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"MI LOR MAIRE."
The new Belgian Lord Mayor of London, Monsieur POLYDORE DE KEYSER,
is, it is said, a proficient in several languages. "English as she
is spoke," being one of them. Let us rename him "POLYGLOT DE KEYSER."
Every dog must have his day, and so must a Lord Mayor, and a precious
bad one Poor POLYGLOT had for making a show of himself on the Ninth.
It is rather hard on any Lord Mayor, Mi Lor Maire le Brave Belge not
excepted, that the ninth should follow so close upon the heels of the
fifth of November. But if a British Lord Mayor must take his chance of
the weather, even so must the Brave Belgian
Who in spite of all temptation
To belong to his own nation,
Did become an Englishman!
Yes! an English Alderman!
[Illustration: A Brussels Sprout.]
Even as our latest Lord Mayor, he cannot expect to be exempt from the
penalties which a British climate enforces from all citizens of London.
During the twelve months reign of POLYGLOT it is probable that the
tune of _The Roast Beef of Old England_ will not be heard at Civic
festivities, but instead, a new Waltz will be performed entitled
_Brussels Sprouts_, which, as a matter of course,--third or fourth
course,--will be a favourite dish at the Munching House.
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VERY POLITE.--A certain Civic dignitary who enjoyed the Guildhall
Feast on the Ninth, felt uncommonly unwell the next day. Out of
compliment to the New LORD MAYOR'S nationality, the worthy citizen, in
answer to kind inquiries, sent to say that he was only suffering from
_Mal de Maire_.
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IN GOOD HANDS.--"Electric lighting," it is said, "is still in its
infancy"--for which fact we could not have better authority than its
NURSEY,--we mean the Past-President of the Society of Engineers.
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