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Sops! Mr. Cerberus, sops!

How we should smile at all this if we did not remember that the world in general so much resembles him. Every circle has its door-keeper, either under the name of fashion, pride, or prejudice, who knows full well whom to exclude and whom to admit. The man of talent, without a name, may kick his heels upon the steps; the man with a name, minus the talent, is ushered in with smiles and bows, after being prayed to knock, that the honoured door may open to him. But the sops, you will say, perhaps innocently, that is the main spring! We taste as children, and long for it ever afterwards, only differently flavoured. If you believe it not, try at the great man's door; the burly porter cries "Sop!" the footman, the valet, all, all alike. Many a poor suitor has turned his daily bread into it, and yet found it far short of enough to satisfy the rapacious maws of the various single-headed Cerberi!

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Reader, the world is made up of door-keepers.

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BRITISH WAR WITH CHINA.

Of Congou, Souchong, and Bohea,

Let Chinamen boast as they please; The British have gunpowder tea,

Which proves the "most terrible teaze!"

A benighted traveller, who had taken refuge in a country public house, demanded, after supper, whether he could be accommodated with a bed. The landlord answered in the negative, as his house was full. "Why, my friend," said the traveller, "you are like Sir Robert Peel." "How so?" asked Boniface in astonishment. "Because," answered the other, "he was the author of the New Tariff, and your beds are all occupied." "Well," rejoined mine host, "you may sleep in an arm chair by the fire if you like."

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"Oh, Mr. Jenkins! fie, Mr. Jenkins! I'll tell my mother, that I will, sir."

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