"The same symptoms of 'Decline' run through all the bodies of England; legislative, judicial, theatrical, and even royal. Is it not true that thou art reducing the salaries of all her ministers, and it is a great question whether Prince Albert himself will not be put on board wages? Is it not true that the admission at Vauxhall has been reduced to one shilling, because England's haughty nobility can no longer afford to pay four? Is it not true that the Queen has been obliged to pull down a beautiful marble arch in front of her palace in Buckingham, merely to make Carrara water out of it? Is it not true that England's favourite authors, Charles Bulwer, Albert Dickens, and Sir Edward Lytton Smith, have been compelled, by the iron pressure of the times, to publish their works in penny editions, because the public could no longer afford to give 1_l._ 11_s._ 6_d._ for them? Is it not also true that the Omnibuses—those running barometers of the social weather—have brought down their prices to threepence instead of half-a-crown? Is it not likewise true that the market for wives has been so overstocked lately that the City authorities are obliged to enlarge Smithfield; that ices are selling in the streets for one penny, and pineapples are being hawked about at two-pence apiece, because they cannot be sold at any price in the shops; and is it not likewise the truth that Englishmen are now too poor to give a penny to be shaved, and that several shops in the New Cut, and the Seven Vials, are writing up in their windows—I have seen it myself—'A CLEAN SHAVE FOR ONE HALFPENNY'. "These are solemn, rueful, ugly truths, which show too plainly where lie the seeds of England's decline. "One more little proof, and I have finished with this distressing subject, though it has yielded me a certain malicious pleasure in the investigation of it. I have just been told that there is not a Stilton cheese in all London but what is thoroughly decayed. The fact is as clear as a cup of (French) coffee. The people have no money to buy these cheeses, and they have been kept so long on the shelves of the shops that they have all gone bad. I point, therefore, with exulting scorn to a Stilton cheese, and say 'Libellers behold' _la décadence_ of mity Angleterre. I shall tell my publisher (Mr. John Bull) to give a morsel of Stilton cheese with every copy he sells of my book. "LEDRU ROLLIN." [Illustration] [Illustration] TRAVELLING FOR THE MILLION. A SONG OF THE PANORAMAS. BY A CLERK WHO HAS READ MACAULAY. Leave to the middle classes The joys of Camden Town, Let unambitious asses To Islington come down. Let Clapham grow uproarious, On mild domestic wines, And Kennington luxurious On cheap West India pines.