London: Printed by JUDD & GLASS, Phoenix Works, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons, and Published (for the Proprietors) by THOMAS BAKER,

at 80, Fleet-street, E.C.-October 28, 1865.

THE MAIDEN'S PLAINT.

I'm very sad, mamma, to-day,

No mortal could feel flatter,
Yet, mia madre, I must say,

I scarce know what's the matter.

It's not that CHARLES will never know
The lesson taught by Cupid-
It's not that MUDIE's novels grow
Voluminous and stupid.

It's not because at last night's dance
You chid me, sweetest mother,
For giving the great earl no glance,
But petting his young brother.
It's not that when his box he lent,
And then came praising PATTI,
I said I knew not what he meant,
And sneered at "Batti, Batti."
It's not the curate, wretched man,
Who smiled and fawned upon me,
And when I smiled on him, began
To dare to think he'd won me.

It's not that all the croquêt fun
Is over, and the roving,
The play, whichever side has won,
That often leads to loving.

It's not my chignon that-but stop!
I've found my bitter sorrow,

A trip to some expensive shop,
Shall bring me peace to-morrow.

By that MISS LANE, the other morn

In church behind my shoulder,

The bonnet "just come out was worn,

And I wore one much older.

SOMETHING LIKE A CELEBRITY.

Operator:-" SEE THAT GEN'L'MAN, SIR, A-BRUSHIN' OF 'IS 'AIR? ExTRAWNARY MAN, SIR! WONDERFUL GENIUS, SIR!"

Patient:-"INDEED! WHO IS HE?"

Operator (mysteriously):-"THAT SIR! THAT IS Our Poet!"

LITERARY MEM.

We learn from a contemporary that a new magazine is to be started called The Tory. Judging from the fate of its predecessors in the same line, it had better be called the Transi-tory.

spite of MR. JONES, who is in front of us, and has an altercation with We have ever firmly believed in the statement that cheap and nasty need take off her hat. At the most delicious bit of melody away slides MRS. JONES as to whether he shall sit on her jacket, or whether she go together, but we did think it would be impossible to render the the door and young WILKINS appears, to the great delight of his performance of the works of great masters nasty, till we attended two cheap performances at Her Majesty's Theatre-an institution, by the quite in the middle. They immediately indulge in frightful pantomamma and sisters, who are in the front row of the gallery stalls, way, which HER MAJESTY had shown great discrimination in abandon-mime to attract his attention; which is, to say the least, unnecessary, ing long before her retirement from public life. Of course, these remarks do not apply to an artist of such rare qualifications, both as a as he is already directed to his seat, to which he makes his way, dissinger and an actress, as MME. TITIENS, who is at present quite un-word of apology; which is, of course, unnecessary, because he is in turbing the whole row of people in front of whom he passes, without a rivalled on the lyric stage; nor, in fact, do we wish to say anything but what is laudatory of MR. SANTLEY, MDLLE. SINICO, or SIG. GARDONI; evening dress. but we must protest against the shameful way in which the operas given at cheap prices are placed before the public. First, as regards the cheapness, the only great gain is on the part of those who go to the stalls or dress circle; but to the more economical portion of the musical public it is no very great advantage to be admitted to those vilely arranged gallery stalls at a reduction of a shilling, and to be privileged to undergo a process of cooking before that awfully ugly chandelier at four shillings a-head! We will merely make a passing remark on the brigandage which is rife at the top of the stairs, where canes and umbrellas are seized by a gang of privileged depredators; to recover which articles, at the end of the performance, you are jostled, crowded, and detained, to say nothing of being compelled to pay! We will imagine, then, that we have paid our money beforehand, and are, therefore free to mount those ricketty stairs, and pass through those dingy passages, which suggest to the mind how the place would burn if it got a chance. We have reached our seat, and what with being fried by the chandelier, and having our head blown off, by a sliding door being constantly opened and shut during the first hour, we are fairly comfortable! Pass we on to consider the opera: the tenor, whose name looks well in the bill, but who has figured there from time to time in the memory of opera-goers for many years, has a severe cold, and there is an apology for him, which we read whilst the orchestra is tuning. The overture is played admirably; and in

We don't care whether the opera be the incomparable Fidelio, or the very charming Faust, the result is the same; for both are miserably executed. The orchestra is excellent, as we have already said, as is also the singing of one or two artistes, but the chorus, the dances, and the scenery are all so arranged as to give you the idea that some Hebrew speculator has got the theatre cheap for a few nights, and having engaged a few good artists, has left the getting up of the operas to take its chance. In vain may MME. TITIENS sing and act superbly if the chorus be out of time and out of tune. In vain does the orchestra play the charming music of the Kermesse, when not two of the dancers are in time. It is useless to impose on an artist who is suffering from cold, a task that would be beyond his powers even if he were perfectly well. The whole affair bears the aspect of being got up, very like the famous razors, "to sell"-the British public.

No doubt, to most of those who go to "Cheap Performances," the opera is the opera, and that's enough. It sounds well to say you've been, and it looks well to go in a red cloak and a wreath; and as to the music that is quite a secondary consideration, provided always you can say that TITIENS and SANTLEY sang. The management is aware of this; but must also be aware that such performances as those with which it has favoured us are calculated to disgust all true lovers of music; and have done much to lower Her Majesty's Theatre in the estimation of those who would wish to be its patrons.

EGUISET

TOWN TALK

BY THE SAUNTERER IN SOCIETY.

OOR LORD RUSSELL is
not being received
very cordially. The
Times welcomes him
with a hug like that
of a bear; you fancy
you hear his ribs
cracking and nobody
seems very delighted
to hear of his prefer-
ment. And yet we
ought to be-for it re-
moves him from that
temptation of pen and
ink which was always
before him at the
Foreign Office.

I SEE that Bethnal

busy about "Everybody's Business." I wonder whether "Everybody's Business" is to look after "Somebody's Luggage." I rather guess there's a connection. But then "Rates and Taxes!" What is the meaning of that? I call it cruel: we shall all have our Christmas bills in, and those dreadful claims for rates and taxes will be among them. What it is to be I can't guess-a book, I suppose. Yes, but what about? I have tried to find out, and have heard of its being the work of various people of a gentleman connected with the bar, in which case it might be a legal handbook; of one connected with a public department, in which case it might be an official publication touching the revenue; of a dramatist, when it might be a sensation drama with a hero with the water cut off; of gentlemen connected with comic, a daily, and an evening paper, in which case it might be a collection of essays and leaders or anything. But I suppose we shall learn in time.

a

The winter art campaign is about to commence. MR. WALLIS has removed his exhibition to Suffolk-street, and MR. GAMBART opens an exhibition of his own at the French Gallery, and rather disingenuously calls it "the thirteenth" instead of "the first" exhibition. Both are filled with good works by the best artists of the day.

Green has not made IL N'EST JAMAIS TROP TARD POUR RACCOMMODER!
much progress, in spite
of the attention drawn
to it some time since.
MR. CHRISTIE, the in-
spector of nuisances,
appears to be the in-
carnation of all that a
Board of Guardians
could desire. A child
died in one of eight
houses which have
been, so the evidence

A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS. WITH APPROPRIATE MUSIC.
ACT I.-FARNBOROUGH.

Enter the HON. MR. WINCHESTER, TOM ROBINSON, and JOSEPHS.
HON. MR. W.-I am going to Australia, so I shall go and learn
how to shoe a horse.
[Exit Hon. Mr. W.

stated, in a most insalubrious condition for eight years. MR. CHRISTIE can't help that"-he only goes and reports when he is "called in." "Was it your duty," says the coroner, "to attend only where there was a complaint?" Observe the way in which the inspector dodges the question. "My instructions were to attend on those who made complaints." Yes, MR. CHRISTIE, but not only on those-you have eyes, sir, and should be able to see and attend to other cases, unless you want to make us believe that complaints are so numerous, your whole time is taken up with them; in which case the parish does you credit, as an inspector of nuisances of some years standing! The coroner learns that the neighbourhood has not been inspected for ten months, and says this state of things will not satisfy the public if it does the vestry. Then speaks the parochial mind, in the person of MR. CHRISTIE, "I have nothing to do with the public. I do not care whether the public are satisfied or not. You should go and do it yourself!" That, MR. CHRISTIE, is rude, you know--and what is more, stupid, for if you don't care for the public the public will care for you, and the results may be unpleasant. And the public quite agrees with the jury's verdict and its addendum :

"And the jurors do further say that the conduct of MR. CHRISTIE, the inspector of nuisances, is reprehensible for neglect of duty."

THE parochial mind is wonderfully constituted! The other day there was a fatal accident in the Marylebone-road, and it was alleged at the inquest that the state of the road at that part was disgraceful, and the jury "presented" the St. Pancras Vestry to DR. LANKESTER accordingly. Whereupon there is a meeting of the vestry, and a great clucking and cackling, as of a body of respectable turkeys-and an exhibition of about as much sense and temper as you would expect of those birds. This conclave of nobodies take it into their heads that the coroner and the jury have a spite against them, and protest, and abuse, and justify in the most absurd manner. And then they go and look at the road-with their eyes shut-and declare it to be "the best bit of paving in all London!" If they had not been incompetent noodles they must have seen that this excess of praise rather damages their case. However, because they choose to believe that a coroner, who knows them only by their works, has a personal grudge against them, the road will be left as it is until another accident occurs there. A noble thing is the parochial mind!

AUSTRIA and Prussia, encouraged by their success in Denmark, are about to repeat the performance. The little free town of Frankforton-the-Maine allowed the Congress of German Deputies to assemble, and the two bullies protest against its freedom in so doing, and threaten to take its government into their own hands. The plucky little town is going to give them a smart answer-they may have might on their side, but Frankfort has Maine-and is right in the main too.

As Christmas draws near sundry single line advertisements in the papars set people puzzling. For the last few days everybody has been

Music "Harmonious Blacksmith."
TOM ROBINSON.-I am a thief.

JOSEPHS.-I am a poor boy, and have stolen a potato!
Music "Still so gently o'er me stealing."

Enter GEORGE FIELDING.

GEORGE FIELDING.-I love Sewsan Merton, but I am a beggar.
Enter MR. MERTON.

MERTON.-I cannot allow my Sewsan to marry a beggar.
Music "Haste to the Wedding."

GEORGE.-Monster of Ingratitude!

Music-"Blow, blow, thou wintry wind."
MERTON.-Earn a thousand pounds, and you shall have her!
GEORGE.-Agreed!

Music "Give me your hand."-Bohemian Girl.
Enter WILLIAM FIELDING.

WILLIAM.-George, borrow some money for me!
GEORGE.-No one will lend me any.
WILLIAM.-Then fight!

SEWSAN.-Don't!

Music "Battle of Prague."

Enter SEWSAN.

Enter MR. MEADOWS and CRAWLEY.
MEADOWS.-I am a villain, and I love Sewsan.
CRAWLEY.-I am his tool. Where shall we all go to?
Enter ISAAC LEVI.

[They fight.

[They don't.

A CURATE. He is dying.

Enter a Curate.

[Exit a Curate.

[Sets him free.

I am here to claim you, Sewsan!

SEWSAN.-But, perfidious fiend, you are already married!

GEORGE.-No!

SEWSAN.-Oh!

[Falls into his arms.

MEADOWS.-Foiled! (To villagers) Tell them to stop those infernal

bells!

(The bells, which are several miles off, in an adjoining county, are stopped
immediately.)
Enter POLICEMAN.

POLICEMAN.-Meadows, you are wanted for stealing £7,000.
MEADOWS.-Ha! Prove it!

Enter CRAWLEY, in custody.

CRAWLEY.-He gave me the money.

Enter ISAAC LEVI.

LEVI.-Remark the determined behaviour of an implacable Israelite. He turned me from my home, so for seven years I have lived bricked

215.-It's very hard-they gave me seven years' penal servitude for up in one of the walls with no other companion than a solitary but

stealing a potato!

GEORGE.-Yes, you are Tom Robinson, the desperate burglar.
T. R.-But you will love me nevertheless?
GEORGE.-I will.

[Loves him.

Music "Love not-the thing you love must die." T. R.-There is gold on your estate. Let us find it! GEORGE.-We will. FAITHFUL B.-Golly, massa, black feller knows where find big yaller stone. 'Pose black feller find yaller stone big as white feller's head, what'll white feller gib black feller? Yah! yah!

T. R.—If you find me a lump of gold as big as my head, I will (in a burst of generosity)-yes, I will give you A BOX OF LUCIFER MATCHES! FAITHFUL B.-Golly, golly! 'Pose you wait a bit, buccra massa! [Finds a lump of gold, weighing several tons.

Enter CRAWLEY.

effective lime-light; and there I have patiently awaited an opportunity
for detecting him in his crimes. I saw him give the notes to Crawley!
TOM ROBINSON.-That being the case, it will at once be patent to
everybody that
"IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND."
CURTAIN.

FROM OUR STALL.

No better locality than the Egyptian Hall could be found for the Sphinx. It would have been out of place in the Guildhall, or at the South Kensington Museum. In the stone quarries of the British Museum it might have found an appropriate residence, and congenial society, but still the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, has about it a solemn air of architectural elephantiasis which reminds the beholders of Ptolemy, the Nile, papyrus, and mummies most especially.

Not that the Sphinx now exhibiting near St. James's Park has the remotest connection with that remarkable thing, which was either animal, vegetable, or mineral, or all three combined, and which—if we remember rightly, had the head of an owl, the body of "comet" port, and the legs of an American abolitionist. On the contrary, the new Sphinx resembles a closely-shaved head of one of that ingenuous race spoken of by MR. DISRAELI as Caucasian, and known to the observer unlearned in ethnology as sharp practitioners in the negociation of bills, or the sale of old clothes, new lemons, sponges, French prints, and mosaic jewellery.

The new Sphinx lives, when he is at home, in a small green box, Bengal basketeer, places on a table, the legs of which are visible to that COLONEL STODARE, the clever prestidigitateur, ventriloquist, and the naked eye, as to the double-barrelled opera-glass. The spectator sees an Egyptian head, the eyes and lips closed and compressed. At the word of command from the gallant colonel, given in the trumpettone, which ere that gallant officer laid down the sword and took up the conjuror's baton, battalions obeyed, the Sphinx opens its eyes,

CRAWLEY.—I have seen them take a nugget worth millions. I will turns its head from right to left, and smiles. Imagine a Sphinx steal it, and then George will not be able to marry Sewsan.

Music "Wedding March."

ACT IV.-FARNBOROUGH.

SCENE I.-Meadows' House.

smiling! The notion of the usual prim audience at Exeter Hall singing Slap bang" would be nothing to it, and then it speaks, in a deep, measured tone, and with a cadence that would remind us of tragedians but that it emphasises the proper words, and seems to understand what it is saying. Why do they not engage it at one of our national theatres? Its performance is extremely meritorious, and short, and in the language of the ancestors of Artemus Ward, "well worth the money alone for to see." We advise everybody to go and see it who is fond of Sphinxes, and it has this great merit over the CRAWLEY.-I have just returned from Australia. Fielding has Sphinxes of antiquity that it does not ask riddles, and eats nobody found an enormous nugget, and is in this very village.

MEADOWS.-I am going to marry Sewsan to morrow. I have stopped all George Fielding's letters, and spread the report that he has married an aborigine. Enter CRAWLEY.

up, except with curiosity to know how it is done.

Tomkins (to fair neighbour) :-" JAY TELLMONG LER HABITOOD DE PARLY FRONSY QUER JER FAY MAY PROPER REFLEXIONG— —(Aside)— CONFOUND THAT FRENCHMAN OPPOSITE, WHAT'S HE GRINNING AT ?"