1202 NOTES -CF THE MONTH. 



When the drowsy beetles flit, 



Through the stilly even, 

 When the stars like gems are set 



O'er the brow of Heaven. 

 Meet me love, &c. 



When each gently drooping flower 



Veils its snowy bosom, 

 When the streaming perfumes pour 



From the hawthorn blossom ; 

 Down the sheltered woodland walk, 



When the dew drops clearest, 

 Bend each rose-bud on its stalk, 



Then oh then, my dearest ! 



Meet me where the streamlets stray, 

 To the green leaves singing, 



And the star-lit dews betray 



Where each flower is springing. 



NOTES OF THE MONTH. 



THE elections have so completely engrossed both the press and the 

 people, that we are quite at a loss for notes. The country papers have 

 been filled with speeches of candidates and returns of members. We 

 have been unable even to detect a single apple-tree of unwonted pre- 

 cocity, and turnips of singular dimensions have ceased to grow. 

 Everything takes a political tinge " Rush to the poll" " JENKINS 

 and independence," is all the cry. Even the dead walls are alive with 

 " GUBBINS, the man of the people !" or, " HIGGINBOTTOM and the 

 Constitution !" while dirty flags and cracked clarionets betoken the 

 rapture of succesful candidates. One thing is certain amidst all this, 

 that the Tories have clutched the loaves, and that their eyes are spark- 

 ling with the desire to secure the glittering fishes ; how it may turn 

 out will be seen next month at the opening of parliament ; meanwhile, 

 we must content onrselves with the few crumbs which may fall from 

 their table. 



HUNT THE "SLIPPER." In his address to his Tarn worth con- 

 stituency, the new Premier repudiates the notion of encroaching on 

 the honey-pots of the state-pensioners, but admits the necessity of 

 restricting these sweets in future to such only as shall render equiva- 

 lent service to the country or the crown. The Chancellor of the Ex- 

 chequer being the representative of the nation's breeches'-pockets, and 

 the first lord of the treasury of the willingness of the crown, to sine- 

 curise the elect Sir Robert Peel will hold the thermometer of " Ser- 

 vices." Whether Mr. Hudson, tbe celebrated flyer- by- night, who 

 succeeded inhuntingthe Right Hon. Baronet out of the "lone mother 

 of dead empires," will reach the requisite altitude on the scale of pre- 

 ferment, it would be premature to conjecture ; but surely so good a 

 roadster will not be neglected by Tory hacks. In the Standard of 



