Punch (16.1849)

238

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

OH, WHERE, AND OH, WHERE, IS OUR NATIVE TALENT GONE?

What is Native Talent ?
Where is Native Talent ?
Who is Native Talent ?
Is there any Native Talent ?

Might, could, would, or should there be any Native Talent ?

And so on through all the moods and t enses of the substantive verb,
and to the utter absorption of all the marks of interrogation in Punch't
immense printing-office. It is especially in music that we are alarmed
by this utter disappearance of the native article.

As oysters are proverbially mute, we perhaps have no right to expect
that " Natives" should sing. But still, otic would think, looking round
at the Opera Omnia, which absolutely litter the streets, till we feel that
some of them ought to be shelved, there might be room for one lit tie
volume (of voice) lettered Op. Brit., or, British Opera. But we find a
gap where the volume should be—or, if there do oo/.e out a solitary
British note, here and there, it is sure to be done up in au Italian
binding.

There's the Italian opera at the Queen's Theatre !
There's the Italian opera at Covent Garden !
There's the German opera at Drury Lane !
There's the French opera at the St. James's !
There's Strauss with his band everywhere !

There's the "immortal Bones," with his Ethiopian company, at all
the Gardens !

There are the Hungarian singers at all the Concerts !

There are Jetty de Tbjbfpz and Anna Tuillon, and Piscuek,
stars of Exeter Hall!

There are French Prima .Donnas dropping in, one after another, at
the Princess's !

There are the Styrian Minstrels just come, that is, if they have been
able to find room !

Good gracious ! Where is it to stop ? The Continent is in a state
of convulsion, we know, and these arc its throes—society, like a swan,
pouring forth music in its death agony. But it is dreadful to find
London turned into a musical Babel, and a new confusion of tongues
let loose upon us.

We shall soon turn desperate, like a man in a shower-bath, and pull
the string that lets down on our devoted heads the gush of many
musics—the rain of various melody—the storm of unintelligible song.

Si and by us, editor of the Fonetic Nuz, and now, come one, come all
— Punch will go beyond Jullien and his Concerts Monstres. We are
open to all the world.

If there be an Exquimaux operatic company, let them leave their
w alrus ilesh and seal blubber ; let them cease charming the spouting
whale,-and prick-nosed narwhal, and come sing to us. If there be a
Russian horn-band disengaged, we are ready to impale ourselves on the
sharpest vote in alt of all their concert-stuck.

If 1 here be anywhere, in the Ear West, a Cherokee corps musicale,
they arc welcome to us, scalps, tomahawks, medicine-men, and all. We
will write a libretto for them—called The Macready Massacre ; or,
Tim: In" ew Yniuc Savages—in which they shall cut down the Eorrest,
ami fling asafoetida at the audience, and brain Mr. Btjnn with arm-
chairs. Ha—Ha—Ha ! We are mad ;. musically, melancholy mad.—We
sit at a Harmonic ordinary of all languages, and have stolen the scraps.

La ci darem—vamos amigos—salem aleikoum—Auf bruder—quand
je quittais—gamle Norge—Rabschasch szelrasnik—Ah—me—no—pa-
le—ma—to—pe—Hurrah— Hurrah—Hurrah—Do—re—mi—fa—sol—
la—mad—mad—mad !

PARKS FOE THE PEOPLE.

We find by the Miscellaneous Estimates that there has been a
tolerably large item for Public Parks ; and being desirous of progress
in this direction, we beg leave to recommend the adaptation of our old
friend Whetstone Park to the service of the public. The great
advantage which this Park possesses over many others, is the absence
of expense in keeping it up; for there would be no pretext for
the employment of a Banger in a park of such very limited range,
nor would the staff of park-keepers required be either large or
extravagant.

The Parks have generally been called the lungs of London, but
Whetstone Park may be more appropriately termed the small windpipe
of the Metropolis. We take great credit to ourselves for having been
the first to publish to the world the merits of this now well-known Park,
which was once so secluded, as to require nothing less than the genius
of a Mtjngo Park to lead to its discovery.

The Summit of Patience and Perseverance,—Roasting an ox
ander a burning-glass ! !

OUR FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE.

In consequence of the continued interest that seems to be felt in
f oreign Affairs, we have dispatched a correspondent with directions to
sit himself down on the seat of war, but he has already written word
to say that "the seat of war has not a leg to stand upon." He was
instructed to take whatever route he chose, but he has declined taking
root anywhere, and prefers making himself a sort of correspondent
mobile, picking up something wherever he is set down, and sending it
off to us in sixpenny-worths at a time, whenever he has enough to
complete a sixpenny paragraph. From Presburgh he has sent us
biscuits, but the details are dry; and from Naples he forwards soap,
which indicates that both parties are prepared to administer to each
other a lathering. From Bavaria our correspondent forwards us
brooms, which shows that the insurgents have had a brush with the
authorities ; and from Florence, a flask of oil assures us of an intention
in that quarter to hold out the olive branch.

Printed by William Bradbury, of No. 13, Upper Woburn Place, in the Parish of St. Panrraa ; and
Frederick Mullett Kvaus, of No. 7, Church Row, Stoke Newington, botb in the County of Middlesex,
Printers, at their Office in Lombard Street, in the Precinct of Whitefriars, in the City of London,
ahd Published by them at. No. 85, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London.
—Saturday, June 9lh, 1849.