The young men who can so industriously torture the English language into such strange and startling meanings, through a thousand lines of rhyme, evidently possess an amount of talent and application which, if properly directed, might be of real service to letters; or, if not to letters, to some industrial pursuit. Tom Hood, who was considered the prince of punsters, in his day, could have had no conception of the height to which punning has attained (or, perhaps, we ought to say the depth to which it has fallen) in our time. A pun a day would, perhaps, have been the extent of the indulgence which Hood would have allowed himself; but these burlesque writers fire them off in volleys, and glory in startling the English language from its propriety. As regards punning, the whole tribe of jokers follow exactly the same method, as may be seen by reference to the burlesques of the present season. Hear how Mr. William Brough, in his burlesque of _Endymion_, clatters his _pans_:— _Pan._ Oh! long-ear’d but short-sighted fauns, desist; To the great Pan, ye little pitchers, list; Pan knows a thing or two. In point of fact, He’s a deep Pan, and anything but cracked; A perfect _oracle_ Pan deems himself; he Is earthenwarish; so, of course, is delfy (Delphi). Trust then to Pan your troubles to remove— A warming-Pan he’ll to your courage prove; A prophet, he foresees the ills you fear; So for them all you have your Pan a seer (panacea). Here every thought is designed as a peg whereon to hang a pun. The author would seem to have been fearful of having nothing but his punning for his pains in two instances, where he finds it necessary to add explanatory notes. Now see with what labour Mr. Byron, in his _Cinderella_, carries coals to the joke market:— _Cind._ Cinders and coals I am accustomed to, They seem to me to tinge all things I view. _Prince._ The fact I can’t say causes me surprise, For _Kohl_ is frequently in ladies’ eyes. _Cind._ At morn, when reading, as the fire up burns, The printer’s stops to semi-_coal-uns_ turns; I might as well read _Coke_. _Prince._ Quite right you are. He’s very useful reading at the _bar_. Who is your favourite poet? _Hobbs?_ _Cind._ Not quite; No; I think _Cole_ridge is my favourite; His melan-_coally_ suits my situation; My dinner always is a _coald coal_-lation. Smoke pictures all things seem, whate’er may be ’em, A cyclorama, through the _Coal I see ’em_. _Prince._ Is there no way from out a path so black? _Cind._ There’s no way out; my life’s a _cul_ de sac.