_January 1801._ _The Union._ Published by Ackermann.--Pitt, a burlesque St. George, clad in armour, is seated on the British bull, who is horn-locked, nose to nose, snorting forth challenges in the face of the furious Irish bull, on which is mounted St. Patrick, with mitre and crozier. The national Irish saint, whose beard gives him the expression of a Jew, is crying, ''Pon my conscience I don't know what you call it, but the deuce of anything like a Union do I see, except their horns being fastened together.' Pitt replies, 'Never fear, St. Patrick; all will be yet very well; they are a little restive at first, but they will take to it kindly enough by and by, I'll warrant you.' _January 1, 1801._ _A Jew Broker._ Published by S. W. Fores, 50 Piccadilly.--Shylock, with his bond in the pocket of his gaberdine and his crutch-stick under his arm, is abstractedly polishing his glasses, although his watchful eyes are sharp enough without any artificial assistance, as he stands at the corner of Duke's Place, then the accepted rallying-point of his tribe. His face expresses a profoundly baffled emotion, which is portrayed with a masterly hand. He is musing, in abject despair, over a chance lost, a bargain missed, a gain which has slipped through his prehensile fingers. Some Antonio of our modern Venice founded on the shores of the Thames has escaped his toils; some point of law, a flaw in the indentures, mayhap, has been turned to account by a later 'Daniel come to judgment--a wise young judge,' to whom the disconcerted Hebrew is finally loth to offer his gratitude. He seemingly mumbles, with the pertinacity of Shylock:-- My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. [Illustration: A JEW BROKER.] _January 15, 1801._ _The Brilliants_, (21-1/4 × 16.) Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.--We are not prepared with any special particulars as to the foundation of this convivial club; but we may record a solitary gratuitous observation, that in spite of the melancholy and frequent carpings, on puritanical grounds, which are now in fashion, over the growing degeneracy of the times in which we live--the sanctimonious being given to assert that each succeeding generation inveterately surpasses the excesses of its predecessors--in the instances of drinking and gaming our ancestors went to extremes beside which our modern dissipations, in their wildest excesses, fall into paltry insignificance. The clubs of the past, in the item of iniquity, although the institution was in its infancy, surpassed those of the present day in such a degree that our 'fastest' haunts appear prudish by comparison. [Illustration: THE BRILLIANTS.]