The Sun.
London, England, 1835-01-06 00:00:00

CITY ELECTION-FIRST DAY.

STATE OF THE POLL—TEN O'CLOCK.
Wood
Pattison
Crawford...
Grote 735
Ward
Lyall
Wilson ios
ELEVEN O'CLOCK.

Wood
Pattison
Crawford 1,643
Grote
Ward
Lyall
Wilson 1,233
TWELVE O'CLOCK.

Wood
Pattison
Crawford 2,574
Grote
Ward
Lyall
Wilson
ONE O'CLOCK.

Wood
Pattison
Crawford 3,359
Grote
Lya.ll 2,722
Ward
Wilson 2,682
TWO O'CLOCK.

Wood
Pattison
Crawford
Grote

4,147
3,927
3,895
3,977

Lyall
Ward
Wilson

3,211
......... 3,208
3,157

A VOICE FROM DOWNING STREET,

" Vox clamantis in deserto."
(SIR R T P L LOQUITUR.)
Gone are all my hopes:of place,
Like the blush from C—k—r's face ;
Gone my last faint chance of steerage.
Like poor Manncrs Sutton's Peerage ;*
Gone my hope e'en of a " trial,"
Gone with Wilson, Ward, and Lyall ;
All is gone, except my candour,
(As the goose said to the gander)
For my curst, capricious fate,
At the age of forty-eight,
Has scarcely, 'mid the vulgar din
Of low Reformers, turned me IN,
To thrive on place's fat domain,
Ere she turns me our again.

Was ever such a luckless set
As form my destined Cabinet?
Think of brother Yates, poor fellow ;
Vane, our party's Punchinello—
To say nothing of the Duke,
And Sugdcn with his new peruque !
Think of Goulburn, Knatchbull, Murray,
All rushing town-wards in a hurry,
One from this place, one from that,
Each as ravenous as a rat
For Treasury prop, yet doomed, despite
His keen, official appetite,
To hurry back, blaspheming sore,
From Downing-street's half-opened door,
As hungry as he was before !
'Tis no hypochondriac's whine,
This presentiment of mine,
For yet a month, and out we go,
Hand in hand, forlorn and slow,
Like Father Adam, with wry face,
From the Paradise of place.
Well, thank Heaven, tho' grieving deep,
'Tis not for myself I weep ;
I, with pleasure, quit this riot,
To enjoy domestic quiet ;
But, my country, when I think
How thou'rt fixed on ruin's brink ;
How one rascally Whig shove
May send thee headlong from above,
Right thro' stupefaction's fog,
Into revolution's bog ;
When I think, too, of the clan
Of Scotch Reformers, and of Dan
Whisking round with startling whiz !
That infernal tail of his ;
When I think of this, my fears
Call forth my patriotic tears,
And I bid fair, mid Whiggery's glee,
To weep to death, like Niobe.
But, hold; enough !—come hither, John,
Tell Tom to put the horses on ;
I'm sick of office, sick of home ;
So d—n them both, I'll back to Rome.

" So the Squi:e no Baron was made,
Nor at preseni a Baron is he •
And I think it may b3fely be said,
That a Baron he never will .be."
PETER. PINDA .

VInE Xsop's Fables.
" They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,:
Thro' EDEN took their solitary way."

MELTON MOWBRAY, JAN. 4.

The Marquis of Hastings, one of the leading Meltonians of the
day, has imported into this country, at considerable expense, a great
number of foxes from France, the coverts in Leicestershire having
been neglected and ill stocked. They are procured through an
agent at Boulogne. If they are purchased in London the odds are
you " meet an old friend with a new face." His Lordship has now
a crack pack of honnds : they meet on Wednesday next (7th inst.),
at Bunney.
We have several " Freshmen" joined us this season, all bold
riders. Amongst the foremost, the young Marquis of Waterford,
stated to be the boldest rider in Ireland, and certainly shines here,
and shows more intrepidity than judgment or discretion. The
Duke de Richelieu supplies very indifferently the vacancy in our
" Corps Etranger" by the absence of Matuszewic.
This place is quite full, and all is gaiety.