In the strangers' gallery in the American house of representatives, the following notice is posted up:--"Gentlemen will be pleased not to place their feet on the boards in front of the gallery, _as the dirt from them falls down on the senators' heads_." In our English House of Commons, this pleasant _penchant_ for dirt-throwing is practised by the members instead of the strangers. It is quite amusing to see with what energy O'Connell and Lord Stanley are wont to bespatter and heap dirt on each other's heads in their legislative squabbles! * * * * * SHOCKING WANT OF SYMPATHY. Sir Peter Laurie has made a sad complaint to the Lord Mayor, of the slippery state of the wooden pavement in the Poultry, and strongly recommended the immediate removal of the _blocks_. This is most barbarous conduct on the part of Sir Peter. Has he lost all natural affection for his kindred, that he should seek to injure them in public estimation? Has he no secret sympathy for the poor blocks whom he has traduced? Let him lay his hand upon his _head_ and confess that-- "A fellow feeling; makes us wondrous kind." * * * * * PUNCH AND PEEL THE NEW CABINET. PUNCH.--Well, Sir Robert, have you yet picked your men? Come, no mystery between friends. Besides, consider your obligations to your old crony, Punch. Do you forget how I stood by you on the Catholic question? Come, name, name! Who are to pluck the golden pippins--who are to smack lips at the golden fish--who are to chew the fine manchet loaves of Downing-street? PEEL.--The truth is, my dear Punch-- PUNCH.--Stop. You may put on that demure look, expand your right-hand fingers across the region where the courtesy of anatomy awards to politicians a heart, and talk about truth as a certain old lady with a paper lanthorn before her door may talk of chastity--you may do all this on the hustings; but this is not Tamworth: besides, you are now elected; so take one of these cigars--they were smuggled for me by my revered friend Colonel Sibthorp--fill your glass, and out with the list. PEEL.--(_Rises and goes to the door, which he double locks; returns to his seat, and takes from his waistcoat pocket a small piece of ass's skin._) I have jotted down a few names. PUNCH.--And, I see, on very proper material. Read, Robert, read. PEEL.--(_In a mild voice and with a slight blush._)--"First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Robert Peel!" PUNCH.--Of course. Well? PEEL.--"First Lord of the Admiralty--Duke of Buckingham." PUNCH.--An excellent man for the Admiralty. He has been at sea in politics all his life. PEEL.--"Secretary for Foreign Affairs--Earl of Aberdeen." PUNCH.--An admirable person for Foreign Affairs, especially if he transacted 'em in Sierra Leone. Proceed. PEEL.--"Lord Lieutenant of Ireland--Lord Wharncliffe."