A fresher foliage on each branch to bring; The aërial songster moults his plumerie, To vie in sleekness with each feather’d brother: A twelvemonth’s wear hath ta’en thy nap from thee, My seedy coat!—When shall I get another? NOTE.—Confiding tailors are entreated to send their addresses, pre-paid, to PUNCH’S office. P.S.—None need apply who refuse three years’ acceptances. If the bills be made renewable, by agreement, “continuations” will be taken in any quantity.—FITZROY FIPS. [pg 6] STREET POLITICS. A DRAMATIC DIALOGUE BETWEEN PUNCH AND HIS STAGE MANAGER. (Enter PUNCH.) PUNCH.—R-r-r-roo-to-tooit-tooit? (Sings.) “Wheel about and turn about, And do jes so; Ebery time I turn about, I jump Jim Crow.” MANAGER.—Hollo, Mr. Punch! your voice is rather husky to-day. PUNCH.—Yes, yes; I’ve been making myself as hoarse as a hog, bawling to the free and independent electors of Grogswill all the morning. They have done me the honour to elect me as their representative in Parliament. I’m an M.P. now. MANAGER.—An M.P.! Gammon, Mr. Punch. THE DOG TOBY.—Bow, wow, wow, wough, wough! PUNCH.—Fact, upon my honour. I’m at this moment an unit in the collective stupidity of the nation. DOG TOBY.—R-r-r-r-r-r—wough—wough! PUNCH.—Kick that dog, somebody. Hang the cur, did he never see a legislator before, that he barks at me so? MANAGER.—A legislator, Mr. Punch? with that wooden head of yours! Ho! ho! ho! ho! PUNCH.—My dear sir, I can assure you that wood is the material generally used in the manufacture of political puppets. There will be more blockheads than mine in St. Stephen’s, I can tell you. And as for oratory, why I flatter my whiskers I’ll astonish them in that line. MANAGER.—But on what principles did you get into Parliament, Mr. Punch? PUNCH.—I’d have you know, sir, I’m above having any principles but those that put money in my pocket. MANAGER.—I mean on what interest did you start? PUNCH.—On self-interest, sir. The only great, patriotic, and noble feeling that a public man can entertain. MANAGER.—Pardon me, Mr. Punch; I wish to know whether you have come in as a Whig or a Tory? PUNCH.—As a Tory, decidedly, sir. I despise the base, rascally, paltry, beggarly, contemptible Whigs. I detest their policy, and— THE DOG TOBY.—Bow, wow, wough, wough! MANAGER.—Hollo! Mr. Punch, what are you saying? I understood you were always a staunch Whig, and a supporter of the present Government. PUNCH.—So I was, sir. I supported the Whigs as long as they supported themselves; but now that the old house is coming down about their ears, I turn my back on them in virtuous indignation, and take my seat in the opposition ‘bus. MANAGER.—-But where is your patriotism, Mr. Punch? PUNCH.—Where every politician’s is, sir—in my breeches’ pocket. MANAGER.—And your consistency, Mr. Punch?