The day is approaching, and may even now be within measurable distance, when the Music Halls of the Metropolis will find themselves under yet more stringent supervision than is already exercised by those active and intelligent guardians of middle-class morality, the London County Council. The moral microscope which detected latent indecency in the pursuit of a butterfly by a marionette is to be provided with larger powers, and a still more extended field. In other words, our far-sighted and vigilant County Councilmen, perceiving the futility of delaying the inspection of Variety Entertainments until such improprieties as are contained therein have been suffered to contaminate the public mind for a considerable period, are determined to nip these poison-flowers in the bud for the future; and, unless Mr. Punch is misinformed, will apply to Parliament at the earliest opportunity for clauses enabling them to require each item in every forthcoming performance to be previously submitted to a special committee for sanction and approval. The conscientious rigour with which they will discharge this new and congenial duty may perhaps be better understood after perusing the little prophetic sketch which follows; for Mr. Punch’s Poet, when not employed in metrical composition, is a Seer of some pretensions in a small way, and several of his predictions have already been shamelessly plagiarised by the unscrupulous hand of Destiny. It is not improbable that this latest effort of his will receive a similar compliment, although this would be more gratifying if Destiny ever condescended to acknowledge such obligations. However, here is the forecast for what it is worth, a sum of incalculable amount:-- POETIC LICENCES. A VISION OF THE NEAR FUTURE. SCENE--_A Committee-room of the L. C. C.; Sub-Committee of Censors, (appointed, under new regulations, to report on all songs intended to be sung on the Music-hall Stage,) discovered in session._ _Mr. Wheedler_ (_retained for the Ballad-writers_). The next licence I have to apply for is for--well, (_with some hesitation_)--a composition which certainly borders on the--er--amorous--but I think, Sir, you will allow that it is treated in a purely pastoral and Arcadian spirit. _The Chairman_ (_gravely_). There _are_ arcades, Mr. Wheedler, I may remind you, which are by no means pastoral. I cannot too often repeat that we are here to fulfil the mission entrusted to us by the Democracy, which will no longer tolerate in its entertainments anything that is either vulgar, silly, or offensive in the slightest degree. [_Applause._ _Mr. Wheedler._ Quite so. With your permission, Sir, I will read you the Ballad. [_Reads._ “MOLLY AND I. “Oh! the day shall be marked in red letter----”