Chapter II: Part 2

Since the Tamworth speech--since the scourging of Sir ROBERT by the French press--PEEL has essayed a small philanthropic oration. He has endeavoured to paint--and certainly in the most delicate water-colours--the horrors of war. The premier makes his speech to the nations with the palm-branch in his hand--with the olive around his brow. He has applied arithmetic to war, and finds it expensive. He would therefore induce France to disarm, that by reductions at home he may not be compelled to risk what would certainly jerk him out of the premiership--the imposition of new taxes. He may then keep his Corn Laws--he may then securely enjoy his sliding scale. Such are the hopes that dictate the intimation to disarm. It is sweet to prevent war; and, oh! far sweeter still to keep out the Wigs!

The Duke of WELLINGTON, who is to be the moral force of the Tory Cabinet, is a great soldier; and by the very greatness of his martial fame, has been enabled to carry certain political questions which, proposed by a lesser genius, had been scouted by the party otherwise irresistibly compelled to admit them. (Imagine, for instance, the Marquis of Londonderry handling Catholic Emancipation.) Nevertheless, should "The follies of the Wise"--a chronicle much wanted--be ever collected for the world, his Grace of Wellington will certainly shine as a conspicuous contributor. In the name of famine, what could have induced his Grace to insult the misery at this moment, eating the hearts of thousands of Englishmen? For, within these few days, the Victor of Waterloo expressed his conviction that England was the only country in which "_the poor man, if only sober and industrious_, WAS QUITE CERTAIN _of acquiring a competency!_" And it is this man, imbued with this opinion, who is to be hailed as the presiding wisdom--the great moral strength--the healing humanity of the Tory Cabinet. If rags and starvation put up their prayer to the present Ministry, what must be the answer delivered by the Duke of Wellington? "YE ARE DRUNKEN AND LAZY!"

If on the night of the 24th of August--the memorable night on which this heartless insult was thrown in the idle teeth of famishing thousands--the ghosts of the victims of the Corn Laws,--the spectres of the wretches who had been ground out of life by the infamy of Tory taxation, could have been permitted to lift the bed-curtains of Apsley-House,--his Grace the Duke of Wellington would have been scared by even a greater majority than ultimately awaits his fellowship in the present Cabinet. Still we can only visit upon the Duke the censure of ignorance. "He knows not what he says." If it be his belief that England suffers only because she is drunken and idle, he knows no more of England than the Icelander in his sledge: if, on the other hand, he used the libel as a party warfare, he is still one of the "old set,"--and his "crowning carnage, Waterloo," with all its greatness, is but a poor set-off against the more lasting iniquities which he would visit upon his fellow-men. Anyhow, he cannot--he must not--escape from his opinion; we will nail him to it, as we would nail a weasel to a barn-door; "_if Englishmen want competence, they must be drunken--they must be idle_." Gentlemen Tories, shuffle the cards as you will, the Duke of Wellington either lacks principle or brains.

Next week we will speak of the Whigs; of the good they have done--of the good they have, with an instinct towards aristocracy--most foolishly, most traitorously, missed.

Q.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS--No. IX.

* * * * *

ROYAL NURSERY EDUCATION REPORT--NO. 3.

WHO KILLED COCK RUSSELL?

A NEW VERSION OF THE CELEBRATED NURSERY TALE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE PRINCESS ROYAL.

Who Kill'd Cock Russell?
I, said Bob Peel,
The political eel,
I kill'd Cock Russell.

Who saw him die?
We, said the nation,
At each polling station,
We saw him die.

Who caught his place?
I, for I _can_ lie,
Said turn-about _Stan_ley,
I caught his place.

Who'll make his shroud?
We, cried the poor
From each Union door,
We'll make his shroud.

Who'll dig his grave?
Cried the corn-laws, The fool
Has long been our tool,
We'll dig his grave.

Who'll be the parson?
I, London's bishop,
A sermon will dish up,
I'll be the parson.

Who'll be the clerk?
Sibthorp, for a lark,
If you'll all keep it dark,
He'll be the clerk.

Who'll carry him to his grave?
The Chartists, with pleasure,
Will wait on his leisure,
They'll carry him to his grave.

Who'll carry the link?
Said Wakley, in a minute,
I _must_ be in it,
I'll carry the link.

Who'll be chief mourners?
We, shouted dozens
Of out-of-place cousins,
We'll be chief mourners.

Who'll bear the pall?
As they loudly bewail,
Both O'Connell and tail,
They'll bear the pall.

Who'll go before?
I, said old Cupid,
I'll still head the stupid,
I'll go before.

Who'll sing a psalm?
I, Colonel Perceval,
(Oh, Peel, be merciful!)
I'll sing a psalm.

Who'll throw in the dirt?
I, said the _Times_,
In lampoons and rhymes,
I'll throw in the dirt.

Who'll toll the bell?
I, said John Bull,
With pleasure I'll pull,--
I'll toll the bell.

All the Whigs in the world
Fell a sighing and sobbing,
When wicked Bob Peel
Put an end to their jobbing.

* * * * *

TRANSACTIONS AND YEARLY REPORT OF THE HOOKHAM-CUM-SNIVEY LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, AND MECHANICS' INSTITUTION.

Collected and elaborated expressly for "PUNCH," by Tiddledy Winks,
Esq., Hon. Sec., and Editor of the _Peckham Evening Post_ and
_Camberwell-Green Advertiser_.

Previously to placing the results of my unwearied application before the public, I think it will be both interesting and appropriate to trace, in a few words, the origin of this admirable society, by whose indefatigable exertions the air-pump has become necessary to the domestic economy of every peasant's cottage; and the Budelight and beer-shops, optics and out-door relief, and Daguerrotypes and dirt, have become subjects with which they are equally familiar.

About the close of last year, a few scientific labourers were in the habit of meeting at a "Jerry" in their neighbourhood, for the purpose of discussing such matters as the comprehensive and plainly-written reports of the British Association, as furnished by the _Athenaeum_, offered to their notice, in any way connected with philosophy or the _belles lettres_. The numbers increasing, it was proposed that they should meet weekly at one another's cottages, and there deliver a lecture on any scientific subject; and the preliminary matters being arranged, the first discourse was given "On the Advantage of an Air-gun over a Fowling-piece, in bringing Pheasants down without making a noise." This was so eminently successful, that the following discourses were delivered in quick succession:--

On the Toxicological Powers of Coculus Indicus in Stupifying Fish.
On the Combustion of Park-palings and loose Gate-posts.
On the tendency of Out-of-door Spray-piles to Spontaneous
Evaporation, during dark nights.
On the Comparative Inflammatory properties of Lucifer Matches,
Phosphorus Bottles, Tinder-boxes, and Congreves, as well
as Incandescens Short Pipes, applied to Hay in particular
and Ricks in general.
On the value of Cheap Literature, and Intrinsic Worth (by
weight) of the various Publications of the Society for the
Confusion of Useless Knowledge.

The lectures were all admirably illustrated, and the society appeared to be in a prosperous state. At length the government selected two or three of its most active members, and despatched them on a voyage of discovery to a distant part of the globe. The institution now drooped for a while, until some friends of education firmly impressed with the importance of their undertaking, once more revived its former greatness, at the same time entirely reorganizing its arrangements. Subscriptions were collected, sufficient to erect a handsome turf edifice, with a massy thatched roof, upon Timber Common; a committee was appointed to manage the scientific department, at a liberal salary, including the room to sit in, turf, and rushlights, with the addition, on committee nights, of a pint of intermediate beer, a pipe, and a screw, to each member. Gentlemen fond of hearing their own voices were invited to give gratuitous discourses from sister institutions: a museum and library were added to the building already mentioned, and an annual meeting of _illuminati_ was agreed upon.

Amongst the papers contributed to be read at the evening meetings of the society, perhaps the most interesting was that communicated by Mr. Octavius Spiff, being a startling and probing investigation as to whether Sir Isaac Newton had his hat on when the apple tumbled on his head, what sort of an apple it most probably was, and whether it actually fell from the tree upon him, or, being found too hard and sour to eat, had been pitched over his garden wall by the hand of an irritated little boy. I ought also to make mention of Mr. Plummycram's "Narrative of an Ascent to the summit of Highgate-hill," with Mr. Mulltour's "Handbook for Travellers from the Bank to Lisson-grove," and "A Summer's-day on Kennington-common." Mr. Tinhunt has also announced an attractive work, to be called "Hackney: its Manufactures, Economy, and Political Resources."

It is the intention of the society, should its funds increase, to take a high place next year in the scientific transactions of the country. Led by the spirit of enterprise now so universally prevalent, arrangements are pending with Mr. Purdy, to fit up two punts for the Shepperton expedition, which will set out in the course of the ensuing summer. The subject for the Prize Essay for the Victoria Penny Coronation Medal this year is, "The possibility of totally obliterating the black stamp on the post-office Queen's heads, so as to render them serviceable a second time;" and, in imitation of the learned investigations of sister institutions, the Copper Jinks Medal will also be given to the author of the best essay upon "The existing analogy between the mental subdivision of invisible agencies and circulating decompositions."--(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

INAUGURATION OF THE IMAGE OF SHAKSPERE.

AT THE SURREY THEATRE.

"Be still, my mighty soul! These ribs of mine
Are all too fragile for thy narrow cage.
By heaven! I will unlock my bosom's door.
And blow thee forth upon the boundless tide
Of thought's creation, where thy eagle wing
May soar from this dull terrene mass away,
To yonder empyrean vault--like rocket (sky)--
To mingle with thy cognate essences
Of Love and Immortality, until
Thou burstest with thine own intensity,
And scatterest into millions of bright stars,
Each _one_ a part of that refulgent whole
Which once was ME."

Thus spoke, or thought--for, in a metaphysical point of view, it does not much matter whether the passage above quoted was uttered, or only conceived--by the sublime philosopher and author of the tragedy of "Martinuzzi," now being nightly played at the English Opera House, with unbounded success, to overflowing audiences[2]. These were the aspirations of his gigantic mind, as he sat, on last Monday morning, like a simple mortal, in a striped-cotton dressing-gown and drab slippers, over a cup of weak coffee. (We love to be minute on great subjects.) The door opened, and a female figure--not the Tragic muse--but Sally, the maid of-all-work, entered, holding in a corner of her dingy apron, between her delicate finger and thumb, a piece of not too snowy paper, folded into an exact parallelogram.

[2] Has this paragraph been paid for as an
advertisement?--PRINTER'S DEVIL.--Undoubtedly.--ED.

"A letter for you, sir," said the maid of-all-work, dropping a reverential curtsey.

George Stephens, Esq. took the despatch in his inspired fingers, broke the seal, and read as follows:--

_Surrey Theatre._

SIR,--I have seen your tragedy of "Martinuzzi," and pronounce it magnificent! I have had, for some time, an idea in my head (how it came there I don't know), to produce, after the Boulogne affair, a grand Inauguration of the Statue of Shakspere, on the stage of the Surrey, but not having an image of him amongst our properties, I could not put my plan into execution. Now, sir, as it appears that you are the exact ditto of the bard, I shouldn't mind making an arrangement with you to undertake the character of _our friend Billy_ on the occasion. I shall do the liberal in the way of terms, and get up the gag properly, with laurels and other greens, of which I have a large stock on hand; so that with your popularity the thing will be sure to draw. If you consent to come, I'll post you in six-feet letters against every dead wall in town.

Yours, WILLIS JONES.

When the author of the "magnificent poem" had finished reading the letter he appeared deeply moved, and the maid of-all-work saw three plump tears roll down his manly cheek, and rest upon his shirt collar. "I expected nothing less," said he, stroking his chin with a mysterious air. "The manager of the Surrey, at least, understands me--_he_ appreciates the immensity of my genius. I _will_ accept his offer, and show the world--great Shakspere's rival in myself."

Having thus spoken, the immortal dramatist wiped his hands on the tail of his dressing-gown, and performed a _pas seul_ "as the act directs," after which he dressed himself, and emerged into the open air.

The sun was shining brilliantly, and Phoebus remarked, with evident pleasure, that his brother had bestowed considerable pains in adorning his person. His boots shone with unparalleled splendour, and his waistcoat--

* * * * *

[We omit the remainder of the inventory of the great poet's
wardrobe, and proceed at once to the ceremony of the Inauguration
at the Surrey Theatre.]

Never on any former occasion had public curiosity over the water been so strongly excited. Long before the doors of the theatre were opened, several passengers in the street were observed to pause before the building, and regard it with looks of profound awe. At half-past six, two young sweeps and a sand-boy were seen waiting anxiously at the gallery entrance, determined to secure front seats at any personal sacrifice. At seven precisely the doors were opened, and a tremendous rush of four persons was made to the pit; the boxes had been previously occupied by the "Dramatic Council" and the "Syncretic Society." The silence which pervaded the house, until the musicians began to tune their violins in the orchestra, was thrilling; and during the performance of the overture, expectation stood on tip-toe, awaiting the great event of the night.

At length the curtain slowly rose, and we discovered the author of "Martinuzzi" elevated on a pedestal formed of the cask used by the celebrated German tub-runner (a delicate compliment, by the way, to the genius of the poet). On this appropriate foundation stood the great man, with his august head enveloped in a capacious bread-bag. At a given signal, a vast quantity of crackers were let off, the envious bag was withdrawn, and the illustrious dramatist was revealed to the enraptured spectators, in the statuesque resemblance of his elder, but not more celebrated brother, WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. At this moment the plaudits were vigorously enthusiastic. Thrice did the flattered statue bow its head, and once it laid its hand upon its grateful bosom, in acknowledgment of the honour that was paid it. As soon as the applause had partially subsided, the manager, in the character of _Midas_, surrounded by the nine Muses, advanced to the foot of the pedestal, and, to use the language of the reporters of public dinners, "in a neat and appropriate speech," deposed a laurel crown upon the brows of Shakspere's effigy. Thereupon loud cheers rent the air, and the statue, deeply affected, extended its right hand gracefully towards the audience. In a moment the thunders of applause sank into hushed and listening awe, while the author of the "magnificent poem" addressed the house as follows:--

"My friends,--You at length behold me in the position to which my immense talents have raised me, in despite of 'those laws which press so fatally on dramatic genius,' and blight the budding hopes of aspiring authors."

This commencement softened the hearts of his auditors, who clapped their handkerchiefs to their noses.

"The world," continued the statue, "may regard me with envy; but I despise the world, particularly the critics who have dared to laugh at me. (Groans.) The object of my ambition is attained--I am now the equal and representative of Shakspere--detraction cannot wither the laurels that shadow my brows--_Finis coronat opus!_--I have done. To-morrow I retire into private life; but though fortune has made me great, she has not made me proud, and I shall be always happy to shake hands with a friend when I meet him."

At the conclusion of this pathetic address, loud cheers, mingled with tears and sighs, arose from the audience, one-half of whom sunk into the arms of the other half, and were borne out of the house in a fainting state; and thus terminated this imposing ceremony, which will be long remembered with delight by every lover of

* * * * *

A CARD.

TO THE COMMITTEE OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS, ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE.

Mr. Levy, of Holywell-street, perceiving that his neighbour JACOB FAITHFUL'S farce, entitled "The Cloak and Bonnet," has not given general satisfaction, begs respectfully to offer to the notice of the committee, his large and carefully-assorted stock of second-hand wearing apparel, from which he will undertake to supply any number of dramas that may be required, at a moment's notice.

Mr. L. has at present on hand the following dramatic pieces, which he can strongly recommend to the public:--

1. "The Dressing Gown and Slippers."--A fashionable comedy, suited for a genteel neighbourhood.

2. "The Breeches and Gaiters."--A domestic drama. A misfit at the Adelphi.

3. "The Wig and Wig-box."--A broad farce, made to fit little Keeley or anybody else.

4. "The Smock-frock and Highlows."--A tragedy in humble life, with a terrific _denouement_.

*** The above will be found to be manufactured out of the best materials, and well worthy the attention of those gentlemen who have so nobly come forward to rescue the stage from its present degraded position.

* * * * *

THE MONEY MARKET.

The scarcity of money is frightful. As much as a hundred per cent., to be paid in advance, has been asked upon bills; but we have not yet heard of any one having given it. There was an immense run for gold, but no one got any, and the whole of the transactions of the day were done in copper. An influential party created some sensation by coming into the market late in the afternoon, just before the close of business, with half-a-crown; but it was found, on inquiry, to be a bad one. It is expected that if the dearth of money continues another week, buttons must be resorted to. A party, whose transactions are known to be large, succeeded in settling his account with the Bulls, by means of postage-stamps; an arrangement of which the Bears will probably take advantage.

A large capitalist in the course of the day attempted to change the direction things had taken, by throwing an immense quantity of paper into the market; but as no one seemed disposed to have anything to do with it, it blew over.

The parties to the Dutch Loan are much irritated at being asked to take their dividends in butter; but, after the insane attempt to get rid of the Spanish arrears by cigars, which, it is well known, ended in smoke, we do not think the Dutch project will be proceeded with.

* * * * *

THEATRICAL INTELLIGENCE.

BY THE REPORTER OF THE "OBSERVER."

The "mysterious and melodramatic silence" which Mr. C. Mathews promised to observe as to his intentions in regard to the present season, has at length been broken. On Monday last, September the sixth, Covent Garden Theatre opened to admit a most brilliant audience. Amongst the _company_ we noticed Madame Vestris, Mr. Oxberry, Mr. Harley, Miss Rainsforth, and several other _distingue artistes_. It would seem, from the substitution of Mr. Oxberry for Mr. Keeley, that the former gentleman is engaged to take the place of the latter. Whispers are afloat that, in consequence, one of the most important scenes in the play is to be omitted. Though of little interest to the audience, it was of the highest importance to the gentleman whose task it has hitherto been to perform the parts of Quince, Bottom, and Flute.

We, who are conversant with all the mysteries of the _flats'_ side of the _green_ curtain, beg to assure our readers, that the Punch scene hath taken _wing_, and that the dressing-room of the above-named characters will no longer be redolent of the fumes of compounded bowls. We may here remark that, had our hint of last season been attended to, the Punch would have still been continued:--Mr. Harley would not consent to have the flies picked out of the sugar. Rumour is busy with the suggestion that for this reason, and this only, Keeley seceded from the establishment.

We think it exceedingly unwise in the management not to have secured the services of Madame Corsiret for the millinery department. Mr. Wilson still supplies the wigs. We have not as yet been able to ascertain to whom the swords have been consigned. Mr. Emden's assistant superintends the blue-fire and thunder, but it has not transpired who works the traps.

With such powerful auxiliaries, we can promise Mr. C. Mathews a prosperous season.

* * * * *

THE AMENDE HONORABLE.

Quoth Will, "On that young servant-maid
My heart its life-string stakes."
"Quite safe!" cries Dick, "don't be afraid--
She pays for all she breaks."

* * * * *

PROVIDING FOR EVIL DAYS.

The _iniquities_ of the Tories having become proverbial, the House of Lords, with that consideration for the welfare of the country, and care for the morals of the people, which have ever characterised the compeers of the Lord Coventry, have brought in a bill for the creation of _two_ _Vice_-Chancellors. Brougham foolishly proposed an amendment, considering one to be sufficient, but found himself in a _singular_ minority when the House

* * * * *

In the Egyptian room of the British Museum is a statue of the deity IBIS, between two mummies. This attracted the attention of Sibthorp, as he lounged through the room the other day with a companion. "Why," said his friend, "is that statue placed between the other two?" "To preserve it to be sure," replied the keenly-witted Sib. "You know the old saying teaches us, '_In medio tutissimus Ibis._'"

* * * * *

PUNCH'S THEATRE.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JAMES DAWSON.

Mercy on us, what a code of morality--what a conglomeration of plots (political, social, and domestic)--what an exemplar of vice punished and virtue rewarded--is the "Newgate Calendar!" and Newgate itself! what tales might it not relate, if its stones could speak, had its fetters the gift of tongues!

But these need not be so gifted: the proprietor of the Victoria Theatre supplies the deficiency: the dramatic edition of Old-Bailey experience he is bringing out on each successive Monday, will soon be complete; and when it is, juvenile Jack Sheppards and incipient Turpins may complete their education at the moderate charge of sixpence per week. The "intellectualization of the people" must not be neglected: the gallery of the Victoria invites to its instructive benches the young, whose wicked parents have neglected their education--the ignorant, who know nothing of the science of highway robbery, or the more delicate operations of picking pockets. National education is the sole aim of the sole lessee--money is no object; but errand-boys and apprentices _must_ take their Monday night's lessons, even if they rob the till. By this means an endless chain of subjects will be woven, of which the Victoria itself supplies the links; the "Newgate Calendar" will never be exhausted, and the cause of morality and melodrama continue to run a triumphant career!

The leaf of the "Newgate Calendar" torn out last Monday for the delectation and instruction of the Victoria audience, was the "Life and Death of James Dawson," a gentleman rebel, who was very properly hanged in 1746.

The arrangement of incidents in this piece was evidently an appeal to the ingenuity of the audience--our own penetration failed, however, in unravelling the plot. There was a drunken, gaming, dissipated student of St. John's, Cambridge--a friend in a slouched hat and an immense pair of jack-boots, and a lady who delicately invites her lover (the hero) "to a private interview and a cold collation." There is something about a five-hundred-pound note and a gambling-table--a heavy throw of the dice, and a heavier speech on the vices of gaming, by a likeness of the portrait of Dr. Dilworth that adorns the spelling-books. The hero rushes off in a state of distraction, and is followed by the jack-boots in pursuit; the enormous strides of which leave the pursued but little chance, though he has got a good start.

At another time two gentlemen appear in kilts, who pass their time in a long dialogue, the purport of which we were unable to catch, for they were conversing in stage-Scotch. A man then comes forward bearing a clever resemblance to the figure-head of a snuff-shop, and after a few words with about a dozen companions, the entire body proceed to fight a battle; which is immediately done behind the scenes, by four pistols, a crash, and the double-drummer, whose combined efforts present us with a representation of--as the bills kindly inform us--the "Battle of Culloden!" The hero is taken prisoner; but the villain is shot, and his jack-boots are cut off in their prime.

James Dawson is not despatched so quickly; he takes a great deal of dying,--the whole of the third act being occupied by that inevitable operation. Newgate--a "stock" scene at this theatre--an execution, a lady in black and a state of derangement, a muffled drum, and a "view of Kennington Common," terminate the life of "James Dawson," who, we had the consolation to observe, from the apathy of the audience, will not be put to the trouble of dying for more than half-a-dozen nights longer.

Before the "Syncretic Society" publishes its next octavo on the state of the Drama, it should send a deputation to the Victoria. There they will observe the written and acted drama in the lowest stage it is possible for even their imaginations to conceive. Even "Martinuzzi" will bear comparison with the "Life and Death of James Dawson."

THE BOARDING SCHOOL.

At the "Boarding School" established by Mr. Bernard in the Haymarket Theatre, young ladies are instructed in flirting and romping, together with the use of the eyes, at the extremely moderate charges of five and three shillings per lesson; those being the prices of admission to the upper and lower departments of Mr. Webster's academy, which is hired for the occasion by that accomplished professor of punmanship Bayle Bernard. The course of instruction was, on the opening of the seminary, as follows:--

The lovely pupils were first seen returning from their morning walk in double file, hearts beating and ribbons flying; for they encountered at the door of the school three yeomanry officers. The military being very civil, the eldest of the girls discharged a volley of glances; and nothing could exceed the skill and precision with which the ladies performed their eye-practice, the effects of which were destructive enough to set the yeomanry in a complete flame; and being thus primed and loaded for closer engagements with their charming adversaries, they go off.

The scholars then proceed to their duties in the interior of the academy, and we find them busily engaged in the study of "The Complete Loveletter Writer." It is wonderful the progress they make even in one lesson; the basis of it being a _billet_ each has received from the red-coats. The exercises they have to write are answers to the notes, and were found, on examination, to contain not a single error; thus proving the astonishing efficacy of the Bernardian system of "Belles' Lettres."

Meanwhile the captain, by despatching his subalterns on special duty, leaves himself a clear field, and sets a good copy in strategetics, by disguising himself as a fruit-woman, and getting into the play-ground, for the better distribution of apples and glances, lollipops and kisses, hard-bake and squeezes of the hand. The stratagem succeeds admirably; the enemy is fast giving way, under the steady fire of shells (Spanish-nut) and kisses, thrown with great precision amongst their ranks, when the lieutenant and cornet of the troop cause a diversion by an open attack upon the fortress; and having made a practicable breach (in their manners), enter without the usual formulary of summoning the governess. She, however, appears, surrounded by her staff, consisting of a teacher and a page, and the engagement becomes general. In the end, the yeomanry are routed with great loss--their hearts being made prisoners by the senior students of this "Royal Military Academy."

The yeomanry, not in the least dispirited by this reverse, plan a fresh attack, and hearing that reinforcements are _en route_, in the persons of the drawing, dancing, and writing masters of the "Boarding School," cut off their march, and obtain a second entrance into the enemy's camp, under false colours; which their accomplishments enable them to do, for the captain is a good penman, the lieutenant dances and plays the fiddle, and the cornet draws to admiration, especially--"at a month." Under such instructors the young ladies make great progress, the governess being absent to see after the imaginary daughter of a fictitious Earl of Aldgate. On her return, however, she finds her pupils in a state of great insubordination, and suspecting the teachers to be incendiaries, calls in a major of yeomanry (who, unlike the rest of his troop, is an ally of the lady), to put them out. The invaders, however, retreat by the window, but soon return by the door in their uniform, to assist their major in quelling the fears of the minors, and to complete the course of instruction pursued at the Haymarket "Boarding School."

Mr. J. Webster, as _Captain Harcourt_, played as well as he could: and so did Mr. Webster as _Lieutenant Varley_, which was very well indeed, for _he_ cannot perform anything badly, were he to try. An Irish cornet, in the mouth of Mr. F. Vining, was bereft of his proper brogue; but this loss was the less felt, as Mr. Gough personated the English Major with the _rale_ Tipperary tongue. _Mrs. Grosdenap_ was a perfect governess in the hands of Mrs. Clifford, and the hoydens she presided over exhibited true specimens of a finishing school, especially Miss P. Horton;--that careful and pleasing _artiste_, who stamps character upon everything she does, and individuality upon everything she says. In short, all the parts in the "Boarding School" are so well acted, that one cannot help regretting when it breaks up for the evening. The circulars issued by its proprietors announce that it will be open every night, from ten till eleven, up to the Christmas holidays.

As a subject, this is a perfectly fair, nay, moral one; despite some silly opinions that have stated to the contrary. Satire, when based upon truth, is the highest province of the stage, which enables us to laugh away folly and wickedness, when they cannot be banished by direct exposure. Ladies' boarding-schools form, in the mass, a gross and fearful evil, to which the Haymarket author has cleverly awakened attention. Why they are an evil, might be easily proved, but a theatrical critique in PUNCH is not precisely the place for a discussion on female education.

* * * * *

ENJOYMENT.

The "Council of the Dramatic Authors' Theatre" enticed us from home on Monday last, by promising what as yet they have been unable to perform--"Enjoyment." As usual, they obtained our company under false pretences: for if any "enjoyment" were afforded by their new farce, the actors had it all to themselves.

It is astonishing how vain some authors are of their knowledge of any particular subject. Brewster monopolises that of the polarization of light and kaleidoscopes--poor Davy surfeited us with choke damps and the safety lantern--the author of "Enjoyment" is great on the subject of cook-shops; the whole production being, in fact, a dramatic lecture on the "slap-bang" system. _Mr. Bang_, the principal character, is the master of an eating-house, to which establishment all the other persons in the piece belong, and all are made to display the author's practical knowledge of the internal economy of a cook-shop. Endless are the jokes about sausages--roast and boiled beef are cut, and come to again, for a great variety of facetiae--in short, the entire stock of fun is cooked up from the bill of fare. The master gives his instructions to his "cutter" about "working up the stale gravy" with the utmost precision, and the "sarver out" undergoes a course of instruction highly edifying to inexperienced waiters.

This burletta helps to develop the plan which it is the intention of the "council" to follow up in their agonising efforts to resuscitate the expiring drama. They, it is clear, mean to make the stage a vehicle for instruction.

Miss Martineau wrote a novel called "Berkeley the Banker," to teach political economy--the "council" have produced "Enjoyment" as an eating-house keepers' manual, complete in one act. This mode of dramatising the various guides to "trade" and to "service" is, however, to our taste, more edifying than amusing; for much of the author's learning is thrown away upon the mass of audiences, who are only waiters between the acts. They cannot appreciate the nice distinctions between "buttocks and rounds," neither does everybody perceive the wit of _Joey's_ elegant toast, "Cheap beef and two-pence for the waiter!" This kind of erudition--like that expended upon Chinese literature and the arrow-headed hieroglyphics of Asia Minor--is confined to too small a class of the public for extensive popularity, though it may be highly amusing to the table-d'hote and ham-and-beef interest.

The chief beauty of the plot is its extreme simplicity; a half-dozen words will describe it:--_Mr. Bang_ goes out for a day's "Enjoyment," and is disappointed! This is the head and front of the farceur's offending--no more. Any person eminently gifted with patience, and anxious to give it a fair trial, cannot have a better opportunity of testing it than by spending a couple of hours in seeing that single incident drag its slow length along, and witnessing a new comedian, named Bass, roll his heavy breadth about in hard-working attempts to be droll. As a specimen of manual labour in comedy, we never saw the acting of this _debutant_ equalled.

We are happy to find that, determined to give "living _English_ dramatists a clear stage and fair play," the "Council" are bringing forward a series of stale translations from the _French_ in rapid succession. The "Married Rake," and "Perfection,"--one by an author no longer "living," both loans from the _Magasin Theatral_--have already appeared.

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FINE ARTS.

SUFFOLK-STREET GALLERY.--ART-UNION.

The members of this institution have, with their usual liberality, given the use of their Galleries for the exhibition of the pictures selected by the prize-holders of the Art-Union of London of the present year. The works chosen are 133 in number; and as they are the representatives of "charming variety," it is naturally to be expected that, in most instances, the selection does not proclaim that perfect knowledge of the material from which the 133 jewel-hunters have had each an opportunity of choosing; nevertheless, it is a blessed reflection, and a proof of the philanthropic adaptation of society to societies' means--a beneficent dovetailing--an union of sympathies--that to every one painter who is disabled from darting suddenly into the excellencies of his profession, there are, at least, one thousand "connoisseurs" having an equal degree of free-hearted ignorance in the matter, willing to extend a ready hand to his weakly efforts, and without whose generosity he could never place himself within the observation and patronage of the better informed in art. As this lottery was formed to give an interest, indiscriminately, to the mass who compose it, the setting apart so large a sum as L300 for a prize is, in our humble opinion, anything but well judged.

The painter of a picture worth so high a sum needs not the assistance which the lottery affords; and although it may be urged, that some one possessing sufficient taste, but insufficient means to indulge that taste, might, perchance, obtain the high prize, it is evident that such bald reasoning is adduced only to support individual interest. The principle is, consequently, inimical to those upon which the Art-Union of London was founded; and, farther, it is most undeniable, that more general good, and consequent satisfaction, would arise both to the painter and the public (i.e. that portion of the public whose subscriptions form the support of the undertaking), had the large prize been divided into two, four, or even six other, and by no means inconsiderable ones. We are fully aware of the benefits that have been conferred and received, and that must still continue to be so, from this praiseworthy undertaking. As an observer of these things, we cannot withhold expressing our opinions upon any part of the system which, in honest thought, appears imperfect, or not so happily directed as it might be. But should PUNCH become prosy, his audience will vanish.

To prevent those visitors to this exhibition, who do not profess an intimacy with the objects herein collected for their amusement, from being misled by the supposititious circumstance of the highest prize having commanded the best picture, we beg to point to their attention the following peculiarities (by no means recommendatory) in the work selected by the most fortunate of the _jewel-hunters_; it is catalogued "The Sleeping Beauty," by D. Maclise, R.A., and assuredly painted with the most independent disdain for either law or reason. Never has been seen so signal a failure in attempting to obtain repose by the introduction of so many sleeping figures. The appointment of parts to form the general whole, the first and last aim of every other painter, D. Maclise, R.A., has most gallantly disregarded. If there be effect, it certainly is not in the right place, or rather there is no concentration of effect; it possesses the glare of a coloured print, and that too of a meretricious sort--incidents there are, but no plot--less effect upon the animate than the inanimate. The toilet-table takes precedence of the lady--the couch before the sleeper--the shadow, in fact, before the substance; and as it is a sure mark of a vulgar mind to dwell upon the trifles, and lose the substantial--to scan the dress, and neglect the wearer, so we opine the capabilities of D. Maclise, R.A., are brought into requisition to accommodate such beholders. He has, moreover, carefully avoided any approximation to the vulgarity of flesh and blood, in his representations of humanity; and has, therefore, ingeniously sought the delicacy of Dresden china for his models. To conclude our notice, we beg to suggest the addition of a torch and a rosin-box, which, with the assistance of Mr. Yates, or the Wizard of the North, would render it perfect (whereas, without these delusive adjuncts, it is not recognisable in its puppet-show propensities) as a first-rate imitation of the last scene in a pantomime.

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