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THE NEW CONGREGATIONAL COLLEGE.

PROVIDENCE AND SELF-HELP.

[No title]

BROUGHAM IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS.

MR. HUDSON IN PARLIAMENT.

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MR. HUDSON IN PARLIAMENT. It was George's custom, of an afternoon, to bustle up to the second row behind the Opposition, and keep calling out quite loud, Granby," Brackley," "Bentinck," "Burghley," "Chandos," "Hamilton," "Hotham," ''Lennox, Mandeville, "Sea- ham," Worcester," or anybody else with a handle to his name, who happened to be within hailing distance and these Corinthian oaks, obsequious to the moneyed mushroom, were wont to nod their patrician tops, and respond with an approving and deferential chuckle, much to the envy and admiration of all the surrounding world of senatory snobbery, and to the perplexity of Mr. Speaker, who called" Order" with much less than his customary effect whenever the Iron Rex was railing. On Monday night he sneaked in, a truly sad dog. As he entered the lobby, the policemen see.med as if they had suddenly sniffed the ghost of Lundyfoot, for their noses respectively became curled up at an angle of 45, like men on the precipice of a sneeze, after a thumping pinch of high toast. On coming into the House, all his once familiars, who were crowded about the gangway, appeared to be either profoundly interested in Dr. Reid's plan of lighting the apartment from above, or to be absorbed in the contemplation of the mechanism of their watches, or else afflicted with an awful cold in the head, re- quiring the immediate application of pocket handkerchiefs. Some, on the contrary, began to gaze intently on their boot-tops; while others looked through the Banquo of the share market, as if they were playing Macbeth, and couldn't see a spectre-weighing In stones, for all that, spiritual as he was. George, however, twigged them fast enough, and on that twig he hopped into the extreme back bench, in a line with the Sergeant-at-Arms, Lord Charles Russell, who quietly turned himself round, and fixed his eyes on the mace on the table. No shaking hands all round—no horse-laugh—nothing to recall the gross, rude, vulgar autocrat of the share-market now. There he sat—alone, avoided his hat pulled down over his face his face resting on his hands his hands on his stick his stick on the edge of the bench before him-as precarious a foundation as the bloat bubble that had bolstered him up all this while bick, and which the stroke of a straw would have at any time pros- trated. Talk of Bajazet in his cage, Marius amidst the ruins of Carthage, Napoleon on the rock of St. Helena, and Louis Philippe in a pea jacket, and calling himself Bill Smith Why, how poorly do these point a moral, and how slenderly do they adorn a tale, compared to this Great Snob becoming the Great Snubbed

PARLIAMENTARY PERFORMANCES.

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ON PLOUGHING UNDER GREEN CROPS…

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