The dear, bad Cabs of London! In vain the public call For a better class of vehicles That can’t be got at all. Extortion must for ever thrive, Cabs must be bad and dear, Till Legislation looks alive, And deigns to interfere. _Punch_, February 26, 1853. Paragraphs have recently appeared in the London newspapers announcing that a public company has been formed to provide the metropolis with improved cabs. It is to be hoped the news is true, for whilst similar announcements have been often made before, the London four-wheeled cab remains, what it was described by _Punch_ in 1853, the worst public vehicle to be found in any large European city. ―――― NATIONAL SONG. (By an Ex-Patriot, compelled by circumstances over which he has no control, to absent himself from his native country, and trying to persuade himself that he likes it.) The _Duns_ of merry England! how terrible their air, With brows like midnight low’ring, and eyes with fiendish glare; And never-ceasing questions, when you really mean to pay The Duns of merry England, what nuisances are they! The _Meats_ of merry England! how limited their range, Of roast and boiled, or boiled and roast, by way of start startling change; Of chops and steaks, and steaks and chops, on each alternate day, The meats of merry England, what sad affairs are they! The _Colds_ of merry England, how easy to be caught! How hard to be got rid of, and with what discomforts fraught! Swelled eyes, red noses, puff’d out cheeks,――the mildest they display. The colds of merry England, how torturing are they! The _Wines_ of merry England! the Port at half-a-crown! The pure Amontillado, and the nutty-flavoured Brown; Their horrors e’en while swallowing, and worse effects next day, The wines of merry England, how villainous are they! Then here’s to France the smiling, where the weather’s always clear; The wines are light and wholesome, and as cheap as English beer; Where a man may grow moustaches, and――blissful thing to say! The Writs of merry England, how powerless are they! (The Exile turning sadly from the pier, seeketh forgetfulness of his abandoned country in a petit-verre, for which he disburseth two sous. He groweth reconciled). _Diogenes_, January, 1853. ―――― THE BARRISTERS OF ENGLAND. The Barristers of England, how hungrily they stand About the Hall of Westminster, with wig, and gown, and band; With brief bag full of dummies, and fee book full of _oughts_, Result of the establishment of the New County Courts.