Punch: Punch (56.1869)

236 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [June 5, 1869.

AT THE HORSE SHOW.

Splinter, the Horse-Dealer, is “up” fop. Captain Clinker; but Mr. Smasher (of Clapham) “shows” for himself.

[N.B. And finds the revolving hurdles an admirable invention.

VULGARIANS AT THE PLAY.

Our Tory Contemporary, the Globe, which we beg leave to congra-
tulate upon its re-assuming the lively and readable character that it
bore when under the sway of Military Omniscience, has published a
letter on theatrical matters, one paragraph from which epistle Mr.
Punch purposeth to reproduce. The writer, who signs himself Chris-
topiiero Sly, we presume as a discontent spectator of certain per-
formances, believes that they would be better if private boxes and stalls
were swept away, and authors and actors were brought close to the
educated audience, which he thinks would (moderate prices being
demanded), take the place of ignorant swell-dom. This is matter of
opinion, and Christophero has much to say for his. But there cannot
be two opinions about the absolute justice of the following observa-
tions. Having characterised a performance as rubbish, Mr. Sly says:

“ That it is rubbish is not much excuse for the very numerous vulgarians
who go to the private boxes to talk and laugh ; or for the ‘ swells ’ who, after
a late dinner, yawn in the stalls, or still more offensively chatter there with
the paintings from the academy of the demi-monde. They need not manifest
so openly their unconcern with the business of the stage, for it is quite certain
that they do not know whether they are witnessing good acting or bad. But
this is detail; it is piteously pleaded, however, by the poor actors, who ask how
it is possible for them to put their hearts into their work, while they catch every
| word of the noisy flirtations in the private boxes, and see that the stalls are
yawning ? Here I interpolate a tribute to the highest personage but one in
i the kingdom. The Prince of Wales sets an admirable example. There is
! no talking in his box. He attends to the performance, such as it is, with
the real courtesy which kindly recognises an attempt to please. He has seen
plent5r of continental acting, before real audiences, but never allows English
actors to feel that they suffer by the comparison, which must be inevitable.
Flunkeydom might take the hint.”

Mr.Punch lias frequently pointed with bis baton at offenders of the
kind indicated by Mr. C. Sly. But the offence is so much on the in-
crease that one of these days the baton will be used in another way—
meantime, let “vulgarians” accept this re-printed paragraph as
warning. Mr. Punch adds a bow to H.R.H., and rejoices in indorsing
the Christopberian tribute.

NIGHTSHADE AND NIGHTSHADE.

Mr. Punch,

The Vail Mall Gazette quotes from the Liverpool Mercury an
account of a case of poisoning by the undersigned, attributed to
another. According to this narrative, a man pulled a root out of the
ground, mistook it for a carrot, ate a piece of it, was presently seized
with convulsions, and died within ten minutes. “ The plant proved to
be the Deadly Nightshade, Solanum Dulcamara.” Sir, the Solanum '
Dulcamara is not the Deadly Nightshade. It is the bittersweet, or
woody nightshade, no more a poison than the potato—a mere simple.
Your friend, Dr. Dulcamara, derived his name from that member of
the Solanacece. It promotes the functions of the skin, liver, and
kidney, as one of your young men can tell you from personal experi-
ence ; and, your fair readers who want to be fairer may like to know, it
makes a cosmetic potion better than anything advertised, to remove
tan, pimples, freckles, discolorations, bubukles, and whelks, and knobs,
and flames of fire. I form a cosmetic lotion, and I dilate the pupil.
Therefore a preparation of me is used by silly women to give what
they call expression to their eyes. Solanum Dulcamara is only a
distant relation of mine, and has none of my powerful properties. I
am the deadly nightshade. Ha! ha! I represent Medea in the
Vegetable Kingdom—see her picture in the Royal Academy Exhibi-
tion, by Mr. Sandys,—and agreeably to my fatally killing qualities, on
which I do not scruple to own that I pride myself, am botanically
named your Atropa Belladonna.

P.S. At your service, if you want to be returned felo de se. Am to .
be found among the ruins of Netley Abbey. S. D. bears red berries
in clusters. Mine are black, shiny, and single.

To a Correspondent.

You cannot be serious in supposing that the question of additional
Bishops could have any connection with “ The Reserved Lawn Stakes
at the Epsom Meeting. We shall send a Rural Dean after yon.