PICTURES IN THE HAYMARKET.--"And there stood the 'tater-man, In the midst of all the wet; A vending of his taters in the lonely Haymarket." So sang one of the greatest of _Mr. Punch's_ singers, years agone. If he had sung in the present day, he would have substituted pictures for 'taters; for surely this pleasant thorough-fare has become a mart for pictures and players rather than potatoes. Look in at TOOTH'S Gallery, and you will stay a long while, indeed you will age considerably, and may be said to be "long in the TOOTH," before you come out, as you will find the exhibition so paletteable. Then having refreshed your eye with the spring sunshine--if there happens to be any about--you will turn into MCLEAN'S _salon_ and see a marvellous picture of Jaffa, by G. BAUERNFEIND, and other works by English and foreign painters. The County Council will have to change the title of this street into the A-market, "A" standing for Art, of course. * * * * * [Illustration: A Fancy Portrait of my Laundress, judging by her Handiwork.] * * * * * THE GRAND OLD HAT. When this old hat was new, ('Tis not so many years,) My followers did not view My course with doubts and fears. CHAMBERLAIN then would praise, And HENRY JAMES was true; Ah! this was in the days When this old hat was new. When this old hat was new My head was smaller--yes! Now I'd have much ado To get it on, I guess. The cause I cannot tell, I only know 'tis true; My head has seemed to swell Since this old hat was new. Perhaps, as some maintain, My cranium may have grown, Owing to stretch of brain, Or thickening of bone. "The hat has shrunk?" Eh? What? _That_ nonsense will not do! My head _has_ grown, a lot, Since this old hat was new. What TYNDALL dares to call, In wrath, my "traitorous" head, Is "growing still," that's all; (Of "MARIAN" this was said) My cranial vertex flat? Pah! Tories may pooh-pooh; I wore a smaller hat When this old hat was new! * * * * * THE NEW BISHOP OF DURHAM.--WESTCOTT and,--no, Bishops don't wear them--so His Reverend Lordship will be known as "WESTCOTT and Apron." * * * * * ODE ON A BLACK BALL. (_A Fragment, some way after Addison, picked up in the neighbourhood of the Athenæum Club._) What though in solemn silence all Drop in the dark the fatal ball? What though no overt voice or sound Amidst the voting throng be found? In reason's ear they speak of choice, And utter forth a boding voice, Saying, as silent they recline, "Your company we must decline!" * * * * *