w how the worthy
Chaplain of Newgate performs his elaborate duty of partaking of every
meal, which he must necessarily do, in order to avoid giving offence to
either of the opposition Sheriffs. The reverend ordinary will have the
extraordinary task of disposing of two lunches and two dinners in
four-and-twenty hours--an accomplishment that calls to mind the old
familiar feat of the leg of mutton and trimmings.

The name of "ordinary" is most appropriately given to the worthy
Chaplain, who by virtue of his office is present at the ordinary at one,
the other ordinary at five, and again at the two extra-ordinaries
occasioned by the division between the two Sheriffs. It appears that in
the midst of all this superabundance the learned Judges, "huffed" at
having received their invitations from one Sheriff instead of two, have
preferred going dinnerless; wisely, however, hesitating to abandon
themselves to hopeless hunger, they have to compromise with their
dignity by condescending to "lunch" at the table of SHERIFF WALLIS.

We confess we should be glad to see the practice of Old Bailey dinners
getting abandoned altogether, so that the old sarcasm as to "wretches
hanging that Judges may dine," may for ever lose its traditional point,
as it has long ago lost its practical application. There is something
unpleasantly anomalous in the substitution of the table-napkin for the
ermine before quitting the Court, and it is not a pleasant reflection,
that the prisoners having been awarded their deserts, the Judges will,
under the same roof, proceed to take their dinners.

* * * * *

THE JUDGES' CHAMBERS.

Oh such a row, such a rumpus and a bobbery,
Everything and every one quite in the dark;
No one knows the order of the Summonses,
Fixed to be heard by MR. BARON PARKE:
Tearing, swearing,
For dignity not caring,
Common lawyers, clerks of all sorts, down to office drudge.
Never was a rougher set of noisy individuals,
Hanging round the chamber doors to go before the Judge.

* * * * *

A FRENCH FEAST OF THE POETS.

BERANGER the poet is, we are told by the paragraph-mongers, continually
receiving presents of jam from his enthusiastic countrymen. We regret to
say that our own poets meet with no such sweets, and frequently pass a
life of unmitigated bitters. Instead of presents of jam (now let the
reader prepare to be knocked down