Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93. August 6, 1887.

Excerpt

Dear Mr. Punch,

Now that your own particular theatrical adviser and follower, Mr. Nibbs, has left London for a trip abroad, I venture to address you on matters dramatic. I am the more desirous of so doing because, although the Season is nearly over, two very important additions have been made to the London playhouse programme—two additions that have hitherto escaped your eagle glance. I refer, Sir, to The Doctor at the Globe, and The Colonel at the Comedy—both from the pen of a gentleman who (while I am writing this in London) is partaking of the waters at Royat. Mr. Burnand is to be congratulated upon the success that has attended both productions. I had heard rumours that The Doctor had found some difficulty in establishing himself (or rather herself, because I am talking of a lady) satisfactorily in Newcastle Street, Strand. It was said that she required practice, but when I attended her consulting-room the other evening, I found the theatre full of patients, who were undergoing a treatment that may be described (without any particular reference to marriages or "the United States") as "a merry cure." I was accompanied by a young gentleman fresh from school, and at first felt some alarm on his account, as his appreciation of the witty dialogue with which the piece abounds was so intense that he threatened more than once to die of laughing.

I have never seen a play "go" better—rarely so well. The heroine—the "Doctoresse"—was played with much effect and discretion by Miss Enson, a lady for whom I prophesy a bright future. Mr. Penley was excellent in a part that fitted him to perfection. Both Miss Victor, as a "strong woman," and Mr. Hill, as—well, himself,—kept the pit in roars. The piece is more than a farce. The first two Acts are certainly farcical, but there is a touch of pathos in the last scene which reminds one that there is a close relationship between smiles and tears. And here let me note that the company in the private boxes, even when most heartily laughing, were still in tiers. As a rule the Doctor is not a popular person, but at the Globe she is sure to be always welcome. Any one suffering from that very distressing and prevalent malady, "the Doleful Dumps," cannot do better than go to Newcastle Street for a speedy cure.

The Colonel at the Comedy is equally at home, and, on the occasion of his revival, was received with enthusiasm. Mr. Bruce has succeeded Mr. Coghlan in the title rôle, and plays just as well as his predecessor. Mr. Herbert is the original Forester, and the rest of the dramatis personæ are worthy of the applause bestowed upon them. To judge from the laughter that followed every attack upon the æsthetic fad, the "Greenery Yallery Gallery" is as much to the front as ever—a fact, by the way, that was amply demonstrated at the Soirée of the Royal Academy, where "passionate Brompton" was numerously represented.

The Bells of Hazlemere seem to be ringing in large audiences at the Adelphi, although the piece is not violently novel in its plot or characters....