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MRS. BROWN AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
Weil, thoy may call it a academy if thoy likes, but it is no more like Ma. Spankbus as I used to wash for as had a blue board and gold letters in the Bow-road than nothing, and as for mo going it was only thro' Mas. Simmons a-wishing to consult one of them "West-end doctors about her throat, and feeling norvous says, "Would you mind for to accompany mo, Mas. Brown, now t" So I says as I would with pleasure thro' her being far from strong, and her own mother being gone to nurse another daughter as is married out at Rotherhitho. So wo went in a cab as was the joltingest as ever I got into, with both windows up, thro' Mas. Simmons's throat, as a draught might have laid hold on. When wo gets to tho doctor's, and wag showed into a elegant room as had picters round about as seemed to speak like, ono gent had a eye like a hawk as seemed to foiler you all ovor the room. I couldn't a-set in that room alono with that picter was it ever so, and was glad when tho gentleman as let us in as I took for the doctor, and began a-telling about Mas. Simmons, as checked'me— too rud«, but never mind, and certainly I never see such kindness as that doctor, never, tho' I was surprised as ho should a-took mo for Mrs. Simmons's mother, as must be sixty if she's a day. It give mo a dreadful turn when I see that doctor a-ramming of drum-sticks, as I should call 'em, down Mrs. Simmons's throat, and am certain as woulii have choked mo, as couldn't oven bear a herring-bone as was near my death. But it did wonders, for, law! she spoke quite clear. So I says, "If ever my throat is bad he's tho man as I'll go to, and that liberal as wouldn't take her money," and away wo goefc So we walks on slow, for I says, "Mus. Simmons, mum," I says, " Cabs is cabs, and runs into money;" so I says, "I don't see why a omblibus shouldn't do." So she was agroeable, and we wanders on, and took a bun, as is choking work if it hadn't been for a glass of ale, and I must say them West-end streets is wide and shady; and when we como near Charing-cross I see partios going up some steps, so I says to the policeman, " Whatever is a-going on here?" "Oh," he says. "it's the Royal 'Cademy!" "Oh," I says, "indeed! What, where,' I says, "tho young princes goes to school, I presumes?" Well, he seemed to smile, and says, "No, as it wore all picters." "What!" I says, " Royal picters!""' "Yes," says ho. "Oh, indeed!" I says. "Well," I says, "can any ono go in?" "Yes," ho says, "any one as pays a shilling." "Well," I says, "that ain't much for to see the Royal picters, as must be awful grand." So Mus. Simmons and mo agrees to go up, and there was sentries a-standing guard, so wo pays the money and goes in; not as I held with my umbrella being took away, and there's more stairs outside and in than I cares for; but certainly tho picters was lovely with their gold frames a-gleaming, as the saying is. "Why," I says, " they must bo worth millions. No doubt that's the reason they has soldiers to guard them." Mrs. Simmons she bought a book all about 'em as she would havo read to me, only parties kep' a-shoving and a-driving, and mo not having my glasses couldn't read for myself. I suppose as there ain't no ono but ladies and gentlemen as goes to them picters, but of all tho shoving and driving sets as ever I camo a-noar thoy boat 'em. I says, "Wherever aro you a-coming to?" "Wo wants to see the Royal picters," says a young gal. "So do T,"I says; "so wherever is tho use of driving any one in tho back like that;" and certainly that Royal pictor was lovely, for all tho world exactly like tho waxwork as I see at tho Baker's bazaar, as is roglar lifo all but breathing. Well, this "Royal Marriage" is very near as handsome, tho' it don't look so grand thro' being small. Mus. Simmons says to mo, "In my opinion tho Queen didn't ought to have gone like that." I says, "Wherccvor is tho Queen?" "Why," says she, "the widder lady up in the window." "Go along," I says. "Why she ain't got no crown on." "No," sho says, "that's her way,"she always is in weeds." "All!" I says, "some doe3 go on like that. I'm suro if anything was to 'appon to Brown, weeds would be my constant potion; not as I holds with weeds at a wedding; that's the reason, p'raps, as sho have put on that bit a blue for to take off tho black." "Oh!" says a young chap as was a-standing there, "that's the gartor." I says, "Young man," I says, "however dare you mention such a thing aforo ladies P You did ought to be ashamed of yourself." But he only giggled like a jackass, as I soe he was. Well, I was a-standing looking at the picter, tho' I'd seen one just like it all but tho eolours afme in the 'Lmtrnus Penny Paper as wa takes in. I gays to Mrs. Simmons, "Did ever you soo such 'eaps of parsons? Ono would think it was a misshnory moetin'." I says, "They can't 'avo much to do." Well, a stout party as was standing near says to ono of them very parsons, "As she couldn't soo nothing cos of this fat old woman as ^6is been sticking horo all tho morning." I says, " Who are you a calling fat? I'm sure you'd better look at home for fat." So the parson ho says, "My good woman, don't bo offensive." I says, "Offensive!" I says, " I scorns your words;" and I says, " As to sticking, I shall stick horo as long as I please; and I think if you was at homo a-proaching of your sermons you'd be
better employed than a-idling away your time horo." I says, "Offensive! if you come to that ycu'ro none so agreeable," and I walks off in a huff. "Well," I says, "Mrs. Simmons, I don't think much of those picters; givo me wax-work as is moro natural." She says} " Oh, I wants to Sjo the Prince Of Wales," So Wo goes to whero ha was a-'anging; and I never did—not a bit like the beautiful young gentleman in the velvet and whiskers as was being married, but a poor sick thing, as I says to Mas. Simmons, "If he was a child of mine, asses' milk would be the word with mo." Then there was horses and dogs all over the place, and picters of ladies and gentlemen as wore frill and velvets, with their boots a-shining like anything, and there was bishops as looked as tho' in pain, pertiklcr ono as they call tho Bishop Of London, as will bo apoplexy very shortly if he will waar that stock, and there was another bishop as I took for a lady, thro' having of a red gownd and no crinoline, with clean muslin sleeves* And wo met a lady as was very friendly, and knowed all about tha picters and them as painted 'em. 1 says, "It's very tiring," I says, "to tho eye to have to look up. Why ever do they hang up there?" "Oh," sho says, "them picters isn't 'Cademicians." "Oh," I saysj "I supposo done by the day boys?" She only laughs and says as "There is a many as tries all their lives to get hung and can't." I says, "You may well say that; but," I says, "they hardly ever hangs any one now-a-days." Well, wo sat down, we talked quite pleasant, for my feet was that shooting like jobbing daggers, and I really felt quite of a whirl, and was that sorry as I hadn't no refreshments with mo, for picters is dry work, and then Mrs. Simmons got in a fidget to be getting homo, so we hadn't time for to study them like, but seo one as give me quite a turn. Mrs. Simmons said as it was a sacred one* but I should say it was the old
fentleman with a pair of yellow horn* a-branching out each sido; so was a-pointing 'em out to Mas. Sixmowb when up come a Jack-in-offico of apolicoman and says, " If Isee you do it again you'll have to step it." "Step what ?" I says. "Why," says he, " I've been a-watching you a poking and a-pointing all tho way round tha room." Well, just then a lady hollars out, "Oh, T'm robbed!" It give mo such a turn. She says, "My porlmoney is gone, and this old woman's been afollbwing me everywhere." I thought I should have dropped, for the policeman takes hold of mo, and poor Mas. Simmons sho was ready to faint, and there was such confusion, and they was a-talking of searching mo, and T don't know what, when all of a sudden tho party as said she was robbed hollars out, "No, Tvo got it." "Wall," I says, "you did ought to be ashamed of yourself;" I says, " I won't stop in such a den of wagabones. It's my opinion as you looks more liko a thief than a horse yourself, mum," and so I bounced out of the place, and, bless yc, if I hadn't been and dropped tho ticket for my umbrella, and they wouldn't givo it mo, as in my opinion is all part of their swindling ways; and when wo got out we was both that faint as wo couldn't move a 'step, so was compelled to havo a cab homo, and all I've got to say it's my belief as that 'Cademy is a humbug altogether, and I'm sure they don't learn no manners there, and as to their picters I'd rather soo 'em quiet in the lustrous papers as I can onjoy in my own house.
A MODEL ADVERTISEMENT.
We aro happy to give a kind word to rising talent, and havo much pleasure in calling attention to a very neat thing in the advertising lino to be found in tho Times of Tuesday, tho 9th :—
T>OOMS wanted by two gentlemen living a few miles out of town—two small ** bedraoras and one slttiaff-rooiB fur occasional use for the next three or four months. The bedrooms may be anywhere, but the sitting-room must be on the ground floor. The attendance mu*t be perfect, and tho rooms and servants must be scrupulously clean and neat. Regular lodging-house keepers with wretched furniture and overworked servants always dirty arc politely requested not to answer this advertisement. Address, etc.
Although this is a decided improvement in tho literaturo of advertisement (which is rapidly bocoming tho literature of the day) it is not exactly what it desires, "tho attendance" to be—perfect. There is a vagueness as to tho locality in which tho lodgings are roquired, and a looseness of statement as to tho whereabouts of the bodroorn-s, which might lead to awkward consoquonces. What would tho two gentlemen say if the two bedrooms wore in tho moon or in the middle of next week, or in posse 'i Perhaps the gentlemen would not object to Buckingham Palace or Stafford llouso '<
By An Old Bachelor.
Most contradictory, past doubt, Tho sex, through thick and thin;
For now, though crinoltno3 go out, The skirts are coming in!
Written In Deep Dejection.
Once, in the gardens of delight,
I plucked the fairest, fullest rose; But (while I prest its petals tight
Against the threshold of my nose) That loathsome centipede, Remorse,
Invaded with a stealthy tread My nasal organ, and of course
Soon reached the middle of my head.
That hideous tenant crawls and creeps
Ahout the chambers of my brain, He never pauses—never sleeps—
Nor thinks of coming out again. The rustling of his hundred feet
Is gentler than the autumn breeze; But I dislike to feel him eat
My cerebellum by degrees.
With snuff, tobacco, Preston salts,
Garlick and other potent smells, I strive to fumigate the vaults
In which the devastator dwells. I pull my hair out by the root—
I dash my head against the door— It only makes the hateful bruto
A trifle noisier than before.
Then tell me not that Joy's bright flower
Upon this cankered heart may bloom, Like toadstools on a time-worn tower,
Or dandelions on a tomb.
For briny tears may naught avail;
By dropping salt upon its tail!
We are quite sure that nobody will be able to read Mr. Hefwokth Dixon's new book without feeling a strong wish to see that gentleman continue his researches in Palestine. His description of Jerusalem is perfect; and oh! if he would only go to Jericho!
(the End Of The Story.)
So the amiable Cinderella was married with due ceremony to the young Prince who had fallen in love with her glass slippers. The wedding breakfast was a "blaze of triumph'' (as the playbills have it), and the bridegroom returned thanks in a speech that everybody thought lovely, when they proposed his health with musical honours. The happy pair then drove off for the vale of Cashmere, where they intended passing the honeymoon.
It was growing dark when they pulled up at the foot of Mount Caucasus to change horses. The Prince was asleep and snoring, so Cinderella was left to her own reflections. She already began to repent of tho ingratitude she had shown in not inviting her fairy godmother to tho wedding. True, the poor old soul was horribly ugly, and her grammar was not what it might have been; but she had behaved very well to Cinderella. Moreover, the Princess felt a little frightened; for those fairies can be awfully vindictive when they think themselves slighted, as every schoolboy knows. These fancies brought on a sovere attack of nerves; and, when tho carriage drew up in front of tho Grand Hotel at Cashmero, the Prince awoke to find his fair companion in a very sulky temper. The bride herself, when she alighted, was horror-struck at perceiving a peculiar sensation in tho little toe of her right foot. Could it be possible that one of her slippers was, after all, too tight for her? Could it be possible that her horrid, spiteful, old fairy godmother—but tho mere thought of such a thing put her in a worse temper than before.
Threo days later the Princess Cinderella had a corn, and under this affliction she made no attempt to conceal her ill-humour. The Prince grew alarmed at such a change in a character formerly so amiable. Ho could scarcely believe that this was tho charming creature who had waltzed so beautifully at that memorable courtball.
-• The corn grew and grew. At the end of the honeymoon Cinderella was no longer able to wear her pretty glass slippers, but had to shuffle about the house in a pair of fist ones, much too big for her. She had been forced to confess everything to the Prince, who now began to treat her with marked coolness. On her return homo Cinderella found her two sisters comfortably married and settled—a fact which . she scarcely welcomed in tho sisterly way that might have been I expected; in fact, her envy grew beyond bounds when she saw the affectionate manner in which tho two ladies were treated by their husbands. She did all in her power to annoy them, and they never by any chance dared to Bhow themselves at Court. Tho dear old Baron began to get very shaky in health, and had been unlucky in mining speculations; but Cinderella returned his begging letters unopened, and the poor gentleman would have been driven into the workhouse had it not been for tho filial devotion of his two other daughters.
Still the com grew and grew, until no chiropedist in the world could make anything of it; and oven the great Eiseneerg—who brought testimonials from Prester John and the Caliph Haroun-al-raschid —mildly but firmly refused to operate. Tho Princess, driven almost wild by tho agony she endured, fell gradually into habits of intemperance; and her husband—a strict teetotaller—was at length forced to take legal proceedings in order to rid himself of a partner whose habits and disposition were insupportable. A separation was the result of the trial; and Cinderella, driven from the palace during a fit of intemperance, was only rescued frcni abject misery by the fatter whom she had treated so basely.
The unhappy Princess dragged on a few years of misery, supported by her forgiving sisters, and expired suddenly ono morning while raising to her lips a bottlo of the most pernicious and destructive stimulant. Her history teaches us that glass slippers form no certain foundation for happiness, and that ingratitude is the most unpardonable of all vices—excepting, perhaps, insobriety.
Sensation Dramas for the Back Drawing-Room.
THE MESOPOTAMIA^ MILKMAN;
Lawks a Dairy Me:
An Original Drama. For characters see small bills, left with the Treasurer. [Hie sttne is laid in the mountains of Mesopotamia. Central Africa, supported by Captain Bichard Burton and Involuntary Contributions, is seen pining in the distance. The begum, the gum-gum, the gumarabic, and the gum-boil are dispersed about the stage, cauliflowers recline H.C., and the Gulf of Finland is beheld struggling out of sight opposite Prompt. As the curtain rises the gentleman on the cornet is discovered to be absent. Some hours are spent (lavishly) in trying to discover his whereabouts, and though he is found himself, his whereabouts still remain a mystery throughout the drama. Slow music takes the curtain up, but nobody supporting the charge it is let of. So is a piece of ordnance.]
Opening Chorus of Invisible Spirits.
And so on had in fine-night 'urn. 1st Spirit.—Speak, sister, speak, is the deed dun? 2nd Spirit.—No, 'tis yellow. 1st Spirit.—Oh, of course; suflicient.
(X.B. This is for the present somewhat vague, but the sequel will explain.)
Enter the Princess with her temper up and her hair down.
Princess.—Nay, do not attempt to silenco me with your well-known eloquence.
Khan.—Bash girl, forbear. You cannot marry.
Pkincks8.—Indeed! And why, pray? I am of age.
Princess.—Father, yon arc
(Starts, but almost immediately returns.)
Princess.—I see it all.
Khan.—/ don't see any of it. It's gone!
Princess.—My royal mother's?
Khan.—She had it on her finger—she turned for a moment, and when she turned back again it was gone! Princess.—Awkward!
Khan.—Without that wedding-ring your legitimacy cannot be proved, and, in consequence, you cannot succeed! Princess (heroically).—Then I'll fail!
Khan (drops a tear C).—Even that would not suffice to satisfy the public.
Princess.—Then Til give up all hopes of becoming queen, and marry
Khan.—The Mcsopotamian Milkman! Girl, would you see me a blighted nightmare at your feet? Princess.—Certainly not. But he loves me.
Khan.—A milkman marry the daughter of a Khan! Where did you meet him?
Princess.—On the steppes. He is poor, but honest.
Khan.—His milk is poor also. But, hush! your royal mother is here.
Enter a Eoyal Mother. Botal Mother.—Why did I ever see the light of day? (Koyal Mother raves, then goes on, after that flies out, and finally exit, overcome with emotion. K.B.—This gives a thoughtful performer a rare epportunily for delicate, manipulative management of whatyoueallem effects, and thingembob shades of et catera. The author
pinkish wig, and if the actress can manage to pmrtray the varying phases of the character without being seen by the audience, so much the worse.)
Princess.—Put him to the test!
(Music from the comic ballet of Hannibal and Amilker, composed by the author of Milky White and Creamorne Gardens; or, Harlequin Chalk Farm, and Bobbin' a Dairy. The Mcsopotamian Milkman enters with his pails, and does a pas de doo, or swindling dance, accompanying himself arm in arm.)
Mesopot. M.—The afternoon's milk. Shall I put it down?
Mesopot. M.—Tyrant! You mistook my meaning. I meant, should I leave it.
Khan.—Look here, you know. Don't call me a tyrant, because I don't like it.
Mesopot. M.—Well, you are a tyrant; also a despot.
Khan.—-Who said I wasn't?
Mesopot. M.—/ didn't.
Khan (d la lior).—Very well, then.
Mesopot. M. (a la Cox).—Very well, then.
Princess (a la nobody in particular).— Uncommonly well, then.
Mesopot. M.—Beauteous one!
Khan.—I am beauteous; but that's neither here nor there.
Mesopot. M. (after reflecting deeply).—Take a drop of milk?
(The Mcsopotamian Milkman pours the Khan a mugful of milk out of hit pail. Tremulous music. The Princess looks askance, then aslant, and eventually askew, finally taking refuge in a chronic squint, smiles diabolically, and is happy.)
Khan.—Should there be chalk in my potion death is thy potion—I mean portion.
Enter the Boyal Mother, L.K. She watches the business of the scene, and appears affected, not to say unnatural. Khan.—Now the king drinks to Hamlet. Enter Hamlet, who acknowledges the compliment, and retires into private life amidst a brilliant shower of toothpicks. Khan.—Oh!
(Stops the Khan from choking.) Khan.—He has saved my life; but in consequence of the discovery of a bit of choke-—I mean chalk—in the royal milk, ho dies. (Ballet of Executioners from the last axe of " The Headless Horseman;" music by Chopin'.)
Boyal Mother (at the right moment).—Stay, let me see that bit of
(Seizes it—scrunches it—discovers something m it—weeps.) Boyal Mother.—The ring!
Khan, Princess, And Executioners.—Oh! I see it all. Somebody stole the ring, and in his agitation dropped it in the flowering chalk-pits which fringe our royal dominions. Natures like these show us monarchs that we are but men after all, and before the rest, thero is a flower that bloomoth; Colenso may say what he likes; Tupper may do as he pleases; Constantia Neville may marry the—person unmentionable in polite circles; May and December can never agree; May dresses private theatricals capitally; Bryant And May make excellent matches, which is more than I can say of my daughter, who of course must marry the Mesopotamian Milkman on the spot; and if our kind friends will promiso not to overlook our many shortcomings, and also never to come again, why everything will be wanting to complete the felicity of the
Brilliant Distlay Op Foo,
HOLLO BOYS! Wis observe that Miss Adah Menkin hag given place to Guy Mannering on the boards of Astley's Theatre. People must find it hard to determine which is the greater Guy of the two.
TO THE EDITOR OF TON.
Dear Sir,—Hotten-row is a thing not easy to describe, and very difficult to imagine—that is, with the pen. With the pencil everything is easy—except to a professional artist. Who could give a wordpainting of Rotten-row? The light, the air, the motion, the green leanness above and below that seems to pass by you as you trot or gallop! Everybody knows what Rotten-row is like.
but, oh! the Row is a terrible place—at least for bachelors who are impressionable. Those forms, those riding-habits, those hats, those whips, those gauntlets, and those eyes! Is not a habit a wonderful thing to sco as it flutters in a gentle breeze ?" Gin a body meet a body coming down the Ride; gin a body smile a body canters by her side." What is there like a gallop to dissipate the fumes of last night's ball? And if she—Adoranqelabellica, or whatever her name may be—is equally au fait in the pigskin as in the rkux-temps, in the saddle as in the ball-room, how your heart sinks at the inevitable " Good morning" that, like death, dinner, and going to bed, muBt come at last. That all that is bright must fade is, I believe, one of the few observations that has never been contradicted. Few persons have dared to dissent from the doctrine that there imist be an end to everything, which reminds me that there must be a conclusion even to this article, which should have been a description of Rotten-row, and would have been had it not been for a rush of riding-habits to the head, which often affects,
Your Impressionable Contributor.
Fizz I Pop I
We are informed by the French papers that one of the celebrated champagne firm of Clicquot is about to marry one of the almost equally well-known champagne family of the Due Ub Montebello. Of course the gentleman "popped" the question with a long-necked bottle of cham to prove the truth of his affection.
A NTJRSEBY LEGEND.
Oh, listen, little children, to a proper little song,
At last he grew so obstinate that no one could contrive
To cure him of the theory that "two and two is five;"
And when they taught him how to spell, he showed his wicked whims.
By mutilating Pinnogk and mislaying Watts's hymns.
Instead of all such pretty books (which must improve the mind)
He cultivated reading of a most improper kind:
Directories and Almanacks he studied on the sly,
And gloated over Bradshaw's Guide when nobody was by.
With such a course of reading you can easily divine
But when this wicked boy grew up, he found the proverb true,
Read Doctor Watts and Pinnock, dears; and when you learn to speU
Printed by Jl'DD & GLASS, 80 Fleet Street, and Phoenix Works, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctor's Commons, and Published (for the Proprietors) by THOMAS BAKER,
»t 80, Fleet Street.—May 20, 1865.