CONTINUATIONS OF DRAMATIC HISTORIES.

STILL WATERS RUN DEEP.

JOHN MILDMAY never held up his head in society after the discovery of his disgraceful behaviour in admitting to his table, and in introducing to his friends, a fellow whom, by his own confession he knew to be a thief and a swindler, and whom he had discovered in an intrigue with his disgraceful wife. He was at first charged as CAPTAIN HAWKESLEY'S accomplice, but after six weeks' detention (for the committing magistrate declined to take bail for his reappearance) he was acquitted, by an ignorant jury. However, his liberty was but of short duration, for immediately on his acquittal on the charge of being an accessory before the fact, he was taken into custody on a charge of compounding a felony, in forbearing to prosecute CAPTAIN HAWKESLEY on condition of receiving MRS. STERNHOLD'S letters. Justice, once baulked of her prey, was at length satisfied, and the mean-spirited Lancashire scamp was sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment, in addition to the payment of a fine of one hundred pounds. This completely broke up his home. His money, which was invested iu bubble companies, disappeared by large instalments as the bubbles burst in succession, and his wicked wife availed herself of his temporary imprisonment to elope with DUNBILD-the scoundrel who had induced her weak-minded simpleton of a husband to invest his money in halfa-dozen preposterous joint stock companies. MRS. STERNHOLD never recovered from the effect of the exposé, for her letters to HAWKESLEY were read in open court, and formed the subject of leaders in all the daily papers. She endeavoured, but in vain, to procure a situation as companion to an elderly lady, and is now dancing in the Alhambra ballet. MR. POTTER earns a precarious livelihood by calling at chambers with pens and ink for sale. He is about to be married to a Temple

laundress.

The Bachelor Uncle's Lament.

I MARK'D his neatly-twisted tie,

I caught by accident her name,
I saw the timid couples fly

Where'er the dashing dancer came;
With lilac gloves and polish'd boots
He waltzed beneath a band of COOTE's.

Thicker and thicker grew the crowd,
And ruddier grew his pleasant face;
In vain I raised my voice aloud,

Of CHARLIE I could find no trace;
As usual he had met his doom,

And flirted in an ante-room.

And will he ever thus behave,

Nor know his doting uncle's care?

Alas! I came too late to save

The youth, this time, from woman's snare. Soon will the morning papers tell,

How my poor nephew danced and fell.

A MILITIA'S REPORT.

A RUMOUR, we trust uufounded, states that Government have decided not to call out the Irish Militia for training this year. Such an omission to give that force drill would sow broadcast the belief that the training was suspended for fear of another sort of training, gunpowder-training, which might lead to an explosion. We don't believe the report.

I believe you, my Bohea!

Ir is stated that CHANG's parents are engaged in the tea trade. If so the celebrated giant must be a remarkably fine specimen of their High-son.

THE OLD HAIRY-STOCRACY.

Ir is rumoured that some of the "great Whigs" are opposed to the prospect of a new Reform Bill. It is mysteriously hinted that a Northern duke and a Yorkshire Earl are among the dissentients-not to mention "the DUKE OF D. and LORD G." Well, after all, the Wigs are not the Heads of the people!

a gentleman on town. He is getting up a company for the purchase of all the metropolitan squares as sites for underground railway termini, and is doing extremely well. He has purchased the lease of MILDMAY's house in Brompton, and has quite recovered his usual health and spirits. JOHN MILDMAY on his release from prison set up a mockauction in the Borough, which paid him pretty well for a time, but eventually he got into difficulty owing to a dispute with a swindled purchaser who had been induced by the auctioneer to bid for a set of volumes which he described as "poetry," but which turned out to be the works of MR. M. F. TUPPER. MILDMAY with a view of getting out of the quarrel in the simplest manner, resorted to his old dodge of placing two pistols, one loaded and the other empty, under a tablecloth, and challenging his accuser to take one of the weapons at hazard while he took the other, as a preliminary to their fighting a duel, over a veneered mahogany dining-table. To MILDMAY's horror the customer (an Irishman) accepted the challenge with joy, whereupon MILDMAY gave him into custody for attempting a breach of the peace, and then decamped. Nothing was heard of him for some time after this, but he eventually turned up as a park-preacher. On the suppression of park-preaching, he became a sandwich, and on the suppression of sandwiches he obtained, through MRS. STERNHOLD's influence, an engagement at the Alhambra to play the stout Russian Nobleman in the skating ballet. On Boxing Day he appeared at the Islington tournament as a comic herald, and we are pleased to hear is extremely well.

THE YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER'S FRIEND. and you will then learn exactly how fresh it was at first. HOW TO KNOW WHEN MEAT IS FRESH.-Keep it until it gets bad,

till you meet with one that suits you. How TO GET A GOOD SERVANT.-Keep on discharging the bad ones

HOW TO DISCOURAGE THE PERQUISITE SYSTEM.-Never buy anything of anybody.

TOWN TALK.

BY THE SAUNTERER IN SOCIETY.

OME few years ago illuminating (I don't mean loyal ebullitions of oil and gas) was almost unknown beyond a narrow circle of connoisseurs-now it is a sort of fashion. I must confess to a great admiration for the gorgeous old enrichments bestowed by patient chrysographers upon sacred and profane writings. MR. SHAW, who has done as much as any one to revive a love for the art, has opened an exhibition in Piccadilly which I should recommend every one who admires the minute and delicate miniature-work of the old illuminators to visit. I have also dropt in at Mortimer House, where the prize exhibition of the works of female illuminators is open. I was glad to notice a decided progress in the art, and was really delighted with some original designs by MRS. HOPKINS who has received a medal at the Dublin Exhibition. She has quite the old touch and her colouring is excellent, while her designs are original, without being modern in character.

MR. FARNALL must be a brave man and a patient one. I don't envy him his meeting of Poor Law Guardians last Saturday week. They are not a pleasant class to deal with at the best of times, and when brought to book on the question of their performance of the duties entrusted to them are anything but cheerful people to manage. However, MR. FARNALL fought a good fight, and has succeeded in bringing them to something às near sense as can be expected of them. That he should be able to teach them that poverty is not a crime and that the liberty of the subject does not mean the liberty to starve, it was too much to expect. He could hardly prevail on them to add a miserable bowl of gruel at certain periods of the year, to the dry bread which they concede not very graciously to the casual paupers. He has at least established a uniform system, which will do something to prevent the caprices of individuals from bearing down the poor-and that is something for which we ought to be grateful to him.

I AM glad to hear that a subscription is being raised for the family of the late ADMIRAL FITZROY, who devoted time and money alike to a noble object, the preservation of human lives at sea. If everybody who owes something to the storm drum were to subscribe a mite to this fund it could not but be a "signal" success. The recent storms on our coast have been very disastrous, but the forecasts have prevented many calamities, and so we cannot say we have nothing to remind us of the late admiral. Subscriptions will be received by MESSRS. COUTTS AND Co., the Bank of Liverpool, and the Deputy Town Clerk of Folkstone, not to mention many others, who are interesting themselves in the movement.

ON Saturday week MESSRS. SPIERS AND POND issued to a select few a gorgeously gilt invitation ticket to a "Diner Chemin de Fer," in order that it might be seen how much could be done with a railway arch. A very fine spread it was indeed-and as far as what can be done in a railway arch, in the way of eating and drinking, is concerned, the display was remarkable. It would have been a better compliment, perhaps, to MESSRS. S. AND P. if the after-dinner speakers had remembered that as of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh-so of the fulness of an adjoining receptacle there follows a disinclination to talk. Silence or something very like it would have done best homage to the dinner, which was excellent. The British public at last has a chance of being fed on better fare than geologic pork pie and antediluvian sandwiches while it is travelling by rail.

ANAK with his small army has seceded from PROFESSOR ANDERSON, and opened an exhibition of his own at the St. James's Hall. Well, he is big enough to take care of himself, though he is much run after. He is very good-looking and affable the ladies say, and as they rule the world, his receptions are pretty sure to be well attended.

I have had a letter handed to me containing the address of certain City Dustmen on the subject of Christmas Boxes. "I hear," says the writer of the letter, "that you can make fun of anything, what do you say to this?" I confess I'm beaten. It is impossible to make fun of the address, because it is perfect fun already, commencing as it does by appealing "To the worthy Inhabitants of a Division City Sewers,"

[JANUARY 13, 1866.

which one would imagine means the rats, and winding up with this aristocratic and exclusive note: "No connection with scavengers." The Literary Dustman has evidently imbued his class with a sense short ladder peculiar to its calling. of its dignity, on which it stands with as much grace as it does on the

Brother Sam, again. I was glad to see SOTHERN was looking better I DROPT in at the Haymarket the other night to see my old friend, in health than I had expected;-he acted as well as ever. I waited for Orpheus, but was just a good deal disappointed. It wants go and spirit sadly. Jove and Eurydice do their best and sing their best, but the others are very dreary; Pluto, as a matter of course, damns it. I think it would have been judicious to omit a couplet in the opening which speaks disparagingly of the music halls-the Orphée was infinitely better rendered at the Oxford.

A

GOOD MATCH.

LONG years ago, the while I had
Great love for HOMER's stirring pages,

I lived within a College Quad,

That had withstood the storms of ages.

An everlasting thirst for beer

Would alternate with thirst for knowledge; And, ha, how pleasant and how dear

Were my old rooms in that old college.

The years rolled on, and then I left
The happy walls of Alma Mater.
Of thirst for ancient tomes bereft,
Although my thirst for beer was greater;
I'd cosy rooms in Lincoln's Inn,

By many an ancient chum befriended;
I bought a Blackstone to begin,
But somehow there my reading ended.

I wrote for sundry Magazines,
Short articles, and tender verses,
A tragedy, with wondrous scenes,
Ghosts, fights, soliloquies and curses.

I spoke of metaphysics then,
In tones conceited and decisive,
And at the thoughts of abler men,

Like MRS. BROWN, I "smiled derisive."

Yet soon a change came o'er my dream-
A change portending grave disaster-
I'd floated gaily down the stream,

Been fast, and found my tin go faster.
That something must be done was clear-
But what, and how the deuce to do it,
I didn't know; and very queer
My case grew, when I came to view it.

I'd many thoughts of marriage, too,

Of maiden beauty sweet and slender; I had a cousin, and I knew

She loved me with devotion tender. But her stern father one day heard How I'd gone on, and so he told me The whole idea was quite absurd,

He stormed-she married-and they sold me.

I turned to commerce, and I found
My stout employer had a daughter,
With nearly twenty thousand pound
For dowry, so I wooed and caught her.
I've bid adieu to duns and debts,

And yet I'm punished, wretched sinner,
She drops her H's, and she lets
Her knife supply her mouth at dinner.

DON'T BE IN A HURRY.

AWFUL EFFECT OF AN OVERDOSE OF

PANTOMIME.

TO THE EDITOR OF "FUN."

SIR,-In a weak moment I promised to "do" the theatres this Christmas for a friend, who (also in a weak moment) had been induced to "do" a bill for another friend, who (in another weak moment) concluded to retire from the public gaze, leaving his friend to stay, I'm afraid I'm getting just the least bit confused. You will excuse it when you know all. I am not fond of the holiday drama. I hate the holiday drama. I hate the holidays. I am a cynic. I have no digestion worth mentioning, and I have seen all the Christmas pieces. "My friend had to write about them, and as the distant and secluded village of Pugwash (where I may hint he is not to put too fine a point upon it-hiding) is scarcely a favourable spot for the critical observation of the London pantomimes, I was let in for them. In the cause of friendship a man may do many things, but there are bounds, and DAMON should (I was nearly writing Demon, but I've seen, oh, so many this week), DAMON, I say, should not tempt PYTHIAS too far. I need not suggest to your radiant intellect that I refer to myself as PYTHIAS. I have been, sir, during the past horrible week in the society of those who would not have permitted the common name of PYTHIAS to pass without attempting a vile joke upon it. I see it, sir, PythiasPithy-ass. Ugh! I have, indeed, led a life. To some minds everything presents itself in a ludicrous light. Oh, if I were only a regular critic instead of a mere Christmas substitute.

Well, sir, I bore up through Tuesday (I had previously been dosed with a premature pantomime pill on Saturday, for, would you believe it, some of these monstrous managers take a fiendish delight in hurrying out their stuff actually before Boxing-day), I rallied slightly on the Wednesday, trembled through Thursday, drivelled through Friday, became, I believe, for the time imbecile on Saturday morning, and, after witnessing portions of two pantomimes in the evening relapsed into a temporary state of idiocy, relieved by occasional flashes of furiousness, yelling (so my landlady says) ditties in doggrel and stamping (so I am informed by the parties on the ground floor) in a dreadfully frantic manner, occasionally bringing down one boot with a bang that shook the chimney ornaments to their very centre.

This continued some time. Eventually I became calmer. The necessity of informing my friend (whom I now hate, so I hope these lines will meet his eye, as this fist will, certainly, the first time I see him) presented itself to me. I had promised to write an account of each piece, which he was to "touch up in the approved style down at Pugwash. The task I found impossible, the letters floated together, and, combining, formed a horrible kaleidoscopical kind of round of mock brawn, which, expanding, turned into a sort of etherealized lobster salad, but kept changing, changing, spreading out, and altering every second, now looking like a giant's causeway of Brobdingnagian baby's corals, now all gossamer and moonlight, now a shop window of valentines, and now-but at all events I couldn't fulfil my promise-no one could have done such a thing. I will never believe one man can write them all. What I did write was suggested by some invisible spirit-perhaps the party whom the lessee of an East-end theatre announced as "hovering over" that favoured abode of pantomime. At all events I found it on my table in the morning. I found myself in bed-booted. No, sir, I had taken no stimulants. It was simply a rush of burlesque to the brain, for you could scarcely credit that even pantomimes are now written in regular rhyme, the metre correct, and the parodies close, and, I will admit, not altogether without a certain small ability. But this is what I found written on the paper. I have not sent it to Pugwash, and hope he-who was my friend, but never more—is discharged in consequence. Cave of Despair in the Enchanted Halls of Cerulean Tints. Imps, fairies, bakers, nurserymaids, stage carpenters, leaders of the orchestra, dramatic critics, princes in pink tights, apples, oranges, and ginger beer discovered as the curtain rises to "Early in the Morning, we Tootletum tay, in the unison passage from the last grand opera of the Mabel Waltz, or you should Paddle your own Canoe."

HENRY D.

Enter HENRY DUNBAR.
Nay!

I was the guilty one. What do I say?

A prison, no! I'll break though every one bar;
My principles are "do, as you are dun-bar."
The MASTER OF RAVENSWOOD rises in a large oyster shell.
MASTER OF R.-

Break off your sports. 'Tis time you now should seek
Shapes more fantastic. Whence that hideous shriek?
Lucy!

COCKADOODLEDOO enters.
ALADDIN. She's come on "like a bird."
MASTER OF R.-'Taint she!

Little DON GIOVANNI rises up trap. LITTLE D. G.-Where's my Bo peep, where can the darling be? Loud calls for the Costumier. Enter MR. E. T. SMITH, who bows. LITTLE D. G.-Then let us hope our errors of to-nightMASTER OF R.-And so at once appear as merry Sprite. ALADDIN.-Pray come again and see us very soon. MASTER OF R.-And you appear as nimble Pantaloon. PIPPIN.-Our faults forgive, we would your favour win. Master of R.—You take the form of poor old Harlequin. COCKADOODLEDOO.-I fear I must my feathers now resign. MASTER OF R.-Of course, and show as ancient Columbine. LITTLE D. G.-I'm very poor, I haven't got a brown. MASTER OF R.-Then change to dark, lugubrious Christmas Clown. Scene changes to the Cryptogamic home of the Christmas fairies on the banks of the Styx, close to the City of Famagosta in Leicester-square. Pantomime rally, and well-timed introduction of a celebrated wooden-legged dancer, which is always a cheerful addition. Loud calls for the maker of the wooden leg. Enter MR. E. T. SMITH, who bows. Comic (!) business commences, and

This, sir, is what I found on my table, and it perfectly embodies my feelings. Yours biliously,

Two To Boxes.

LITERARY ANNOUNCEMENT.

"SOMETHING SHORT."

MESSRS. SHORTMANS, the eminent publishers, are preparing some small volumes for reading on the Metropolitan Railway. They will consist of terse poems, concise essays, short tales, and very small jokes, adapted to the brief journeys between the stations, which vary from two minutes to four minutes. (See Bradshaw.)

The following specimens of the work have been kindly communicated by the publishers:

The Duty of Man. An Essay. By a Woman.
MARRIAGE.

The Duty of Woman. An Essay. By a Man.
BUTTONS.

"LOCAL EXAMINATION" PAPERS.*
HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY.

DUKE OF WELLINGTON.-This eminent commander was present at the battle of Waterloo, when he made that happy rejoinder to the EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH. The latter, observing the approach of a body of Highlanders, exclaimed to his Guards, "On, lads, and bonnet 'em!" His Grace, hearing this taunting order, instantly shouted to his Guards, "Up, Guards, and hat 'em!" Another anecdote

[But we have given enough of this paper to show that the young candidate well deserved the certificate of merit which he received, engrossed on vellum.]

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.-An amiable character. Going to the fair on one occasion, accompanied by his brothers, MOSES and AARON, he drank so much Madeira that he foolishly sold to DR. JOHNSON (a celebrated punster and pickpocket) the copyright of a new serial then commencing in the Halfpenny Miscellany.

JULIUS CESAR.-He was a Roman, he was. Going one day for a quiet stroll, and meditating upon his celebrated "Life of Louis Napoleon," he accidentally met a saddler. "Hallo!" he exclaimed, "here's a tanner!" offering that coin. The man, mistaking his remark, and pocketing the money (but not the affront), replied, with a deadly meaning, "BEWARE of the hides in March!!!! JEWLIUS took no notice, but he had ought to have took a little, for he was murdered by that very saddler in March! while stepping over a heap of hides!! that he had been inspecting!!!

P. S.-I forgot to put in the beautiful words as he said when they was assassassinating of him. They was, "It's TOO brutal!" Which it certainly were.

HENRY VIII.-This distinguished filanthrofist (bother that word) was aciduous in his attentions to the fairer sex. After the death of ANNE OF CLOVES, a person of considerable attractions, he married

We have received the following extracts from our correspondent at-. But no! It would be invidious to mention names.

CATHARINE ARROGANT. No cards. Owing to the fact that he destroyed a vast number of sacred buildings, he is considered a great reformer.

A FIELD FOR AMUSEMENT. We hear that a new 66 country gentleman's paper" is about to be started, and are glad to hear it. We trust its sporting news will be, written by gentlemen who can write English and common sense. The reporter of the Field who described the Donnington Steeplechase a little while since, appears to have mistaken that respectable paper for an organ of the P.R., to judge from the flashy nonsense he indulges in. We quote one passage to show his good taste:

train from King's-cross, we were on our journey, fortified with a 'nor'-wester' and "The journey to Donnington is a matter of trifling interest: taking the mailthe 'Christmas Number of Fun;' we looked at the pictures, and then studied them sideways and upside down, and came to the conclusion that-well, we cannot always laugh-and "rushing" into sleep with the "twelfth finger of the left hand" vividly impressed upon our olfactory organ, we arrived at Derby at the time when, according to Shakespeare, 'churchyards yawn and graves, &c.'"

We cannot always laugh, but we can cry, and feel inclined to do so when we read such rubbish as the following, offered to country gentlemen of education by this "sportive reporter."

"The spectators literally basked in the sun,' throwing off over-coverings, mittens, neck-rugs, and every other conservative of heat, with mutual wonderment at the warmth of the weather and the splendid 'going' of the course. The company was numerous and excessively select-the word is used without its reference to snobbery. The marquis's own party in the 'green' stand was most brilliant, and the marchioness, peerless amongst them, watched every event with earnest scrutiny and seemed to impart zest to all around her; clad in the warm, impressive plumage of seabirds, she looked like a jewel in its casket of down. Other beauties were there, and according to a provincial contemporary, 'lent a charm to the otherwise wild scenery, by the well-apportioned colours of their dress' (!)”

What, may we ask, is meant by the "warm impressive plumage of seabirds?" Does the writer know, or was he modestly concealing the identity of the goose behind these borrowed feathers?