ALARMING DESTITUTION. In the parish of Llanelly, Breconshire, the males exceed the females by more than one thousand. At Worcester, says the Examiner, the same majority is in favour of the ladies. We should propose a conference and a general swap of the sexes next market-day, as we understand there is not a window in Worcester without a notice of “Lodgings to let for single men,” whilst at Llanelly the gentlemen declare sweethearts can’t be had for “love nor money.” A NATURAL INFERENCE. “There’ll soon be rare work (cry the journals in fear), When Peel is call’d in in his regular way;” True—for when we’ve to pay all the Tories, ’tis clear, It is much the same thing as the devil to pay. THE TORY TABLE D’HOTE—BILLY HOLMES (loquitur) “Walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen, feeding is going to commence Wellington and Peel are now giving their opening dinners to their friends and admirers. All who want places must come early. Walk up! walk up!—This is the real constitutional tavern. Here we are! gratis feeding for the greedy! Make way there for those hungry-looking gentlemen—walk up, sir—leave your vote at the bar, and take a ticket for your hat.” BLACK AND WHITE. The Tories vow the Whigs are black as night, And boast that they are only blessed with light. Peel’s politics to both sides so incline, His may be called the equinoctial line. THE LEGAL ECCALOBEION. Baron Campbell, who has sat altogether about 20 hours in the Irish Court of Chancery, will receive 4,000l. a-year, on the death of either Lord Manners or Lord Plunkett, (both octogenarians;) which, says the Dublin Monitor, “taking the average of human life, he will enjoy thirty years;” and adds, “20 hours contain 1,200 minutes; and 4,000l. a-year for thirty years gives 120,000l. So that he will receive for the term of his natural life just one hundred pounds for every minute that he sat as Lord Chancellor.” Pleasant incubation this! Sitting 20 hours, and hatching a fortune. If there be any truth in metempsychosis, Jocky Campbell must be the goose that laid golden eggs. IRISH PARTICULAR. SHEIL’S oratory’s like bottled Dublin stout; For, draw the cork, and only froth comes out. CALUMNY REFUTED. We can state on the most positive authority that the recent fire at the Army and Navy Club did not originate from a spark of Colonel Sibthorp’s wit falling amongst some loose jokes which Captain Marryatt had been scribbling on the backs of some unedited purser’s bills. HITTING THE RIGHT NAIL ON THE HEAD. The Whigs resemble nails—How so, my master? Because, like nails, when beat they hold the faster. A MATTER OF TASTE. “Do you admire Campbell’s ‘Pleasures of Hope’?” said Croker to Hook. “Which do you mean, the Scotch poet’s or the Irish Chancellor’s? the real or the ideal—Tommy’s four thousand lines or Jocky’s four thousand pounds a-year?” inquired Theodore. Croker has been in a brown study ever since.