MR. T. C-RL-LE.-Excellent, I tell thee, is Music.
MR. J. E. Ow-NS-Jesso, jesso!

MR. T. C-RL-LE.-Excellent, and of quite endless worth, and significance; not to be neglected under stern penalties enforced by Nature herself and the Eternal Veracities. And yet, ach Himmel, if thou wilt but think of it, my bewildered human brother-nay, if thou still canst think, thou, with thy Conservative Reactions, Triple Murders, Atlantic Cables, and other the like portents-from the old Song-voices, resonant-prophetic, of bard or king, down, and ever more down, though mere mellifluous cadences and infinite scales, chromatic or otherwise, to thy songs, oh! my forlorn brother yonder, what a road have we

come!

MR. H. S-DN-Y.-"But it's always best to take things
In a quiet sort of way!"

Two SHOPBOYS.-Brayvo, 'ARRY! Angcore!

MR. C. D-CK-NS.-Chops? I believe you! Why, there never were such chops! The poor outcast, as he heard them frizzle, turned mournfully away. Oh, there are tears which outcasts shed, so sad, so bitter, and so full of woe, that Pharisees themselves might feel a dim remorse and give the footsore tramp a hearty meal!

MR. W. C-LL-NS.-True! and that reminds me of a story. The old turret clock of Pencrime indicated a quarter to three, when silently and with a stealthy step

MR. C. SLOMAN (sotto voce).-A literary gent I see, and when his face I scan, I think you'll all agree with me, that he's a 'ansome man, ri fol de rol

MR. H. S-DN-Y (very loudly indeed).—

"But it's always best to take things

In a quiet sort of way."

THREE WAITERS.-Brayvo, brayvo!

MR. J. L. TOOLE.-So I said to His Royal Highness

I don't 'old with, and you may call me a superstitious old woman," I ses, "as is rude and imperence, but go there on a Friday," I ses, "is what I will not do.".

MR. M. F. T-PP-R.-So this is the first time that I have been here, and I do perceive that I am even as a fish out of water, for an uncooked mackerel on a plate is a type of fruitless endeavour, and he that is wise in his own conceit lacketh modesty and self-estimation. MR. J. E. Ow-NS.-Jesso, jesso! MR. H. S-DN-Y (louder than ever).—

"But it's always best to take things

In a quiet sort of way."

A VERY QUIET YOUNG MAN INDEED.-Yes; the chops are as good as any in London; the potatoes are as good as any in London; the stout is as good as any in London; and the place is one of the very few in London where a gentleman can have his supper in peace; but there is a certain kind of comic singing which I can't stand. I rather think I shall go away.

THE CHORISTERS."Uprouse ye, then, my merry, merry men." A VERY QUIET YOUNG MAN INDEED.-Ah, here are the boys again! I think I shall stop.

NOTE.

BY A READER OF MAGAZINES.

SOME editors are so very small that they should spell their editorial "We" with two "e"s.

NOTICE.-The Eighth Half-yearly Volume of FUN, being THE FIRST VOLUME OF THE NEW SERIES, will be published on the 9th of September, handsomely bound in

FROM OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT. The last neat thing in "Toilettes:"-The "Gladiateur."

THE DRAMA IN ITS INFANCY. SINCE the universal adoption, by the managers of our provincial theatres, of the "starring" system, we have continually had croakers crying out that we have "no nursery for the drama." As a rule, we are generally inclined to disagree with the croakers, believing that the drama is quite strong enough to hold its own, and at present-though it doubtless might be better-is, all things considered, doing quite as well as can be expected. But we fear we must give in at last, and for once, admit that the croakers are right. Yes; we are now convinced that if the drama really has no "nursery," the sooner the drama sets about building a "nursery" the better! In fact, the drama wants a nursery-can scarcely manage much longer to do without a nurserynot to mention go-carts, bassinets, pap-boats, perambulators, and other family requisites. For we have just learned that "a new aspirant to histrionic honours". -we believe that is the orthodox expression-has recently come out, at the ripe age of-Two! "The Baby Actress," so the advertisement announcing her informs us, "recites and acts whole scenes from SHAKESPEARE;" 80 we may safely presume she goes in for what are called the "leading lines" (in this case we should say "leading-strings") of business! In fact, the "Baby Actress" evidently aspires to the highest walk-or, rather, "toddle "-of the drama. We have not ourselves seen the infant phenomenon, but as we never doubt any statement we find in a showman's advertisement, we will believe "this little wonder excels, by far, any juvenile prodigy that has yet appeared in public."

We can fancy the immense effect she would make in her delivery of Othello's magnificent speech commencing,

"Farewell, the neighing steed."

Or as she probably would render it :

"Tah-tah, the neighing gee-gee."

As Julius Cæsar, she might create quite a new sensation, by upbraiding Brutus, when dealing the assassin's blow, not alone with ngratitude, but with cowardice also, in striking one so young and help

VOL. 1.

THE BAD BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND.

A LAY OF THE RINDERPEST.

ON fish and on poultry you safely can dine;
But to these I'd advise you your meals to confine;
Beware, lest you taste buttock, sirloin, or chine
Of the poisonous beef of Old England;
Beware of the poisonous beef!

The Rinderpest weekly, nay daily, we see
Extending itself in a fearful degree;

For reasons explained by PROFESSOR GAMGEE,
Who lectures on beef in Old England,
Who lectures on poisonous beef!

From whatever infection the plague may arise,
The butcher, before a poor animal dies,
Disregarding the horrible look of its eyes,

Just "sticks" it for beef in Old England,
And sells us his poisonous beef!

It's hard that a fellow is forced to forsake
His dainty aitch-bone and his succulent steak-
But on geese and on salmon a meal he can make,
Though deprived of the beef of Old England,
The juicy and jolly roast beef!

Hints on Etiquette.

THE more distant your friends are, the more you should call-if you want to make yourself heard.

When you take a friend home to dine with you for the first time, count the plate before you let him go home. It saves subsequent awkwardness.

If a friend wants to borrow an umbrella send for a policeman at once, and give him in charge. It will guard against a repetition of the error.

Should you happen in a discussion to find you and your opponent are likely to take opposite views, knock him down at once, for fear you should be led into a quarrel.

THE BILL-STICKER'S MOTTO.-Application.

less. Alluding to her own tender years, the representative of Cæsar might well exclaim :"Et two, Brute !"

As Macbeth, we believe the Baby Actress is perfect. In the "banquet scene" the way in which she feeds herself with a spoon, never so much forgetting herself even as to take it in the "wrong hand," is absolutely marvellous in one so young. In the same scene, we understand, an entirely novel "point" is made. The royal murderer, Macbeth, suddenly startled by the apparition of "the bloodbolter'd Banquo "-whom he, of course, mistakes for "Bogey"-spills his milk-and-water all over his clean pinafore, and cries! We should like to know what full-grown Macbeth even attempted this?

With so very young an artist, of course, nobody heeds whether a little boy or little girl is playing. So we are informed the Baby Actress is equally good in male and female characters. In Lady Macbeth, more especially in the sleeping (we should say the "by-by") scene, she is quite as effective as when she appears as Hotspur, armed to the teeth (we mean the "toosey-pegs").

We have heard nothing of her Hamlet, so cannot say how she renders the character of the princely Dane, bent upon punishing "naughty unky-punky for killing dadda;" but for dancing a sailor's hornpipe, we understand, she can (if she doesn't tumble down) maintain her footing with the best.

Critics vary as to her deserts-some go so far as to say she ought to be "put into the corner till she's good," while others declare she's worth her weight in sugar-plums. Probably, a new drama may be written expressly to suit her. Such a drama, supposing the "Baby Actress" to be well supported by the other characters, may have a run. At her age (accepting the advertisement as true), she could scarcely be expected to run alone!

We have said we have not seen her; therefore, can, personally, give no opinion as to the result of this unnatural forcing of a mere infant's intellect (if, indeed, at two years old there can be such a thing as intellect at all). The Baby Actress may be a marvel of her age; but we can't help thinking that such an exhibition is a disgrace to ours!

HAT tremendous doings at Portsmouth! The visitors were regaled -I believe that is the word-in a most sumptuous while

our

born Britons who went down to see the grand doings nearly starved, and had to pay enormous prices for that. The squash was alarming, but we appear to have acquitted selves well, and there is little to fear in the comparison of hospitalities. The meeting, an evidence of a growing understanding and mutual regard, is important, Prussia and Austria meeting at Salzburg to divide the swag must have looked at the spectacle with small satisfaction. America must feel "riled" at it

too, for France was her chèr ami once. At the same time, while I rejoice at the prospect of peace which such an union holds out to the world, I must confess that I am a little jealous of our national position. NAPOLEON is a very-very clever party, and when he asks you to play a harmony in unison may sometimes delude you after all into playing second fiddle. In a word, I hope our relations with France will be those of Friendship not Frenchship.

LORD LYTTELTON is a nobleman with whom it is my pleasure at most times to agree; and I think his Latin verse admirable. But I don't think he is quite right in his speech delivered at an Industrial Exhibition at Birmingham last week. He makes a deduction from the literature of the day which is a wrong one, and he uses his wrong deduction as an argument for what he calls "the co-operation of the upper and working classes, for the benefit of the latter." Unluckily all that long sentence may be put down briefly in the word "patronage"-and that is hateful. Here is his argument:

"I look at the literature of the day in its lighter and more popular character. The works of fiction, I am very well assured, in which now for many years past the upper classes have taken most pleasure have been those which have purported to deal with the daily life of the classes below them; and taking the converse, I have often been very greatly struck with what I have observed in reference to the literary taste of the poorer classes in London. I walk about the streets of London, when I am there, as much as anybody, and in the humbler streets we see, in these days of cheap publications, the shop windows full of small and cheap works of fiction, and periodicals which circulate among the working classes of London. I would engage to say, that with hardly an exception-I doubt whether there be one in one hundred cases-the subjects of those works of fiction, and the little pictures by which they are illustrated, relate to the lives of the upper classes." His lordship takes this to show "a desire for mutual knowledge and intercourse among different classes." Nothing of the sort! The real fact is, that the working-man knows the real truth too well not to laugh at the "stories of the daily life" of his own class-the most unmistakeable works of "fiction" to him. And his lordship would be too painfully tickled-if not too disgusted-at the stories of wicked marquises and viscountesses who are privately married to their own footmen, which fill the cheap periodicals that circulate among the working-classes. It is their utter ignorance of one another that leads to the two orders of people reading about one another.

POOR "Sam Slick" is gone! He introduced English readers to the Yankee language which is now familiar to us in the pages of Hosea Biglow and Artemus Ward. I am glad, by the way, to see that the latter has made his bow in a shilling form, for I don't think the real fun in him has been quite appreciated yet. Apropos of Americans,

what delightful names they possess! for instance, there's KETCHUM, the absconder (don't they wish they may KETCHUM ?); and I have seen on the title-page of some reprint the name of a publishing firm which was nothing less euphonious than "KIGGINS and KELLOGG." In a land of such patronymics, I suppose "KETCHUM" is an ornary cuss," as A. W. would say, but it would not inspire one with confidence on this side the Big Drink.

WHEN a journal is printed on extra superfine paper, in old faced type, and sells for twopence, one has a right to expect something. But what does the Pall Mall Gazette mean by this sentence?—

"The Star prefers to believe the evidence given in the 'Nafrative of Privations and Sufferings of United States Officers and Soldiers while Prisoners of War in the hands of the Rebel Authorities,' rather than to MR. LAWLEY."

This is a little funny for that "well of English undefiled" which was going-in for knocking penny-a-lining on the head!

MY BROKEN PIPE.

"Gloria mundi fumus."
GONE! and lost to me for ever,
Like a leaf adown a river.
Never more now shall I be,
Happy hour by hour with thee;
Never see the wreathlets blue,
As of old, curl o'er us two.
Thou wert ever by my side,
Constant to me as a bride,
Ere the flowers can fade away,
Worn upon the bridal day.
Though the night was dark and drear,
I was happy-thou wert near;

Though the morn broke cold' and chill,

I was happy-with thee still.

Thou did'st aid my fancy's flight,
Ofttimes on a winter's night;
Made my pen run faster on

When the days of summer shone;
Thou art gone, and nevermore,
As in winter nights of yore,
Shall I see above my head,
Circling cloudlets overspread.
Summer suns shine brightly still,
And the sunset o'er the hill
Was all golden yesternight,
Yet it gladdened not my sight;
Thou wert gone! and what cared I
For the splendours of the sky?
Last night, ere I went to rest,
E'en the poet I love best-
All the witching tales he told-
Had no music as of old;

Thou wert gone! and what cared I
For the grandest poetry?

Still my beer was bright and strong,
And I quaffed it deep and long,
All in vain! The well-filled bowl
Brought no comfort to my soul;
Since hard Fate had bid thee die,
Even beer was mockery!
Poets sing, and sages say,
Deepest grief is not for aye,
That the heart springs up anew,
Like a flower refreshed with dew;
But my heart will keep, I ween,
Thy dear memory ever green;
And affections warm and ripe,
Cluster round my broken pipe!
Earth is wicked, and I know
Man must conquer idle woe;
Fate may frown and friends forsake,
Eyes will weep and hearts will ache;
But the crowning grief of all
That a mortal can befall,
More than friendship's angry looks-
Worse than lending well-bound books-
And as sure as I'm a sinner,
Worse than e'en cold plates at dinner-
Or Woman's vows when falsely spoken-
Is a well-loved pipe that's broken!

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE. ADVENTURES OF NICHOLAS ON THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER, WITH HIS ULTIMATE SELECTION FOR THE ST. LEGER.

MANTON MANOR HOUSE, NORFOLKSHIRE. NATURALLY your sportive readers (and without whom perhaps I am sure that your periodical could hardly have arisen to its proud preeminence over all other organs and vehicles of public and private opinion) will be anxious to know how the old man spent his First of September, than which a more festive occasion, although perhaps a little fatiguing. NICHOLAS will not baulk this laudable curiosity, but prior to his final for the Leger will have a go in at the partridges. Bright chanticleer having proclaimed the morn long before such really arose in the east, NICHOLAS, who is the guest of one of the proudest baronets in Norfolkshire, which is a sufficient answer to the low-bred sneers of my detractors, was aroused at what he cannot call a natural hour, nor will he do so; and, having partook of his bath and some refreshment, sallied forth, as the poet says, "to Freshfield's and pastors knew." The noble Baronet is every inch a British gunner, and though disparaged in the neighbourhood, owing to his having once been in trade, which is no disgrace, is haughty to his inferiors, but never looks on NICHOLAS in such a light. He recognizes the legitimate claims of a man of letters, just like another Baronet, SIR BULWER LYTTON, with his guild of literature. "NICHOLAS, old cock," says the Baronet, "keep your weather eye open," and off we went; but what is the brightest morning when, knowing yourself to be in fashionable society, you have put on tight boots, and are not exempt from that incubus of humanity-a corn? To say that NICHOLAS endured agony whilst trampling over the stubble would be to underestimate his corporeal woe; but it did the old man's heart good to see how the pointer-dogs worked across the fields, erecting of their tails in a manner to which railway signals are anomalous and obscure; and when he had taken a little drop of sherry wine from a flask his eyes began to glisten.

They were still glistening when Carlo suddenly pointed, and Don immediately pulled up like a regular well-bred one as he is; and to this glistening NICHOLAS would attribute his failure when the covey rose. Score (please print as wrote, MESSRS. JUDD and GLASS)::

The shooting continued in this relative proportion during all the morning, for NICHOLAS is not the man to claim credit for himself where none is due, and at my comparatively advanced period of life, combined with corns and want of practice, it was hardly to be expected that he should shoot like a young EARL OF Aberdeen.

Well, we pulled up under a hedge, where the Baronet, like a finehearted old English sportsman as he is, and it is quite as respectable to make money in trade as to have it bequeathed by feudal ancestors, had ordered lunch to be brought round. I am writing under the same hedge to-day, which will account for my not being able to pay so much attention as usual to the merely literary elegance of my composition, and hope that any faults of authorgraphy may be excused. Like most of our landed gentry, the Baronet is not averse to the pleasures of the table, and what we had was quite like a picnic without the bother of having any women to wait upon, an occupation delightful to the young, but frivolous to a man of NICHOLAS' period and taste. There was a pie, and chickens, and ham, and lobster salad, and deuced little we left of it, and we laid in pretty well to some capital champagne-wine and bottled stout, though the mixture was more agreeable at the time than subsequent, being all very well for the Baronet, who is used to high living, but unsuited to a man who, bar a little warm gin and water now and then, never takes anything stronger than sherry wine.

Lunch being over, my noble host set off again like a regular Nimrod, and knocked over several more brace of partridge-birds in the twinkling of a bedpost; but my occupations having been a good deal sedentary, invariably the case with men of letters, NICHOLAS thought, being a little on, that he would "let digestion wait on happy tight!" and so I took a snooze. The total score (partridge-birds only):

This is rather a poor bag for the crack-shots on the first of September; but the sportive public will see that one of the guns was exceedingly unlucky, being taken quite unwell during the afternoon. When he felt a little better, NICHOLAS strolled in the direction where he expected to find the Baronet, and on his way he happened to pass a preserve for pheasant birds. Now, he knew very well, no person better, bar none, that it is illegal to kill such before October; but when a bird came flying out of cover my instincts were too strong for me, and I fired. The bird dropped in an instant, just as if it had been shot.

It had; but imagine the horror of your Prophet as a sportive oracle on finding that it was a hen pheasant.

I concealed it as carefully as I could, but got found out by the Baronet, and it led to words, but we were soon reconciled; for, as SR BULWER LYTTON says, or words to that effect, "Do not imagine that these elderly literary gents will be regarded in the light of degraded old paupers by more fortunate students of the Beyewtiful and the Terew!"

Since the First I have been out frequently, and have shot a goodish bit though I will not worry you by details, but proceed at once to THE LEGER.

Here the duty of a Prophet becomes indeed arduous, and being now in comfortable circumstances, thanks to my own talents and integrity, would no longer rack my brains to provide amusement for the sportive public, were it not, Sir, that I really feel quite a fraternal interest in the success of your New Serious, and am always glad to mix with yourself and the other contributors, than whom I am sure a more diverting body of young gentlemen, though perhaps a little inclined not to pay sufficient respect to those whose heads are gray with the ravages of time and care, for it is not because one may be florid in the face that one should not be familiar with sorrow.

Well, then, my noble sportsmen, where are we now? On which side of the Rubicon? To be, or not to be? Reflect well upon the words of NICHOLAS, and invest according, it being consonant with the advice he has given you all along :

If Gladiateur is meant to win, he will; but it will do you no harm to lay a little on The Duke, my boys!

Or, to put it in a poetic form, like POPE's Essay on Man :"If Gladiateur loses by a fluke,

Happy the man who hedged, or backed the Duke!”

NICHOLAS FECIT.

I am still in Norfolk, wallowing in the lapse of luxury.

Answers to Correspondents.

MCQUISKY.-We cannot tell whether usque ad nauseam is identical with usque-bah! which is now being advertised.

C*L*NS*.-Although the various creatures were indebted to NOAH for their place on board you would hardly be justified in speaking of their voyage as an Ark-tick one.

MIGNONNE praises the esprit of the articles in FUN. The esprit, for which she says she cannot find a name, is "Jokey Club." She had better write and ask FELIX SULTANA, of the Harem Deliciarum.

H. S. L. SKYE.-You are H's sell, for your promised contributions are in nubibus, and you are in Skye, where an Irish gentleman connected with the paper says you are taking your aise-sure (azure). AN ADMIRER.-The "Topsy Turvy Papers" are from our correspondent at the Antipodes.

A GOURMAND wishes to know if we can tell him any means of getting up an appetite. We should recommend him to starve for a few days.

GUSHER.-In speaking of a sculptor who has made a successful model of your head and shoulders, it is not incorrect but decidedly unusual to call him " a buster."

A HOUSEWIFE.-You want to know the best way of making tea. Ask your grocer-but it is a sloe process. FRANK B*CKL*ND.-The fish is an eccentric animal. He will have his (s) whim.