te money, which itself should change its present correct
appellation for the more sportive and appropriate title of Blunt. The
mutation of "Florin" into "Floorer" would be obviously called for, and
the crown piece might be neatly styled a "Punisher," as being the
well-known amount of the fine for inebriety.

On all the coins emanating from the pugilistic mint, it would be
requisite that the Lion and the Unicorn should be fighting; and whilst
V. R. figured on one side of them, P. R. should be stamped on the other,
that it might in every respect be characterised by the true ring.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S POTATO PROPHECY.

The reader, who minds his _Punch_, of course remembers what _Punch_
prophesied in 1847 on the Irish potato rot. From that very decay,
_Punch_ predicted regeneration.

"The butcher, the baker,
The candle-stick maker,
All jumped out of a rotten potato."

So runs the childish doggrel; but _Punch_ heard in that shambling verse
a musical promise; and hearing, foretold the coming time when, from the
very blight that smote the people of Ireland through Ireland's potatos,
there should be peace and plenty for Ireland regenerate. And is it not
so? Answer with one of your wildest roars, oh, Lion of Judah! Is it not
so--reply and tenderly, cooingly, oh Dove of Galway!

* * * * *

DISRAELI'S COAT AND BADGE.

Was a smarter old feller than I be e'er seen
In these bright brass buttons--this new quoat of green?
Why is it I'm rigged out so fine as this here?
Why for sarvin' one master for full thirty year.

But wherefore should I be so proud o' my clothes,
And strut in 'em so, stickin' up my old nose?
Do I think the prize-suit such an honour to wear?
Shoo! it baint for the raiment alone as I care.

'Tisn't that--the mere valley and worth of the coat--
'Tis the honour the present is meant to denote,
The respect I be held in, the height of esteem,
Which is far above all I could possible dream.

Why, what dost thee think, man? these things is no less
Than a passpoort for wearers, a privileged dress,
I puts on this quoat on my back--that was all--
And they lets me walk in to the grand County Ball.

There was MEASTER DISRAELI, the friend o' the land,
He comes and he catches me hold by the hand,
"Come along," a sez, "JOHN;" up the room then we stumps,
Which occasioned some noise, as I didn't wear pumps.