556 Notes of the Month on [MAY, 



stuffing leather dolls ; for whom ? may we ask, for her youngest daughter 

 is fifteen or sixteen; perhaps for tne mere indulgence of an elegant 

 mind, perhaps for sale. The milliner's maids, the brune and the blonde, 

 simple grisettes, in "muslin frocks and blue sashes;" and the gar^on 

 boutiquier, the young man of the shop, indulging himself in a little 

 politics after his day's work, and reading the paper, while the head of 

 the firm was stuffing the leather dolls. The whole is ridiculous, pitiful, 

 republican affectation ; and even a French cockney, brainless as he is, 

 can see through its paltry popularity-hunting submission to the prevalent 

 puppyism of the moment ; but foolery is the law of the day, and the 

 leather dolls are as wise as their stuffers. 



Old Quick, the comedian, who, like Fontenelle, had lived so long that 

 Death seemed to have forgotten him, is gone at last. Shenstone used to 

 thank his fathers that they had given him a name incapable of a pun ; 

 though he would have probably thought his escape of no great value if 

 he had seen the rhyme that libelled it in the Frenchman's garden at 

 Ermenonvillej 



" Under this plain stone, 



Lies William Shen-stone." 



But Quick must have been a martyr from the hour he was breeched. 

 Through life he was persecuted by pun-shooting, and the persecution 

 has not even spared him in his grave. We shall, however, be aiding 

 and abetting in but one instance, which we take from that well-arranged 

 and amusing paper the Sunday Times. 



On the Death of Mr. Quick) at the age of Eighty-three. 

 Death paused so long before he struck the blow, 

 His motions, while approaching Quick, seemed Slow ; 

 At last victorious o'er mirth's favourite son, 

 The world seems ended Quick and Dead are one. 



In the next grand radical election William Cobbett, Esq., patriot, and 

 so forth, starts for parliament. Sir Robert Wilson, of whom the opinion 

 of all honest and rational men has always been the same, having, by the 

 never-failing result of over-cunning, tripped at the last moment, and 

 ratted in the most amusing style ; we recommend William Cobbett for 

 Southwark. He would make a capital representative of the borough, 

 a much better one than Mr. Spruce, the beer-maker, Mr. Shine, the 

 dealer in mud, Mr. Hog, the bacon-man, or any of the vulgar, utterly 

 uneducated, and thoroughly stupid brood, that insult common sense by 

 pretending to understand any thing beyond their limekilns, salt-pans, 

 and coal-cellars. 



Cobbett is worth a million of those fellows in every sense of the 

 word. He has brains, which they have not j knowledge of mankind, 

 while they know nothing but how to make mankind laugh at them ; 

 and as for public or personal honesty, we would match him against any 

 patriot of Southwark at the best of times. Hunt and he will make 

 incomparable legislators, and we think that Hunt already shews his 

 dread of the superior genius by his rage. In his letter to the Preston 

 electors, Hunt has thrown first mire, and, in direct terms, denounced 

 Cobbett as every thing that is despicable. He says 



" The moment I was elected for Preston, by your free and unsolicited votes, 

 the mean, dirty, grovelling knave, again cast his net, again put forth his slimy 



