from yewr adorabl JOE COSE. P. S. O Feby Feby wear al in a huprore sins Riting my abuv we hav found out mis Jewlia only went Sowlogical gardning for a xcuse to mete her luvver & is boath loped away gudnes or rather Badnes nose wear Allso the same of mis Jawgeny & James the noo sirvent ass i told yew off but Bles yewr art was no sich thing but only a luvver in disgize & wen we al thort him a Real lakky turnt out nothink but a Vally de Sham. NOVEMBER [1838 [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PRAISE OF PUNCH. I love thee, PUNCH! with all thy faults and failings, Spite of the strait-laced folks and all their railings; I love thee in thy state _etherial_, Thou grateful compound of strange contradictions! Filling the brain with Fancy's vivid fictions: Thou castle-building wight! Urging Imagination's airy flight; Chasing blue devils from their dismal revels; Spurning this sombre world of selfish sadness, And changing sounds of woe to notes of gladness: Call'd by whatever name, Rum, Rack, or Toddy,—thou soul without a body! Thy welcome is the same. I like-_wise_ love thee in thy state _material_, Thou merry fellow, PUNCHINELLO! Thou chip of an old block! Thou wooden god of fun!—practical pun! Thou hearty cock! Thou dissipator of Policeman's vapours, In whose grim face, Ting'd with the blueishness of nothing-to-doishness, We oft may trace A grin as he beholds thee cut thy capers. "Pet of the Petticoats!" lov'd of Servant Maid, So neat and staid; Who, from the area steps, with furtive eyes, Surveys thy antics in a mute surprise; Belov'd of Errand Boy! who little cares For weighty matters he unconscious bears, If PUNCH in all his glory stops his way, Tempting the varlet with a priceless play.