Ere this new tree of knowledge had set them a sinning;
The women are mad, and they'll build female colleges,--
So here's to plain English!--a plague on their ologies!

_London Mag_.

* * * * *


THE EDITOR'S ROOM.

_July 28, 1828._


And so, most tasteful and provident public, you are going out of town on
Saturday next?--We envy you. Mars is gone, and Sontag is gone, and Pasta
is going--and Velluti is out of voice--and they are playing tragedies at
the Haymarket--and Vauxhall will never be dry again--and the Funny Club
are drenched to their skins every day--and "the sweet shady side of Pall
Mall" is a forgotten blessing. You will be dull in the country if this
weather continue--but not so dirty as upon the Macadam. So go.

We shall stay behind, with the Duke of Wellington, to look after
business. It would not do for either of us to be gadding, while Ireland,
and Turkey, and Portugal want watching. The times are getting ticklish.
The stocks are rising most dreadfully, as the barometer falls; and the
Squirearchy are beginning to dread that the patridges will be drowned.
That will be a sad drawback from the delights of a two-shilling
quartern-loaf. For ourselves, we have plenty of work cut out for us, in
this our abiding place. The fewer the books which are published, the