Chapter II: Part 2

Mr. ADOLPHUS addressed the court for the defendant. He had not the golden tongue--no, he was not blessed with the oratory of his learned friend. He would therefore confine himself to the common sense view of the question. He was not talking to Arcadian shepherds (he was very happy to see his own butcher in the jury-box), but to men of business. If there had been any arts practised, it was on the side of the plaintiff's wife. His client had visited the plaintiff out of pure compassion. The plaintiff's show was a failing concern; his client, with a benevolence which had marked his long career, wished to give him the benefit of his own attractions, joined to those of the woman. Well, the plaintiff knew the value of money, and therefore left his wife and the defendant to arrange the affair between them. "Gentlemen of the jury," continued the learned counsel, "it must appear to you, that on the part of the plaintiff this is not an affair of the heart, but a matter of the breeches' pocket. He leaves his wife--a fascinating, versatile creature--with my client, I confess it, an acknowledged man of gallantry. Well, the result is--what was to be expected. My learned friend has dwelt, with his accustomed eloquence, on his client's broken heart. I will not speak of his heart; but I must say that the man who, bereaved of the partner of his bosom, can still eat six plates of alamode beef, must have a most excellent stomach. Gentlemen, beware of giving heavy damages in this case, or otherwise you will unconsciously be the promoters of great immorality. This is no paradox, gentlemen; for I am credibly informed that if the man succeed in getting large damages, he will immediately take his wife home to his bosom and his van, and instead of exhibiting her, as he has hitherto done, for one penny, he will, on the strength of the notoriety of this trial, and as a man knowing the curiosity of society, immediately advance that penny to threepence. You will, therefore, consider your verdict, gentlemen, and give such moderate damages as will entirely mend the plaintiff's broken heart."

The jury, without retiring from the box, returned a verdict of "Damages One Farthing!"

* * * * *

We are credibly informed--though the evidence was not adduced in court--that Monsieur Bonbon first suspected his dishonour from his wife's hair papers. She had most negligently curled her tresses in the soft paper epistles of her _innamorato_.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XXI.

_From a Sketch made in "THE PALMERSTON GALLERY."_]

* * * * *

THE FETES FOR THE POLISH--AND FATE OF THE BRITISH POOR.

"Charity begins at home," says, or rather said, an admirable old proverb; but alack! the adage, or the times, or both, are out of joint--the wholesome maxim has lost its force--and homes for Charity must now be far as the _Poles_ asunder, ere the benign influence of the weeping goddess can fall upon its wretched supplicants.

In private life the neglect of a domestic hearth for the vainglorious squandering abroad of the means that could and ought to render that the chief seat of comfort and independence, calls down upon the thoughtless and heartless squanderer and abuser of his means the just indignation and merited contempt of every thinking and properly constituted mind. The "Charity" that does not begin at home is the worst species of unjustifiable prodigality, and the first step to the absolute ruin of the "nearest and dearest" for the sake of the profligate and abandoned. And no sophistry can justify the apparent liberality that deprives others of their just and urgent dues.

It may be and is most noble to feed the widow and to clothe the orphan; but where is the beneficence of the deed if the wife and children of the ostentatious donor--the victims of the performance of such acts--are left themselves to endure misery and privations, from which his inadequate means cannot exempt the stranger and the giver's own household!

The sparrow who unwittingly rears the cuckoo's spurious offspring, tending with care the ultimate destroyer of its own young, does so in perfect ignorance of the results about to follow the misplaced affection. The cravings of the interloper are satisfied to the detriment of its own offspring; and when the full-fledged recipient of its misplaced bounty no longer needs its aid, the thankless stranger wings its way on its far-off course, selfishly careless of the fostering bird that brought it into life; and this may be looked upon as one of the results generally attendant upon a blind forgetfulness of _where_ our first endeavours for the amelioration of the wants of others should be made.

It has ever been the crying sin of the vastly sympathetic to weep for the miseries of the distant, and blink at the wretchedness their eyes--if not their hearts--must ache to see. Their charity must have its proper stage, their sentiments the proper objects,--and their imaginations the undisturbed right to revel in the supposititious grievances of the far-off wretched and oppressed. The poor black man! the tortured slave! the benighted infidel! the debased image of his maker! the sunken bondsman! These terms must be the "Open sesame" for the breasts from whence spring bibles, bribes, blankets, glass beads, pocket-combs, tracts, teachers, missions, and missionaries. Oppression is what they would put down; but then the oppression must be of "foreign manufacture." Your English, genuine home-made article, though as superior in strength and endurance as our own canvas is to the finest fold of gauze-like cambric, is in their opinion a thing not worth a thought. A half oppressed Caffre is an object of ten thousand times more sympathy than a wholly oppressed Englishman; a half-starved Pole the more fitting recipient of the same proportion of actual bounty to a wholly starving peasant of our own land of law and liberty.

Let one-tenth the disgusting details so nobly exposed in the _Times_ newspaper, as to the frightful state of some of our legalised poor law inquisitions, appear as extracts from the columns of a _foreign_ journal, stating such treatment to exist amongst a foreign population, and mark the result. Why, the town would teem with meetings and the papers with speeches. Royal, noble, and honourable chairmen and vice chairmen would launch out their just anathemas against the heartless despots whose realms were disgraced by such atrocities. Think, think of the aged poor torn from their kindred, caged in a prison, refused all aid within, debarred from every hope without,--think of the flesh, the very flesh, rotting by slow degrees, and then in putrid masses falling from their wretched bones: think, we say, on this--then give what name you can, save murder, to their quickly succeeding death.

Fancy children--children that should be in their prime--so caged and fed that the result is disease in its most loathsome form, and with all its most appalling consequences! No hope! no flight! The yet untainted, as it were, chained to the spot, with mute despair watching the slow infection, and with breaking hearts awaiting the hour--the moment--when it _must_ reach to them!

We say, think of these things--not as if they were the doings in England, and therefore legalised matters of course--but think of them as the arts of some despot in a far-off colony, and oh, how all hearts would burn--all tongues curse and call for vengeance on the abetors of such atrocities!

The supporters of the rights of man would indeed pour forth their eloquent denunciations against the oppressors of the absent. The poetry of passion would be exhausted to depict the frightful state of the crimeless and venerable victim of tyranny, bowing his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave; while the wailing of the helpless innocents _different indeed in colour_, but in heart and spirit like ourselves, being sprung from the one great source, would echo throughout the land, and find responses in every bosom not lost to the kindly feelings of good-will towards its fellows! Had the would-be esteemed philanthropists but these "_foreign cues_ for passion," they would indeed

"Drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free;
Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears."

But, alas! there is no such motive; these most destitute of Destitution's children are simply fellow-countrymen and fellow-Christians. Sons of the same soil, and worshippers of the same God, they need no good works in the way of proselyzation to save them from eternal perdition; consequently they receive no help to keep them from temporal torture.

To convince themselves that these remarks are neither unwarrantably severe, nor in the slightest degree overcharged, let our readers not only refer to the revolting doings chronicled in the _Times_, but let them find the further illustration of this _foreign penchant_ in the recent doings at the magnificently-attended ball given in behalf of the _Polish Refugees_, and consequently commanding the support of the humane, enlightened, and charitable English; and then let them cast their eyes over the cold shoulder turned towards a proposition for the _same_ act of charity being consummated for the relief of the poverty-stricken and starving families of the destitute and deserving artisans now literally starving under their very eyes, located no farther off than in the wretched locality of Spitalfields! An opinion--and doubtless an honest one--is given by the Lord Mayor, that any attempt to relieve _their wants_, in the way found so efficacious for _the Polish Refugees_, would be madness, inasmuch as it would, _as heretofore_, prove an absolute failure. Reader, is there anything of the cuckoo and the sparrow in the above assertion? Is it not true? And if it is so, is it not a more than crying evil? Is it not a most vile blot upon our laws--a most beastly libel upon our creed and our country? Is no relief ever to be given to the immediate objects who should be the persons benefited by our bounty? Are those who, in the prosperity proceeding from their unceasing and ill-paid toil, added their quota to the succour of others, now that poverty has fallen on them, to be left the sport of fortune and the slaves of suffering? Do good, we say, in God's name, to all, if good can be done to all. But do not rob the lamb of its natural due--its mother's nourishment--to waste it on an alien. There is no spirit of illiberality in these remarks; they are put forward to advocate the rights of our own destitute countrymen--to claim for them a share of the lavish commiseration bestowed on others--to call attention to the desolation of _their_ hearths--the wreck of their comforts--the awful condition of their starving and dependent families--and to give the really charitable an opportunity of reserving some of their kindnesses for home consumption. Let this be their _just_ object, and not one among the relieved would withhold his mite from their suffering fellows in other climes. But in Heaven's name, let the adage root itself once more in every Englishman's "heart of hearts," and once more let "Charity begin at home!"

* * * * *

THE FIRE AT THE ADELPHI THEATRE.

Yates was nearly treating the enlightened British public with an antidote to "the vast receptacle of 8,000 tons of water," by setting fire to the saloon chimney. Great as the consternation of the audience was in the front, it was far exceeded by the alarm of the actors behind the curtain, for they are so sensible of the manager's daring genius, that they concluded he had set fire to the house in order to convert "the space usually devoted to _illusion_ into the area of reality." The great Mr. Freeborn actually rushed out of the theatre without his rouge. Little Paul drank off a glass of neat water. Mr. John Sanders was met at the end of Maiden Lane, with his legs thrust into the sleeves of his coat, and the rest of his body encased in the upper part of a property dragon; whilst little round Wilkinson was vainly endeavouring to squeeze himself into a wooden waterspout. Had he succeeded he might have applied for the reward offered by the Royal Society for a method of

* * * * *

THE CRIMES OF EATING.

Sir Robert Peel and her Majesty's Ministers have, we learn, taken a hint in criminal jurisprudence from his Worship the Mayor of Reading, and are now preparing a bill for Parliament, which they trust will be the means of checking the alarming desire for food which has begun to spread amongst the poorer classes of society. The crime of eating has latterly been indulged in to such an immoderate extent by the operatives of Yorkshire and the other manufacturing districts, that we do not wonder at our sagacious Premier adopting strong measures to suppress the unnatural and increasing appetites of the people.

Taking up the sound judicial views of the great functionary above alluded to, who committed Bernard Cavanagh, the fasting man, to prison for smelling at a saveloy and a slice of ham, Sir Robert has laid down a graduated--we mean a _sliding--scale_ of penalties for the crime of eating, proportioning, with the most delicate skill, the exact amount of the punishment to the enormity of the offence. By his profound wisdom he has discovered that the great increase of crime in these countries is entirely attributable to over-feeding the multitude. Like the worthy Mr. Bumble, in "Oliver Twist," he protests "it is meat and not madness" that ails the people. He can even trace the origin of every felony to the particular kind of food in which the felon has indulged. He detects incipient incendiarism in eggs and fried bacon--homicide in an Irish stew--robbery and house-breaking in a basin of mutton-broth--and an aggravated assault in a pork sausage. Upon this noble and statesmanlike theory Sir Robert has based a bill which, when it becomes the law of the land, will, we feel assured, tend effectually to keep the rebellious stomachs of the people in a state of wholesome depletion. And as we now punish those offenders who break the Queen's peace, we shall, in like manner, then inflict the law upon the hungry scoundrels who dare to break the Queen's Fast.

We have been enabled, through a private source, to obtain the following authentic copy of Sir Robert's scale of the offences under the intended Act, with the penalty attached to each, viz.:

For penny rolls or busters Imprisonment not exceeding a
week.

For bread of any kind, with Imprisonment for a month.
cheese or butter

For saveloys, German sausages, One month's imprisonment, with
and Black puddings hard labour.

For a slice of ham, bacon, or Imprisonment for three months,
meat of any kind and exercise on the treadmill.

For a hearty dinner on beef and Transportation for seven years.
pudding

For do. with a pot of home-brewed Transportation for life.
ale.

As these offences apply only to those who have no right to eat, the wealthy and respectable portion of society need be under no apprehension that they will be exposed to any inconvenience by the operation of the new law.

* * * * *

NOBODY CARES AND*

WELLINGTON has justified his claim to the _sobriquet_ of 'the iron Duke' by the manner in which he treated the deputation from Paisley. His Grace excused himself from listening to the tale of misery which several gentlemen had travelled 500 miles to narrate to him, on the plea that he was not a Minister of the Crown. Yet we have a right to presume that the Queen prorogued Parliament upon his Grace's recommendation, so if he be not one of Peel's Cabinet what is he? We suppose

* * * * *

HINTS HOW TO ENJOY AN OMNIBUS.

1. On getting in, care neither for toes or knees of the passengers; but drive your way up to the top, steadying yourself by the shoulders, chests, or even faces of those seated.

2. Seat yourself with a jerk, pushing against one neighbour, and thrusting your elbow into the side of the other. You will thus get plenty of room.

3. If possible, enter with a stick or umbrella, pointed at full length; so that any sudden move of the "bus" may thrust it into some one's stomach. It will make you feared.

4. When seated, occupy, if possible, the room of two, and revenge the treatment you have received on entering, by throwing every opposition in the way of a new-comer, especially if it be a woman with a child in her arms. It is a good plan to rest firmly on your umbrella, with your arms at right angles.

5. Open or shut windows as it suits you; men with colds, or women with toothaches, have no business in omnibuses. If they don't like it, they can get out; no one _forces_ them to ride.

6. Young bucks may stare any decent woman out of countenance, put their legs up along the seats, and if going out to dinner, wipe the mud off their boots on the seats. They are only plush.

7. If middle-aged gentlemen are musical or political, they can dislocate a tune in something between a bark and a grumble, or endeavour to provoke an argument by declaring very loudly that Lord R---- or the Duke "is a thorough scoundrel," according to their opinion of public affairs. If this don't take, they can keep up a perpetual squabble with the conductor, which will show they think themselves of some importance.

8. Ladies wishing to be agreeable can bring lap dogs, large paper parcels, and children, to whom an omnibus is a ship, though you wish you were out of their reach.

9. Conductors should particularly aim to take up laundresses returning with a large family washing, bakers and butchers in their working jackets, and, if a wet day, should be particular not to pull up to the pathway.

10. For want of space, the following brevities must suffice:--Never say where you wish to stop until after you have passed the place, and then pull them up with a sudden jerk. Keep your money in your waistcoat-pocket, and button your under and upper coat completely, and never attempt to get at it until the door is opened, and then let it be nothing under a five-shilling piece. Never ask any one to speak to the conductor for you, but hit or poke him with your umbrella or stick, or rap his hand as it rests on the door. He puts it there on purpose. Always stop the wrong omnibus, and ask if the Paddington goes to Walworth, and the Kennington to Whitechapel: you are not obliged to read all the rigmarole they paint on the outside. Finally, consider an omnibus as a carriage, a bed, a public-house, a place of amusement, or a boxing-ring, where you may ride, sleep, smoke, chaff, or quarrel, as it may suit you.

* * * * *

PETER THE GREAT (FOOL?)

The following colloquy occurred between a candidate for suicidal fame and the City's Peter Laureate:--

"So, sir, you tried to hang yourself, did you?"

"In course I did, or I should not have put my head in the noose."

"You had no business to do so."

"I did it for my pleasure, not for business."

"I'll let you see, sir, you shan't do it either for fun or earnest."

"Are you a Tory, Sir Peter?"

"A Tory, sir! No, sir; I'm a magistrate."

"Ah, that's why you interfere; you must be a low Rad, or you wouldn't prevent a man from

* * * * *

THE WISE MAN OF THE EAST.

SIR PETER LAURIE begs Punch to inform him, which of Arabia's Children is alluded to in Moore's beautiful ballad,

"Farewell to thee, Araby's daughter."

He presumes it is Miss Elizabeth, commonly called _Bess-Arabia_.

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE SEEDY.--No. VII.

I love the night with its mantle dark,
That hangs like a cloak on the face of the sky;
Oh what to me is the song of the lark?
Give me the owl; and I'll tell you why.
It is that at night I can walk abroad,
Which I may not do in the garish day,
Without being met in the streets, and bored
By some cursed dun, that I cannot pay.
No! no! night let it ever be:
The owl! the owl! the owl! is the bird for me!

Then tempt me not with thy soft guitar,
And thy voice like the sound of a silver bell,
To take a stroll, where the cold ones are
Who in lanes, not of trees but of fetters[1], dwell.
But wait until night upsets its ink
On the earth, on the sea, and all over the sky,
And then I'll go to the wide world's brink
With the girl I love, without feeling shy.
Oh, then, may it night for ever be!
The owl! the owl! the owl! is the bird for me!

But you turn aside! Ah! did you know,
What by searching the office you'd plainly see,
That I'm hunted down, like a (Richard) Roe,
You'd not thus avert your eyes from me.
Oh never did giant look after Thumb
(When the latter was keeping out of the way)
With a more tremendous fee-fo-fum
Than I'm pursued by a dread _fi-fa_.
Too-whit! too-whit! is the owl's sad song!
A writ! a writ! a writ! when mid the throng,
Is ringing in my ears the whole day long.
Ah me! night let it be:
The owl! the stately owl! is the bird--yes, the bird for me!

[1] Fetter-lane is clearly alluded to by the poet. It is believed
to be the bailiffs' quarter.

* * * * *

POPISH RED-DRESS.

The _Examiner_ states that there is no such fabric as scarlet cloth made in Ireland. If this be true, the Lady of Babylon, who is said to reside in that country, and to be addicted to scarlet clothing, must be in a very destitute condition.

* * * * *

A SPOON CASE.

A well-dressed individual has lately been visiting the lodging-house keepers of the metropolis. He engages lodgings--but being, as he says, just arrived from a long journey, he begs to have dinner before he returns to the Coach-Office for his luggage. This request being usually complied with, the new lodger, while the table is being laid, watches his opportunity and bolts with the silver spoons. Sir Peter Laurie says, that since this practice of filching the spoons has commenced, he does not feel himself safe in his own house. He only hopes the thief may be brought before him, and he promises to give him his _dessert_, by committing him without

* * * * *

A DAB FOR LAURIE.

SIR PETER LAURIE, on a recent visit to Billingsgate for the purpose of making what he calls a _pisciatery_ tour, was much astonished at the vigorous performance of various of the real "live fish," some of which, as he sagely remarked, appeared to be perfect "Dabs" at jumping, and no doubt legitimate descendants from some particularly

* * * * *

SIBTHORPS CORNER.

If old Nick were to lose his tail, where should he go to supply the deficiency?--To a gin-palace, because there they _re-tail_ bad spirits.

Mr. G., who has a very ugly wife, named Euphemia, was asked lately why his spouse was the image of himself--and, to his great annoyance, discovered that it was because she was his _Effie-G_[2].

[2] I could make better than the above myself. E.G.--In what way
should Her Majesty stand upon a Bill in Parliament so as to
quash it?--By putting her _V-toe_ (_veto_) on it.--PRINTER'S
DEVIL.

I floored Ben-beau D'Israeli the other day with the following:--"Ben," said I, "if I were going to buy a violin, what method should I take to get it cheap?" Benjie looked rather more foolish than usual, and gave it up. "Why, you ninny," I replied, "I should buy an ounce of castor-oil, and then I would get a phial in (_violin_)." I think I had him there.

Why is a female of the canine species suckling her whelps like a philosophic principle?--Because she is a dogma (_dog-ma_).

What part of a horse's foot is like an irate governor?--The pastern (_pa-stern_).

Why is the march of a funeral procession like a turnpike?--Because it is a toll-gait (_toll-gate_).

Who is the greatest literary _star_?--The _poet-aster_.

Why is an Israelite named William Solomons similar to a great public festival?--Because he is a Jubilee (_Jew-Billy_).

Why are polished manners like a pea-jacket?--Because they are address (_a dress_).

Why are swallows like a leap head-over-heels?--Because they are a summer set (_a somerset_).

* * * * *

CUTTING IT RATHER SHORT.

The unexpected adjournment of the Court of Queen's Bench, by Lord Denman, on last Thursday, has filled the bar with consternation.--"What is to become of our clients?" said Fitzroy Kelly.--"And of our fees?" added the Solicitor General.--"I feel deeply for my clients," sighed Serjeant Bompas.--"We all compassionate them, brother," observed Wilde.--In short, one and all declare it was a most arbitrary and unprecedented curtailment of their little _term_--and, to say the least of it,

* * * * *

NATIONAL DISTRESS.

The Tee-totallers say that the majority of the people are victims to Bacchus. In the present hard times they are more likely to be victims to

* * * * *

SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.--No. 12.

Away! away! ye hopes which stray
Like jeering spectres from the tomb!
Ye cannot light the coming night,
And shall not mock its gathering gloom;
Though dark the cloud shall form my shroud--
Though danger league with racking doubt--
Away! away! _ye_ shall not stay
When all my joys are "up the spout!"

I little knew when first ye threw
Your bright'ning beams on coming hours,
That time would see me turn from thee,
And fly your sweet delusive powers.
Now, nerved to woe, no more I'll know
How hope deferr'd makes mortal sick;
The gathering storm may whelm my form,
But I will suffer "like a brick!"

* * * * *

LAURIE'S RAILLERY.

When Sir Peter Laurie had taken his seat the other morning in that Temple of Momus, the Guildhall Justice Room, he was thus addressed by Payne, the clerk--"I see, Sir Peter, an advertisement in the _Times_, announcing the sale of shares in the railroad from Paris to ROUEN; would you advise me to invest a little loose cash in that speculation?" "Certainly not," replied the Knight, "nor in any other railway,--depend upon it, they all lead to the same terminus, RUIN." Payne, having exclaimed that this was the best thing he had ever heard, was presented by our own Alderman with a shilling, accompanied with a request that he would get his hair cropped to the magisterial standard.

* * * * *

A MEETING OF OLD ACQUAINTANCES.

At the sale of the library of the late Theodore Hook, a curious copy of "The Complete Jester" was knocked down to "our own" Colonel. Delighted with his prize, he ran home, intending to lay in a fresh stock of _bons mots_; but what was his amazement on finding that all the jokes contained in the volume were those with which he has been in the habit of entertaining the public these last forty years! Sibby declares that the sight of so many old friends actually brought the tears into his eyes.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S THEATRE.

LOVE EXTEMPORE.

As the hero of a romantic play is obliged to possess all the cardinal virtues and all the intellectual accomplishments, so the hero of a farce is bound to be a fool. One of the greatest, and at the same time one of the best fools it has been our pleasure to be introduced to for some time is _Mr. Titus Livingstone_, in the new farce of "Love Extempore."

_Mr. Titus Livingstone_ possesses an excellent heart, a good fortune, and an uncommon stock of modesty. His intellects are, however, far from brilliant; indeed, but for one trait in his character he would pass for an idiot,--he has had the good sense never as yet to fall in love! In fact, the farce is founded upon that identical incident of his life which occasioned him to suppose that he had taken the tender passion extempore.

Some sort of villany seems absolutely necessary to every species of play. To continue the parallel we commenced with between tragedy and farce, we observe that in the former he is usually such a person as _Spinola_, in "Nina Sforza," whilst a farce-villain turns out to be in most instances an intriguing widow, a lawyer, or a mischievous young lady. The rogue in "Love Extempore" is _Mrs. Courtnay_, a widow, who, with the assistance of _Sir Harry Nugent_, contrives a plot by which the hitherto insensible _Livingstone_ shall fall a victim to love and her friend _Prudence Oldstock_; with whose mother and sister the widow and her co-intriguant are staying on a visit.

The moment fatal to Livingstone's virgin heart and unrestrained liberty arrives. He calls to pay a morning visit, and instantly the deep design is put into execution. _Sir Harry_ begins by a most extravagant puff preliminary of the talents, accomplishments, virtues, beauty, disposition, endowments, and graces belonging to the enchanting _Prudence_. He and the widow exhibit her drawings,--_Livingstone_ is in raptures, or pretends to be (for he is not an ill-bred man). What a piercing expression flashes from those studies of eyes (in chalk)! what an artistical grouping of legs! what a Saracen's-head-upon-Snow-hill-like ferocity frowns from that Indian chief!

At this juncture the captivating artist is herself introduced. _Mr. Livingstone's_ modesty strikes him into a heap of confusion. "He sighs and looks, and looks and sighs again,"--he does not know "what to say, or how to say it; so that the trembling bachelor may become a wise and good lover." He stutters and hems in the utmost distress; to increase which, all his tormentors turn up the stage, leaving him to entertain the lady alone. The sketches naturally suggest a topic, and, plunging _in medias res_ at once, he vehemently praises her legs! The lady is astonished, and the mamma alarmed; but having explained that the allusion was to the drawings, he is afterwards punished for the blunder by being threatened with a song. Though at a loss to find out what he has done to deserve such an infliction, he submits; for he is very sleepy, and sinks into a chair in an attitude of supposed attention, but really in a posture best adapted for a nap. When the song is ended the applause of course comes in; this awakens _Livingstone_ in a fright; he starts, and throws down a harp in his fall.

After this _contretemps_, the villany of the widow and her ally takes a different turn. In a love affair there are generally two parties; and _Miss Prudence_ has got to be persuaded that _she_ is in love. This it is not difficult to accomplish, she being no more overburdened with penetration than the gentleman they are so kind as to say she is in love with. So far all goes on well: for she is soon convinced that she is enamoured to the last extremity.

_Livingstone_ having a sort of glimmering that the danger so long averted at length impends over him--that he is falling into the trap of love, with every chance of the fall continuing down to the bottomless pit of matrimony, determines to avert the catastrophe by flight. The pair of villains, however, set up a cry of "Stop thief," and he is brought back. _Sir Harry_ appeals to his feelings. Good gracious! is he so base, so dishonourable, so heartless, to rob an innocent, unsuspecting, and accomplished girl of her heart, and then wickedly desert her! Oh, no! In short, having already persuaded the poor man that he is in love, _Sir Harry_ convinces him that he would also be a deceiver; and _Livingstone_ would have returned like a lamb to the slaughter but for a new incident.

He has an uncle who is engaged in a law-suit with some of _Mrs. Courtnay's_ family. To bring this litigation to an amicable end it has been proposed that _Livingstone_ should marry the widow's sister. Here is a discovery! So, the deep widow has been unwittingly plotting against her own sister! Things must be altered; and so they are, in no time, for she persuades the easy hero that _Nugent_ is in love with _Prudence_ himself; but, finding she adores her new lover, has magnanimously given up his claims in his favour. This has the desired effect, for _Livingstone_ will have no such noble sacrifice made on his account. He seeks _Sir Harry_; who, discovering the double design of the profound widow, talks as immensely magnanimous as they do in classic dramas. In short, both play at Romans till the end of the piece; the hero and heroine being at last fully persuaded that they have each really fallen in "Love Extempore!"

This idea of persuading two persons into the bonds of love--of having all the courting done at second-hand, is admirably worked out. _Livingstone_ is a well-drawn character; so well, so naturally painted, that he hardly deserves to be the hero of a farce. Although exceedingly soft, he is a well-bred fool--though somewhat fat (for the actor is Mr. David Rees); he is not altogether inelegant. The gentleman who does the theatrical metaphysics in the _Morning Herald_ has described him as a capital specimen of "physical obesity and moral teunity,"[3]--which we quote to save ourselves trouble, for the force of description can no further go. _Prudence_ is also inimitable--a march-of-intellect young lady without brains, who knows the names of the five large rivers in America, and how many bones there are in the gills of a turbot. In Miss P. Horton's hands her mechanical acquirements were done ample justice to. The cold unmeaning love scene was rendered mainly by her acting

[3] _Sic_, actually, in the dramatic article of that paper,
Wednesday, 24th ult.

In fine, the farce is altogether a leaven of the best material most cleverly worked up.

* * * * *

A PERFECT VACUUM PROVED.

MR. HALSE, the gentleman who has during the last week been lecturing upon Animal Magnetism, having stated that one of his patients, while under the magnetic influence, could "see her own inside," the Marquis of Londonderry, anxious to test the truth of the assertion, requested the lecturer to operate upon him, and being thrown into the Mesmeric sleep, looked into the inside of his own head, and declared he could see nothing in it.

* * * * *

A CON BY O'CONNER.

Why ought the Children of a Thief to be burnt?--Because _their Pa steals_ (they're pastiles).

* * * * *