POLITICS FOR PETTICOATS.

HE question whether or not woman be a reader of the newspapers is one on which there may perhaps be different opinions, but there is no doubt that the paragraphs relating to the fashions are generally attractive to feminine perusal. Hence, it would appear, the notion has arisen that by the covert introduction of political allusions, the writers upon millinery, may teach their female readers what topics are from time to time to male minds most engrossing. An instance of this practice we find in the subjoined, which the other day appeared in one of our contemporaries:

"To the excitement produced by the diplomatic arrangements for annexation or separation the progress of the seasons and of the modes turns a deaf ear. The winds of March and the showers of April blow and moisten just

the same whether Savoy be French or Piedmontese, and an equal inattention to political events characterises the march of the fashions from their winter to their spring demonstrations. Their sole idea of annexation limits itself to the consideration of the Crinoline frontier question, and as for separation, the term is only recognised in its application to the abandonment of winter costume for that of the more genial season upon which we are just entering. Thus it is that flowers have already taken the place of velvet ornaments; not, it is true, Nature's flowers, but such as imitate so closely the works of that ancient dame as to give her a just cause for jealousy, if it were possible for her to be animated by that unworthy sentiment towards her younger sister Art."

Lovely, woman, reading this, will be tempted to inquire (for curiosity is somewhat of a passion with the sex) what the word "annexation politically means: and after a marital explanation of the term, its connection with Savoy will be most lucidly expounded to her. She will thus gain information on a topic of the time, which, but for this allusion, she might never have investigated. So instructed, when she has to do her duty at the dinner table, she will be the better able to enjoy the conversation in which the male guests present will most probably indulge; while they, on their part, finding her so well-informed a person, will be saved the pain and nuisance of talking that stale nonsense which the presence of a petticoat naturally invokes. On every ground we therefore wish the practice all success; which commendation in our columns is quite certain to secure.

THE POT AND THE PUMP.

A Fable for the New Holy Alliance.

ONCE on a time, in days of fable,
When all things to discourse were able,
From birds and beasts, to pots and pans,
And blacksmiths' files, and milking cans,
A bright, big-bellied, Pewter Quart,
His cap of froth set all athwart,
And brandishing his put-out pipe,
Flung from the pot-house reeling ripe.
"What's this," he hiccupped, "that I hear?
Here's a look-out for British beer!
Give licences to deal in liquor

To pastry-cooks!-hic!-Where's the Vicar?
The Clergy-hic!-of all professions?
Where's the whole Bench of Quarter-Sessions,
Who at your annual brewster-sitting
License all houses where 'tis fitting
That, with permission of the Quorum,

Folks should get drunk-hic!-with decorum ?
No harm, while men their brains but drench
In some man's beer who knows the Bench,-
Some large and long-established brewer,
(I'm only sorry there ain't fewer)

Who reckons his bought thralls by scores,
Bound for their beer to seek his doors.
No common publican and sinner,

But one who asks the Bench to dinner.

I say, protest against such doin's,
Nor see our tap-tubs sink to ruins!

"Shall each rogue that the bun-trade plies, Each dealer in suspicious pies,

Each Leicester-Square restaurant-fellar,
Each blackguard shrimp and oyster-seller,
Vile eatables not only sell,

But viler drinkables as well?

What sort o' folks, d' ye think, are them as is
Likely to get drunk on such premises?
How shall intemperance-hic!-be
And beastly drunkenness restrained,
If one's at liberty to buy

reined,

A glass o' sherry with one's pie?
If people must drink with their luncheons-
Turning themselves to liquor-puncheons-
Ain't there the licensed public handy,
With beer, and rum, and gin, and brandy?
Don't tell me of poor folks' 'convenience,'
It's all this GLADSTONE'S wanton lenience
To wine, and wickedness, and wice,
And that there COBDEN's bad advice.
Though Lords and Commons both command it,
I tell you I don't mean to stand it!"
And here the Pewter, fiercely stirred,
Suited the action to the word,
And-was it malt or moral's strength?
Was all but measuring his length.
Seeking support, as round he swung,
Unto the neighbouring Pump he clung.
"Kind Sir, the favour of your handle-
Not that I'm drunk-that's simply scandal-
I shake with virtuous indignation,
At thought of GLADSTONE'S legislation;
Hic!-forcing down our injured throttles
The vile contents of yon green bottles-
The poisonous acid of the Rhine,
The rot-gut blood of Bordeaux's vine,
The growth of Afric's torrid plain,
The thin but fiery juice of Spain!
As one who values-hic!-sobriety,
And seeks the good of-hic!-society,
I did just now, feel rather shaken,
You might have thought me over-taken,
But, Mr. Pump, you may believe me,
I'm not the pot, Sir, to deceive ye,
When I assure you-and no fudge
That I'm as sober as a judge.
And"-here he reeled-"I now propose,
That Pot and Pump, no longer foes,
Go forth, in union fraternal,

'Gainst the green-bottle imp infernal.
Settle, in GLADSTONE's spite, his hash,
And bring him-hic!-stand up-to smash.
It's time we understood each other,
Ain't I a Pump-hic!-and a brother!"

Quoth solemn Pump: "My worthy Pewter,
This strife, methought, had found me neuter.
On Pot and Bottle, I'm afraid,

I looked as rivals of a trade;
But now I'm grateful to descry
No foe in you, but an ally;
I joyfully accept your proffer,
Clench the alliance that you offer.
Against the invading Bottle's harm,
Lo, Pump and Pot march arm in arm!"
So, with Pot staggering at his side,
Marched solemn Pump, in shallow pride;
Not dreaming, in his simple sort,

That Pot had sought him for support,

That-Bottle smashed with Pump's good aid

Pot might monopolise the trade;

And drink to quench a thirsty soul,
Wash down a luncheon bun or roll,
Only at gin-shops might be found,
Or in the tap-room's licensed bound.

PROUDHON RIGHT FOR ONCE.

155

SAVOY is an accession of property to France, and it is the first illustration of PROUDHON'S well-known dogma, "La Propriété c'est le Vol." Is ELECTUS about to issue a series of these Vols?

MOTTO FOR A "KISS."-Go it, my two lips.