r has soon has hever we cum'd to a
hanker, a feller called a Capstan Bashy, wich is all as one as our Port
hadmiral, cums on bord to pay his respex to our capting. And, hinstead
of sayin 'How air yer, old Boy?' or 'Tip us yer daddles my buck,' as a
gentleman would, he makes a bob and stix his great beerd out, and he
sez, sez he 'Sally may lick 'em.' Vell, in coorse you'll think he got
mast-edded for his himperence, but no, he warn't, for our capting were
perwented by resins of state, like the tiger has couldn't get his por
thro the bars of his cage to curry the monkey's hide; so the captin
honely looked sivvil and sez, quite cheerful like, 'Lick' em Sally' wich
wos taint a mouse with tellin the Turk to lick 'em hisself. An then wun
can't be hangry with the poor hignorant fellers as nose no better than
to call their hone hemperor a Paddyshaw, when he haint a Hirishman, nor
his name haint SHAW. And their primeer, who is wun WRETCHED PASHUR, they
calls a Grand Wheezy, and all their chief hossifers they calls Agurs, so
you see they've grate rume for himprovement in the names they gives
peepul. Howsumever their hall werry hot for fitin just now, and goes
about braggin theyr has brave has ROOSTUM, who was a grate cock of the
walk in these parts formerly. Their reglar harmy they calls Nishan, wich
I spose is the short for hammunishan, as I hear their werry strong in
the hartillery line. But they puts most faith in a lot of hold women
called High Ma'ams, which is their parsons, and a parcel of yung fellers
called Softers, wich ansers to hour Hoxfora coves, and hever so many of
these High Ma'ams and Softers air goin to jine the army, and fite for
their profit, as they sez, from wich I conclude they gets good pay. And
if theyr honely harf as plucky as our Chaplin, they may purtect the
Golden Horne, as they calls this place, werry well. But has for us, our
fear is that if they thrashes the Rooshans, the Rooshans wont come here,
an then _we_ shant get no fitin. Howsumdever we kepes up our spirits,
and opes for the best, so no more at present from your luvin husband,

"B. TAYLOR."

* * * * *

FORTUNE-TELLERS FOR NATIONS.

What the _Edinburgh Review_--in a highly superior article on "Church
Parties"--calls the "Prophetic Press," is now in a state of violent
eruption. The volcano in labour, however, brings forth only the bottle
of smoke. You can hardly take up your morning paper without being
inv