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CHARACTERS.
Miss JennyMiss Polly
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By the Sisters Leamar.
The Soldier DollThe Soldier Doll
}
By the Two Armstrongs.
Scene—A Nursery. Enter Miss Jenny and Miss Polly, who perform a blameless step-dance with an improving chorus.
Oh, isn't it jolly! we've each a new dolly,
And one is a Soldier, the other's a Tar!
We're fully contented with what's been presented,
Such good little children we both of us are!
[They dance... more...
ALL IN PLAY.
My Dear Editor,—Whilst you were feasting in Burlington House amongst the Pictures and the Royal Academicians, I was seated in the Stalls of the St. James's Theatre, lost in astonishment (certainly not in admiration, although of old the two words had the same meaning), at the antics of a minority of the Gallery, who amused themselves by shouting themselves hoarse before the performances commenced; but not satisfied with this,... more...
"Though cold the coxcomb, and though coarse the boor,
Though dulness haunts the rich and pain the poor,
In this colossal city,
Yet London is not Rome, O Shade!" I said.
"A later Juvenal should not find her dead
To purity and pity."
"Satire, of shames and follies in sole quest,
Is a one-eyed divinity at best,"
My guide responded, slowly.
"The tale of Zoïlus hath its moral still.
Such critics are but blowflies, their small skill... more...
No. III.—REALISATION.
Scene—Theatre Royal, Blankbury, on the first night of the performance of the well-known Comedy of "Heads or Tails?" by the "Thespian Perambulators." Time, 7:50 P.M. A "brilliant and fashionable assemblage" is gradually filling the house. In the Stalls are many distinguished Amateurs of both Sexes, including Lady Surbiton, who has brought her husband and Mrs. Gagmore (Lady Surbiton's particular friend). The... more...
Being gifted with decent taste and a sensitive eye,
I have never been much beguiled
By advertisements, crude in colour, and ten feet high
(Which, in fact, I rather reviled);
And, as for gigantic signs swinging up in the sky—
They drove me perfectly wild!
II.
Then the lurid posters on paling and chimney-stack
Were the terror of every town—
Till a League was started by Mr. William Black
For the purpose of putting them... more...
A BALLAD OF WEALTHY WOOING.
Ah, why, my Love, receive me
With such tip-tilted scorn?
Self-love can scarce retrieve me
From obloquy forlorn;
'Twas not my fault, believe me,
That wealthy I was born.
Of Nature's gifts invidious
I'd choose I know not which;
One might as well be hideous
As shunn'd because he's rich.
O Love, if thou art bitter,
Then death must pleasant be;
I know not which is fitter,
Not I—(or is't "not me"?)... more...
CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.
THE KEEPER. (Continued.)
Is there no way, then, you may ask, in which the Head Keeper may be lured from his customary silence for more than a sentence or two? Yes, there is one absolutely certain method, and, so far as I know, only one. The subject to which you must lead your conversation is—no, it isn't poachers, for a good keeper takes the occasional poacher as part of his programme. He wages war... more...
Of the many varieties of keeper, I propose, at present, to consider only the average sort of keeper, who looks after a shooting, comprising partridges, pheasants, hares, and rabbits, in an English county. Now it is to be observed that your ordinary keeper is not a conversational animal. He has, as a rule, too much to do to waste time in unnecessary talk. To begin with, he has to control his staff, the men and boys who walk in line with you... more...
AT A HYPNOTIC SÉANCE.
SCENE—A Public Hall in a provincial town. The Hypnotist—a tall, graceful, and handsome young man, in well-fitting evening clothes—has already succeeded in putting most of his subjects to sleep, and is going round and inspecting them critically, as they droop limply on a semicircle of chairs, in a variety of unpicturesque attitudes. The only Lady on the platform is evidently as yet in full... more...
'ARRY AT 'ARRYGATE.
(Second Letter.)
DEAR CHARLIE,—The post-mark, no doubt, will surprise you. I'm still at the "Crown,"
Though I said in my last—wot wos true—I was jest on the mizzle for town.
'Ad a letter from nunky, old man, with another small cheque. Good old nunk!
So I'm in for a fortnit' more sulphur and slosh, afore doing a bunk.
Ah! I've worked it, my pippin, I've worked it; gone in for hexcursions... more...