e very brittle in frosty weather, and this may bring a job. I hope it
will.

If, in your London rambles, as you seem to be everywhere at once, you
pitch upon Manhug, Rapp, or Jones, give my love to them, and tell them to
keep their powder dry, and not to think of practising in the country,
which is after all a species of social suicide. And with the best
compliments of the season to yourself, and "through the medium of the
columns of your valuable journal" to your readers, believe me to remain,

My dear old bean,

Yours very considerably,

JOSEPH MUFF.

* * * * *

THE SECRET SORROW.

Oh! let me from the festive board
To thee, my mother, flee;
And be my secret sorrow shared
By thee--by only thee!

In vain they spread the glitt'ring store,
The rich repast, in vain;
Let others seek enjoyment there,
To me 'tis only pain.

There _was_ a word of kind advice--
A whisper, soft and low;
But oh! that _one_ resistless smile!
Alas! why was it so?

No blame, no blame, my mother dear,
Do I impute to _you_.
But since I ate that currant tart
I don't know what to do!

* * * * *

[Illustration]

PUNCH'S POSTSCRIPT.

MR. AUGUSTUS SWIVEL, (_Professor of the Drum and Mouth-organ, and
Stage-Manager to_ PUNCH'S _Theatre_,)

LOQUITUR.

[Illustration: P]PATRONS OF "PUNCH,"--LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,--

We has dropped the curtain and rowled up the baize on the first
half-annivel performance of "PUNCH." The pleasing task now dewolves upon
me, on behoof of the Lessee and the whole strength off the Puppets, to
come forrard and acknowledge the liberal showers of applause and 'apence
what a generous and enlightened British public has powered upon the
performances and pitched into our goss. Steamilated by this St. Swiffin's
of success, the Lessee fearlessly launches his bark upon the high road of
public favor, and enters his Theaytre for the grand steeple-chase of
general approbation.

Ourn hasn't been a bed of roses. We've had our rivals and our troubles. We
came out as a great hint, and everybody took us.

First and foremost, the great Juggeler in Printing-house Square, walks in
like the Sheriff and takes our comic effects.

Then the Black Doctor, as blowed the bellows to the late ministerial
organ, starts a fantoccini and collars our dialect.

Then, the unhappy wight what acts as dry-nuss to his _Grand