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TOWN TALK

Bt The Saunterkr In Society.

HER to the surprise of some pcoplo tho elections, as far as they have gone up to this present writing, do not quite corroborate tho accounts wo have heard of the great Conservative Reaction. Literature has made its mark, however, which is more than I expected— John Stuart Mill for Westminster, and Tom Hughes, for Lambeth, may bo taken as fair representatives of the powers that pen, though I could have wished the latter gentleman had not allowed his friends to apply to Sfurgeon for a written character. A certain Mr. Alfred Austin, who mado himself notorious some time since by some coarse satires on society, in which he did not move, has had the impndunco to put up for Taunton, and has issued addresses and made speeches which are no better (thoy could not bo worse) than might bo expected of the author of The Season. Ho must not bo mistaken for a representative of literature, which has no more reason to be proud of him than the Conservative cause that ho has suddenly espoused. I have had some very funny anecdotes forwarded to mo about the election. One rolates how a 'long-shoro voter was prepared to plump for the Conservative candidate for the excellent reason that waterside work had been improved, and the river better managed ever since the establishment of tho Board of Conservancy. You'll hardly ask "What's in a namo ?" after that. In another ease a coster, who could evidently read a little, addressed a brother-professional who couldn't read at all, in theso words :—" Well, I'm blest! Finsbury's a-comin' to summat, here's a woman been and put up for it!" That be blowed," replied his friend. "Why here's the bill," continued the first speaker, "Vote for Alderman Lubk and Poll Early .'" Ono more election joke and then I've done. A certain Mr. Rearden, in an address to the electors of Galway, has tho following fino passage:—

But in the meantime, to stem the torrent of emigration, and prevent the further detolation of our country by turning it into ghcep.waiks, and our noble people into emigrant ship?, I should, &c."

After that I should think he ought to havo had no difficulty in persuading any Hibernian constituency that ho was "the man for Galway."

Mr. Panizzi retires from the office of librarian and secretary of the British Museum, and if it be true that he has been interfering with the liberty of refreshment hitherto enjoyed by tho obliging and intelligent gentlemen who conduct the business of the Reading Room, I can't say that I regret it. The War-office authorities or the Treasury, who treat their servants less courteously, and less honestly, than a tradesmen treats his errand-boy, act according to their lights, but the librarian of the B. M. should know more of that which "softens the manners, nor allows men to bo ferocious."

I Visited the Oxford the other evening to hear the new selection of Offenbach's operetta "Sixty Six." It is very charming music, and most creditably performed. Tho appreciation shown by tho audience makes me hope that tho managers of the music-halls will find courage to offer the public more of this class of entertainment and less of the dreary " comic talent" of persons like the Great Vance, or Messrs. Randall and Sidney, and such smaller stars. Vulgarity and dulness cannot surely have any charm for those who applaud the best passages of "Sixty Six" to the echo, and I feel sure that if the managers would but try it they would find their public better pleased with works like the " Orpheo," and " Sixty Six," than with the expensive and nasty so-called comic singing of the day. It is a pity that Mr. Morton has not thought fit to have a better translation in the shape of a libretto. The ono used is simple trash—it is difficult to sing, and grossly ungrammatical. With good words the selection would have had additional attraction—and profit. I cannot quit tliis subject without recommending for a riso of salary three members of tho chorus who stand near the harmonium, and who throw infinito

spirit and fun into the performance of their not very prominent duties. To me there is more really comic singing in this than in the coarse buffoonery of many of tho stars of the music-halls.

The other day, dpropos of music halls, I dropped in at tho Olympic, and I am not surprised that Mr. Horace Wigan finds those places of entertainment dangerous rivals. Despite the prodigal recklessness with which Mu. Taylor has knocked two novels and a play into ono "original " drama, / think The Serf anything but a surfeit of pleasure; and as for G/auctts, it has neither mirth, metre, nor madness even. The Olympic company has no chance with such pieces as these, and such parts as they havo in them.

The Haymarket season at an end, Brother Sam takes a tour in tho provinces. Brother Sam, like Dundreary, is a creation, and perhaps a more natural ono than the great nobleman. As tho embodiment of well-bred ruffianism he has never been equalled, and the way in which ho is rewarded for his misdeeds at tho end, if not poetical justice, is exactly true to life. A fino touch, indeed, is his ordering up breakfast for himself in another man's house, but sitting down to eat it on his portmanteau, because he hasn't been asked to take a chair! Ease and politeness could not bo more happily combined. Mr. Sothern's byplay is, of course, excellent, and his finish of tho minutest details of the character exquisitely careful. I should think that in the provinces, as well as in London, tho Hon. S. Slingsby will bo as popular as his titled brother, and that is no small pippins of popularity.

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.

Nicholas Becomes Discursive.

Belgbavu.

Having now returned in hoalth and comfort to my home, thanks be, so many subjects present themselves requiring either a prophetic or a retrospective treatment that, remembering the words of Mr. Disraeli, than whom I am sure a more eloquent gentleman, though perhaps a little inconsistent, that "there is such a thing as arrangement of subjects." Nicholas will act in accordance.

1.—Concerning Op Politics.

0 Britain, oh, my country! What a chango havo como over thee for the worse! The most insidious and demoeratical notions an' abroad; the legitimate influence of position and property is laughed to scorn; the capitalist is clean knocked out of time; and Nicholas himself have been insultod in the streots, despite of wealth and age in unison, by a radical mob whom I would not demean mysolf byanswering in tho very lowest terms of abuse conceivable, nor touch with a pair of tongs. The Throne is quivering to its roots; the Altar is a-wobbling about just like so much blanc-mango; our Institutions would bo dear at cightpence; and our Palladium itself is menaced by tho deadly Upas-tree of political sedition.

Your Prophet, sir, is an elderly man. Have what changes you like, they won't much matter to me. The British Constitution will last my time, and can sip my Bherry wine in peace; but oh, Britain, oh, my country, oh, my editor, what will becomo of your children after Nicholas is gone?

2.—Concerning Of The Drama.

Pardon the poetic ard

Our of a equestrian bard;

One which will now fulfil his duties

By paying a humble tribute to the delightful Thespian beauties. On Saturday morn we missed them in town,

Now where do you think fate had hidden 'em? If anybody guesses this riddle I will possibly stand him a half-acrown!

Give it up? What a fool you are! Down at Sydenham!

Please mind how this is printed, and see that thoy put the stops in. It isn't often now that Nicholas writes a Pindiixic ode, though will bring them all out somo day or other in a littlo volume with a portrait of author.

3.—Regarding Of The Turf.

Well, my downy birds, my noble sportsmen, my best of all good company, are you getting a little anxious for to receive your tips? All in good time, my bravo adventurers. The old man's weathcr-oyo is open, and I will keep it steadily fixed until it lands you in triumph on tho safe side of every important event. Deeds, however, and not words, are the Prophet's motto, and such likewise are his recommendations.

Who sent you Gladiatour for the Derby? Who stood by that horso through thick and thin, through good reputo and evil ropute? Was it Nicholas or the Pope of Rome?

Who proph°s;^d a d(ac'-hpr>t at Ascot between General Teel and Ely. with tae subsequent triumph of the latter?

Wus it Nicholas or the Lord Chief Justice?

You know, my constituents, the metaphor being pardonable at election time; so will now conclude with his

Tip For The Goodwood Cup.

The absolute winner will be Gladiatcur.

i.Relative To Cribket.

Now then, brother cricketers, look out! The old man is a going to have his innings at last, and may stop a few hours at the wicket, though the bowling is a good deal changed since Nicholas' younger days, when it was trundled along in a honest and underhanded manner. The contrary having now become the case, and having a proper regard to my own safety and time of life, your Prophet would much rather run hastily from the field, under the pretence of sudden and severe indisposition, than stand up against an over of Jackson or Tarrant.

Still, how delighted was Nicholas the other day when, for the first time for twelve years, the Gentlemen beat the Playors! How it carried me back to old times, having once been engaged as a professional bowler at Biggleswade after misfortunes on the turf, though always sympathising with the upper classes, amongst whom I am now one of them. But will only say that your Prophet never wants to seo better pluy than Mr. B. B. Cooper's; that he looks on Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell (whose precise hoight he does not know, not being able to measure with the naked eyo above seven fect two) as a good and great man; and that the Honourable Mr. C. G. Lyttelton is a thing of beauty, and plays the game all around like a Cynosure.

As for Eton and Harrow, I was not myself educated at a public school, it having been more of a Sunday tendency, through my father being then reduced; but it did the old man good to see the boys on Friday last, and I may return to the subject

6.—My History Op Knurr And Spell.

This book is in active progress. Any communications relative had better be addressed, under cover to the office, not having quite got the painters out in Behjravia, though myself returned.

Nicholas.

I have a good thing for the St. Leger.

THE PLEASURE-GARDEN.

A Fresher, brighter spot of earth, wherever you may travel,

Is seldom, very seldom, I can tell you, to be seen.
Well kept, well swept and tended are its paths of tawny gravel,

And velvet is the simile that answers to its green.

I fancy of a garden that the " lily is a lady;"

The queen, thoro's not a question for on3 moment, is the rose. I'd like to cull a nosegay from theso bowers cool and shady;

But nobody's allowed to pluck the flowers, I suppose.

No weeds are here. No weeds—egad! With slightly altered meaning,
Their lack I am inclined to mourn, as, underneath this oak,

I loll along the mossy turf, and, on my elbow leaning,
Peruse the notice, "Persons are requested not to smoke."

My attitude recumbent is for once deserving credit,

My laziness a virtue, which it seldom is, alas!
For there's a rule most stringent—as I sauntered hero I read it—

Forbidding any visitor "to walk upon the gruss."

I'll take another turn, though, for the air is getting chilly.

Ah, had I some companion, guide, philosopher, or pup, My faithful Skye—descendant of the celebrated Billy—

But "Dogs are not admitted," so I give the notion up.

It's growing late; there'll bo a storm. I'll go. What's this? By heaven!

I see the words, and spell them in an irreligious light, "The gates are shut at ten." It's now a quarter to eleven; And I'm locked in, a prisoner, this rainy summer night.

"SCOTS, 'WHA HAS FOR WALLACE BLED!"

A Correspondent, in whose handwriting we detect a strong Irish brogue, and whose animus therefore is evident, states that there is a difficulty about getting enough money in Scotland to erect the Wallace monument. Ho says Wallace could raise the country more easily than his admirers can raise the coin or the statue. We would recommend our correspondent not to call at the office, as one member of our staff is an enthusiastic Scot, and is quite capable of blowing his brains out with a pibroch.

OUR LIBRARY TABLE.

One would hardly expect to find a book on Finance, not written by Mr. Gladstone, at all amusing or interesting. But The Bubbles of Finance, by a City Man, is not only amusing and interesting but most instructive into the bargain. In these days, when few people aro so fortunate as to be quite free from the importunities of persons connected with Joint Stock Companies of a limited character as regards their genuineness as well as their liability, such a series of papers as this cannot be too widely circulated. The style is simple and straightforward, the humour unforced, and the classification of the varieties of the genus rogue with which " a City man" has to deal is exhaustively as well as clearly defined. Tho " bubble bank" chapters are really excellent. Those on " borrowing" and "bill-discounting" arecapital; they should have been studied by the author of a pamphlet now lying before us, entitled The Vampires of London, in which indignation has outstept prudence, and the writer spends a good deal of Capital and Italic on the abuse of the vampires, instead of warning their victims.

We have received The Lifeboat; or, Journal of the National Lifeboat Institution, and take tho opportunity of urging upon our readers the great claim which that society has upon the humane. In 1864, and the first five months of the present year, no less than six hundred and fourteen lives have been saved by the society's lifeboats; and it has also granted rewards for three hundred and ninety lives saved by shore boats and other means. The cost of this is upwards of two thousand pounds, and subscriptions are earnestly solicited. We feel sure our readers will not disregard this appeal.

There is some pleasing versification in The Lady Ina, though passages, hcTe and there, betray inexperience and occasionally, we fear, a defective ear for rhyme and rhythm. Thus, for instance, on tho second page wo find "adorn" coupled, as a rhyme, with "lawn," and in third line of " The Reproof," we find the accent falling upon the unimportant little word " on," with jarring emphasis. We point out these failings with the less scruplo because there is promise in the book—much "poetry," nowadays, is not worth the trouble of criticism. One of the best things in the volume is "Aspiration," though even in this an occasional misplacement of accent mars the flow. The dedication is to Longfellow, whom it describes as "a great genius," and the writer of "ennobling poems." The author, if she would rise to real poetry, must select a higher model than the gifted and melodious song-writer of America.

An elegantly turned-out pamphlet of Tlie Polities of tlut People seems to have a slight error in its sub-title. It should be "Rhymes by a Radical," instead of "Rhymed Reason by a Radical." Tho author has forgotten at times that violence is not strength, nor a free selection of epithets satire. In somo lines addressed to Carlyle he is discourteous, and in speaking as ho does of Lee and Jackson untruthful. Yet there are here and there passages of great merit and considerable humour, and evidences of skill which lead us to imagine that though here anonymous the author is favourably known for something better than attacks upon those "whose offence is Rank." Ho does not appear to advantage in theso verses, which will not for a moment boar perusal after the late Robert Brouoh's Songs of the Governing Classes, a work of tho same school.

We are requested to state that a now book just announced, under the title of Little Songs for Me to Sing, is not to be dedicated to Mr. Whallsy, but to the Princess Op Wales.

So Tupper is henceforth to publish at Moxon's! What has como te a namo once famous for publishing tho best poetry? Shelley, Wordsworth, Keats, Hood, Tennyson—and Tupper! We might have forgotten and forgiven tho publication of poems by a Thomas Moore, who might well have been called LrrrLB, by Major Lumley, Mr. Poybr, and other loss conspicuous bad versifiers—but Tupper! And it is not because there are no poets now-a-days, for Buchanan, Swinburne, and Locker have dated from Dover-street, and Messrs. Macmillan counted among their authors no less than six of tho poots mentioned in a recent review in the Times. We trust that Mr. Tupper'8 hi taking himself to Messrs. Moxons' is not to bo regarded as any confirmation of an awful rumour we hoard lately—that he is going to finish Coleridge's Christabel.

Objection having been made to the advertising of a collection of Miss Edwards's contributions to All the Year Round as a new novel, that lady has written to the editor of the Star on tho subject, and a copy of her letter has been forwarded to us. We feel suro no one suspected her for one moment of having any share in what may be described as an advertising dodge. But her publishers who are " not aware " of the form of thoir own trade announcements, are to blame— at all events for negligonce if nothing else. Who advised Miss Edwards to alter her proposed title Waste Paper—an unmistakeable reprint, or collection title—for that of Miss Carcw, which has a novellike sound?

The Best Target For Marine Pbactioe In Summer.—The waterbutt.

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OUR OWN 2ESOP.

Fable 4.—Tub Doo In Thb Manqer.

At the eloso of a bright autumnal day, just as the last rays of tho declining luminary tipped the western hills with gold, a Dog might have been observed lying at full length in a manger. At the moment when our story commences, an Ox happenod to enter the stable.

■ Pretty Ox," observed the Dog, "I wish I could indueo you to come snd lie down on this new-mown hay and tell sad stories of the deaths «f kings." "Now I call that very kind," repliod the grateful Ox,

■ but as it appears to me painfully evident that your brain requires rest, I would cut off my right horn sooner than intrude upon you." And with a graceful bow ho loft the stable, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Moral.—Don't make a point of going to sleep in mangers, and read PrNNoex's Abridgement if you are anxious to get some notion of the deaths of kings.

Fable 6.—The Ass And Tub Sick Lion.

The medical men said that it was bronchitis. I know bettor than tho medical men, and I beg to assure the constant reader that it was nothing of tho kind. Still this grand fact remains, tho Lion was Hwfully indisposed. When the Ass was sent for to feel his pulse and prescribe for him, the affectionate cieaturo left home in such a hurry that ho actually forgot his stethoscope. There was only one way open to him, so ho administered a terrific kick to his patient, not very far Erom the lumbar regions, "Does that hurt you ?" ho enquired in his blandest professional tone. "What a bruto this doctor must be," said i Fox who stood by. "As bad as the lato Abernethy," acquiesced a Boose. But the Lion, with tears in his noblo eyes, took out a golden

guinea and presented it to tho Ass, saying, "Ah, doctor, if ever a man deserved his foo, by Jove you're the party."

Moral.—Always patronise those physioians who give advice gratit to the poor, and ask any respectable anatomist where tho lumbar regions are.

Fablb 6.—The Froo And The Ox.

"Shut up tho box of puppets, my doar young friend, and let us all go home to bed. Which of us is happy, after all? What is lifo? Vanitas vanitatum!" Thus moralised a young and highly intellectual Frog, standing upon a delicious mud-bank, and sunning himself. Just at that moment thero camo by a bloated Ox. Now tho frogs and the oxen have hatod each other from time immemorial, which is about the only respect in which they rcsemblo the Guclphs and the Ghibellincs, or tho Mohicans and tho Hurons. "My eyes," exclaimed tho Frog, who possessed an acute perception of tho ridiculous, "there goes a figuro!" "Well, I can't help it if I am fat," roplied tho Ox, goadod (not literally, but metaphorically) into repartee; "I've looked everywhere for Banting's pamphlet, but alas! the booksellers tell me it's out of print." At this lamentable exhibition of imbecility and weakness the Frog set up such a roar that he literally split his poor dear sides, and expired in tho flower of his ago, leaving a wifo and family to lament his loss.

Moral.—Corpulence is no crime, but it is a failing, and the man who lays his hand upon a "Banting" (second-hand), save in tho way of buying it, is a wretch it woro gross flattery to call an alderman!

A STRANGE FACT.

Diamonds and other precious stones are of a poaceablc naturo, yet when placed in the earring they may bo set by tho oars.

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