FIRST LOVE.—The conversation at Holland House turned upon first love. Tom Moore compared it to a potato, "Because it shoots from the eyes." "Or, rather," exclaimed Byron, "because it becomes all the less by _paring_." THE MILITARY GAME OF GOOSE. [Illustration: GENTLEMEN OF A PARTICULARLY STAI(YE)D CHARACTER. ] We are apt to boast that the British army has never received a good dressing, and looking at the uniforms that have lately been put upon them, we must confess there is some truth in it. Our officers were never clever at cutting, and this may account for their making such bad tailors. It is a thousand pities that the Laurel which clusters round the brows of our Commanders, should be entwined with so much cabbage. It is true the geese saved the Capitol of Rome, but we do not think the Horse Guards need put itself under the wings of the British goose. If it does, Moses, in a very short time, will be cutting out Prince Albert as a Field Marshal. Never was the British army so surprised before, as when that cruel shell-jacket attempted by sheer treachery to cut off the rear from the main body of the forces. The French have a saying "_Le Riaicule tue_," so our soldiers may be diminished, in a ridiculous manner little expected by our political economists, if this new deadly weapon is discharged at them; for there is many a brave fellow who can stand fire, who falls dead before ridicule. The Horse Guards must not be a clothes mart, or a masquerade warehouse, or else the Duke, when he puts himself at the head of the army, will revive the old title of the Duc de Guys, and the national cry will be, "Sauve qui peut." [Illustration] TALES OF A LANDLORD. His house is free from damp. The situation is healthy. The water is beautiful. The poor-rates are not worth mentioning. The taxes a mere flea-bite. It is in excellent repair. It is a quiet fashionable neighbourhood. Omnibusses pass every two minutes. Five pounds will make it a "little Elysium." He has refused double the rent, only he wants a respectable tenant. * * * * * "NOT A SEAT AMONGST THEM."—There is an old country lady so modest that she cannot pronounce the word "cherub;" but she always says, "the dear little angels who have accepted the Chiltern hundreds." AN AIRY LODGING. _Country Cousin._—"Well, Tom, my boy, where be'est thee a-lodging noo?" _Surveyor (pointing up to the top of St. Paul's)._—"Why, I hang out there at present. Whenever you are passing my way, I shall be delighted to see you, if you will give me a drop in." [Illustration] THE SONG OF THE KNOCKER. (A COMPANION TO SCHILLER'S BELL.) Gents Provoko, Portas Bango, Somnia Frango.