"WISDOM TOOTH."

POOR JOE.

(Respectfully Dedicated to the RIGHT HONOURABLE JOACHIM G-SCH-N,

M.P., by his friend, MR. PUNCH.)

AIR.-"Poor Jack."

Go, call me a lubber, a swab all at sea,
Green-hand, Johnny Raw, if you like;

The right sort of Board to hold on to give me,
And it ain't to a sailor I'll strike.

Though as Landsman at first with sea-Lords I've to fight,
They'll find their Board's head isn't Wood:

I should like to see DACRES from GoSCHEN take flight,

And to Halifax steer,-if he could!

Avast! and don't think me a spooney so soft

For a squall at first start to turn back;

I've no doubt there's a Providence looks out aloft

For poor JoE, as he does for poor JACK,

Constructors, Controllers, and First Lords, in fray
Over high and low free-boards and sich,

Have been fighting for years, each to get his own way,
And his rival to leave in a ditch.

But with temper and tact at the helm in J. G.
No more tempests in tea-cups shall grow;

Those who choose to go straight shall go smoothly for me,
Nor my word find a word and a blow.

Fools who brave the wind's eye in a squall are caught oft,
When wise men make their port by a tack;

I know what a head's worth, for going aloft,
Though my name may be JoE, and not JACK.

And when in the wrong-as, however I try
To be right, I may happen to be-

Of argument showing I'm right I'll fight shy,
Nor strive to prove all fools but me!

For opinion's wide, and there's room for us all,
REIDS, ROBINSONS, GOSCHENS, and more;
Why should heads of an office to loggerheads fall,
Sea or Land Lords, afloat or on shore?

If I fail-all's a hazard-my head's not so soft
To be ta'en, e'en by ship-wreck, aback;

So let's stick to the ship, boys, whose flag flies aloft-
Friendship's ensign-the Union JACK.

Now-a-days a First Lord should be, every inch,
Like a foot-and-a-half plated ship;

For broadside of House nor of Press ought to flinch,
Nor his own judgment's moorings let slip.
Let the newspaper chaps be his foes or his friends,
Treat him daily to soft-soap or sting;

Public int'rest, the Service, must still be his ends,
While he leaves town and press to their fling.
Case-hardened in time, though at first ne'er so soft,
He'll find both his brow and his back,

And he'll say, as I say, "Crack your cheeks, winds, aloft,
You'll no more fright poor JOE than poor JACK!"

A Useful Manual.

"MIXING IN SOCIETY." What does this book teach? How to mix salad, how to mix punch, how to mix summer beverages, how not to mix wines? If so, we will buy the volume without any needless delay, and exhaust the edition by presenting copies of it to all our young friends just beginning life.

Le Nom Ne Vaut Rien.

IN France Alsace and Lorraine go together. When there was an Alsace in London, it was a territory where 'twas impossible there could be any Law-reign.

MY HEALTH.

ON collecting the advice of my friends on this subject, I find it convenient to classify their opinions thus :

1. To walk like old boots every day for three hours.-SYMPSON'S Opinion.

2. That I ought to do gymnastics every morning for an hour, and go in for a turn with the gloves for two hours before dinner.-MUGGERIDGE's Opinion.

"And LADY COURT- -" (his mysterious man begins again). Once more MULFER (who, I see, attends the aristocracy) stops him quickly, and tells him, "back room," then looks at me, as much as to say, You see how busy I am."

2nd Mem. on this Subject. The punishment of the nose because the hands are fighting, is a specimen of uneven-handed justice where the innocent suffers for the guilty.

3. To go in for the Cold Water Cure.-VIDDLE'S Idea. 4. To get change of scene. Run about everywhere.-FLUTER'S Idea, accompanied by a practical suggestion to the effect that, if I'll pay half his expenses, he'll travel with me anywhere. Mem. FLUTER's not a bad fellow; and if no one else will go, Query, is he worth it? What's the proverb say? "Better to be alone than to pay half of another fellow's travelling expenses," or something to that effect.

5. Go and stay with GILVER in the North. He'll be delighted to see you.-RICHARD'S Opinion. RICHARD is a cousin of mine, and he thought I was going to propose coming to stop with him. Various Opinions (all unprofessional). Go in for diet.-Cut off lunch. Get up early. Go to bed early. Get up late. Take hot baths only. Take nothing but cold water.-Take a shower-bath before dinner.-Never take a shower-bath by any chance.-Walk before breakfast.-Never walk before breakfast, but immediately after.-Get the morning air.Morning air worst thing for me: death in fact.-Never go out until 2 P.M.-Hunt.-On no account venture to hunt.Take medicine every other day. Rashest thing for me to take any medicine: play Old Gooseberry with me.-Live high-Live low-Walk-Lie_down-Run-Jump-Shoot

Box-Drive-Sing-Dance-Eat vegetables-Never touch any green meat.-Take no pastry.-Take anything.-Never touch tea or coffee.-Never touch coffee: take tea.-Never touch either.-Take weak tea last thing at night.-Never at night, but first thing in the morning, &c., &c., &c.

I sit in and consider the matter. I go out and consider the matter. I am restless. I can't work. I feel depressed. Coming events begin to cast their shadows before me, and, on deflexion, I feel sure that I am getting fat.

What'shisname's awful words haunt me-"running to fat," just as weeds or strawberries spread out (awful simile !) and run to seed. It won't bear thinking of.

I've a headache. It suddenly comes on at the corner of Sackville Street, where my friend MULFER lives. MULFER? Odd it never occurred to me till this moment that MULFER is the rising young Practitioner of the day. I'll consult MULFER. He'll advise me as a friend and as a medical man; or, seeing that I know beforehand his advice will be gratis, the characters will be amalgamated, and he'll be my Medical Friend.

I tell him (he's delighted to see me in his little back study with a case of the brightest surgical instruments on the table, a picture of Professor Somebody on the wall, and a bookcase full of professional literature) that I have not called in professionally (this will remove all delicacy on his part and mine about a fee, and reduce the affair to a mere friendly visit), but just to see him, and ask him how Mem. Not a bad idea for getting an opinion from a doctor. Call in and ask him how he is. Hint for conversation with doctor :Friend. How d'ye do? How are you? ?

he is.

Doctor. Ah! How d'ye do? How are you
Friend (seizes the opportunity for a "full and particular," and
details all his symptoms). How am I? Ah, that's it, &c.
(Here follow the complaints.)

I tell him how I am. I tell him how I have been. I tell him how my headache has just come on, taking me at the side of the nose, going up to the top of my head, round behind my ear, and down again to my jaw, until it seems to turn into a toothache. I tell him that I am getting fat. I tell him that I feel generally speaking "anyhow."

"You want a regular change," says MULFER. months at least."

"Go away for six

There are coroneted carriages about the door. MULFER is getting on, and I've been taking up his time.

Mem. (in pocket-book). To ask MULFER to dinner when I come back. At present, to take his advice, and go away, for change. Where?

I am melancholy. As I think of going away for change, I am depressed. I will go and call on my Aunt. It's an odd thing that whenever I'm depressed I always feel I should like to go and call on my AUNT HENRY (HENRIETTA is her full name), and I generally do. The idea of calling on my Aunt when miserable, originated (I can distinctly trace it) in an ancient and laudable custom of my boyhood. The occasions of greatest depression to me when a boy were undoubtedly the days of my return to school, and these became to me round of my relations in London, and made a collection to defray times of refreshening," as a lawyer might say, because I went the the expenses, or, as it were, encourage the performance, of my going back to school. I knew as well as a street musician or a country tramp the houses that were good for anything, and also could reckon beforehand, to a shilling, how much they were good for.

at half-past eleven, A.M. Commencing my tour with her, we were My Aunt was uniformly one sovereign. I visited her, beaming, school, and fetched her purse out of her workbox, I, meantime, delighted to see each other, she made inquiries about my progress at delicately pretending not to know what was going on. Then, after stopping there a quarter of an hour, I rose to leave, and she pressed a sovereign into my hand, for which I used to thank her heartily and blushingly, and giving her a kiss (as a sort of set-off), bade her good-bye.

be on going-back days, I always instinctively turn towards my Thus it happens that, whenever I'm in as low sprits as I used to Aunt.

My AUNT HENRY (or HENRIETTA) is of sad temperament, and dresses (for no particular reason) something like a Lady Abbess, or, to give a better idea of her costume, as a Lady Abbess might be if she had a brougham, and was going out shopping in Regent Street. Well, my dear," she says, after hearing my statement of suffering, "I should say that quiet and repose would do all you want for you."

66

I assent.

66

With, of course, a thorough change of scenery."

I assent again. I fancy she contemplates making me a handsome present (nothing like reviving good old customs), and paying my expenses for a continental trip.

Change of scene," she continues, meditatively, "and change of Certainly; quite my views on the subject.

people."

I

66

stance," she goes on, myself assenting to every particular; " and so, "You should have no anxiety or trouble for some time, for inthink- (she's adding up what she's going to come down with") "if you were to come down- -" (ahem! the coming down I'd expected from her) "with me to Ramsgate, you could"-in a burst of generosity-"stay there for a fortnight or three weeks."

Dover to Ostend, and so forth. A little diplomacy will manage it. I am very much obliged. I accept. Ramsgate is near Dover, Diplomacy says, "Cultivate your Aunt." I will.

We go to-morrow. The party consists of my Aunt, her maid (a nice young girl of about fifty-three), a small King Charles (retained on the establishment for past services), and a melancholy turtledove in a wicker-cage. Our united ages amount to-but no matter; I foresee quiet, rest, and irresponsibility.

On looking over my Mems I find that I had set down, "Call on MINSLEY about certain commissions in town." As I shan't have any time to see him to-morrow, it occurs to me, after finishing my packing, that I'll look him up (10:30 P.M.) to-night. MINSLEY has something to do with looking up old records in a State Paper Office, and is generally considered a rising young man of strict business habits.

I find MINSLEY at his Club. He has dined late with a friend, and

MINSLEY and friend have either had quite as much as is good for them, or have been both fast asleep.

Both attempt to be excessively polite. The friend smiles and bows, and evidently would rise if he could only move his chair away from the table.

"Aha!" and looks at me as if trying to see me

MINSLEY says, through a mist. I am introduced to his friend (who tries to rise again, and is puzzled by his chair), whose name seems to be, as pronounced by MINSLEY, MR. WEDNESDAY.

He says, "Let me in'duce MIS' WENS'DAY," and omits my name entirely. MR. WENSDAY smiles blandly, and in waving his hand (intending, I fancy, to motion me with the utmost politeness to a seat), upsets a wine-glass. At this they both laugh, though WENSDAY appears to be a little discomfited, and mutters something about "ts not being worth mentioning." I seat myself, and am about to address MINSLEY, when I notice that he is suddenly dozing, while WENSDAY is still bowing to me, and smiling.

I observe to MINSLEY that if he's too sleepy to attend to business now, I'll write to him, as I shan't have time to call before leaving town.

He wakes up at the mention of business, and replies, "Certainly. I can 'tend. Go on." Then, by a sudden inspiration, "Take something." Whereupon WENSDAY, who is helping himself to claret (and pouring some on the law papers), "begs pardon, and hopes I'll join"-with which he knocks over his wine-glass, and looking angrily round, as if some one had jogged his elbow, says, " Wai'r, wine-glass to thisgen'man." Then he smiles upon me as before.

Whatever MINSLEY is, there is no doubt about it WENSDAY'S very far gone.

Mem. This explanation comes to me by post, days after. I mention why I am forced to go away. My Health. WENSDAY says, "By all means; in a bumper," and is calling for another bottle of claret when I manage to make him understand that I am not proposing a toast. More smiles from WENSDAY. While this passage is occurring between us, MINSLEY goes beyond a doze, and fairly snores.

As it is improbable I shall get him to attend to any business (and mine being important and pecuniary, requires a clear head), I' rise to go.

I leave WENSDAY-quite unable to get away from his chair, but polite to the last-smiling, bowing, and saying something indistinctly, "Bett'r stop-f'ish it "-(he means finish it," it being the bottle)-and MINSLEY fast asleep, with his chin hiding his white tie. Mem. Not a good time to call on MINSLEY as a man of business. Wonder what those law papers were about that they'd got on the table between them? Wonder when they got home, and how?