When the appointment of City Chamberlain was conferred on SIR JOHN KEY, the worthy Ex-Alderman naturally asked for the keys of office. A brother alderman, who happened to be a wag, remarked that "to bestow a key upon KEY would be to carry coals to Newcastle, and that, therefore, SIR JOHN must be satisfied with his habitual self-possession." * * * * * EXTREMELY PARTICULAR.--We know a stupid old teetotaller who is so true to his principles he won't even mix in society! * * * * * THOUGHTS ON THE SAVAGE LIONS OF LONDON. BY A FRIEND AND A BROTHER. You may talk as you please of magnetic attraction, Electro-biology, media, and stuff: Rapping for Spirits don't give satisfaction, The relatives never relate half enough. Tables on castors, and castors on tables, All I have turn'd to alike in their turn; Mesmeric stories are nothing but fables, _Stories_ indeed, which intelligence spurns. In all these sensations I own I'm a scorner, Never in them have my feelings a part; But, where GORDON CUMMING was, near Hyde Park Corner, Oh! there, there _is_ something that touches the heart! His exhibition of skins show'd the ravages Hunters can make with the savage wild beast; But now they have got there a troupe of wild Savages, Who have not (as yet!) of their guests made a feast. Kafirs from Borioboola, or somewhere-- There are delighting the civilised world: Belles from Belgravia in afternoons come there; Thither the fairest of May-fair are whirl'd. Dowagers craving for something exciting, Gentlemen blasé with Fashion's dull round, Those who find novelty always delighting, With those dear Kafirs may daily be found. And delightful it is there, to see them transacting Their business of marriage, and murder, and war; Delightful to sit there, and know that 'tis acting, And not the real thing--which, _of course_, we abhor. We see in each movement such truth of expression, Their stampings and kickings are done with such grace, That ladies of title e'en make the confession That they in the Savage--nobility trace! But chief the delight, when the acting is ended, To go to the room from which CUMMING is gone, And there inspect closely their figures so splendid, And, timidly, even shake hands with each one, And their dear little baby we smother with kisses, And stroke and admire its darling bronze skin, And think that there ne'er was a baby like this is, As a lion of London its life to begin.