TOWN TALK. BY THE SAUNTERER IN SOCIETY. ELL, "Here we are," as the clown says, when he bounds on, just as the wicked magician who has been transformed into Merriman is sinking What BYRON writes and MARIE Can't be far wrong. The Lyceum sticks to The Master of Ravenswood, in which some of FECHTER'S best acting is to be seen, and wherein the "Kelpie's Flow" is a marvel of scenic effect. The Princesses still offers Never too Late to end to a public which will always go to a piece that has been generally praised-or condemned. But it is a comfort for those who value the English drama to learn that MR. VINING has engaged the author of Society to write him a piece, if we may believe the papers. If so, he has done all in his power to retrieve an error. The Olympic, impressed perhaps by the gentle influence of the season, has refused to fling a gloom over the holidays of worthy people by the production of a new burlesque à la Camaralzaman. ALTHOUGH We are only about five weeks from the opening of Parliament, there is little stirring in the political world, except general abuse of MR. BRIGHT, who never will or can be RIGHT as long as the letter B exists-so why pitch into him? I fancy it would be judicious to give him a loaf and a fish, he would be so quiet after that! THE magazines do not attract much attention at this time of the year. Temple Bar is a good number, and the Argosy shows signs of improvement. The Cornhill adopts its old dodge, and opens the new year with a scrap of THACKERAY, in a manner worthy of the Bacon and Bungay people of the great novelist. It would be amusing, if one could quite forget all sense of reverence for a great man departed, to observe how cunningly the proprietors of the Cornhill trap their subscribers into beginning another year. I myself have vowed over and over again to drop the magazine (it is always possible to get detached numbers at those rare intervals when ARNOLD and such men write for it); but I have always fallen, with my eyes open, into the snare. However, the device can't last much longer-we have come to a réchauffé of early works, largely interlarded with quotations, so before long the greatest Bungay ingenuity will be at a loss to lure readers over the drear waste of another twelvemonth. I don't complain of publishers who use fair means to make their wares attractive-the coloured picture which is made the means of selling that remarkably dreary Christmas number of the Illustrated News is an honest and respectable trade measure-but even a publisher might respect the memory and reputation of THACKERAY. I AM glad to see that the Corporation of London has been induced to take for so solid a body-active steps as regards the regulation of traffic. The danger to life and limb, and the loss of money, in the shape of time, which arise under the present system-or want of system, must be put a stop to somehow-if only in the interests of morality. I'll defy any one, who has a pressing and particular engagement at, say St. Paul's, at a quarter past one, to find himself on the city side of Temple Bar at a quarter to the hour and hope to reach the Cathedral without saying "Confound it" and "Dash it!" and several other expressions of like import. Empty carts, whose idle charioteers (employed by the day) enjoy a quiet pipe, as they wander deviously along the main artery of London-crawling cabs, whose drivers (they can't always drive, all the same) look about seeking whom they may devour at as much as they can extort beyond sixpence a mile-carriers' carts coming from anywhere in general, and going (to judge from the small hurry they are in) nowhere in particularomnibuses that don't fill as they ought to do, and consequently don't go as fast as they ought to do-laundresses vans that won't wash in the light of rapid vehicles-wine-merchants' conveyances and brewers' drays with horses by no means "on quick draught"-printers' trucks, tradesmen's barrows, and costers' shallows-all these combine to form a barrier between Temple Bar and St. Paul's which cannot be surmounted under half an hour at the busy part of the day. Talk about French barricades! They are nothing to a good city block. THE PHANTOM CURATE. A BISHOP once-I will not name his see- He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em, Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em. Enraged to find a deacon at a dance, Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity, He sought by open censure to enhance Their dread of joining harmless social jollity. One evening, sitting at a pantomime, Again, 'twas Christmas Eve, and to enhance Once, yielding to a universal choice (The company's demand was an emphatic one, For the old bishop had a glorious voice), In a quartet he joined-an operatic one. Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it; And heard, as Punch was being treated penally, He sees-and fixes an unearthly stare on it- THE Prophet begs to thank Mr. Editor for graciously inserting his little poetical card in reference to the Christmas party at NICHOLAS' own happy two pair back. A contented mind is a continual feast, and though he could only offer M. JEAN GODIN, which was the one gentleman of all your once-affable staff, that accepted the invitation, a hermit's fare, as all will admit a piece of roast beef to consist of, on such an occasion, yet the party went off with great éclaw, one of NICHOLAS' own family having recognized me at last and took me up, and he being himself quite a merchant prince in the general grocery and was once on the very brink of becoming a churchwarden, may yet resume my position and cut a dash in civic society, such being based on a prouder pinnacle of commercial prosperity than the gilded saloons of an effeminate aristocracy which was once hand and glove with the old man and only too eager to get on his selections for coming events. He fell; Fortune, that fickle jade, deserted him; and of all who once put their legs under the Prophet's mahogany in Belgravia, from your own other contributors (than whom I am sure) down to peers of the realm, not one has found him out in his Bermondsey retreat. Ah, such is life, but luck may take a turn-and if my cousin should continue to take me up, as I hope for the best, and the Derby selection turn out prophetically inspired, you will all of you be glad enough to rally around me again, with your "Well, MR. NICHOLAS, here's your good health, sir, in a glass of sherry wine." I know the world; I know it to be as hollow as a race that is sold ;-but I bear no malicious rankerings in my bosom, and I wish you all a much happier New Year and many more of them than it is the Prophet's candid opinion you really deserve. NICHOLAS AT THE EALING STEEPLECHASE. Like the war-horse sniffing the battle from afar off, I warrant you the old man wasn't long in pulling himself together, and taking his race-glass out of-well, out of where he'd previously put it for safety, when his cousin called on the Wednesday after Christmas, and offered to drive me down in his own trap, he being himself of rather a sportive turn, and once drew the winner of the Derby in a half-crown sweep. And when we did reach the course at Perry Vale, near Ealing, and the Prophet was seen in a private conveyance with a coat that looked as good as new, and his race-glass slung behind him, and the old goodhumoured smile on his familiar mug, and one of Britain's merchant princes sitting by his side, talking quite affable, and standing anything in reason that NICHOLAS liked to put a name to-why, sir, it was quite what is called an ovation. Inspired by the scene, the prophet bought a card, and with a silver pencil-case (almost the only article of jewellery surviving the wreck of his Belgravian prosperity) he wrote down his selections, from which he will trouble your printers to make the following extracts, and put it just as it is wrote: FIVE EVENTS; AND FIVE ABSOLUTE WINNERS. Well, sir, it got buzzed about, and many is the once supercilious sportive publican that came up to the old man and asked him why he never looked in at the bar-parlour of an evening; but the Prophet was not born yesterday, being of a much older period, and is not to be had quite so easy by every time-serving Bung that thinks to come over his proverbial good-nature and get on his blind side. Luck has turned; I always knew it would; and I trust I shall know how to conduct myself in restored affluence when it comes to pass, as it will, as well as I did when the bitter blasts of pecuniary adversity had swept me from my pinnacle and blew derisively around my pro phetic head. I have a good thing for this year's Derby. WHEN FOUND MAKE A NOTE OF IT. NICHOLAS. LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. A CHRISTMAS APPEAL. Carissimo mio, your letter Which reached me at Arlington Hall, Brought news that your poor throat was better; But, darling, you didn't tell all! I knew there was something behind it,— You say you've been shockingly idle, And often played whist at the club, Who gives herself airs like a queen, Ah! me, it would hugely delight me, But still you'll confess you've not seen a I flirted 'tis true: there are dozens I slaughtered two curates, some cousins, But, CHARLEY, you know that's all over, Is chained once for all to your side. Then, pet, at this festival season, Come down from those troublesome deeds, Oh, hear how your little one pleads. Interesting to Husbands. OUR friend, JOLLIBOY, who stops so late at his club, and finds MRS. J. invariably sitting up for him, is about to try the effect of GALE's non-explosive mixture, as a preventive of a blowing up. As the mixture is stated to be only powdered glass, he is going to erack a bottle or two extra at the club on the night fixed on for the experiment. A Queer-RY. WE cut the following advertisement from the Daily Telegraph of the 28th December: NOR. and SPAL. RY.-If R. W. will SEND his ADDRESS to J. W. W., at H. H. C. Works, he will RECEIVE a most important COMMUNICATION.' We are inclined to suspect, knowing the peculiarities of "authorgraphy" in which the Old Man indulges, that this is our esteemed contributor NICHOLAS advertising for information which may be of use for that long promised work the great history of Knurr and Spell. BREAD AND WATER. BY A TOPSY TURVITE. THE French are an ingenious people, but it has only been recently discovered that they can make new bread out of a slight alteration of THE person who made the welkin ring, writes to assure us he made cold water. How? why l'eau fraiche is just the same as a fresh loaf, it expressly for "the twelfth finger of the left hand but one." isn't it? Time: Sunset. Master:- "WHERE DID THEY SPEAK TO HER LAST, RICHARD ?" FROM OUR STALL. piece at Astley's is in itself a marvel. It is called an entirely new trust that the word "prochildrenical" is patented, or some unscrupaoriginal, grand, prochildrenical, hippo-dramatic, comic pantomime. We lous manager-if such a monstrosity exist-might be making use of it at a rival establishment. Prochildrenical! Let the next pantomime be announced as E. T. SMITHICAL. However, Harlequin Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son, is another of those evidences of liberality and spirit which &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c. "Le Roi est mort! Vive le Roi!" The Surrey Theatre is burnt down! Go to the Surrey Theatre! The building itself is a sight, and the decorations, fittings, and general arrangements as near perfection as can be hoped for in this rather imperfect world. The pantomime at the New Surrey is called King Chess, and the magnificent conception of the Oriental despot who converted the marble floor of his palace into a chessboard, and his courtiers into kings, queens, bishops, &c., can now be seen by the humble Cockney who will walk gaily to the Surrey side, and pay his moderate admission fee to the most beautiful theatre in London. In the pantomime itself the most dazzling coruscations of magnificent combinations, &c., &c., &c. AN intelligent public cannot expect any number of individualseven though their pursuits be literary and dramatic-and their motives and conduct honest (if the two things be compatible) to give anything like a sane, circumstantial account of the various pantomimes produced this Christmas. They-the pantomimes and would-be individuals can only be enumerated; and the readers of FUN-or as it would be better expressed, the world at large-must be left to go to the theatres, judge, and pay for themselves. For us, a dazzling sort of patchwork and pyrotechnic display dances before our eyes, like the coloured globules that are the sure signs of optical delusion and an overflow of bile; and this multifarious myriad day-mare sometimes takes the likeness of a white, foamy, and feathery-looking ballet-girl; sometimes of MR. E. L. BLANCHARD, who melts into a many-headed and anxious-looking English Opera Company (Limited), which, without any aid from the baton of Harlequin, becomes MESSES. GRIEVE, who, in their turn, are transformed into huge masks, which explode into the likenesses of MR. WILLIAM BEVERLEY, the Horses of the Sun, MASTER PERCY ROSELLE, red, green, blue, and white fires; For a detailed description of the pantomimes we must refer our several transformation scenes; MR. E. L. BLANCHARD again; Blue-readers to the pages of the Times and the Daily Telegraph (two un prebeard's headless wives all taking Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions; a turkey tending little daily journals which we are happy to bring before the and sausages; several salmon; coloured sprites; the PAYNE family; notice of the public). the LAURIE family; several other families; MR. H. J. BYRON; LADY TEAZLE as Miss Herbert; BROTHER SOTHERN, of the Mormon persuasion, as Mr. Sam; MR. WOODIN in his celebrated character of Mr. Arthur Sketchley; and MRS. BROWN in her wonderful impersonation of MR. SIMS REEVES' imitation of MRS. HOWARD PAUL. We have only space to compliment and congratulate the directors of Drury Lane and Covent Garden on Little King Pippin and Aladdin, than which, &c. At Sadler's Wells the opening of the pantomime is from the Magnum Bonum of MR. CHARLES MILLWARD. Its title is Cocka-Doodle-Doo, and it is capitally written, after the fashion of modern burlesque. The scenery, dresses, &c., &c. The title of the Christmas ular. Thus far from our stall at Christmas; but there are burlesques and extravaganzas as well as pantomimes. "Pippins and cheese to come!" Not to mention the production of a trifling drama on the inconsider able subject of the Bride of Lammermoor, a novel written by a Scottish All in good time, dear public, for Wednesday comes only once a week, gentleman whose writings some years ago were somewhat and FUN is published only on that day, as you well know, when you wish it were next Wednesday, that you might roar and revel over the next number too. We doubt the bishops at the Oriental court. pop First Fiddle (Earl R*88*ll) : SONS OF HARMONY. :-"WE SHOULD GET ON BETTER, MR. B., IF YOU TOOK YOUR TIME FROM ME, AND DIDN'T PLAY SO LOUD." |