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ON THE PIER.
. First awful little quiz (totally unaware of the proximity of little Binks) :-"Don't YOU KNOW THE ONB I MBAN? THAT ODIOUS LITTLE WRETCH WITH THE PUG NOSE AND BYEGLASS !”
Second ditto, ditto, ditto :-“Oh, I KNOW Now! YOU MEAN THAT HORRID, SMOKE-DRIED, LITTLE SHRIMP, THAT POBES HIMSELF AT THE END OF THE PIER WITH HIS GLASS IN HIS EYE, AS IF HE WERE LOOKING FOR HIS NURSE. WE CALL HIM THE TADPOLE!"
[Binks feels ecstatic.
FROM OUR STALL.
to. PROFESSOR PEPPER, in a lecture on the Paris Exhibition, tells us An actor of great American celebrity, Mr. John S. CLARKE, is now
that jewellery is now made by machinery at less than half the former playing at the St. James's Theatre in a new edition of Mr. STIRLING cost. We shall yet live to see gold bracelets and earrings voted Coyne's Everybody's Friend. The piece is not a great piece-in fact, common and vulgar. An effectively painted Rhenish panorama, it is rather the reverse ; but Mr. SOTHERN and MR. JEPFERSON have Lurley by name, is included in the Polytechnic's list of entertainalready proved that the success of an individual performer (if the
ments. performer happens to be a fine one) depends very little on the merits of the play in which he makes his appearance. We certainly cannot
The State of Ireland. speak well of A Widow Hunt; it is tediously conversational. Of MR. We are rather alarmed over here in England at the state of things CLARKE, however, we can speak in high terms. He has a splendidly revealed by the late Fenian outrage at Manchester. What should we expressive countenance, which he works to perfection : his voice is do if we lived in Ireland ? We have just read in Saunders's News Letter like John Parry's, and has John Parry's funny and pleasant lisp. an announcement which fills us with apprehension. It would seem The American accent is hardly discernible. We are anxious to see that the most terrible excesses pass unnoticed in Dublin on account of MR. Clarke in a better piece than A Widow Hunt. Messrs. IRVING their frequency. Murder must reckon for little where flaying-even and Blake support the leading comedian creditably; the female parts of women—is a common practice, and that it is so we gather from the are played by Misses Ada CAVENDISH, Burton, and SOPHIE LARKIN— advertisement of a large furrier, who winds up his notice about the of whom the last is the cleverest, though the first is clever, and the mounting and trimming of furs with this blood-chilling sentence :second cleverer. The comedy is nicely put upon the stage, with MR.
“Ladies may depend on getting their own skins back." FREDERICK Fenton's scenery, and on the night of the first performance the house was pretty full and enthusiastic. A newly-adapted farce by MR. MADDIBON MORTON has been produced
Epigram. at the Olympic, under the title of The Two Puddifoots. MR. WIGAN “A LADY robbed recently in Westminster Abbey, complained of her loss to the does all that he can with it, and so does MR. ADDISON. A MR. ROBBON verger, who merely said, 'Oh, that is very likely; ladies should not carry purses in also takes part in the trifle; he is not like the other MR. ROBSON in places like this.'"-Vide Papers. anything but the name. Miss FARREN and Miss MARIA HARRIS have
A Pan-Anglican Synod again should assemble little to do, but they do it very well. By the way, it is nearly time
The Establishment's honour to clear from this smirch; for the Olympic to change its bills a little. People who admire
Pious ladies-small wonder !- will learn with a tremble CHARLES Mathews (and their name is Legion, for they are many)
“They'll be robbed if they carry a purse into church.” will have no objection to see him play some of his old Lyceum parts again.
ALL THE DIFFERENCE.-Port wine leaves its mark on the nose; The Polytechnic has altered its programme, and is well worth going water—on a Bank note.
| Mr. Codlin (EARL R*ss*LL). 1 Mr. Short (MR. D*sR**LI). REMEMBER, MY DEAR, CODLIN IS THE FRIEND, NOT SHORT.”
[Vide "Old Curiosity Shop."
MRS. BROWN IN AMERICA.
oppersite to that young gal and me, and I see as she were uncasy, and HER IMPRESSIONS of New YORK.
'im a-fidgettin' about 'is feets and presently he put 'is foot with all 'is
force on my tenderest corn, as is a thing I can't abear touched, so I I don't think as ever I were more thankful in my life than when I up with the umbreller and í give him a hot one across 'is shins. He found myself safe and sound in a comfortable room in a decent house; says, “What do you mean by that ?" Why,” I says, “jest what but I says to Joe, “My dear boy, wherever is your wife and children ?” I've done, and I'll do it agin, you ole waggerbone, as 'ave been “ Oh,” he says, " Mother, many miles away from this." I must say as I felt 'urt at it's not bein' Joe's own 'ome, though not He said as ho'adn't, but the young gal said as he 'ad, so I says,
annoyin' this young gal with your feet as I've been a-watchin' you!"
But no wonder they drinks, for of all the 'eat as ever I did feel; it lovely street only it don't seem to 'ave no shady side like Cheapside ;
, a man come aleng and stood in front of me as I took What with the shock as it give me, and the cat as upset me, I was for the conductor. So I give 'm a dollar-leastways, a bit of s'iled werry bad for three days, and little thought as ever I sbould ’ave come paper as acts for one, thro' their 'avin' used all their gold and silver in to be nursed by a blackamoor, as was that kind through givin' me a the war, a-makin' bullets on it, I suppose, as I considers shameful turn atween the lights, and standin' by my bedside and me a-wakin' waste myself, the same as a party I've eard tell about as made sandup sudden after dosin off through a bad night, and the sun a-settin' wiches of bank-notes, as did ought to 'ave been whipped, a Pussy; that sudden, no doubt through so much water bein' about, as put 'im Well, this man he didn't say nothink, but takes the money, walks out
of the other end, as their cars is open both ends, as makes 'em werry I don't
think as ever I was so jolted up and down as I were in one drafty, and must be awful in cold weather. I 'set there a-waitin' for of them ’buses as runs up Broadway with no conductor behind for to my change, when up comes another chap, and asks werry rough for let you in. As I 'ailed one myself a-'oldin' my umbreller, but it's my money. I 'ad changed my seat once or twice in that car; thro! all werry fine for to stop 'em, bat 'owever to get in I did not see, for the draft, one time, and another time 'cos a party were a-spectoratin? the steps is that 'igh that I couldn't ’ardly reach 'em, and that narrer that free as I didn't care about it. So I says to the feller, “I paid as there were not no 'old for
and just as I got in at the door you-leastways, I give a dollar, and wants my change." “Oh,” he if the feller didn't drive on, and I must 'ave pitched ack'ard out if I says, “I reckon you think as I'm a young 'oss."
“ You'd 'adn't pitched for’ard and come with
my 'ead fall butt agin the end of better reckon what change you've got to give me out of a dollar, and the 'bus as would ’ave stunned me if I'd come with my full force, as give it me pretty quick.” He says, “ I never see your dollar.” “Well,". I were prewented doin', thro' the door a-shettin' with my foot in it as I says, “I give it to the other." What other?" says he. 'eld me back and broke the shock, but pretty nigh broke my ankle too. I says, “the other as come and stood afore me. He says, “ He ain't
The way them 'buses dawdles up that street is enough to drive you got nothink to do with it; besides," he says, "where's he got to P. I mad; not as they can get along any faster, for of all the crowdin' and says, "'Ow should I know ? for you're all like a lot of wild beastes, pushin' as ever you see, all a-runnin' ono agin another, and nobody a-'oppin' up and down off the thing afore it stops." He says, “ You pay, couldn't never cross but for the police, as is that perlite a-'andin' you your fare or come out of the ear."
I says “ I won't.”
* You must,' over, with their straw 'ats and nice white gloves.
says he, “ for here we stops and turns back." I says,
“You're a gang of Of all the ways for to pay your fare in them 'buses it's the most thieves." “Come out,” says he; and pulls at me. l'ollored “ Help!" sing'ler, for you 'as to put the money thro' a little 'ole in the top of and up come a perliceman, as says, "Pay your fare." I says, “I've the 'bus, a-ringing of a bell, as I'm sure they wouldn't never find paid, and will’ave my change.” Says the conductor, “She's a reg'lar answer in London, where I've seed parties myself try and cheat the beat'; she got on the car and has been a-dodgin' me all about.” conductor afore 'is werry face, and what they'd do with 'is back turned, Well, there was a crowd, and they come all round, so I thought as goodness knows.
There was a party in that 'burg Werry civil, as I'd give 'em the slip on the quiet, and was-a-walkin' off, when that Offered for to 'and up my money, but I says, “You must escuse me, conductor fellow says, “ Pay me, or you goes straight off to the stationbut bein' a stranger, I must keep my weather beye up, as made 'im 'ouse," as give me a frightfál turn, a-knowin' as I might be there for look rather foolish.
life, and nobody to get me out. So I was a-goin' to pay over agin, We was a-bumpin' along enough for to loosen every tooth in your when who should I see but my JOB. I'ollers" JOB !" as loud as I 'ead, and a werry nice young gal got in as were that pretty, as cer. could scream, and over he comes, and glad I was, as he walked me off, tingly most of the 'Merrykens is, I will say, and there was a old feller tho' I was aggrawated with 'im for not-a-stoppin' to tell them as I in the 'bus as I didn't fancy, thro' a-seein. as held boen and 'ad 'is 'air were respectable, for their remarks was werty free about me, partik'lar dyed a deep black, as looks worry ghastly. I see 'im a-heyin' that the boys, as seem to me to’ave as much cheek as if they was bred and young gal the same as he'd been a-lookin' at me afore she got in, as born English, as we all knows 18 dreadful bad-mannered when not kep' 'im at 'is distance with one of my looks. Well, he was a-settin' kep in their proper place, as yonng people did ought to be.
Their mothers saw them pale and wan,
Maternal anguish tore each breast, And so they met to find a plan
To set their offsprings' mind at rest.
IN all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.
A silken bandkerchief in twain,
And this without unwholesome strain.
His sabre sometimes he'd employ-
Had terrors for the stalwart boy.
To hew and slash, behind, before-
Who watched him from the Calais shore.
The sight annoyed and vexed him so;
He said so, and he ought to know.
Ce polisson! Oh, sacré bleu !
Comme cela m'ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu
Give no retaliating whack-
Le plomb don't ever hit you back !"
Cut lead and mutton more and more,
Sbrieked loud defiance from his shore. HANCE had a mother, poor and old,
A simple, harmless, village dame, Who crowed and clapped as people told
Of WINTERBOTTOM's rising fame. She said, “I'll be upon the spot
To see my Tommy's sabre-play;" And so she left her leafy cot,
And walked to Dover in a day, PIERRE had a doting mother, who
Had heard of his defiant rage : His ma was nearly ninety-two,
And rather dressy for her age. At Hance's doings every morn,
With sheer delight his mother cried ; And MONSIEUR PIERRE's contemptuous scorn,
Filled his mamma with proper pride.
His constitution was not strong-
Grew thin from shouting all day long.
Said Mrs. Hance, “Of course I sbrinks
From bloodshed, ma'am, as you're aware, But still they'd better meet, I thinks.”
“ Assurément!" said MADAME Pierre. A sunny spot in sunny France
Was hit upon for this affair;
The stakes were pitched by Madame PIERRE. Said Mrs. H., “ Your work you see
Go in my noble boy, and win," “En garde, mon fils !” said MADAME P.
"Allons!” “Go on!” “En garde !" "Begin!'