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MRS. BROWN AT THE OPERA. "Was ever you at the Italian opera, MRS. BROWN?" says MRS. WALTERS to me last week, as I was a-drinking tea along with her, as has a genteel apartment just close by the Middlesex Ospital, thro' being in the straw-bonnet line, as isn't what it were, when I've give a guinea for a Dunstable, as was all the fashion, out of my own pocket, as would turn to the last, and then dye equal to new. So I says, "No, mum," I says, "I never were, tho' I've heerd tell on it often and often, thro' my dear mother's own sister, as had a husband a fireman there night and day, and I know well as she's often heerd them Italians a-doing their music beautiful thro' him. Not as all Italian means music, for I'm sure there's MR. JENNINGS, as keeps the Italian warehouse next door but one to where we used to lodge, there wasn't much music in his hollaring at his 'prentice in langwidge as was downright low-lived, that it was; and as to Italians I don't hold with their ways, as I'm sure had something of a hand in my silver teaspoons, as was took, I may say, under my very nose while they was a-playing of their bagpipes and a-dancing like maniacs broke loose all over the place; but certainly they must be fond on it as I should say." "Oh, yes," says MRS. WALTERS, "it's well known as they is, and I've heard 'em myself and often." "So have I," says I, "and late o' nights, too, a-playing on their orgins thro' the pouring rain, as nobody wasn't a-listening to, so must have been a-doing it for their own amusements." "Well," says MRS. WALTERS, "Would you like for to go and hear the Italian Opera?" "Won't it be late ?" I says. "Oh, no," says she, "we can come away whenever we likes thro' me a-having of a friend as can get us in, and it's close by, not three streets off." "Well," I says, "BROWN can't be here to fetch me till ten at the earliest, and it may be half-past; but," I says, no scrouging and pushing, MRS. WALTERS, if you please." "Oh, dear, no," says she. "I'm glad of that," says I, "for I'm not one for no crowds, as is a deal too free in their ways for me." So when tea was over, and me being refreshed, as is a meal as will do it when beef and mutton won't, MRS. WALTERS says, "There's plenty of time, and we won't have no hurry-skurry." I says, "Not if I knows it; for," I says, "I'm warm clothed, and the least thing would throw me into that violent glow as taking of a sudden chill on might be the death on me;" for thro' the weather a-looking lowery, and being far from settled, and never knowing how to dress, I'd took precautions in my Saxony cloth, as look equal to French merino, a black velvet bonnet, and my Angola shawl. I was warm, not to say hot. So we was a-chatting friendly over a little drop warm, thro' being old friends, as lived oncet in a family in the Regency Park, as she married from. I says, "MRS. WALTERS, mum, what is the name of this here Italian Opera as we're a-goin' to?" "The Prince of Wales's Theatre," says she. "Oh, indeed," I says; "I'm sure I hope they don't go on there as they do at his ma's." "Well," she says, "it was the QUEEN's oncet." "Oh, really," I says. "Yes," says she; "but thro' her 'eavy inflictions she's give it up to the PRINCE OF WALES along with all the other grand things as she don't take no pleasure in now; as I can feel for her, for when I buried WALTERS it seemed as tho' all was took." "Ah!" I says, "poor thing! she takes on dreadful, I'm told, as is nat'ral. I often thinks on her when I sees poor MRS. GIDDINGS, as lives at the back of me, as was left with nine straggling infants, with nothin' to cling to but the mangle, as is dragging her into the grave; and lost two families thro' taking on and not goin' for the work regular." Says MRS. WALTERS, "Why, there goes eight. Bless my heart! how we have been a-chattering.' So as we had our things on we started off, rather too sharp for me, but soon got there, as is a elegant place, and ladies a-goin' in dressed like ball-rooms, as we had to stop till they was in, and was then showed up two pair of stairs quite genteel, and real gentlemen a-standin' about, as was that polite to MRS. WALTERS as makes me say, "Well, to be sure, it's fine to be you," as certainly as a noble way with her, thro' bein' used to quality in working for West-end 'ouses. So we got comfortable seats, tho' there was more light than I cared for, thro' having eyes as is easily infected; but certainly it was lovely-I never see, and the music a-playin', and a sweet pretty picter to look at, and all the ladies and gentlemen down below as looked like a flower-garden, and some on 'em a-looking out of windows, leastways they was like windows in having of curtains but no glass. I says, “Are they the singers?" MRS. WALTERS says, "No-the boxes." "Oh," I says, "indeed." Whatever she meant by boxes I can't think, for just then they pulls up the picter and showed another as was beautiful, the snow a-laying deep, as made it feel quite cool and refreshing where we was, but must be cold for them as lives there. So I asks MRS. WALTERS, "Wherever is it?" She says, "Over there." I says, "Indeed!" I says; "I hopes not among the Hottenpots, as didn't ought to be showed, as I oncet see a Wenus myself of that persuasion as was a sight for quantity; but just as I was a-asking, in come a lot of young gals a-dancing like mad, as their shoes was noisy, but p'raps they did it for to keep theirselves warm, tho' I must say as all the ladies didn't seem to

mind the cold a bit in low necks and short sleeves, and it's well it's no worse, for some of them foreigners don't wear nothing at all, as I've heerd my own godfather say as is their ways over there. I couldn't exactly make out what it was all about, no more couldn't MRS. WALTERS, as the heat makes sleepy; but of course, thro' it's being Italian, wasn't to be looked for. Certainly I never did see nicer-looking young gentlemen, and dressed for all the world like Cheyney ornaments-dears, they was. I wanted to ask MRS. WALTERS about them, but whenever I opened my mouth parties hished and hushed dreadful. Well, one young gentleman, with lovely hair, in particular took my fancy, as spoke out reglar English, and made parties as didn't know theirselves keep busting out a-laughing. I wonder as the young gentleman wasn't hurt; but no, he kep' on a-smiling quite pleasant; and then there come in a young lady-I won't say a fine gal, but certainly a fine ooman, with a 'cad of 'air as was wonderful. Well, when she come for'ard I'm blest if they didn't clap their hands and roar with laughter. I'm sure if it had been me I should have got my temper up, and I wonder it didn't hern, for them foreigners is 'ot-tempered and up in a minit, as I've often heerd them say as has been in them parts; indeed, my own aunt thro' marriage, as never could a-bear the foreigners, thro' having a niece of hern eat by them, as emigrated to South Wales, thro' living in a missionary family, as was all eat down to the baby in the cradle, as couldn't have done nothing to provoke their appetites, being that tender, as is nat' ral. Well, they all got a-dancing and a-singing, as is the ways with them foreigners, and a party come in black, as had a muff on his head, and looked that solemn as I should say he'd known sorrers; and then there was more singing and dancing, and one young fellow he jumped enough for to bring the place down, as was a 'eavenly dancer. But, 'pon my word, my head got a-aching thro' people a-laughing like mad all about; so I says to MRS. WALTERS, "Whatever is there to laugh at ?" I says. "I can't hear a word for them," for with my velvet bonnet I'm rather hard of hearing. So I says to a young chap as was a-setting next me, "I wish as you wouldn't keep a-shouting out in my ear. Whatever is there to laugh at? I can't see nothing to keep a-yelling like that;" for, indeed, the place looked solemn thro' being of a bedroom, leastways I should say a shake-down for a make-shift; and there was the solemn gent a-goin' to bed, when if that fine gal as we'd seen afore didn't come in thro' the winder! "Well," I says, "I never see such boldness in my born days." I says, "MRS. WALTERS, mum, if it don't make no difference to you, p'raps you wouldn't mind a-coming 'ome; for," I says, "it's all very well for Royal families to go on like this," I says, "but I should say as it didn't ought to be allowed. I'm sure as no Queen as is a lady wouldn't have such goin's-on under her nose.' So people begins to hollar from behind, "Set down!" "I shan't," I says; "I'm a-going." Just then a young fellow reaches over and fetched me such a bonneter, as the saying is, that if MRS. WALTERS hadn't have ketched me I should have pitched over. I ups with my umbrella for to give him one back, when it missed, and came down on a old gentleman's bald head as was setting by. "What do you mean by that?" says he. "I didn't go to do it," says I. "Come out!" says MRS. WALTERS, "you're a outraging decency." "What," I says, "ANNA MARIA WALTERS, you turn agin me!" I says; and I was that 'urt as I busted into tears. I says, "You've been and sent a harrow thro' me as will kindle in my bussim to the last." Well, parties hollared so, and MRS. WALTERS she forces me into my seat, where I was a-sobbing fit to break my heart, and didn't take no notice of nothing till after a deal more singing and dancing they dropped a large dark thing. "Well," I says, "MRS. WALTERS, mum, if you please, let me go home." So we was a-going out when the young chap as was close by he bust out a-laughing, and says to another hidjeot, "I'm blest if that old gal ain't took it all in earnest." I says, "You did ought to be ashamed of yourselves a-grinning there." I says, "If I was your mother I'd keep you at home; for," I says, "you ain't fit company for the PRINCE OF WALES, you ain't." But they only grinned the more, and I comes out with MRS. WALTERS, as says, "Whatever made you go on like that? I think you must have been a-dreaming." "Well," I says, "MRS. WALTERS, I don't want no words with you," I says. "Not as I calls it friendly in you to have took up agin me; but," I says, "certainly that opera was uncommon lovely; and no wonder as princes is took with such a lovely gal as that; but why ever she should come a-walking about into people's rooms like that puzzles me." "Oh," says she, "she's a snambler." "A what?" says I. "Why, one as walks in her sleep." I says, "Oh, indeed; why didn't you mention it?" "Well, then," I says, "I'd cure her quick, as is easy done, thro' a-sewing their bedgowns to the ticking, tying of their legs, or even a thorough draught took sudden; but," I says, "in my opinion, them operas ain't much better than plays, and I don't hold with them;" and we was home afore BROWN come, and I never said a word to him, for he's reglar play-mad, and if he was to know as I'd been even to the opera he'd be always wanting to drag me about to theayters, as don't suit my complaint, so I don't go.

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ROTTEN-BOW.

10

A DAY'S RIDE.

A LIFE'S ROMANCE, IN THREE TABLEAUX.

HERE'S a tempting bit of greenery-of rus in urbe scenery-
That's haunted by the London "upper ten;"

Where, by exercise on horseback, an equestrian may force back

Little fits of tedium vitæ now and then.

Oh, the times that I have been there, and the types that I have seen there

Of that gorgeous cockney animal, the "swell,"

And the scores of pretty riders (both patricians and outsiders)

Are considerably more than I can tell.

When first the warmer weather brought these people all together,
And the crowds began to thicken through the Row,

I reclined against the railing on a sunny day, inhaling

All the spirits that the breezes could bestow.

And the riders and the walkers, and the thinkers and the talkers,

Left me lonely in the thickest of the throng.

Not a touch upon my shoulder-not a nod from one behelder-
As the stream of Art and Nature went along.

But I brought away one image, from that fashionable scrimmage,
Of a figure and a face-ah, such a face!

Love has photographed the features of that loveliest of creatures
On my memory, as Love alone can trace.

Did I hate the little dandy with long whiskers (they were sandy),
Whose absurd salute was honoured by a smile?

Did I marvel at his rudeness in presuming on her goodness,

When she evidently loathed him all the while?

Oh, the hours that I have wasted, the regrets that I have tasted,
Since the time (it seems a century ago),

When my heart was won instanter by a lady in a canter,
On a certain sunny day in Rotten-row!

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GENT (decisively).—I must give it up. I never could guess a conundrum.

AUG.-No, no, I don't mean that! All I wish to remark isGENT.-Oh, don't say all, because I feel that I could go on listening to you for years-for centuries!

AUG.-But how should you manage about food?

GENT (timidly).-I fancy that a half-quartern loaf and a little porringer of water from the neighbouring brook would suffice for my daily wants.

AUG.-It shall be arranged. And now let us return to the breezethe river, the barges, and those few portions of the Thames Embankment which are already visible above the undulating surface of theGENT.-I say, did you ever try to write a book?

AUG. (after a pause).-I cannot remember the incident. Why?, GENT. Because-but, no, I never could guess a conundrum. Go home, admirable young man, and write original poems without an instant's delay. Bring me several of them in three days. My name is LONGMAN, or else MURRAY, I forget which, but it's in the Directory somewhere.

AvG. (emptying his pockets).-And I-fool that I am-have left my Directory at home.

GENT.-Never mind, here's my card. Young man, the path to fame lies before you. In three months the whole of Europe will resound with your praises.

AUG.-Oh, horror!-I mean, oh, rapture! My generous benefactor, how can I repay this kindness?

GENT.-By-but, no, I never could guess a conundrum. Now I indeed feel what it is to be a publisher.

TABLEAU.-The boat stops.

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AUG.-A conviction once formed is like the South American anaconda, which coils itself into inextricable knots, and then refuses to yield to external pressure.

LADY.-Sir, you have an encyclopaedic mind. I once had an uncle whose mind was nearly as encyclopædic as yours. He is gone, though, and I am left alone in the world to be trodden on-especially the corns.

AUG. (passionately).-Is there no remedy? MR. EISENBERG has extracted

LADY.-Your suggestion comes like a ray of light across a path where all was dark before. If the devotion of a lifetime

AUG. (kneeling).-Then you accept the poet's love? My lot is humble, but we will share it together.

LADY.-I will work for you, slave for you. I will take in washing.
I will-
CONDUCTOR (outside).-Paddington!

TABLEAU.-Omnibus draws up.

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AUG. (enjoying his confusion).-I can.

confidential. I am rich, but honest.
STRANGER.-Then do. The information will be considered perfectly

AUG.-Then make it worth my while and you shall know everything. Listen, old man. This morning I was friendless, hopeless, destitute. I now possess the plighted word of a young and lovely female-at all events, a female-who is shortly to be mine. In three months I shall have achieved a proud position in the world of letters, andSTRANGER.-Hold hard! I've heard something very like this in a stage-play.

AUG. Of course you have. It's the business of the drama to hold the mirror up to nature, to show vice her own image, &c. But let us talk about me. I was thinking that money

STRANGER (smiling).-Come, come, I see what it is. Young people will be young people, so I forgive you, Harry; and if our kind patrons will only- Ah, you should have seen JACK BANNISTER, young man. AUG. And the money?

STRANGER (pulling out a pocket-book).-Take it, marry and be happy. Buy a semi-detached villa, and get as much horse exercise as possible. How about London? Shall we soon be there?

AUG. (pocketing the bank-notes).-It strikes me that you're in the wrong train. We are going away from London, liberal but careless old man! TABLEAU.-Train goes on.

FROM OUR STALL.

MISS BATEMAN's father, made his debut as an aged Welsh harper, and delivered a curse with startling melodramatic effect.

The new operatic burlesque at the Strand, Windsor Castle, is the

Apropos of music, I hear that L'Africaine is to be produced this season at Covent Garden. We have heard the opera, and, therefore, know how noble an enjoyment is preparing for amateurs and artists.

ODE.

BY AN IMPECUNIOUS POET.

How fresh and innocent the breeze
That skims the morning milk, and meads!
It hovers now among the trees,
And then to other spots proceeds.

I love the air so calm, so cool,

That breathes upon my fevered brow.
It wakes my appetite; poor fool,

No sooner are the early gooseberries pendent from their uninterest-work of MR. BURNAND. It is founded on the romance of the same ing stalks or branches than our stall begins to be too hot to be comname by MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. It is full of the fun, pun, wordfortable, and we envy the ladies that cool costume that has no burden of cravat, collar, coat, or waistcoat over the neck and shoulders. The catching, and wit peculiar to its author's other efforts. Our limits will not permit us to describe it at length; but it must be mentioned atmosphere of a theatre is stifling in the extreme. There are the gas-that it is an operatic burlesque-that is, that all the music is original, lights above us and the horsehair below. Some of the springs in the and that MR. FRANK MUSGRAVE has composed such sparkling melodies seats of the stalls are broken; there is one seat in one stall-we will and quaint concerted pieces as to induce a hope that this sort of enternot mention its number-from which we have suffered martyrdom. tainment will become naturalized among us. The pleasantest production of the past week has been a comic drama at the Prince of Wales's Theatre. The title of War to the Knife has a thoroughly melodramatic sound about it, and savours more of the old Queen's Theatre, when it was devoted to such pieces as The Dying Words of Bill Jones; The Maniac's Last Curse but One; The Seven Scaffolds of Schwartzburg; Bosen Billy, and the Flag that Braved a Thousand Years and never Surrendered to a Foe; or, The Executioner's Daughter; Jonathan Wild's Son, and True Blue for Ever,-than of the elegant time of modern extravaganzas; nevertheless, it treats of modern social life in quiet, orderly Bayswater. The belligerent parties are a fashionable swindler and two ladies. A kick injudiciously given at an improper time and place by the fashionable swindler to a humble but dishonest greengrocer, rouses beneath the greengrocer's vest a hatred which would almost seem incompatible with his peaceful vegetable calling. It is needless to say that the fashionable swindler comes to grief. Two ladies against one man are long odds, to say nothing of the greengrocer. The characters in the drama are Captain Chisleton (MR. SIDNEY BANCROFT), the fashionable swindler; John Blunt (MR. DEWAR), an honest Somersetshire gentleman; Mr. Harcourt (MR. MONTGOMERY), weak-minded, though married, and apt to be led away by clubs and captains from the conjugal tête-à-tête and domestic tea-urn (as the author, MR. BYRON, might say, he is not of a domestic tea-urn of mind); Nobley, the greengrocer (MR. JOHN CLARKE), selfish though dishonest, and tipsy though revengeful; Mrs. Harcourt (MISS FANNY JOSEPHS), too charming; Mrs. Delacour, a young widow (MISS MARIE WILTON), charming too; Parson and Trimmer (MISS LAVINE and MISS BELLA WILTON), Arcades ambo, i.e., ladies' maids, both of inquiring minds and matrimonial proclivities. The piece was capitally acted, the audience were highly pleased, and, it is to be presumed, the author was too-at least he looked very pleased when he bowed his acknowledgments from the stage. Many morals may be deduced from War to the Knife. Here are a few never marry a woman who had a sweetheart before she saw you; never keep quinine in the drawing-room, it is a temptation to the visitors; never go to sleep in presence of a lady unless she be your wife, and as such, entitled to every inattention; never eat seventeen bundles of asparagus in a week; never kick a greengrocer who waits at table, you might hurt yourself; never have shares in a bank that is shaky; never defraud nobody; pay your own debts-if you can't, get somebody else to pay them for you; lastly, get married, affectionately if you can, but get married.

Of the revival of SHAKESPEARE'S Twelfth Night at the Olympic we cannot speak except in terms of dispraise. We elect, therefore, not to speak of it at all, hoping that it is one of those mistakes that will not occur again.

The story of Geraldine, the new tragic play at the Adelphi, had it been clothed in modern garb would have made an excellent sensation drama. A proud and beautiful heiress, in the absence of her betrothed, becomes a hunchback. She dreads to meet her lover's eyes, and when she does so, offers to annul the marriage contract. But the lover is a true gentleman, and insists on taking for richer and for poorer, for handsomer and uglier. They are married. An insidious priest whose utter villany would confirm MR. WHALLEY in his rather strong convictions-persuades the wife that her husband and her sister love each other. The wife thinks of her sister's loveliness and of her own deformity-" Haply for I am”—hunchbacked, &c.—and is stung to madness. She enters her sister's bedchamber resolved to murder her. Now all this in coats, trousers, Belgravia or Paddingtonia, among the appliances of every-day life, and made to look probable by allusions to modern manners, would have had a great effect. Unluckily the dramatist has thought proper to lay the scene in Wales, which is a long way off, and in the time of EDWARD THE FIRST, which is still further off, and people care more now-a-days for yesterday's police reports than for legends and stories of the Crusades. We do not say that this is not a want of taste, or that the cry of "ST. GEORGE for Merrie England!" is not preferable to that of "MILL for Westminster!" only that the success of a play depends considerably on its being well-timed and on its date and costume. The Colleen Bawn and Arrah-na-Pogue would have been less successful in the year 1800 than in 1862 and 1865. MISS BATEMAN plays the heroine of the play with sweetness in its earlier portions, and with great energy and power in the two last acts. Miss CLARA DENVIL'S performance of the innocent sister was also highly commendable. MR. BATEMAN,

I'd break my fast, but don't know how.

For, ah! the wind, I love so well,
Unfeeling mocks me while I praise it,
Because I cannot-cannot tell

What means I can adopt to raise it!

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

A QUERIST. We really cannot inform you what is intended by the term, to balance his books. a literary effort," unless it alludes to a gentleman attempting AN ITALIAN SCHOLAR.-As you surmise, the expression, "Aw ri, ole f'ler! (hic)" may be described as being spoken sotto voce. POETICUS is anxious to know when morning breaks. He should apply to "The Registrar for the Day" at the Court of Bankruptcy. A CORRESPONDENT, who has neglected to sign his name, states that he sends us "The Forgettings of a Defective Memory" as a series of interesting recollections. Unluckily he has omitted to enclose the MS. When he recollects himself perhaps he will remember what he has not done.

PARSEE wishes to know whether we have ever met with "Caou Tchouc, or the Indian Robber." We have never rubbed shoulders with him to our knowledge.

A MAN OF THE TIMES.-We have not got the book in question; but we venture to guess that you will find on reference to it that the REV. NEWMAN HALL, subsequently raised to the peerage as LORD LYVEDEN for his able editing of the Art Journal, is not related to the Egyptian Halls, and only very distantly connected with the Marble Halls of Bohemia.

POLLY TIX.-We agree with you that M.P.ricism is only another name for quackery very often.

TAN-HAUSER is anxious for information as to the removal of freckles.

Loosen the epidermis round them gently with a spade, sprinkle cayenne over the spot, pot them out as soon as they begin to strike, and tell PICKFORD to call for them in a few days. This is neverfailing.

AN ANTIQUARY.-The motto of the Ancient and Honourable Com

pany of Parcels Delivery is "Packs vobiscum."

STUDIOUS. The best naturalists acquit the London sparrow of intentional cynicism in the manner in which he applies the term "cheep" to every relation of life.

A FELLOW OF THE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY.-The society is about to give a dinner-table show, and we can see no reason why your proposal for a canine exhibition should be set aside. It has stronger claims on the support of the society than the dinner-tables, because we have all of us seen dog-roses; but then, tables have leaves, you see.

Proverbial Philosophy.

A YOUNG friend of ours, whose opinions derive a tinge of bitterness from the beer he imbibes, says that although it is quite true that "one swallow does not make a summer," a summer like this makes one Swallow-a good deal of liquid.

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