iting the world on the ninth of November. In our playful
enthusiasm, we have--that is, the public _We_--declared we must have a
Prince of Wales--we should be dreadfully in the dumps if the child were
not a Prince--the Queen must have a Prince--a bouncing Prince--and nothing
but a Prince. Now might not an ill-natured Philosopher (but all
philosophers are ill-natured) interpret these yearnings for masculine
royalty as something like pensive regrets that the throne should ever be
filled by the feminine sex? For own part we are perfectly satisfied that
the Queen (may she live to see the Prince of Wales wrinkled and
white-headed!) is a Queen, and think VICTORIA THE FIRST sounds quite as
musically--has in it as full a note of promise--as if the regal name had
run--GEORGE THE FIFTH! We think there is a positive want of gallantry at
this unequivocally shouted preference of a Prince of Wales. Nevertheless,
we are happy to say, the pretty, good-tempered Princess Royal (she is
_not_ blind, as the Tories once averred; but then the Whigs were _in_)
still laughs and chirrups as if nothing had happened. Nay, as a proof of
the happy nature of the infant (we beg to say that the fact is copyright,
as we purchased it of the reporter of _The Observer_), whilst, on the
ninth instant, the chimes of St. Martin's were sounding merrily for the
birth of the Prince, the Princess magnanimously shook her coral-bells in
welcome of her dispossessing brother!

Independently of the sensation made in the City by the new glory that has
fallen upon the ninth of November (it is said that Sir PETER LAURIE has
been so rapt by the auspicious coincidence, that he has done nothing since
but talk and think of "the Prince of Wales"--that on Wednesday last he
rebuked an infant beggar with, "I've nothing for you, _Prince of
Wales_")--independently of the lustre flung upon the new Lord Mayor and
the Lord Mayor just out--who will, it is said, both be caudle-cup
baronets, the occasion has given birth to much deep philosophy on the part
of our contemporaries--so deep, that there is no getting to the end of it,
and has also revived much black-letter learning connected with the birth
of every Prince of Wales, from the first to the last--and, therefore,
certainly not least--new-comer.

An hour or so after George the Fourth was born, we are told that the
waggons containing the treasure of the _Hermione_, a Spanish galleon,
captured off St. Vincent by three English frigates