ove the right one. It is
this. The bill is a parable--the climbing boy, and the full-grown
sweep--and the chimney, and the householder, and the machine, are mere
types which I would interpret thus:--the householder is John Bull, a
good-natured, easy fellow, liking his ease, and studying his
comfort--caring for his dinner, and detesting smoke above all things;
he wishes to have his house neat and orderly, neither confusion nor
disturbance--but his great dread is fire; the very thought of it sets
him a-trembling all over. Now, for years past, he has remarked that
the small sweeps, who mount so glibly to the top of the flue, rarely
do anything but make a noise--they scream and shout for ten minutes,
or so, and then come down, with their eyes red, and their noses
bloody, and cry themselves sick, till they get bread-and-butter. John
is worried and fretted at all this; he remembers the time a good-sized
sweep used to go up and rake down all the soot in no time. These were
the old Tory ministers, who took such wise and safe precautions
against fire, that an insurance-office was never needed. "Not so now,"
quoth John; "'od! rabbit it, they've got their climbing boys, who are
always bleating and bawling, for the neighbourhood to look at
them--and yet, devil a bit of good they do the whole time."

And now, who are these? you would ask. I'll tell you--the "Climbing
Boys" are the Howicks, and the Clements--the Smith O'Briens and the
D'Israelis, and a host of others, scraping their way upwards, through
soot and smoke, that they may put out their heads in high places, and
cry "'weep! 'weep!" and well may they--they've had a dirty
journey--and black enough their hands are, I warrant you, before they
got there.

To get rid of these, without offending them, John brings in his
philanthropic bill, making it penal to employ them, or to have any
other than the old legitimate sweeps, that know every turn of the
flue, and have gone up and down any time these twenty years. No new
machine for him--no Whig contrivance, to scrape the bricks and burn
the house--but the responsible full-grown sweeps--who, if the passage
be narrow, have strength to force their way, and take good care not to
get dust in their eyes in the process.

Such is my interpretation of the bill, and I only trust a discerning
public may agree with me.

A NUT FOR "THE SUBDIVISION OF LABOUR."

I forget the place, and the occasion also, but I have a kind of misty
re