of a highly important character.”

The journals may think it somewhat remarkable—­we do not at all; for here, as in every other event of the day, a great deal depends upon being “behind the curtain;” and as the greater portion of our life is passed in that locality, we are always to be relied upon for authenticity in our statements.  The plain truth is, that the papers were inadvertently lost, and rather than lead to some unpleasant disclosures, in which the eminent professor to whom they were entrusted would have been deeply implicated, it was thought best to say nothing about them.  By chance they fell into the hands of the manager of one of our perambulating theatres, who was toiling his way from the west of England to Egham races, and having deposited them in his portable green-room, under the especial custody of the clown, the doctor, and the overbearing parochial authority, he duly remitted them to our office.  We have been too happy in giving them a place in our columns, feeling an honest pride in thus taking the lead of the chief scientific publications of the day.  It will be seen that they are drawn up as a report, all ready for publication, according to the usual custom of such proceedings, where every one knows beforehand what they are to dispute or agree with.

Dr. Splitnerve communicated a remarkable case of Animal Magnetism:—­Eugene Doldrum, aged 21, a young man of bilious and interesting temperament, having been mesmerized, was rendered so keenly magnetic, as to give rise to a most remarkable train of phenomena.  On being seated upon a music-stool, he immediately becomes an animated compass, and turns round to the north.  Knives and forks at dinner invariably fly towards him, and he is not able to go through any of the squares, in consequence of being attracted firmly to the iron railings.  As most of the experiments took place at the North London Hospital, Euston-square was his chief point of attraction, and when he was removed, it was always found necessary to break off the railings and take them away with him.  This