OUR FUN-DONE LETTER. B UT a very few years ago the boldest of the prophets-even DR. CUMMING himself-might have hesitated to foretell the Premiership of MR. DISRAELI. Then it seemed the most unlikely thing to happen; now it appears to be the only proper thing. Indeed, the new First Lord is to be congratulated, for a happy combination of events has arrived at the very moment to assist him to the elevation at which he has so long been aiming. For there can be no doubt that he has always placed this prize before himself-even when sinking into his place after his ill success in his maiden speech. "The day will come when you shall hear me!" meant not merely the empty success of oratory, but the solid prize of power. Well, as I said before, he is to be congratulated. It is no slight thing that one who has always created more surprise than admiration, and who yet has been infinitely more admired than loved, should have wrung such a victory from Fortune. He is truly "ab omni parte beatus"-by which, let me add for the information of the classical scholar, I do not mean "blest by all parties." story briefly in his "London Lyric," which contains one line that is true poetry: "I did not grieve-the loss was too divine." The rest of the literature is up to L. S. standard-except the Cambridge sketch, which is an old practical joke enlivened with old jokes. Routledge's Magazine for Boys, with which I am three numbers in arrear, begins the new volume capitally, and should add to its popularity greatly. Le Follet holds forth expectations of more reasonable fashions, especially in the matter of chignons. "Our IN St. Paul's we have one of those clever lifelike bits of drawing with which MR. MILLAIS occasionally favours his admirers. Programme for the Liberals" is a sound political essay, and there is an admirable paper on "Fashion in Poetry," and the number altogether is good, solid yet not heavy. The Sunday Magazine is strong in its illustrations, the large picture to the "Seaboard Parish" being particularly fine. That story and the "Retired Life" move on with interest. In Good Words the gem of the number is "A Working Man's Courtship"-I have read nothing so true and natural for an age; -there is little more than three pages of it-it consists of letters, and yet the story is full of deep interest already and all the characters live. As for the Laureate's lines, like too much he has given us lately, they are quite unworthy of his reputation. The profane will call them twaddle-and I must own they tempt one to be profane. They are far better illustrated than they deserve, though the very fine drawing and telling engraving are lost through bad printing. It is a great pity MESSRS. STRAHAN's magazines are not better printed, they deserve to be, and at any rate there is no practical reason why the large cuts should not be. The other illustrations in this number are good, especially those to "Hero Harold." The Argosy is weak in its art,-variety would be charming beyond measure, for one is tired of the very old-fashioned Pre-Raphaelitism of its artist. There's a good ghost story in this number, and some verses by MISS GREENWELL are musical and pleasant. The Gardener's Magazine is noticeable for a pretty account of a pair of robins in a fernery. The musical public are amply catered for in Hanover Square, Bond Street, and Exeter Hall, the latest comer, devoted to sacred MR. SWINBURNE's, set to a delicious melody by MR. MOLLOY. Belgravia this month has a very charming morceau of verse by MR. MORTIMER COLLINS, a pleasant essay, very brief, by MR. SAWYER, on "Nice Girls," and a good paper by MR. THORNBURY. "Saint May" is neatly written. The "Mudie Classics" by BABINGTON WHITE, begins impertinently with an explanation, and ends childishly with a twaddly story. MR. WHITE had better return to translations, his originality is ridiculous when not rude. MISS BRADDON writes a decent set of verses, and the whole number, barring the illustrations, which, owing either to artist or engraver, are inferior, is a good one. In the Cornhill, Miss EDWARDS gives us another excellent picture, and almost eclipses the splendid draughtsman who supplies the other illustration to this number. A paper on "Defoe's Novels" is capital reading, and the last chapters on "Talk," will be welcomed not solely because they are the last. London Society is scarcely up to the mark in the illustra-music. In the first-named there are some most musical words of tions this month, though it has the able services of MR. JOHN GILBERT, MR. CHARLES KEENE, and MR. A. W. COOPER to carry weight. The weight is contributed chiefly by "FANE WOOD" and "G. BOWERS the latter in the first cut to "Our Dinners" draws an arm with a decanter at one end, and something meant for a man at the other, that will startle our best anatomists. MR. BUCHANAN tells a dramatic VOL. VII. I HAVE received another number of the Elizabethan, the Ipswich school magazine. It bears out the promise of number one. Its verse is excellent, and one rarely meets with decent verse even in the "grownup' magazines nowadays. I am particularly pleased with "Reminiscences." For hours he tried to daunt the youth, For weeks the goblin weird and wild, The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan "These are the men who chase the roe, Who lead their troops victorious, "Of such as be the bard has said Or p'raps he'll only scream with fear, The spectre showed himself, alone, 1 Thraufu-baked potato. a Rorkie-neuralgia. Thecht-underdone. Clapperhead-seldom. Raltie-seventeen. • Croomie-a Zoëtrope. Fash-speculate. Paulie-I forget what pawkie means--perhaps stewed mushrooms. DARK MEETINGS. The Platform. 'Twixt eleven and twelve. Lights down. BONES, POMPEY, BONES.-Ho, Kolimbe! POMPEY. Did you speak, Bones? Kolimbe." OUR LIBRARY TABLE. SOME books come to us like old friends-to be welcomed, not criticised-for they are old friends of the public too. Such a book is the new edition of the Poetical Works of Samuel Lover. We all have about twenty favourites, for which we shall look the very first thing in the BONES.-Me speaked? No, I didn't spoke. I merely said, "Ho, dainty pages of this new edition-and here they are sure enough, "I'm " and " not myself at all" and "Molly Bawn' Molley Carew" and "Native Music" and "I'm a ranting roving blade" and-but stop! We are transcribing the list of contents: and small blame to us, for they are all so good it would be a shame to "make any invidious him which were the Major and which the Minor Prophets. To be sure, we may go so far as to give the preference to those which it has been POMPEY.-Was that all, Bones? BONES.-Yes, dat was all. Didn't you spoke something? BONES-Oh, I thought you did. I thought you asked me if I didn't distinctions," as the undergraduate said when the Examiners asked BONES.-Who do you s'pose I met round de corner just now, our pleasant privilege to hear sung by their author. The preface to the new edition is a valuable essay on song-writing, which we cordially recommend for the general perusal of the public, and the particular study of those music publishers, who know about The volume is turned out in good style, with clear type, capital paper, tasteful and appropriate binding, and plenty of illustrations; in short, BONES. -Oh, I met somebody roun' de corner, and he did spoke as much about songs as monkeys do of the Differential Calculus. wonderful. POMPEY.-Indeed, Bones? BONES.-Oh, yes, that's so. You should have heard him spoke. the poems have been well treated, but not better than they deserve. He called me his forlorn and unconsidered broder. BONES.-Yes. 'My forlorn and unconsidered broder," he says; "nevertheless, thou, too," he says, "occupying certain cubic feet of space, and having within that visible temporary figure of thine forces both physical and spiritual, art not only a clothes-simulacrum," he says. H'yah, yah, yah! You should have heard how he went on. H'yah, yah, yah! "More than that art thou," he says, Capabilities thou hast," he says, "if only of the faintest. Not all of thee is black tail-coat," he says; "shirt-frill, wristbands, collar, waistcoat, breeches, named in cant-euphemism of Jolly Dogs, Great Vances, and other the like mournful persons-of whom let your moral-philosophy take heedful note-bags'." H'yah, yah, yah! POMPEY.-What more did he say, Bones? BONES.-I didn't stop to hear what more he said. It was about pumpkins, though, and human stupidity, and apes of the Dead Sea, and immeasurable phantoms, and rotten boroughs, and flunkeys, and rushlights, and immensities, and economy, political and other, ground in eternal machine-music, not musical-deafening, soul-bewilderingand upholstery, and fashionable novelists, and tobacco-smoke, and Downing-street, and able editors, and quacks, and wind-bags. POMPEY.-You say you didn't stop to listen to all this, Bones. POMPEY.-How did you hear it then, Bones? POMPEY.-Yes; if you came away, how did you hear what your friend said? BONES. He came after me. POMPEY.-Mother kissed me in my dream. Et cantant omnes. The Law of Music. In the case of Wood v. BooSEY it has been ruled that, the former having bought the copyright of an opera, and having also bought an adaptation of that opera, but registering the adaptation in the name of the original composer, and not that of the adapter, it is competent for the defendants to publish the adaptation. In other words, an adaptation becomes a separate copyright, and must be registered as the original creation of the adapter. What would MESSES. BOOSEY say to such an application of this decision as the following? We will put an imaginary case :-Suppose they should prohibit the use of the music of the Grande Duchesse in a burlesque-at the Queen's Theatre, say. It is hardly probable that they would, for they make it a feature in their advertisements of the music that it is played in all the burlesques. Nevertheless, violently supposing they issued an injunction against the use of their copyright, what would they say if MR. WALLERSTEIN "adapted" the airs, and registered his "adaptation" according to the law of the case of WOOD v. BOOSEY? Not that MR. WALLERSTEIN would try such sharp practice, for he is a gentleman. In point of fact, he did not. A Grim Reality. THE distressing privations of the poor have been described by eyewitnesses with such photographic minuteness of detail that we are led to suppose that the writers must be acquainted with at least one branch of the beautiful science-we mean the Dry Plate system. SUPERFLUOUS SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.-WOODCOCK's little Game. MR. LOVER's songs will, we are sure, find a hearty welcome in their new form from all of us-English, Scotch, Welsh, or Irish-though these last have the best claim to be proud of the singer of |