DORA.-I am Farmer Allan's niece and adopted daughter—a girl of timorous, but noble disposition. ALLEN.-Yes, Dora, they know all that. It's in the bills. ALLEN. My will is law, gyurl! By the way, talking of my Will- DORA. Certainly. With as much rapture as is consistent with my timorous but noble disposition. If my disposition were a little more audacious, I would admit that I fervently love him, although he don't care a straw for me. ALLEN.-Timorous, but noble gyurl! But my will is law, and he shall have you. Enter WILL. Enter ALLEN. DORA.-Father, here is a kid. ALLEN. He is a smart youth. Whose is he! Of Jewish extraction, I should say. DORA (aside). He does look Jewish, but he is the babe of Mary and ALLEN.-Dora, I love this Israelite, I will adopt him! ALLEN.-Ha! Then cush you! Cush you! Cush you! Enter LUKE Blomfield. LUKE.-Not so! Behold the setting sun! He is like a dying Christian! (Setting sun is shy, and goes out, but eventually returns, and sets very fast -a deputation of raspberry jam and pink coral advancing to meet it. New and beautiful scenery by MR. Gates.) ALLEN. 'Tis a-terrue! I see the folly of my ways. Take her, Luke, and be happy. Mary, you shall have more chops than you can eat. Israelitish offspring of my Christian son, you shall be educated for the Bar. Enter RUSTICS, who have been loitering. General dance of all the characters. Solo by Israelite. Curtain. OURSELVES.-Well, it's a pretty piece, but too long and too goody WILL (weakly, and trying to look good).—Who kissed the place to in tone. Well acted by Miss TERRY, and fairly by MR. NEVILLE. Placed make it well?My father! upon the stage in a manner that disgraces even the Adelphi. ALLEN.-Will, marry Dora! How was it that MR. CHARLES READE didn't strangle the stage manager? DORA.-DO. My timorous (but noble) disposition forbids my saying more. WILL.-Impossible, father, for I am already married! Ha! ha! [Blushes. WILL.-Your Will is law-fully wedded to Mary Morrison. Enter MARY—probably from making pills in the kitchen-A Poor Relation of the Allens, acting as their Servant. See Play-Bill. ALLEN. Then cush you both! Away with ye! WILL (looking more virtuous than ever).-We go! ALLEN.-Cushes! Cushes! Cushes! [Falls down in a frenzied fit. ACT II. SCENE 1.-Brookside Cottage, the Residence of William and Mary (not the Monarchs of those names). Enter MARY. MARY.-How happy I ought to be! My William is dying fast, and everything seems prosperous. An unknown benefactor hangs chops on my garden paling every morning. (Weeping glad tears.) I broil them! Enter FARMER ALLEN, smashed. Vulgar errors of to-day. THE notion that "a knobstick" is so called because he is an (kn)obstacle in the way of his fellow-workmen on strike, is, we believe, purely fanciful. The derivation of the term is, however, involved in nobscurity. The book just announced with the title of "Never Caught" is not, we hear, a reply to Mr. ARTHUR ARNOLD'S " Hever Court." The idea that it is could, we should suppose, only have occurred to an illiterate cockney. The phrase, "Tuck in your Tupperny" could not possibly have originated among the devourers of MR. TUPPER'S" Proverbial Wisdom," for the reason, that the true orthography of the thing tucked in is two-penny, a cant term for a head! 66 Datey Hobble-'um !" THERE is to be a great ball at the Hotel de Ville, to which all the crowned heads who may be in Paris will be invited. M. DESCHAMP for the decoration of the building. The day is not yet named, for of has been sent to Catania, Syracuse and Tunis to purchase palm-trees course until they have got the palms the authorities cannot enter upon the question of dates. Parliamentary. THE young fruit has been terribly cut off by frost in the South of England-in fact, in some divisions there has recently been a good deal of pearing-off. The Sign of a Fraction. THE human race is deteriorating. We used to be told that nine tailors made a man; but we find now that hundreds of them will not even make a pair of breeches. A Voice from the Ranks. WE understand that our contemporary, The Whip, is about to [Dies in great agony. publish a translation of Cicero's famous oration-Pro (more than sixpence a) Milone. DORA-Papa! ALLEN.-I am smashed-smashed-and cannot make my will, which, however, would be law if I could only execute it. Enter WILL, in a perambulator, very ill. WILL-I feel all-overish. ALL-AH! ACT III. SCENE 1.-The Wheat Field. Eighteenpennyworth of straw to represent Agricultural Plenty. Fire Balloon in the distance. Hedge of dirty blue cloth to field. Adelphi sky-borders. (New and beautiful scenery by MR. GATES.) Enter ALLEN and DORA. ALLEN (in a burst of un-farmer-like gratitude).-Well, lass, this is the finest crop of straw I've seen this fifty year! DORA (improving the opportunity).-Then forgive Mary! ALLEN-Never! I love you, Dora, with all the rapturous ecstacy of an enthusiastic parent. I am never happy without you-you are mine, and part of me; but allude to that young woman again, and I'll turn you out to starve in the streets! [Exit. PARIS PENCILLINGS. CUPID'S A. B. C. YEARS have elapsed-many bright, many shady(More than I'm willing to say), Since I devotedly loved a young lady Living just over the way. Sweet seventeen, and as fair as a lily Show me the lily so fair; What was the wonder I fell, willy-nilly, Head over heels in the snare? Merely a clerk-not a year from a school yet Wages and wits on a par Playing the Romeo to Somebody's Juliet, Quite like a tragedy star. How could I settle to commerce or trading Tost on an ocean of care, Brimful of doubts (as per Love's bill of lading), Bound for the Gulf of Despair? How did I waste my long mornings together, Waiting and watching, and wondering whether Smiles and salutes, inexpressibly tender, Daily went over the street. I, at discretion, had made my surrender; Thanks-many thanks-for thy noble invention, Lending an ear to the quick apprehension, Dear little word, it was bliss to repeat it: First came an L, then an 0; Two other letters remain to complete it Need I continue? Oh, no! Love, beyond pantomime billing and cooing, Time, the old bully, takes pleasure in doing Infinite harm to Romance. Now I believe-now the spell has been broken Love deaf and dumb is absurd; Now I believe that if Passion had spoken, hat; not at all. His whiskers are sandy, his hair cropped, and his BOHEMIA, PARIS. DEAR SIR,-Have you a favourite corn? If so, just start off on a broiling day in June, to walk five miles in a pair of new boots, to see a race! and see how you like it. The other day being the French Derby day I was naturally anxious to see what our eccentric neighbours could do in that line. Listen to the tale of that wretched day. Twelve o'clock finds me at the Palais Royal, togged up, I may say, without appearing conceited, "to the nines," and waiting for an omnibus to take me to the Bois de Boulogne. No. 1 comes up, crammed! No. 2, jammed!! No. 3 "confounded nuisance" I pettishly exclaim, angrily biting my nether lip, and carelessly throwing the butt end of a halfpenny Bordeaux against the white and expansive waistcoat of a fat French-francs!" man who stands near me. He swears loud and long, and when he has had enough of that, he bows and smiles as only a fat Frenchman can. I can see he has not forgiven me by the way he eyes a small stain the offending fragment has made on his whitewashed corporation. Omnibus No. 4 appears round the corner! Full! No! Room for one on the outside!! My friend the fat Frenchman sees this too, and is already half-way to the 'bus. I gird up my loins and pursue him, sharp! He sees me coming, and redoubles his speed!! Breathless excitement and loud cheers from passengers on top!! Madly I bound forward!!! I catch him up and we reach the steps!! Together!!!! Fearful struggle!! Where and oh where is your French politeness now!! I plant my right elbow in his stomach and wriggle myself into the first step!! Seeing that my victory is almost certain, my opponent brings the heel of his right boot heavily down upon the little toe of my left foot!!!! Agony!!! I release my hold! I stagger back!! and the French fiend, laughing horridly, ascends the steps and takes his place. What is to be done now? I feebly totter to the pavement and lean against a lamp post! "Ullo POTTS says a familiar voice at my side, "'ow are yer, when did you come to Paris. You look blown! What's up?" The speaker is a podgy thickset little man, whose get up " is unmistakeably British. His hat is not a tall whiskers, and blue tie. Some say he is the Emperor of All the Russias, others affirm he is the King of the Belgians. I can't find out which he is. The bell rings for the race. The weather becomes overcast. I have a white hat on. I seldom do mount a white hat, but whenever I do it's sure to rain. Rain! thunder!! lightning!!! Bell rings a second time for race. We (the public) crowd on to the course, in crder to see it well. Being politely requested by sergents to leave a little room for the horses, we form a line down the centre of the course, thereby making it about half its original size. The horses get in line!! They're off!! In the excitement of the moment we close behind them and crowd all over the course. Once more we are requested to make a little room. We again form the line down centre. They are coming round!!! I wish this great sergent would get out of my light! Here they come! Patricien! Pat(crunch!!)-Oh! oww! o-o-o-oh! the sergent has backed unto my unfortunate toe! * Oblivion * So much for the Grand Prix. I hobbled towards home as far as the Champs Elysées, where a dirty man in a swing cart took compassion on me and carried me to the Survey side for five francs. I shall not forget the Grand Prix de Paris in a hurry! I shall well remember it; I have cause-cors aux pieds. Oh, making mistakes in talking, Oh, shirts with a faithful button, When he followed home a lady, Oh, ain't it a dismal story, Juswers to Correspondents. [We cannot return rejected MSS. or sketches unless they are accompanied by a stamped and directed envelope.] KESWICK CODLING.-That joke about Dried-'un is a very high and dried-'un and has been stranded on the shores of antiquity. FLY-WHEEL.-You must be thought a dull fellow in your circle to judge from the spokes-we beg pardon, "jokes," you send us. IGNOTUS.-Should sign himself Ignoramus, for he directs his letter "to the Editor" and addresses his remarks to some one else. B. F. H., Manchester.-The point of your jokes is purely mathematical for it hath no magnitude. M. A. B., Manchester.-Do you seriously consider the columns of a comic paper the proper place for "a revised and corrected edition of the Apostles' Creed"? We don't. J. D., Oldham.-The only thing you send us that is comic enough for insertion is the letter accompanying your MS. "Sir,-Enclosed if approved should be glad of their insertion. Yours ete." That is really funny! A FRIEND. We never take in a friend. Declined with thanks-J. C. S., Packington-street; F. G. P.; O. K.; W. G. S.; J. A. S.; F. W. H.; Oxoniensis; W. S., Chelsea; S. J. W. C., Everton Crescent; R. L. D.; Glad; W. D., Cheltenham; E. G., St. James's-street; J. A., Canterbury; W. B., Finsbury-place; Flit-Flirt; Q; A. S. D.; G. D. E. P.; E. G. R., Claremont-square; E. D. P.; G. F., Willis-road; H. E. V. D.; F. W. H.; R. B., Swithin's-lane; B; Felix; B. F. H.; L. B., Manchester; B., House Old Barracks, Fermoy; 2,000 Years Old; S. C.; T. M. F.; H. M., Bethnal Green; W. H., Moorgatestreet; A. L. G.; J. M. D.; Dublin; Sydenham; J. R., Manchester; J. F. D.; Apple Sauce; W. B. Forsey; E. M., Milton-street; H. P., Worcester; E. H. THE GREAT FRENCH EXHIBITION. MY DEAR 'LIZA,-Me and Boв got here safe at last; but, as I says, when BoB asked me whether I wasn't enjoying myself, give me the City of London after all, and a rump steak and oysters in Aldersgatestreet, and then I don't want to go on to the Paris. You see the joke, I dare say,-pernounce Paris with a aitch, an' there you are. Speaking of h, I wish as we had one of them salted hedge-bones of beef as you're such a hand at, over here; for as for the food of all nations, I'm blost if it ain't downright disgustin'. We've been here now two days, and not a thing fit for to eat, nothing but your kickshaws, except once, when I lost sight of BoB for a minute, and finds him a-starin' at a b'iled leg o' mutton, and where do you think, but at a house called His Lordship's Larder, which is in a place called the French for Queen-street. I promise you we made a dinner that day, so that when we went to the Exhibition afterwards we didn't want more than a cup of corfy, and I just wish we'd done without that, for of all the precious messes-but there, I'll tell you how it come about, and then you'll pity me, as is always used to my cup o' tea and muffin, or a shrimp, or what not, at five p.m., reg'lar every afternoon. Call this a Exhibition indeed-at least, they don't-they call it a Ex-pose-ition, and they're about right, for it's a complete exposee, as ALDERMAN JOBLING used to sav when anythink was found out about the way the things went at the Corporation dinners. Of course, it's outside the building here that people like best, becos there the ladies can show off their toggery, and don't get rumpled. The French is a people for the open hair, especially now the women hain't got no bonnets to speak of; and lor, 'LIZA, I should like you to see some of 'em made like butterflies and wheatsheafs, and one was a pigeon-pie, just like you've seen at RING and BRYMERS', with the claws a-sticking through the crust at the top. The open air's what I always did like myself, specially out 'Ampstead way, or p'raps at Spring Head, when there was wateroreases, and the gipsy, and the cat with blue eyes; but here things is different, as you'll understand when I tell you that me and Boв found ourselfs under a buildin' jest like a scene at the Wells when they played Blue Beard. You recklect that night, don't you? Well, there it was, nothink but reg'lar lath-and-plaster, bless you-but all the colours of the rainbow. I never see anything more gingerbread, except the old LORD MAYOR'S coach; and things that looks like writing a-crawlin' all over the front, in what they tell me is Arabick characters. I've seen them before on chemists' bottles. I can tell you me and BoB was precious tired, fagging about the assfeltum pavements, which is like the new injy-rubber as takes out blots, and sticks awful to the soles of your boots. There's no settin' down here though without paying, for every seat, and every bit and drop of anythink, and the very water and air is all concessioned that is, let out to hire to chaps as have bought 'em up to sell retail, and they won't part with their rights without making of you pay. The only thing as is not concessioned is to make a hijeous row; and outside this precious Blue Beard place, perched on a sort of a sophy as made your legs ache with envy to look at it, was five yaller chaps with red caps, and such baggy what's-o'names as would ha' made me a couple o' pair-all tum-tumming, and bongbonging, and twiddling away like melancholy-mad monkeys. When presently, amongst all the crowd of Turks in turbans, and soldiers, and johndamns, and other confounded foreigners, a cove with a redder cap and baggier what's-o'names, brings a tray of little cups of black stuff. "Whatever is these ?" I says to him, pointing to the musicianers, and what do you think he says? "Tuneys," he says. "Oh," says I, "if you call that a tune I'd sooner hear a butcher sharpen a saw; but what do you call this stuff?" "Corfy," says he. It was as black as ink, and I thought I never should have done larfin' to see BоB after he'd tossed off a cup. "Well," I says, "if them's Tuneys and this is corfy, I don't wonder at Blue Beard." But BoB was savage, and says, "Tuneys is the name of the place, and Alljeers is close by," which I don't wonder at it a bit; and I'll tell you some more in my next. Yours, dear 'Liza, SAM TROTTLE. Unsweeted Law. THE judgments of one of our legal luminaries convince us that so far from the law being made palatable, it is not desirable that it should be made Lush-ious. Nctes on Noses. Ir you let a man pull your nose to-day, when will he do it again?Why next tweak, of course! London: Printed by JUDD & GLASS, Phoenix Works, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons, and Published (for the Proprietor) by W. ALDER, at 80, riset-street, E.C.June 15, 1867. |