MRS. BROWN ON THE STATE OF THE STREETS. TALK about weather, I never did in all my born days know nothin' like what it was the week afore last; you're froze up one moment and all of a glow the next. I says, all clay and broken crockery with ashes mixed for to bind, and the ever so far up the road for to cross, as is like all them new-made places, snow and slush that frightful as made you tremble for to think of fallin' into it. I got to the corner all right and safe, where is the "Risin' Sun," as keeps COBB's Margate ale, as I'm partial to, with a bit of bread and cheese for lunch, though too heady for a full meal. I was of that tremble from head to foot as took all that young man's strength for to hold me up, and when I got to MRS. ATKINS I'm sure my legs was a-givin' way under me, and from the crown of my bonnet to the bottom of my dress I was one stream of sutty snow, as had come half melted from the "Risin' Sun." It's lucky as I hadn't put on my welwet mantle, as I can't walk under through heat, or it would have been ruined. As to this house as we're a-living in, they calls it simmy-detached, as it's my opinion they was obliged to build it up agin next door, or it never would have stood by itself, as is not much stronger than a I got across half-way, when I hears a hollow dead lump on the egg-shell, as the sayin' is. The draught under that kitchen-door it ground behind me, and felt as I was splashed dreadful, then come a was as give it me, the cold as I've got, for I felt it all the while as I lump in front, and a lump it was of snow as come right straight from was a-makin' that weal and ham pie, as is a thing as BROWN's partial the top of the "Risin' Sun." Talk of driven snow, why it was as to, and I makes it myself with a flaky crust, though some will have it black as Newgate. as a short one is right, which in my opinion goes best with fruit. As to I was just a-stoppin', thinkin' as I'd put up my umbrella, when if a puttin' a bit of bad butter in pie-crust it's my idea of a sin as is down-whole shovelful didn't come right top of me, and if it hadn't been as right filthy to the taste and unwholesome to a delicate stomach like the pot-boy was close to me I should have been felled like an ox, as BROWN's, though you wouldn't think it to look at him, but no one the sayin' is. knows where the shoe pinches but them as is bilious, as the sayin' is. I certainly did feel a chill, and pr'aps it might have been through them dratted boys as I give twopence each to for to clear away the snow. As a fellow comes round with a paper, as he said was the westry's orders as I should clean up the front of my house. "Then I'll thank the westry for to turn out and clean the road for me, as I can't get across not if it was to save my life, through bein' ankle deep, and poor MRS. ATKINS that bad as I wanted for to go to, through me havin' promised and only the corner of the street." So he says, "You may be carried across easy on a barrow," as I see meant jeers. So I says, "When I wants to be carried I'll get a steady donkey, and pr'aps you might be handy." "Well," says he, "I should recommend a dromedary.' I wasn't a-goin' to waste my time a-talkin' to such as him, all the more as I felt a creepin' all down my back, as is a sure sign of chills with me, as has throwed me on a sick bed afore now, and was the death of poor old MRS. THORNLEY, as kept the "Blue Lion" in Horselydown, and never recovered a-fallin' asleep one Saturday night whilst a-soakin' her feet, and never woke till they was froze hard in the foot-pan through the cold bein' that violent below zero as froze the Thames up with a ox roasted whole, as I've heard my dear mother say was shameful waste, through the roughs a-tearin' of it to bits in their open hands though blue and quivery, as is not wholesome in my opinion, though it should be done with the gravy in, as gives proper nutriment. It was that same winter as them Russians brought on for to freeze up BONYPARTY, as is their ways, the same as they did in the Crimeyear, where poor MRS. ELKINS lost two sons with their frozen limbs, and the eldest fell at Balyclava, and would never have got up through bein' that benumbed if it hadn't been as he was found accidental, but neither of them ever strong men again, as you wouldn't think the loss of a foot could reduce anybody so much as that. Well, as I was sayin', I give them boys twopence a-piece, and lent them the fire-shovel for to scrape off them frozen lumps, as is that dangerous, as well I've known through a-treadin' on one, as twisted my ankle and down I went, and shouldn't have minded so much if it hadn't been for poor old MR. GIBBINS next door but two, as had stepped out for the beer his-self and two new-laid eggs, though I should say no more new-laid than I am, as meant egg-hot. Well, he had the beer in one hand and the eggs in the other, with a white worsted comforter and long ends, as he did ought to have tucked in somewhere, but left a-hangin'. He was a-walkin' along by my side, a-remarkin' about the weather and such like, when I treads on the bit of frozen snow, and nat' rally clutches at anythin' for to save myself, and as bad luck would have it, seized hold of his ends of his comforter, and give him that drag as his 'eels slipped from under him, though list round his bluchers, as didn't prove no protection. Up goes his hand with the beer all in my face and blinds me, but I heard a crash, and there he was a-welterin' in his new-laid eggs, and a-sayin' as his back was broke. So I says, "Kick, 'cos if you can kick your back's all right," and kick he did, and he had no occasion for to ketch me on the shin so violent, me a-stoopin' for to help him up, a-feelin' grateful to him for breakin' my fall, as the sayin' is, but he kep' his bed for weeks. So I gives the boys the fire-shovel, and the gal she lent 'em a broom, as we never see neether on 'em no more through her a-payin' of them without seein' to my property, and then sauced me by a-sayin' as it was a ricketty old thing. Altogether it was a miserable day, and I didn't care for my dinner, as was a bit of hash mutton and a yeast dumplin', as is a light thing if made proper, but cut with a knife is lead all over. So when I was tidied up I says, "MARY ANN, I'm only a-goin' as far as MRS. ATKINS, and shall be in to tea most likely, but certain by eight; and," I says, "mind as you puts the pie to cool the minit as the baker brings it, as is a thing as I don't hold with hot." I started off well wrapped up, for I know'd I should have to walk I no sooner see that infant of Mas. ATKINS than I says to the nurse, "Ave it christened, for," I says, "hours is the word." "Oh,' she says, "that's done, thank you, mum," quite short, a-addin' as she know'd her duties, and didn't want no one to tell her the difference atween a new-born babe and blind kittens, as the pail and mop would settle easy. So I says, "MRS. TOPSETT, mum," as were her name, through bein' mother of that owdacious gal of mine as had the party through my back bein' turned, with everythin' pretty nigh ruined in the settin'room, I says, "MRS. TOPSETT, it is not my 'abits to interfere nowheres; but," I says, "MRS. ATKINS, you'll excuse me for sayin' that while there's life there's hopes, as the sayin' is, and if that was a child of mine it's brandy as I should give." MRS. TOPSETT flounced about, a-talkin' about old-fashioned ways, whereas she'll never see fifty-five no more herself. So I didn't say no more, but spoke serious to MRS. PURDY, as is mother to MRS. ATKINS, and both agreed as brandy was the word, and the doctor acomin' in highly approved. Bless you, the temper as that MRS. TOPSETT showed far gone in liquor as there couldn't be no doubt, for we'd hardly got tea over when she bounces up and says she won't stop in a house where old faggits comes a-interferin' for to poison a innocent babe with their own liquors, illudin' in course to me and the brandy. Poor MRS. ATKINS, that weak as she were, plucked up a sperrit to say as she might leave, "For," says she, "mother, you'll stop, and that good soul, MRS. BROWN, will look in occasional." "I wish you joy of the lot," says MRS. TOPSETT; "a old thing as couldn't get across the road without the pot-boy through rollin' in the kennel, as is a disgrace." "MRS. I wouldn't have no words afore MRS. ATKINS, but I says, TOPSETT, I'll say a word with you down-stairs." Out she walks, me a-follerin'. I gets her into the passage, as is a wizened old scarecrow, and there I found the street-door open. So I just takes her by the scuff of the neck afore she know'd where she were, and walked my lady out as nice as ninepence, as the sayin' is. If she did fall down the steps it wasn't my fault, as the policeman said as picked her up, through bein' that far gone in drink, as she couldn't say where she lived, and was took to the station-house till sober, and it's my opinion as the infant will thrive after all; but the cold as I caught was a caution, as you don't ketch me out in the snow agin if I knows it. TEMPORA MUTANTUR. OH! why will you talk of your bachelor joys, We pulled off knockers from many a door, We've rung up many a "parlour floor," You remember our wandering out that night, And the rival musicians, who wanted to fight, You remember the great policeman-row, Sweet maids in wimples fair y-wrought, And when the hours shall wind-a-mort, Shall be of richest Lincoln green; Beshrew me, boy! thy father's eyes May like to see thee knight of shire, He's but a wittol now who flies At humble game; do thou rise higher. By'r, ladye, I can soothly say Thy mother will be proud that day. And, now, to bed. I will assay The wine that cometh from Bordeaux, The Taverner at close of day Will trust thy father. Now, child, go! Odd's life! But there's a fearsome score Against me, on yon traitour door. To think of all will chance to thee: When thou are hosed and all too soon, Have grown to camlet cloak, and shoon. Gramercy child! thy kirtle seems But scant for such a day as this, IN THE MATTER OF PROMOTION. BEING A LETTER TO A VENERABLE PREMIER. MY LORD,-Marry come up, your lordship's grace, I prythee why doth a miller wear a white hat? Gadzooks, to keep his head warm! Having thus discharged, in the manner that I consider best adapted to your lordship's capacity, my melancholy duties as a jester, I will now avail myself of the jester's time-honoured prerogative, that of telling the most disagreeable truths in the most disagreeable manner. The Whigs have broken down: they have collapsed-gone under"gin out." Even your lordship, generally ready enough to serve your friends, has not ventured on promoting any young man of your own sacred set to high office, and for the simplest of all reasons. My lord, there are no Whigs under seventy. That marvellous party, which has so gallantly accepted for many years the task of governing the British empire-that heroic party is nearly extinct. MR. CHARLES DARWIN, a naturalist, who, I am sure, must regard your lordship with a peculiar interest, tells us how, in the stern struggle for existence, only the stronger types are able to perpetuate themselves. There are plenty of Tories left, there are plenty of Liberals, but that interesting link between the two species, or rather that melancholy high-bred hybrid, the Whig-the Whig is gone. The Whig is as dead as the Dodo-in contradistinction to which lamented bird, perchance, he will be known to future and almost incredulous ages as the Don't-don't! For, of late years, the only thing that any Whig ever did, was his country. By a sort of prosaic justice, it has been reserved for your lordship to make the last supreme confession of incapacity on behalf of the dozen families that you represent. You have wanted a Cabinet Minister, and after almost swamping the public service under a flood of your relations, you have been obliged to ask a young gentleman of German extraction to leave his counting house in Austin Friars, and step, without any previous official training, into the mystic circle of the Cabinet. I don't remember in all history a more signal humiliation to an insolent and exclusive class than this promotion of MR. GÖSCHEN. Don't imagine, my lord, that I am sneering at "the pampered oligarch," the proud patrician." I sneer at a worn-out clique that cannot even breed men fit to keep what their fathers held. LORD DERBY is a patrician, but LORD DERBY'S son is LORD STANLEY. Your lordship is a Whig, and your lordship's son is LORD AMBERLEY. or I daresay MR. GÖSCHEN will hardly feel at home in the Cabinet. How should he? He is a man of the nineteenth century, and he must be rather lonely when MR. GLADSTONE is conversing with anybody else. It was in the power of your lordship, however, even whilst signing the last confession of your party's imbecility, to inflict a slight-a slur-almost an insult, on a very clever man. Few people could have done the thing so completely. One of your subordinates is MR. LAYARD. You made political capital out of his appointment thirteen years ago, as you have made political capital out of everything else, including the execution of an ancestor. MR. LAYARD'S appointment was dwelt upon by your friends in the press you have not very many-as a proof that the old Whig party, which was despised even in 1852, was to be recruited; that its vigour was to be restored by new blood. Let me be just to the Whig party. From the days of RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN to the days of AUSTEN HENRY LAYARD, it has generally known where to find "new blood," and it has sucked it like a leech. Your ministry fell. LORD DERBY succeeded you. With a generous instinct, he asked MR. LAYARD to retain his office. MR. LAYARD, whose politics were then not so clearly defined as at present, might have accepted the offer without dishonour. He consulted his Whig acquaintances, and refused. In other words, he made a personal sacrifice for a party which was merely using him, which so far as it cared for him at all was simply trading on his name. A dozen years have gone by. He has had a long and hard experience of office. He has had, night after night, to defend your fordship's foreign policy-to vindicate it in the House of Commons when Russia snubbed you for your language to the Poles, and when BISMARCK cuffed you for your language to the Danes. And really, all things considered, he did it very well. The task, you know, was not particularly easy. MR. LAYARD is a "young politician," in other words, he is a man of forty-nine, who has been for thirteen years incessantly engaged i political life and whose name was known to the whole world, before he entered Parliament, as that of a clever man, a gallant traveller, an accomplished scholar. You "reconstruct" your ricketty Cabinet, and you can find no place in it for such a man. Is he too young? Then you have no business with MR. GöSCHEN. Is he too old? ... But, my dear lord, in that case what on earth would become of you? Is he not, by sacred birth, a Whig ? GÖSCHEN? But, again, is Mr. THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA. SIR,-Managers complain that they can't get anybody to write pieces that will draw, or find actors that are equal to the performance of leading parts. Why, look you here, sir-I have run my eye down a column of theatrical advertisements in the Daily Telegraph, and what do I see? Why, I see that, "at the T. R. Drury Lane, in consequence of the great demand for places," &c. At the Adelphi, I read that, "in consequence of the immense success of MR. J. JEFFERSON, the Free List is suspended." Under the head "Haymarket Theatre," I read, "great success of PLANCHE's Orpheus in the Haymarket. At the Prince of Wales's, "most brilliant success of the Grand Christmas Operatic Extravaganza." At the Strand, "unprecedented success of BURNAND'S new and original Opera Burlesque." That, "MR. HORACE WIGAN begs to announce that in consequence of the great success of Henry Dunbar," and even of MESSRS. BEST and BELLINGHAM. Under "St. James's Theatre," I read, "unprecedented success of the School for Scandal." At the Lyceum, "the Master of Ravenswood having proved a most decided success," &c. At the Princess's, "MR. VINING begs to announce that, in consequence of its extraordinary success and continued attraction, the great drama of the day will be repeated," &c. I read, moreover, that "the Pantomime at Astley's is again triumphant over all, and it is pronounced by all the London Press, and by the universal public voice, the greatest success of the season." Of the Surrey, it will be enough to say that the word " success recurs nine times in its advertisement. The New Royalty piece "has been pronounced by the unanimous voice of the press and the public the very best extravaganza since the world-renowned Ixion." Sadler's Wells has "the best pantomimists in London,-the ballet and transformation scenes are the theme of wonder and delight." The Great National Standard Theatre also boasts "the best pantomime in London." And the Alexandra Theatre declares that, "everybody should see the Great Pantomime of Blue Beard, allowed by the entire press to be the best ever produced." In short, the only house that does not trumpet the great beauty and extraordinary success of its Pantomime is Covent Garden-which has, one of the best Pantomimes in London, and which, I hear, is full every night. May good digestion wait on A. PITTITE. A SERENADE OF THE PRESENT DAY. 'DEAREST, your lover is here below: He sings at your father's gates; "So I'll sit me down on the granite slab, And sing to my love till dawn; For I haven't the money to pay a cab, "But if in my singing there comes a pause, You'll know the policeman (B 12)'s the cause, "The sound of my banjo shall haunt your dreams, As I tinkle its chords afar; I play on the banjo because it seems "That once was a fiddle, and once a sieve, So murmured the minstrel, and so sang he, O si sic Omnes'! A PARAGRAPH is going the rounds describing how, in consequence of the gas suddenly going out, the rector of St. Nicholas Church, Guildford, preached for only nine minutes. Will our architects and gasfitters keep this in mind, and make arrangements in laying on gas in churches, so that it only allows nine minutes for the discourse. A similar plan might be adopted in the House of Commons-though we fear the sudden extinction of the gas there would not stop the flow of oratory. Parliamentary orators are accustomed to being in the dark when speaking on any subject. ART IN THE PROVINCES. WHAT is the meaning of this police-case before the Worksop magistrates?— "Police-constable Middup charged two gipsies, named James Smith and Elija h Smith with having unlawful possession of a pheasant, on the 16th inst. Evidence not being forthcoming, the Bench decided to dismiss the charge on condition that the two men agreed to have their portraits taken. To this they readily agreed." Does the Worksop Bench consist of amateur photographers, who cannot prevail on their friends to sit to them, and are they, therefore, glad of any opportunity of exercising their skill? Or were JAMES and ELIZAH immortalized as the bearers of the new and startling name of SMITH? We should like to hear an explanation of the mystery, and are anxious to learn whether the likenesses were mere photographs, or And then what size are they? Does a vagrant works in oil, or water. merely sit for the head and shoulders, while a murderer is drawn at full length? One thing is very evident that there is more art than justice on the Worksop Bench. For, as there was no evidence against the gipsies, they ought to have been unconditionally dismissed. Spirits that Don't Want Pruning. OUR sober contemporary, the Wine Trade Review, devotes an article, very properly, to a condemnation of a firm which is offering “real Irish Sherry"-which is not Scotch Whisky, as one might at first think, but a wine manufactured from potatoes-to the wine dealer. Quite right, W. T. R.-but how about the Prune Wine advertised in your columns as "mellowing, colouring, improving the flavour and increasing the vinosity" of spirits? If one doesn't want sherry from potatoes, one doesn't want whisky from prunes. IT IS THE HOUR. A ONE o'clock Club has just been started which is not A.1] in its composition: O'CLOCK CLUB.-A number of gentlemen, feeling the inconvenience of ob taining refreshments after the theatres, have formed a CLUB, where they can MEET their friends at ALL HOURS, and obtain every luxury. The inconvenience we have felt was the inconvenience of not obtaining refreshments after the theatres. But possibly the advertisement was written at "all hours," which, of course, means rather late, when grammar and the English language are asleep. Answers to Correspondents. F. H., Brighton.-Your "nursery rhyme" is defective in rhyme. By the way, can you tell us why the children's room is like a beargarden? "It always is a bear-garden Yes, but that's not a reason, any more than "maker" and "Jamaica" are a rhyme. Give it up? Because it's an ursa-ry. ト G. P., Stoke-on-Trent, says he encloses a comic sketch, Well, it is of the sketch, sketchy; but the comicality we don't perceive J. W. M., Highgate.-Your severe lines upon modern ship-building and boards of guardians are either too serious or not serious enough for us. When FUN is severe he is severe, but when he jokes he inclines to humour, which, as the Latins say, E-mollet mares nec sinit esse feros. YENRUG sends us some short pars, but they are marred by faults we haven't time to correct. E. M. H., Queen Square." Mrs. Hogg's opinions" may please the pigs, but they don't quite satisfy us. 1+ rolli JIM CROW.-You must be a-ravin, to send such a mild joke. N. W., Redhill.-The lines are far from bad, but they would have to be much farther ere they would be on a par with our requirements. H. E. W., St. John's Wood (and five hundred others, who will kindly accept this intimation). Your "joke about the amateur casual has been received. Don't go on in this way, or we shall have to apply for relief. BILKINS.-Your "fortnight in the house of correction" won't de. It has serious errors of style and composition-imagine crowding mine months of hard labour into one sentence; it's inelegant, THE BARD OF A, ONE, is not likely to be the bard of a FUN. PHOENIX. Thanks, but your " Don Quixote," like the original is rather thin for his length. I tast E. C.-Yes. It's very E.C. to do a parody which somebody else has done previously. Look at our Christmas number. A. F. C.-We get the original article from the manufacturer, send don't patronise base imitations. IRATUS.-If you could only see the heap of letters awaiting us daily at this office the pen-and-ink-ubus under which we suffer you would not be surprised that your letter has not been answered. ré T. S. P., Camden Road, G. J., Finsbury Circus, H. FA, Upper Sydenham, M. K., Glasgow, J. H. M., Edinburgh. Declined with thanks. |