Punch (43.1862)

July 26, 1862.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

33

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OUR DRAMATIC CORRESPONDENT.

OLD ABE AT THE BAR (OE PUBLIC

ear Punch,

_ “In the interval
since my last let-
ter but little has
occurred of much
dramatic note.
Thanks to country
visitors, old pieces
still keep run-
ning, though their
charms, toLondon
play-goers, must
long ago have
ceased. Stoke
Pogis, come to
town to see the
Exhibition, of
course delights to
see those novelties
the Peep o’ Pay
and the Porter’s
Knot, while our
old friend Lord

Bundreary nightly stammers forth his small talk for the benefit of Slushborough and
Stickley-in-the-Mud. Indeed in a dramatic way, but few things have of late been
more attractive to the Londoner than the fancy fair and fete for the Dramatic
College, an institution which all playgoers I think ought to support. If one could
count up all the hearty laughs heard nightly at the theatres, what an amount of
cachinnation one would find they yearly cause! Now, there are few things of more
value to good health than a good laugh, and if a halfpenny per laugh were handed
over to the College, there would be little fear of actors who have lived to give such
pleasure ever dying in distress.

“ Mention of this charity induces very naturally a word anent its Master, whom
I rejoiced the other night to see again at his own house in the Bead Heart. Mr.
Webster has long ranked among the best of English actors, and it is well our
foreign friends should see that we have still good acting left in England, and
that it is not mere ‘ sensation ’ only that can fill a theatre. With his calm collected
bearing and passionless cold voice, Mr. Webster very certainly makes the most of
Robert Landry (and very ably is he aided by the Abbe David Fisher, who always
is painstaking and tries to act his best); but one almost feels regret to see him
where his talents are hot allowed more scope, and they who have had the fortune
to see him in Tartuffe will not confine their admiration to his acting as they see it
in a piece like the Bead Heart.

“ I was glad to find the house so well filled when I went: but the Adelphi is so
comfortable that it is no wonder people flock to it, no matter what may be the
attractions of the stage. You have room to stretch your legs there, and can
breathe and hear and see, without having to sit sideways and crane your neck, and
bend your back, and generally distort yourself as is the case at other theatres.
You are charged a fixed price for your seat, and, this paid, you are never called
upon for extra sixpences. I am sure the small exactions by book-keepers, often
add to the dislike which many comfort-loving people feel to going to the play.

“ I am not aware if foreigners still cling to the old notion that we of England are
by no means a music-loving people. If so, such of them who are among us now
had better count how many concerts there are announced daily in the columns of
‘ ze Tames’ (what a ‘Jubilee5 was that of yours, Professor Philharmonic
Bennett ! how Weber, Spohr, Mendelssohn, Ga/uck, Beethoven, and Mozart,
would have rejoiced to hear their works performed by such a band as yours, helped
by Joachim and Anderson, Tietjens and Jenny Lind!); and besides counting
the concerts, let our foreign friends take note that both our operas are open and
that the two together lately have been giving eight or nine performances week.
At Her Majesty’s Miss Pyne and Mr. Santley have been showing that England
has some singers who can sing Italian songs; and here Rossini’s pets, the two
sisters Marchisio, have been warbling Semiramide like a couple of twin night-
ingales, on the nights when Eraulein Tietjens has rested her sweet voice.
How Meyerbeer’s Roberto has been done at Covent Garden, hath not Punch
already told ? And here Adelina Patti, that pleasant piquant little party, has
been singing as Amina, and Norim, and Zerlina, and Rosina (are there any other
characters that rhyme with Adelina P) in a way. to bring down nightly on hei
pretty little head a whole Covent Garden Marketful of rapturous bouquets. More-
over, here is Mario, deliciousest of tenors, who sings in such pure style and with
such exquisite good taste- and in addition here is Tamberlir—Arnold Don
Ottavio Tamberlik—with his famous high chest C, and his fashionable vibrato,
which makes his fine voice shake as though it had the ague. Terribly infectious
are these shaking fits, it seems, and nearly every new singer appears to catch the
malady. To me these vocal shivers are exceedingly distressing, and I shall heartily
rejoice when the disease has quite died out.

“ One who Pays.”

A Stream of Ill-Luck.

The Metropolitan Railway has been inundated so often that it is a kind of
misnomer to talk of it as the Underground Railway. A more fitting appellation
would certainly be. The Underwater Railway.

OPINION).

Young Jonathan, in liquorin’ tastes.

Has long dropped beer and mocked ale,
For julep, sherry-cobler,

Gin-sling and brandy-cocktail;
Gum-tickler and chain-lightning,
Eye-brightener and leg-tangler—

And scores of other compounds known
To each ’cute bar-room dangler.

Until at last his liquors he
Has grown so fond of mixin’.

He scorns the charms of alcohol
Without some artful ‘ fixin’,

Some sugary aid to make it sweet.

Some acid smack to sour it.

Till each drink needs two jugs at least,

And two smart hands to pour it.

We see how fashion spreads and grows.

Till all around it catches,

So Jonathan’s new taste in drinks
Has now reached to despatches.

His palate too fastidious
For unadulterate fact is,

And mixing truth with lies has grown
His barman’s constant practice.

Where dull John Bull would measure out
Defeat’s unmingled bitters,

In water from truth’s well, despite
Britannia’s tears and twitters,

The caterers for Jonathan
With bunkum brag and bluster
Spice up defeat to victory.

And call it “ raal eye-duster.”

There at the bar in Washington
Sits one as honest Abe known,

From his rail-splitting Springfield days
As truthful as a babe known—

But “ at the bar ’tis as the bar”—

So honest Abe in fixin’

Despatches up for Jonathan
Has learnt the art ot mixin’.

From Victory’s goblet to Defeat’s
This way and that he tosses
.Retreats, advances, fronts and rears,

Facts, figures, gains and losses.

Is the draught harsh ? A honied lie
Makes questioning palates placid :

Does ihe draught cloy ? Throw in a dash
Of partial loss for acid.

And when he’s stirred the stuff about
Till Staunton’s taste approves it,

Or Seward’s, who bad news can fix
As Jonathan best loves it;

The mixture’s handed from the bar,

So cunningly compounded,

Few can pick out the truth with lies
The lies with truth confounded.

“ Truth, cold without, Sir,” says old Abe,
“ With Jonathan is scaarse, Sir :

He’s used to take it with a dash
Of hot sensation saarse, Sir.

I guess his stomach ’twouldn’t suit,
Perhaps bring on the shakes, Sir,

So palatable at our bar
The naked truth we makes, Sir.”

A Silk Gown that is only Worsted.

It is not only unfair but ungenerous to condemn Mr.
Edwin James for his defence, simply because it happens
to be extremely lame and impotent, and ludicrously
laboured and evasive; for it is very clear, says Baron
Bramwell, ever since the late M.P. for Marylebone
has been disbarred, that his arguments can be little
better than ex-Q.C.’s (excuses).


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Vol. 43.

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