DOI issue:
July to December, 1851
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16608#0113
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
101
PUNCH AT THE PLAY.
A VISIT TO DRURY LANE.
If a modern Thomson were to wish to write another poem on the
" Seasons," he would find novelty—at least of subject—in the Seasons of
Drury Lane. Some people are said to live a whole life in an hour, and
Drury Lane, most certainly, lives through several seasons in a single
year. It generally begins about October, as the " Home of the
Drama," and finishes, about August, as the "Stable of Atar Gull.5'
It starts with a "Popular Tragedian" in Autumn, and comes to the
" Acknowledged Man-Monkey " before the Summer is at an end. The
worst of it is, that when it is the " Home of the Drama," there are
scarcely any callers, except a few renters, who drop their compli-
mentary cards at the door, while the horse, "Atar Gull," can boast a
nightly crowd of visitors. The "Popular Tragedian" gets plenty of
empty—ruinously empty—praise; but the "Acknowledged Man-
Monkey " receives substantial proofs of acknowledgment at the hands
of nightly crowds.
We will not ask why it is? but so it is; and, declining to ask
the question, whether it is caused by the dinner hour, the expense
of keeping the house dusted, the Italian Operas, the want of
actors, the high salaries, the dearth of pieces, or any other of the
hundred-and-fifty reasons usually assigned for the ruin of the large
theatres,—we pass on to the fact, that Drury Lane answers very well
for nearly everything but the purpose to which it is conventionally
assigned.
We paid a visit a few evenings ago, and entered a crowded house,
just as the " Acknowledged Man-Monkey" was going through his
" delineations of the monkey tribe." As a zoological study, we should
say the " delineations " would be rather deceptive, and the student of
the habits of monkey life must not trust too implicitly to the " Acknow-
ledged. Man-Monkey "—is the acknowledgment in writing ?—at Drury
Lane. Afterwards, we found the "Brothers Elliott," with their
"Drawing-room Entertainments," which caused us to wonder where
the Drawing-room may be in which such entertainments could be con-
veniently carried on. The " Brothers " throw themselves, and each
other, about in a manner that would be fatal to any of those little
objects of knick-knackery to be found in drawing-rooms of even the
humblest pretension. We cannot imagine ourselves sitting ma. salon,
and being bounded in upon by three youths in spangles—and scarcely
anything else—one of whom throws himself down on his back on
the hearth-rug, while another jumps on to the hands of his recumbent
brother, and is pitched, head-over-heels, into the middle of the room.
The foreigners who visit Drury Lane will, we trust, not go away
with the idea that our drawing-rooms are the scene of such proceedings;
and we must particularly warn them against the idea that at Her
Majesty's Drawing-room there are any entertainments of the kind.
There never was so much horse-riding in the Metropolis as at the
present moment. London might easily be divided, like Yorkshire, into
its North and West Biding. Drury Lane might rank as the capital
of the former; whilst for the latter, Cremorne, the Hippodrome,
and Astley's might each claim the same epithet in its own peculiar
circle.
At Drury Lane, the Biding takes a higher bound than we have ever
witnessed in a similar arena. Their ambition seems to be of the most
vaulting description; the great merit of which, often as it leaps,
until counting becomes a bore, is that it never " o'erleaps itself."
There is a grand game, called "Battoute Leaping," in which the art of
leaping is carried to the very greatest height. " One fellow leapt so
tarnation high," the American clown informed us, " that though he
went up quite a boy—in the spring-time of his existence—he never
came down till he was an old man, with a family of ten children." The
aeronauts must be rather afraid of this new Yankee sect of Jumpers;
for they leap up as high as sky-rockets, and then whiz round and round
in the air like so many Catharine-wheels. If one of them came in
collision with a balloon, the bouleversement might not be exactly
pleasant.
The Clowns belong to the talkative genus of clowns; but then it must
be recollected they spring from an American race, which may account
somewhat for their loquacity. If anything, they talk too much.
" I talk so fast," said one of them, " that it takes Echo six months
before it can give me an answer—and that's a fact. I talk so tarnation
quick that no steam-engine can follow me ; and in Kentucky, nineteen
old women, at a tea-party, died on the spot of vexation, because they
couldn't put in a single word, and if that isn't the truth I'm
blessed if my wife mayn't run away, and never come back again."
But still they can be as nimble with'their feet as with their tongues.
The funny way in which one of them danced a quadrille all by himself,
was proof of this facility. The difference between the Ancient and
Modern Quadrille, was given with a degree of point which we have
rarely noticed in the toe of a Clown before, excepting, perhaps, the
present wearer of Grimaldi's mantle (and very hot it must be to wear
<n this weather), Ma. Fiexmore.
The Drury Lane play-bill gives the names of the horses and the
riders, but the names of the Clowns are studiously buried in the deepest
sawdust. We think this looks a little like jealousy. The same mystery
is preserved with the Master of the Bing. If the same exclusive spirit
had been acted upon in English circles, the world would have lost the
renown of a Widdicomb. We could not help feeling how superior that
great Master was to all other Masters of the Bing. For instance, the
American Master, in point of sprightliness and juvenility, lags at least
a thousand years behind him. Widdicomb is decidedly the first man
of his age; and, when we say that, we mean that he is, perhaps, the
oldest man of the present day, and, for his age, decidedly looks the
youngest.
Au reste (as Jenkins would say), the Drury Lane Company boasts of
the same number of wonderful horses as any of its wonderful rivals.
There are horses who fire off pistols; who dig up hidden purses; pick up
handkerchiefs and hand them, on their hind legs, to their legitimate
owners; who grind a hurdy-gurdy (" that's a fact," as the Clown would
say), and dance the Golitska or the Cachucha, or any dance you please.
They jump through hoops, and over bars and scarfs, and run along the
edge of the barrier of the Circus. In short, the wonderful creatures
do everything but speak. We imagine, however, that this accomplish-
ment, even, they will soon be tutored to acquire, and that before long
we shall hear Hamlet played by an highly-trained stud of horses, and
we will be bound that they would play it quite as well as any company
which has been at Drury Lane, since Macrbady left it. In the mean-
time, until the horses learn to speak, the performances are well worth
going to see, for many of them are so clever that they speak for
themselves.
A FAMILY PARTY.
The Times, of the 18th instant, had one of the oddest advertisements
we have seen for many a day; an advertisement summoning all people
of the name of Jennings to a public meeting. It seems that some
property has been left by a Jennings, and the question is, which
Jennings is to have it ? The entire body, consequently, are to meet
together, with their pedigrees, to determine the matter. Hamlet talks
of his being " a little more than kin and less than kind;" the passage
is obscure, but we think the forthcoming meeting likely to illustrate it.
Considering the party and the object, we expect there will be more
people there than are likely to be " kin," and something considerably
less than kindness existent among them.
How is business to be managed ? Mr. Jennings must take the
chair, and Mr. Jennings must move the first resolution, and Mr.
Jennings must rise to move an amendment, and Mr. Jennings must
appeal to all the Jenningses to be heard against Mr. Jennings in the
chair, who insists on order. If two gentlemen rise to speak together,
who is to settle which is to have the hearing? Will the partisans
of both cry out, " Jennings ! Jennings !" How can any speaker
designate the last speaker with clearness ? He cannot begin,
" Gentlemen, Mr. Jennings has told you"—there will be a cry from
everybody present, " No, I didn't! " As for personality, that will
luckily be nearly impossible; it will be impracticable to insult a Mr.
Jennings in the presence of so many. Exchanging cards will be of no
use in this case. Out of the dozens of Jenningses on every variety of
pasteboard, how pick out your Jennings? how select the man vou
desire to call to account ? The thing is awful to contemplate ! Our
Christian names are not various enough to meet the difficulty; there
must be dozens of Toms, and Jacks, and Harrys, among the
multitude !
They are called ostensibly as relatives, these Jenningses. But who
does not see that it will be the interest of everybody to repudiate his
neighbour ? Call one your first cousin, and you admit the possibility of
his being from an elder brother, and so nearer the common ancestor.
No. Everybody will insist that he is the only genuine Jennings ; that,
like a bottle of the real King of Oude's sauce, he alone has the genuine
name of the producer. There will be a fine overhauling of the pedigrees,
we may be sure. "That's my great-grandfather, Sir!"—"No, Sir,
mine ! " Parish registers will be at a premium, and tombstones precious
stones, indeed, on the occasion. Many a Jennings, we fancy, will
feel inclined to hang himself on the genealogical tree before the
business is over.
One consolation, at least, suggests itself—that the bearers of the
name of Smith have not yet been summoned. No, no ! The darkest
malignity only could suggest a step like that. If that comes off, why,
we must shut our shops, call out our specials, and prepare for the worst
The Railway (no) Dividends.
At the recent meeting of the Eastern Counties, it was announced
that there would be a dividend of £0 0*. Od. This really looks as if the
dividends were getting quite round.
101
PUNCH AT THE PLAY.
A VISIT TO DRURY LANE.
If a modern Thomson were to wish to write another poem on the
" Seasons," he would find novelty—at least of subject—in the Seasons of
Drury Lane. Some people are said to live a whole life in an hour, and
Drury Lane, most certainly, lives through several seasons in a single
year. It generally begins about October, as the " Home of the
Drama," and finishes, about August, as the "Stable of Atar Gull.5'
It starts with a "Popular Tragedian" in Autumn, and comes to the
" Acknowledged Man-Monkey " before the Summer is at an end. The
worst of it is, that when it is the " Home of the Drama," there are
scarcely any callers, except a few renters, who drop their compli-
mentary cards at the door, while the horse, "Atar Gull," can boast a
nightly crowd of visitors. The "Popular Tragedian" gets plenty of
empty—ruinously empty—praise; but the "Acknowledged Man-
Monkey " receives substantial proofs of acknowledgment at the hands
of nightly crowds.
We will not ask why it is? but so it is; and, declining to ask
the question, whether it is caused by the dinner hour, the expense
of keeping the house dusted, the Italian Operas, the want of
actors, the high salaries, the dearth of pieces, or any other of the
hundred-and-fifty reasons usually assigned for the ruin of the large
theatres,—we pass on to the fact, that Drury Lane answers very well
for nearly everything but the purpose to which it is conventionally
assigned.
We paid a visit a few evenings ago, and entered a crowded house,
just as the " Acknowledged Man-Monkey" was going through his
" delineations of the monkey tribe." As a zoological study, we should
say the " delineations " would be rather deceptive, and the student of
the habits of monkey life must not trust too implicitly to the " Acknow-
ledged. Man-Monkey "—is the acknowledgment in writing ?—at Drury
Lane. Afterwards, we found the "Brothers Elliott," with their
"Drawing-room Entertainments," which caused us to wonder where
the Drawing-room may be in which such entertainments could be con-
veniently carried on. The " Brothers " throw themselves, and each
other, about in a manner that would be fatal to any of those little
objects of knick-knackery to be found in drawing-rooms of even the
humblest pretension. We cannot imagine ourselves sitting ma. salon,
and being bounded in upon by three youths in spangles—and scarcely
anything else—one of whom throws himself down on his back on
the hearth-rug, while another jumps on to the hands of his recumbent
brother, and is pitched, head-over-heels, into the middle of the room.
The foreigners who visit Drury Lane will, we trust, not go away
with the idea that our drawing-rooms are the scene of such proceedings;
and we must particularly warn them against the idea that at Her
Majesty's Drawing-room there are any entertainments of the kind.
There never was so much horse-riding in the Metropolis as at the
present moment. London might easily be divided, like Yorkshire, into
its North and West Biding. Drury Lane might rank as the capital
of the former; whilst for the latter, Cremorne, the Hippodrome,
and Astley's might each claim the same epithet in its own peculiar
circle.
At Drury Lane, the Biding takes a higher bound than we have ever
witnessed in a similar arena. Their ambition seems to be of the most
vaulting description; the great merit of which, often as it leaps,
until counting becomes a bore, is that it never " o'erleaps itself."
There is a grand game, called "Battoute Leaping," in which the art of
leaping is carried to the very greatest height. " One fellow leapt so
tarnation high," the American clown informed us, " that though he
went up quite a boy—in the spring-time of his existence—he never
came down till he was an old man, with a family of ten children." The
aeronauts must be rather afraid of this new Yankee sect of Jumpers;
for they leap up as high as sky-rockets, and then whiz round and round
in the air like so many Catharine-wheels. If one of them came in
collision with a balloon, the bouleversement might not be exactly
pleasant.
The Clowns belong to the talkative genus of clowns; but then it must
be recollected they spring from an American race, which may account
somewhat for their loquacity. If anything, they talk too much.
" I talk so fast," said one of them, " that it takes Echo six months
before it can give me an answer—and that's a fact. I talk so tarnation
quick that no steam-engine can follow me ; and in Kentucky, nineteen
old women, at a tea-party, died on the spot of vexation, because they
couldn't put in a single word, and if that isn't the truth I'm
blessed if my wife mayn't run away, and never come back again."
But still they can be as nimble with'their feet as with their tongues.
The funny way in which one of them danced a quadrille all by himself,
was proof of this facility. The difference between the Ancient and
Modern Quadrille, was given with a degree of point which we have
rarely noticed in the toe of a Clown before, excepting, perhaps, the
present wearer of Grimaldi's mantle (and very hot it must be to wear
<n this weather), Ma. Fiexmore.
The Drury Lane play-bill gives the names of the horses and the
riders, but the names of the Clowns are studiously buried in the deepest
sawdust. We think this looks a little like jealousy. The same mystery
is preserved with the Master of the Bing. If the same exclusive spirit
had been acted upon in English circles, the world would have lost the
renown of a Widdicomb. We could not help feeling how superior that
great Master was to all other Masters of the Bing. For instance, the
American Master, in point of sprightliness and juvenility, lags at least
a thousand years behind him. Widdicomb is decidedly the first man
of his age; and, when we say that, we mean that he is, perhaps, the
oldest man of the present day, and, for his age, decidedly looks the
youngest.
Au reste (as Jenkins would say), the Drury Lane Company boasts of
the same number of wonderful horses as any of its wonderful rivals.
There are horses who fire off pistols; who dig up hidden purses; pick up
handkerchiefs and hand them, on their hind legs, to their legitimate
owners; who grind a hurdy-gurdy (" that's a fact," as the Clown would
say), and dance the Golitska or the Cachucha, or any dance you please.
They jump through hoops, and over bars and scarfs, and run along the
edge of the barrier of the Circus. In short, the wonderful creatures
do everything but speak. We imagine, however, that this accomplish-
ment, even, they will soon be tutored to acquire, and that before long
we shall hear Hamlet played by an highly-trained stud of horses, and
we will be bound that they would play it quite as well as any company
which has been at Drury Lane, since Macrbady left it. In the mean-
time, until the horses learn to speak, the performances are well worth
going to see, for many of them are so clever that they speak for
themselves.
A FAMILY PARTY.
The Times, of the 18th instant, had one of the oddest advertisements
we have seen for many a day; an advertisement summoning all people
of the name of Jennings to a public meeting. It seems that some
property has been left by a Jennings, and the question is, which
Jennings is to have it ? The entire body, consequently, are to meet
together, with their pedigrees, to determine the matter. Hamlet talks
of his being " a little more than kin and less than kind;" the passage
is obscure, but we think the forthcoming meeting likely to illustrate it.
Considering the party and the object, we expect there will be more
people there than are likely to be " kin," and something considerably
less than kindness existent among them.
How is business to be managed ? Mr. Jennings must take the
chair, and Mr. Jennings must move the first resolution, and Mr.
Jennings must rise to move an amendment, and Mr. Jennings must
appeal to all the Jenningses to be heard against Mr. Jennings in the
chair, who insists on order. If two gentlemen rise to speak together,
who is to settle which is to have the hearing? Will the partisans
of both cry out, " Jennings ! Jennings !" How can any speaker
designate the last speaker with clearness ? He cannot begin,
" Gentlemen, Mr. Jennings has told you"—there will be a cry from
everybody present, " No, I didn't! " As for personality, that will
luckily be nearly impossible; it will be impracticable to insult a Mr.
Jennings in the presence of so many. Exchanging cards will be of no
use in this case. Out of the dozens of Jenningses on every variety of
pasteboard, how pick out your Jennings? how select the man vou
desire to call to account ? The thing is awful to contemplate ! Our
Christian names are not various enough to meet the difficulty; there
must be dozens of Toms, and Jacks, and Harrys, among the
multitude !
They are called ostensibly as relatives, these Jenningses. But who
does not see that it will be the interest of everybody to repudiate his
neighbour ? Call one your first cousin, and you admit the possibility of
his being from an elder brother, and so nearer the common ancestor.
No. Everybody will insist that he is the only genuine Jennings ; that,
like a bottle of the real King of Oude's sauce, he alone has the genuine
name of the producer. There will be a fine overhauling of the pedigrees,
we may be sure. "That's my great-grandfather, Sir!"—"No, Sir,
mine ! " Parish registers will be at a premium, and tombstones precious
stones, indeed, on the occasion. Many a Jennings, we fancy, will
feel inclined to hang himself on the genealogical tree before the
business is over.
One consolation, at least, suggests itself—that the bearers of the
name of Smith have not yet been summoned. No, no ! The darkest
malignity only could suggest a step like that. If that comes off, why,
we must shut our shops, call out our specials, and prepare for the worst
The Railway (no) Dividends.
At the recent meeting of the Eastern Counties, it was announced
that there would be a dividend of £0 0*. Od. This really looks as if the
dividends were getting quite round.