he trumpet, the crowd shout, and the Doctor bows
gracefully, with one hand on his heart and the other in his breeches
pocket. At the end of the applause he commences singing_].

I am called Doctor Pill, the political quack,
And a quack of considerable standing and note;
I've clapp'd many a blister on many a back,
And cramm'd many a bolus down many a throat,
I have always stuck close, like the rest of my tribe,
And physick'd my patient as long as he'd pay;
And I say, when I'm ask'd to advise or prescribe,
"_You must wait till I'm call'd in a regular way_."

Old England has grown rather sickly of late,
For Russell's _reduced_ her almost to a shade;
And I've honestly told him, for nights in debate,
He's a quack that should never have follow'd the trade.
And, Lord! how he fumes, and exultingly cries,
"Were you in my place, Pill, pray what would _you_ say?"
But I only reply, "If I am to advise,
_I shall wait till I'm call'd in a regular way_."

It's rather "too bad," if an ignorant elf,
Who has caught a rich patient 'twere madness to kill,
Should have all the credit, and pocket the pelf,
Whilst you are requested to furnish the skill.
No! no! _amor patriae_'s a phrase I admire,
But I own to an _amor_ that stands in its way;
And if England should e'er my assistance require,
_She must_--

[Illustration: "WAIT TILL I'M CALL'D IN A REGULAR WAY."]

* * * * *

ON DITS OF THE CLUBS.

Peter Borthwich has expressed his determination--not to accept of the
speakership of the House of Commons.

C.M. Westmacott has announced his intention of _not_ joining the new
administration; in consequence of which serious defection, he asserts that
Sir Robert Peel will be unable to form a cabinet.

"You have heard," said his Grace of Buckingham, to Lord Abinger, a few
evenings ago, "how scandalously Peel and his crew have treated me--they
have actually thrown me overboard. A man of my weight, too!" "That was the
very objection, my Lord," replied the rubicund functionary. "Their rotten
craft could not carry a statesman of your ponderous abilities. Your dead
weight would have brought them to the bottom in five minutes."

* * * * *

THE REJECTED ADDRESS OF THE MELANCHOLY WHIGS.

Alas! that poor old Whiggery should have been so silly as to go a-wooing.
Infirm and tottering as he is, it was the height