The following extraordinary inducement was held out by a solicitor, who advertised last week in a morning paper, for an office-clerk; “A small salary will be given, but he will have enough of over-work to make up for the deficiency.”

* * * * *

“MORE WAYS THAN ONE,” &c.

The incomplete state of the Treasury has been frequently lamented by all lovers of good taste.  We are happy to announce that a tablet is about to be placed in the front of the building, with the following inscription:—­

  TREASURY. 
  FINISHED BY THE WIGS,
  ANNO DOM.  MDCCCXLI.

* * * * *

A CON.  BY TOM COOKE.

Why is the common chord in music like a portion of the
Mediterranean?—­Because it’s the E G & C (AEgean Sea).

* * * * *

[ILLUSTRATION]

MONSIEUR JULLIEN.

        “One!”—­crash! 
        “Two!”—­clash! 
        “Three!”—­dash! 
        “Four!”—­smash! 
        Diminuendo,
        Now crescendo:—­
  Thus play the furious band,
  Led by the kid-gloved hand
  Of Jullien—­that Napoleon of quadrille,
  Of Piccolo-nians shrillest of the shrill;
        Perspiring raver
        Over a semi-quaver;
  Who tunes his pipes so well, he’ll tell you that
  The natural key of Johnny Bull’s—­A flat. 
  Demon of discord, with mustaches cloven—­
  Arch impudent improver of Beethoven—­
  Tricksy professor of charlatanerie—­
  Inventor of musical artillery—­
  Barbarous rain and thunder maker—­
  Unconscionable money taker—­
  Travelling about both near and far,
  Toll to exact at every bar—­
    What brings thee here again,
    To desecrate old Drury’s fane? 
      Egregious attitudiniser! 
      Antic fifer! com’st to advise her
  ’Gainst intellect and sense to close her walls? 
      To raze her benches,
      That Gallic wenches
  Might play their brazen antics at masked balls?
      Ci-devant waiter
      Of a quarante-sous traiteur,
  Why did you leave your stew-pans and meat-oven,
  To make a fricassee of the great Beet-hoven? 
  And whilst your piccolos unceasing squeak on,
  Saucily serve Mozart with sauce-piquant;
  Mawkishly cast your eyes to the cerulean—­
  Turn Matthew Locke to potage a la julienne! 
      Go! go! sir, do,
      Back to the rue,
      Where lately you
  Waited upon each hungry feeder,
  Playing the garcon, not the leader. 
      Pray, put your hat on,
      Coupez votre baton.
        Bah
        Va!!

* * * * *

CLAR’ DE KITCHEN.

It is now pretty well understood, that if the Tories come into office, there will be a regular turn out of the present royal household.  Her Majesty, through the gracious condescension of the new powers, will be permitted to retain her situation in the royal establishment, but on the express condition that there shall be—­