PUNCH.--Then you are very dull. Is not Parliament the assembled wisdom of
the country?

READER.--By a fiction, Mr. PUNCH.

PUNCH--Very well, Mr. Reader; what's all the world but a fiction? I say,
the assembled wisdom; an Act of Parliament is the sifted wisdom of the
wise--the essence of an essence. Very well; know you not the mystic, the
medicinal effects of printer's ink? The devil himself isn't proof to a
blister of printer's ink. Well, you take an Act of Parliament--and what is
it but the finest plaster of the finest brains--wet, reeking wet from the
press. Eschewing diaper, you roll the Act round the royal infant; you roll
it up and pin it in the conglomerated wisdom of the nation. Now, consider
the tenderness of a baby's cuticle; the pores are open, and a rapid and
continual absorption takes place, so that long before the Royal infant cuts
its first tooth, it has taken up into its system the whole body of the
Statutes.

READER.--Might not some patriots object to the application of the wisdom of
the country to so domestic a purpose?

PUNCH.--Such patriots are more squeamish than wise. Sir, how many grown up
kings have we had, who have shown no more respect for the laws of the
country, than if they had been swaddled in 'em?

READER.--Do you think your friend Sir Robert is for statute rollers?

PUNCH.--I can answer for Sir Robert on every point. His first attack before
he kisses hands--and he has, as you perceive, been practising this