third number to convert them into comedies
melodramas, or farces, finishing the plots
according to his own (want of) taste and fancy.

A NEW, STRONG, and RIGOROUS ACT
OF PARLIAMENT to prevent the
dangerous overloading of railway carriers' vans,
and the reckless pace and insolence of their
drivers.

A LOUDLY EXPRESSED public opinion
to clear away the Metropolitan Board of
Works with its whole crew of jobbers and idlers.
If the above opinion is not produced, the London
ratepayers will be sold, and will have to pay
heavy charges.

                   FOUND

SOMETHING MUCH TOO GOOD TO BE
     TRUE—a new Opera by Rossini.

THE DIGNITY of the Lord Mayor of
London. This jewel, after being mislaid
for many years and supposed lost, has been
discovered, in the brightest condition, in a setting
of Golden Wire. The article may be seen, any
morning, at the Mansion House. It is not
permitted to be handled, but must be
contemplated through the microscope.

IN THE PUBLISHING and Book Trade,
lately, several Tracts and Pamphlets, in the
titles of which, the most sacred names and
subjects are treated with a horrible familiarity, and
are indecently set forth as if in play-bills. It is
earnestly hoped that they will NOT BE SOLD to
pay the expenses.

                       MISSING

SEVENTY THOUSAND POUNDS'
WORTH of National Ground. Supposed
to have been taken from the public proprietor,
by a private Royal Academy.

THE SLIGHTEST APPROACH to sufficient
accommodation for the houseless
and starving poor in the parish of Bermondsey,
London; which, possessing a population of
fifty-one thousand, now offers nightly refuge to
exactly two dozen casual paupers.

THE NATIONAL WELCOME due to Sir
John Lawrence, on his arrival in this
country. Also, such a national reward to this
first and foremost of public servants as may
imply, at the least, some becoming sense of
obligation on the part of England towards the
man who saved India.

THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT, from
the Bible of a Right Reverend Prelate.
The loss was discovered on or about the 30th of
March and 4th of April, when reference to the
Divine Homily was much needed, in a
correspondence with a dissenting father, relative to
the burial of his little child in his own family
grave. As the possession of these leaves of the
New Testament, by their bereaved owner, is of
importance to society, restoration is earnestly
solicited. Please to communicate with Samuel,
at the Soap Warehouse, St. James's Court.

     TRADE SONGS. STREET SWEEPER.

     At a crossing of the Strand,
     With a besom in my hand,
     I beg.
     In winter and in summer,
     Whosoever is the comer,
     I beg.

     If a lady full of grace,
     Why I bless her pretty face,
     And beg.
     If I spy an ancient buffer,
     Then my words are rather rougher,
     Yet I beg.

     If a man is grim, I sigh
     And cast a rueful eye,
     And beg;
     And I mutter of a "payment,"
     And talk of "food" and "raiment,"
     As I beg.

     I've a cut across my brow,
     And a blow (which I show)
     On my leg.
     My coat is all in tatters,
     And my hat—is at the hatter's,
     On a peg.

     You grieve that I must sweep,
     Yet I only whine and weep
     While I beg.
     I creep about the women,
     And they see my eyes are brimming,
     As I beg.

     My wife she is a smasher,
     And she groweth rash and rasher,
     Does Meg;
     So, in order to conceal it
     (And her folly, for I feel it),
     I beg.

     But the town is growing weary
     Of me and of my deary;
     Yet I beg.
     Should it fail us in its bounty,
     We must throw us on the county,
     I and Meg.

               POLICEMAN.

           How goes the night?
The stars are sleeping in their misty bed:
The moon is young and will not show her head.
I hear a hurried step, in chase or flight.
         Who goes?--All's right!

         How goes the night?
The rains are falling fast in drowning showers:
The clocks are sounding slow the crawling hours:
Beneath the arch a lantern glimmers bright.
          Who goes?--All's right!

          How goes the night?
The burglar skulks within his cellar deep,
The weary footpads hide their heads in sleep.
Who drags this staggering drunkard into sight?
          Who goes?—All's right!