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OW little
have heard
America

we

of

since

the close of the
war! I hope

and believe

that this silence
is not a sign of

apathy, but in

terest on Our

us with literature ample for study. They are as full of information and fiction as most of the magazines-much better illustrated than most of them, and abound in riddles and puzzles for us to solve. The Wizard of the North is one of the largest and most varied contributors to this style of literature.

WHEN MR. GLADSTONE proposed to tax charities there was a great howl among the reverends, and his sound and excellent scheme had to be withdrawn. Let those who thought him wrong read the account of the management of LORD CREWE's Charity in the Observer of the 27th ultimo-a charity managed by clergymen. I think they will vote for taxing charities after that!

HAVE you ever been binographed? It's very nice if rather confusing, for you have two views of yourself in the same carte-a cart and pair, which ought to suit the most ambitious. A good many part. The Ameri-popular actors and actresses have been done in this way. There is TOOLE looking rather startled at his own appearance in Ici on Parle Francais, and CLARKE not certain of his own identity in War to the Knife, and a host of similar mystifications, not to mention two likenesses of MARIE WILTON in one carte, which is charming, because one can never have too much of her.

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cans don't seem

to like criticism (very few people do), and the great body of the English nation, watching with interest the reconstruction of the great Republic of the world, respects this sensitiveness, and does not pester with advice those it cannot provide with assistance. But I cannot but think on one

point the voice of the English nation would be listened to-and that is, as to what is to be done with the late President of the Southern Confederacy. The United States will do well to deal leniently with him, for Davis' Straits might separate Europe from America-not from any sympathy with the Southern cause, but simply on the grounds of mercy for the vanquished. I believe, however, that the American people are too generous not to be merciful, and expect to hear of the enlargement of DAVIS before long.

"It is," says Proverbial Philosophy (by which I don't mean TUPPER, because the poor, dear old gentleman does not appear to like chaff), "the last straw that breaks the horse's back." JOHN BULL is not a horse-he's more like another beast of burden, at present in great request at the seaside. But I rather hope the stalk of wheat, value twopence, which ANN FLACK, aged 70, picked as she passed through a cornfield, and was put into prison for stealing, will be too much even for BULL'S patience. As usual in such cases of Justice's Justice, there was a parson on the bench. There's no one like a clergyman for dealing "justice and not mercy." Next session I trust this, and a few similar cases, will lead to the abolition of County magistrates altogether and an excellent reform it will be, though it won't be carried without a struggle, so many M.P.'s are also J.P.'s, and as far as administrative ability goes, are as like as two P.'s, in either capacity. Rip Van Winkle appears to be a genuine success, and JEFFERSON a real acquisition. The only other dramatic event is the withdrawal of TUPPER'S Alfred at the Haymarket. MR. MONTGOMERY seemed half ashamed of his indulgence towards the veteran twaddler, for he only proposed it the last night of his season. It was the wrong time of the year, for all the young ladies are out of town, and they are the only men who admire TUPPER. FECHTER is to re-open with a dramatic version of The Bride of Lammermoor. He will make a capital Ravenswood, I think.

WHAT a capital drawing-room table book The Autographic Mirror is! It possesses for the scholar and philosopher deeper attractions, and will supply thoughtful men with ample food for reflection and surmise, but it is as a drawing-room book that it will be profitable the public of scholars and sages is too small to be a paying one. The collection is well-edited, and I doubt not will continue to keep up the interest-there must be large stores of valuable autographs somewhere; I know of several, which should be accessible. While I am on literary matters, I may mention what real pleasure I have had in reading CAPERN's Wayside Warblings. The Bideford Postman is a genuine poet of nature, and while he chirps about Devonshire and flowers and birds is simply delicious. It is pleasant to be able to give such unqualified praise to a self-taught songster, for such men as a rule are indifferent and impertinent versifiers. CAPERN, however, is "real grit," and his book should be in the hands of those who like rough diamonds. I do.

IN these days the hoardings of London are enough to supply

OZONE.

(Vide Times of 30th ultimo.)

DID you hear of the use of ozone, ohone?

It's the best disinfectant that's known, they've shown.
Though it doesn't appear

To my mind very clear,

Yet we'll sing of the praise of ozone, ohone!
Oh! we'll sing of the praise of ozone!

I don't quite see how it can act-in fact

In a room where a hundred are packed it's lacked:
In a tenanted place

Not a ghost of a trace

Of the gas that is known as ozone is shown,
Not a trace of this useful ozone!

But if on Ben Nevis's top you stop,

You will find of this gas there's a crop-but drop
To the regions below,

And experiments show
Not a trace of this useful ozone is known,
Not a trace of this useful ozone!

In a desert 'twill cover the ground, all round,
And up in the clouds I'll be bound it's found;
But O it's a pity

That here in the city
The divvle a drop of ozone is blown,
Not a drop of this useful ozone !

It's because I'm an ignorant chap, mayhap,
And I daresay I merit a slap or rap,
But it's never you see,
Where it's wanted to be,
So I call it Policeman Ozone-it's known
By my friends as Policeman Ozone!

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FROM OUR STALL.

Ir is not often that it is our pleasing duty to congratulate the public on the arrival of a man of genius. It is seldom that we get anything from America but large posters and enormous impostors. Considering the amount of fifteenth-rate American artists who have made fortunes here, Columbia owed us a good deal. She has paid us. For one MR. JEFFERSON we would bear much. He would atone to us for many Feejee Mermaids, Talking Fish, Pig-faced Ladies, Doubletongued Kangaroos, Guinea-pigs with two tails, Anthropoglossi, and Anthropophagi.

The Adelphi Theatre re-opened on Monday. During the recess the theatre has been re-embellished and decorated, and the seats re-stuffed. It is a pity that more room has not been left between the rows of seats for that beautiful piece of mechanism, the human leg, which is not capable of compression-no matter how intellectual the entertainment provided for its proprietor. Rip Van Winkle; or, the Sleep of Twenty Years, is a new Drama from the pen of MR. BOUCICAULT, founded upon WASHINGTON IRVING's well-known legend. It is an excellent drama, well-conceived and put together, and capitally written, with the exception of two "carpenters' scenes," as they are called, in the last act, which are commonplace in the extreme, and seem to belong to some other piece, and to be the work of an inferior hand. We will not attempt a description of the piece, which everybody will be forced to go and see for actors of the JEFFERSON altitude are swans of the inkiest plumage. We will merely suggest that an improvement might be made in the costumes of Hendrich Hudson and his spectral crew; the skittle-playing goblins look too positive and real-dark blue pilot coats and bright scarlet waistcoats are slop-shoppy and comfortable. The ghostly garments should be of the hue of mist, with but a faint and foggy difference between the texture and colour of coat, vest, and knickerbockers. It would be as well, too, if the dresses worn by the villagers, in the third act, were more modern, for it would mark the lapse of time more strongly.

He would be a clever critic who could find a fault with MR. JEFFERSON's performance of Rip Van Winkle-the graceful, drunken, good humoured, loving and loveable Dutch scapegrace and vagabond. It was a highly-finished picture-full of humour, pathos, human inconsistencies, real pains and small pleasures-no miniature ever boasted more delicate manipulation, and yet it is unstained by an atom of PreRaphaelite pedantry. Rip Van Winkle, according to MR. JEFFERSON, is a real man, and not a stage lay-figure, galvanised, and gas-lighted, and lime-lighted, and rouged up into a semblance of existence. In the tenderness and truthfulness of its treatment we were reminded of the late MR. FARREN; and in its easy, natural buoyancy-if tradition be not fiction-old playgoers might recall memories of the elder EMERY.

Rip Van Winkle, at the Adelphi, is extremely fortunate in his spouse. A truer specimen of matronly tenderness and virago temper than Vrow Van Winkle, as personated by MRS. BILLINGTON, was never seen outside the frame of a picture by TENIERS. We never thought an ungentle person of the gentler (?) sex could have been so agreeable. It would be "something to be loved "- -as the ballad says-as Rip Van Winkle was; even at the cost of being, at times, so crowed over and cudgelled. So Rip! Rip! Rip! Rip! Hurray for Rip Van Winkle, for Vrow Van Winkle, and the Fraulein Van Winkle, and her future husband, "ant their families, ant may they prosper!"

Many have told of the monks of old what a saintly race were they; but Fra Angelo, who dwelt near Naples, in the thirteenth century, was certainly the worst specimen of monkery ever seen on any stage, or ever read of in any boiling-hot Protestant novel. Not only was this villanous ecclesiastic a ruffian and a hypocrite, but he was ugly to a degree.

Compared to him, Quasimodo, of Notre Dame de Paris, was beautiful as a butterfly. Nature had, as it were, ticketed him "Dangerous!" His face was as a label whereon is written, "Beware of a monster!" or, "You are requested not to touch the model villain!" Fra Angelo delights in murder, because it is the wrong thing to do; and that no species of turpitude may be wanting to complete a picture of perfect depravity, he is the elder brother of a Marquis. The noble Duke of Ceretto is aged, but proud. He desires his son Lorenzowho is beautiful and proud-to marry Leonora de Volgenza, who is also beautiful and proud. But Lorenzo loves-not to put too fine a point upon it, and to weary our readers with unnecessary circumlocution-Another; one Marina, who is also beautiful and proud. But Marina is lowly born, and Leonora is of the highest rank. Lorenzo naturally prefers beauty allied to humble worth, to equal beauty and equality of station-young men who have been well brought up generally do; at least, they did near Naples in the thirteenth century. The Duke de Ceretto, the Marquis de Volgenza, and Leonora are all in despair, because Lorenzo insists on marrying Marina. What is to be done? Fra Angelo has an idea-it is the only idea he has, but he makes the most of it. "Suppose," he suggests, "Marina were to die

* Query, libel.-ED.

by poison, then everything would go well. It need be no trouble to any of you, I'll do it-it will be a pleasure to me-the sort of thing I enjoy!" The Duke sees it, the Marquis sees it, and even Leonora sees it; and off speeds the delighted priest-joy in his heart and arsenic in his pocket. Luckily, Leonora reflects that to lift your hand to poison a fellow creature even though she be younger and more beautiful than yourself-is not only improper, but unladylike. She writes to Lorenzo informing him of the wily monk s nefarious intentions. Lorenzo posts off to prevent their fulfilment, and arrives in the nick of time. Marina is about to drink the fatal draught, and the monk is standing by delighted, because he knows that it will disagree with her. Lorenzo seizes the cup with one hand and the throat of Fra Angelo with the other, and tilting the contents of the cup down the throat of the holy father, waits to see how he likes it an incident which causes Fra Angelo to writhe with agony, and the audience to roar with laughter Fra Angelo dies cursing. It is his nature to. Leonora poisons herself, and pardons everybody; and Lorenzo and his Marina are very glad, for they can be united; and the curtain falls, and the audience are very glad, for they can go out.

Such is an outline of the incidents of the new play at the Haymarket; which has the merit of being in five acts, each of them very long. MISS KATHERINE RODGERS, a débutante from the provinces, despite the piece and the part, made a deservedly favourable impression-indeed, the play was very well acted, though MR. VOLLAIRE, who appeared as the Fra, made a too liberal use of the means of vocal and facial expressions at his command.

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THEY told him rudely she was dead,
Yet still he sat and smiled,
And quite declined to see the bed,
Where lay the lovely child:
He little cared for fulsome praise,
Or stupid looks of sorrow,
"Pooh! pooh!" he cried, "I know her ways
She'll do the same to-morrow!"

One day they missed him, and they found,
The old man pale and weak,

The summer wind with mournful sound,
Fanned his decided cheek:

In vain that wind he tried to raise,
And one and thruppence borrow,
"Pooh, pooh!" he cried, "I knew her ways,
She'll be all there to-morrow."

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1st Swell:-"WHY, FWANK, WHAT ON EARTH HAVE YOU GOT THERE?"

2nd Ditto :-"WELL, YOU SEE, IT'S SO FWIGHTFULLY HOT A FELLAH CAN not KEEP COOL; SO I'VE GOT A LUMP OF WENHAM LAKE IN MY HAT, WHICH GWADUALLY MELTS, WUNS THROUGH THE LITTLE GUTTER, AND LAYS THE DUST; WHILE THE MILL ON TOP GOES WOUND, AND WAFTS COOL ZEPHYRS ABOUT MY HEAD.

TWENTY YEARS' PROGRESS.

AN IRISH MELODY,

Only MOORE musical and less melancholy.
Oh! Rip Van Winkle less doubt encumbers-
(The man who's fallen asleep for years),
When first awaking from lengthened slumbers-
Than what to this Irish boy appears,
Who's roused by voices of merry-making,
When years long he'd sleeping lain,
And finds his country is now awaking
To such a fine prospect once again!

He sees the cabin no wretched shealing;
The boys are dandies, the pig's a swell;
There's girls flax-winding and girls flax-reeling,
And all the crops looking moighty well.
His rusted arm, disloyal token,

Idly years may now remain,

For Ireland's long sleep of sorrow's broken,There's such a fine prospect once again!

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THE WEATHER AND THE PARKS. SEPTEMBER promises well, but is not likely to last quite as long as August. In fact, we shall not be surprised at finding it a whole day shorter. The two months are supposed to have tossed up for the odd one, and September, after losing, went off to bed grumbling "Perdidi diem," a quotation subsequently lifted by the Emperor TITUS, who sung the first word to the air of Per-diddy-iddy-iddy-iddy-ido! Some people say that the moon is responsible for the shortcomings of September. If so, somebody ought to shoot the moon for her injustice directly the supply of grouse begins to run short. There need be no lack of guns for this purpose, because the wind will begin to blow great ones directly the equinoctial gales commence. The crops are quite ready for cutting-especially carrots, which can easily be replaced by a brown wig, if necessary, and nobody need be a bit the wiser. Cattle are in a sad way, particularly when they are coming up on the road to Newgate Market. It is no use to give the sheep any advice, as they are sure to reply, "Bah!" like a lot of unbelieving Frenchmen. For intelligence respecting pigs, we must refer our readers to the reports of the iron-market, in which place they are quite at home. (N.B.The pigs, not the readers.)

We have not paid much attention to the parks lately, but they are accustomed to neglect, so they will hardly complain of us. Abneypark is as full of life as usual; and a nicer walk, for anybody who is anxious to bury his cares for an hour or two, it would be a difficult thing to point out. Barnsbury-park is at Islington for the season; we happen to know a very nice young lady who lives there-a fact which will, no doubt, endear Barnsbury-park to the general public. Greenwich-park, we hear, is not far from the hospital, which says very little for the condition of its health. We should recommend it strongly to take a run up Observatory-hill once a day for the sake of exercise, if it wishes to recover. In case of the worst, of course Greenwich Hospital would be happy to take it in as an out-pensioner.

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THE IRISH RIP VAN WINKLE.

A Considerable Improvement in Twenty Years.

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