AT THE PLAY.

The Deal Boatman, at Drury Lane, would have been a deal better anywhere else. It is like a small page in a large household, too weak for the place. Though called an "original serio-comic drama," it is neither original nor comic, and the most serious thing about it is the cool way in which we find our old friends, Peggotty, Steerforth, and Em'ly, taken bodily out of one of MR. CHARLES DICKENS's most delightful novels, and thrust upon the stage re-christened. The mixture which MR. BURNAND has prescribed for the public is indeed a saline draught of "David Copperfield," and a clari-fied decoction of HOWARD PAYNE'S old domestic drama, so identified with Home, Sweet Home, that though it was, of itself, a mere translation, the critics of the day never found it out. MR. G. BELMORE, an exceedingly clever actor of character parts, makes a great deal out of the old boatman, Jacob Vance, and the only drawback to his increasing reputation, as an original delineator of strong pathos, is the unfortunate circumstance that MR. ROBSON did precisely the same thing in the same way several years before. The most original Deal boatman who comes upon the scene is Phil. Bucket, MR. T. MATTHEWS, whose roll of the quid in his mouth as he enters, and roll of the limbs as he suffers himself at last to be persuaded by a buxom lass into becoming her partner for a country dance, sends quite an odour of shrimps and sea-weed through the house. If the young gentleman with quiver

LOOKS

INTO BOOKS.

BY A LATTERDAY REVIEWER. WE have glanced over "Breakfast in Bed," of course, in the sheets; and find that though the author nods at times, he is pretty wide awake as a rule. He is very strong in his approval of the great NAP, which might be expected in one who dates his letters from Beds.

The "Laureate Wreath," by READE, we didn't. Having turned over the leaves, we laid the wreath aside, having assured ourselves it is not composed of immortelles.

"Eleanor's Victory" is not the authoress' triumph. Although there is some capital writing in it, it has no purpose, and we don't like the end at all.

We have read a "Disputed Inheritance," and approve of the title, for there is an heir-of probability— wanted in the story.

Those who read and admired " Abel Drake's Wife," will be sorry to find themselves disappointed in its successor. There will be very little excitement stirred up by "Martin Pole."

We greet very heartily a new and complete edition of "BROWNING'S Poems." In these shallow days we recommend everyone who has a mind to indulge in a BROWN (ING) study of these volumes, full of vigorous, effective pictures in the grandest language.

AGGRAVATED ASSAULT.

VIOLENCE appears to be the order of the day. Only last week a nurseryman was charged, at the instance of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty, with striking some young geraniums, the property of his master. Strange to say, he was discharged, although in his defence he admitted having just about that time "slipt into" the greenhouse.

ing voice and uncertain limbs who plays Mat Bramber is his apprentice, never mind the indentures, Phil. Bucket, but let him run away directly. It is a grand thing to see a haughty baronet stalking about the stage, saying desperate things about "cutting off the entail," in a low confidential tone to uninterested people in the stalls. MR. BARRETT, who has this to do, looks as if he thoroughly enjoyed his position, and in his deep BARRETT-tone, relates a story of domestic sorrows, which is invaluable as a model of rosephical endurance. A Stoic might profit by his example.

A roaring farce at the Strand asks through its title, "Where's Your Wife?" and you had better sit in the boxes and be asked that question rather than take her with you to see it. It is very nearly being a terrible piece of iniquity, but an explanation at the end comes just in time to save the intriguing married couple who figure therein from awful things being said about her morality and immorality. MR. BELFORD is a desperately "gay young dog" again, and MR. VOLLAIRE is equally reprehensible in lax habits and short trousers. MISS MARIA SIMPSON, as a supposed domestic, would be a dangerously fascinating disturber of the peace of the household; and MR. DANVERS, who is always seeing dreadful goings on, and exclaims "My eye!" on all occasions, winks at them in a way which is wonderful to behold. The piece is a success, however, and the author is MR. J. V. BRIDGEMAN, which gives the chance of saying that a little more "a-bridge-men" would be desirable. THE ODD MAN.

LIVES OF EMINENT STATESMEN.

No. 57.-SIR DE LACY EVANS, G.C.B. AND M.P.

THE EVANSES, of Miltown, in Ireland, were, of course, a fighting family. The hero of this biography, DE LACY, was born in 1787, at a place rejoicing in the euphonious title of Moig. At the age of twenty he entered the army as an ensign, and began his military career in India-rather a hot climate for active service. He was engaged in the operations against AMEER KHAN-who was more than a mere puppet. The British arms, however, upset the KHAN, and sent him to pot with his troops-the Pindarees, who had to beat pretty nimble pinned a retreat. In 1810 young EVANS, who had risen to a lieutenancy two years previously, left India, but was soon in the thick of fighting again. From 1812 to 1814 he was serving his country, and serving out his country's foes in Portugal, Spain, and France.

In the last-named year he was transferred to the battle-fields of America; was present at the capture of Washington, and the attacks on Baltimore and New Orleans. In 1815 he returned in time to be one of the heroes of Waterloo. For his gallantry in action he received his company; we may observe here that his majority and lieutenantcolonelcy were also conferred on him afterwards for his conduct against the enemy.

He has been wounded several times-occasionally severely-and has frequently had his horse killed under him. But he has almost as many stars as scars to show, so he may be said to have "medalled " with edged-tools to some purpose.

After Waterloo his active service was exchanged for another occupation that of Paris.

Peace, however, does not appear to have had any great charms for him. In 1831, as there was no fighting to be had, he went in for a contested election, and stood for Rye. He probably chose the borough because the influence of the LAMB family was great there, and he wanted to make them look sheepish. He went in like a lion, and came out like a LAMB-that is to say, successfully-a simile usually applied to the month of March, and therefore suitable for a soldier. In this same year at the general election, however, the constituents made Rye faces at him, and he was defeated. It was not his nature to bear defeat, so he fought it again the same year, and was this time victorious. The next year he lost his seat once more, contested Westminster also, and was also unsuccessful there.

In 1833 he opposed SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE for Westminster, and beat him after a stiff contest. For this metropolitan borough he sat from 1833 until 1841, but for some portion of the period in the saddle. In 1835, "by sanction and desire of Government, and by order of the king in council," he accepted the command of the Spanish Legion, and reaped plentiful Spanish laurels by the success with which he conducted operations against the Carlists. Throughout the whole campaign he is said to have lost only a few unarmed stragglers, while he took a hundred officers, a thousand men, thirty cannon, and forts and towns in plenty. He was made Lieutenant-General of the National Army of Spain, and received the Crosses of ST. FERDINAND and CHARLES III. He was made a C.B. by QUEEN VICTORIA at this time. In 1841 he was missing from his place in Parliament, but he was returned to it in 1846 by his old constituents of Westminster. He has kept his representation until now.

In 1854 he was appointed to the command of the 2nd Division in the Eastern Campaign, and was present at Alma, Balaklava, and Inkermann. His bravery was specially reported by the commanderin-chief; and he returned on sick-leave shortly after in time to receive the thanks of Parliament. Since then he has been made a G.C.B., and-by the EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH-a grand officer of the Legion of Honour.

SIR DE LACY EVANS is a Liberal to the back-bone, in favour of a large increase of the franchise, vote by ballot, and abolition of churchrates. In matters connected with his profession he has ever fought on the right side, and is one of the strongest opponents of the present system of sale of commissions in the army.

It is generally supposed the General was the chief fount whence MR. KINGLAKE derived information for his famous book on the Crimean Campaign. Many enraged officers have declared that if he is the source, it is like his impudence. If he be, we can only say the testimony of so gallant an officer and a tried Liberal, is all that is needed to support MR. KINGLAKE's authority.

The veteran general has spent fifty-six years of his life in the service of his country. We can quite understand the exclamation of the reader, "Good EVANS!" when he learns this. An existence alternating between battle-fields and contested elections, for such a length of time with such untarnished honour, is an object of admiration. Every logical mind will derive real pleasure from thus perusing at once the life of the general and the particulars.

THE LAY OF THE LODGING-HOUSE KEEPER.

AIR-"The Cottage by the sea."

SUMMER days have gone and left me,
Coming winter's cold and gloom
Of each lodger has bereft me,
Second floor and drawing-room.
Lonely on the beach I ponder,

Where such crowds used late to be, Or through rooms deserted wander, In my cottage by the sea.

As my stair carpet I take up,
Which no lodger stays to tread,
What fond memories will wake up
Of the paying season fled.
To my four-post bed returning,
No more hopes of L. s. d.,
By sleeping in the coal-hole earning,
In my cottage by the sea.

I'm once more (a sea-side Crusoe)
Monarch of all I survey,
Here I reign-I wouldn't do so-
But "to let" no more will pay.
In my own first-floor I live now,

Far too good for folks like me,
But there's none a rap would give now,
For my cottage by the sea.
None who'd purchase wine or brandy,
Which securely they'd lock up
(Though a second key comes handy,

When I want the slightest sup.)
None who'll pay for tea and butter,
With all which I might make free,
I'm in desolation utter,

In my cottage by the sea.
When my dinner-table put on,
Is the cheap though paid for fish,
How I long for gratis mutton,
Never missed from lodger's dish.
How I dream of meats delicious,
To be paid for ne'er by me,
But October's not propitious
For the cottage by the sea.
All have gone. A fishing village
Must this once gay spot remain,
No more profits-no more pillage,

Till the summer comes again.
Like those creatures hybernating,
Who scarce living seem to be,
So for months must I be waiting

In my cottage by the sea.

Yet, when I the plunder count up,

Not so bad I find is my store,
Let me hope that it will mount up
To as much in sixty-four.
I've no reason to feel crusty

At the season sixty-three,
My gains were clearly none so dusty,
In my cottage by the sea.

ANOTHER WATER-LOO.

COLONEL CRUIKSHANK'S Corps, the 48th Middlesex, or Temperance Volunteers, were observed not long since marching solemnly to the sound of pipes (not tobacco pipes, for they are total abstainers) and drums and trumpets in a terrific shower of rain. There can be no doubt that each of the so-called teatotallers must have taken several drops on this occasion. The gallant wet-eran who led them ought to have known better than to have made such a water-colour exhibition of his corps. We have no desire, after the damp that was cast on them, to decry the regiment's valour—we simply question the wisdom of such a parade-twenty-four rank and file, not including the band, or the colonel, or the colonel's celebrated groggy charger! Of course, in case of invasion, the twenty-four teatotallers would draw-like pumps-in the defence of their country.

ENOUGH TO WARM THE BLOOD OF A TURNIP. THERE seems to be no bound to the folly and cruelty of some people. MR. EDWARD CHISM, of Shigo-we give his name and address in full, for fear it should be doubted that anything human like him could exist-has prosecuted an unhappy, starving, half-naked woman for stealing-one turnip! Such an action is enough to raise the blood of every turnip in the field to boiling pitch. The woman admitted that on her way to the sea-shore to gather bladder-wrack for her sick child, she did pick up the turnip, adding, "There are very few farmers in this same Ballincar that would have done the like of this on me for the sake of a turnip." We should hope so; and can see the character of MR. EDWARD CHISM, of Sligo, bears from her remark, "I didn't know you had land at Ballincar." The magistrate asked the generous CHISM to pay for the summons and let the woman be discharged. But not a bit of it, he wished to have her shown she must not take a turnip of his. "And haven't I been in jail nearly a week for that one turnip?" asked the poor thing. "Didn't I tell you I was going for a bit of wrack, and didn't I tell you that I did take up the turnip? Sure, I don't deny it, but haven't I been a whole week almost in jail, and not one since to look after my sick child?" Nevertheless, CHISM was determined on having her up at Teeson Sessions, and even went so far as, by slow degrees, to persuade himself out of half-acrown, to ensure his revenge. So the poor woman will have to be tried at Teeson Sessions for MR. EDWARD CHISM's one turnip. "Well, God knows we'll get justice, at any rate, and God will take care of us," were her words. To our ears, they go up as a solemn appeal from human law to divine justice. We have no love of denouncing judgments against our fellow-creatures, but we must ask, would it surprise anyone, after such gross cruelty and tyranny, if the fruits of the earth refused to grow for such a man, and the whole crop, of which he refused a morsel for a starving woman, were to rot before his eyes?

ye Comic Historie of Heraldrie.

Boke ye Fyrste. CHAPTER III.

HAVING detailed the different varieties of arms and how each may be acquired, we next come to consider the shield or escutcheon, with which, however, we do not intend to cover our deficiencies, but shall boldly proceed in our poaching exhibition on the peculiar field of the Herald's College, though in our own manner. The science may be strictly preserved by GARTER, ULSTER, and Co.; still, in these free-trade days, we hope to find some game in it.

"C arms

Shields are of many kinds; first, there is the shield proper used by ancient warriors, on which their arms were blazoned, and with which, while tasting the sweets of war, they avoided getting too much of the whacks. Then, again, the copy-books which schoolboys place under their jackets and unmentionables prior to having a practical, if, perhaps, free translation of VIRGIL'S "arma virumque cano," or and the man (or boy) I cane," may also be regarded as a shield, and on this, or rather the skin underneath it, sable and gules predominate, after the visitation. Again, when a wife sets down as "sundries " the sum spent out of the house money on a new dress, that may also be considered as a shield; these last, however, must be considered as shields improper, and it is with the first-mentioned kind that we at present have to do. And so we will no longer stand shivering on the edge of the shield, but at once jump boldly into the middle of it.

In Heraldic language the shield is the ground on which the coat of arms is painted, and on which the achievements of the owner were not only symbolically depicted cour de rose, but also all the colours of the rainbow as well. Originally the device was placed on the buckler of the owner; but after a time, finding that in battle, from the colours not being "warranted fast," they were very apt to get chipped off, the knights had them painted on their banners instead, perhaps in the belief that when hard pressed a sight of the flag of their masters might raise the flagging courage of their retainers, who in such moments became special retainers in their service. Shields, like bonnets, were of various shapes. In very ancient times they were made like a horseshoe, to typify the hammering they occasionally received; or triangular, which, having three sides, would have suited our present CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER. Sometimes, also, the shields were heptagonal, or with seven points, which must have been awkward to carry, as, unless the bearer was very careful, the sharp points must have either run into his chin or his thigh. MARK ANTONY, the triumvir, had one of this shape; but as at the battle of Actium he very decisively lost the game, to say nothing of such a trifle as his

life at the same time, the seven points of his shield were in that instance not points in his favour. Coming down, however, to more modern times, we find that the shields of knights' bannerets were square, which was more than actions always were, while those of priests were oval; but as these soldiers of the church militant—or, as some have written it, mill-I-can't-never fought, it did not much matter what shape their shields were. Ladies, again, whose principal weapons were then, as now, their tongues, and who consequently had also no real use for shields, were yet provided with those articles, but in the shape of a lozenge, which to the uninitiated recalls the jujube of domestic life with great reality.

It now remains for us to describe the Heraldic shield or escutcheon readers if, in order to make our subject intelligible, we sometimes as received at the present time; and here we must apologize to our light on ground so dry that not even the most inveterate jester could moisten it with a single joke; but we will promise to go as swiftly over those arid plains as we possibly can. Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and observe the Heraldic shield.

A B C D

E

F

G H I

are

Observe the letters, which literally the A B C of the science. Every one has its meaning, which is more than can be said of the letters of some people. ABC are the first, and these three are called "the chief," but have no connexion with Indian and Scottish chiefs. A is the dexter, or right chief; B the precise, middle chief; and C the sinister, or left chief. Every schoolboy will tell us that D follows C in the alphabet, and 80 it does here, and is called the "honour point;" next comes E, and this is the fess point; observe

also it is the exact middle of the shield, and even when nicely painted it commences FUN, and so has naturally a claim on our regard; it is can only be pretty middling; then we have F, an important letter, as middle and sinister base points. called the nombril, or navel point; last there are G H and I, the dexter

Which concludes the entertainment, and all for the ridiculously small charge of one penny.

OUR OWN AGONY COLUMN.

IF the young Gentleman with the wart on his nose, swivel eyes, and carroty whiskers, who sat opposite to the young lady with the yellow dress and scarlet bonnet, will send his address to No. 3, Thumper-row, Bayswater, he may get his head nicely punched for his trouble.

T Serial?
-S D-CK-NS.-Dear CHARLES-When are we going to have another

The public are pining, your publishers are languishing, and everyone is expecting. When, oh! when, are we to be gratified? Return to your former industrious habits, and all may yet be well.

I HEREBY GIVE NOTICE that I will not be answerable for the vagaries have been supposed to have wedded. and antics of any of the Tory party during the recess to whose principles I (Signed) DERBY.

WALTER M -G- -Y.-Be warned ere it is too late. Second fiddle is your

proper level; for first you have no qualifications.

ADOLPHUS.-You left us last Tuesday week; since then everything has gone on so comfortably. We have all been drunk the whole time, and your father and mother have had two fights, and thrown your little sister out of window. The only thing now wanting to complete our happiness is the key of the gin cupboard. Please send it as soon as possible.

IF the Cabman who took a s. ghtly-intoxicated gentleman from Piccadilly to
Horslydown some time ago-the advertiser don't know precisely when-
SIMPLE SIMON, ESQ., Green Lodge.
will return the purse of severeigns left in his cab, he will be rewarded.-Address