Punch (53.1867)

August 17, 1867.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Literary Passenger. “The Serials are Dull this Month, Sir, I think.”
Agricultural Ditto. “ Well, Cereals hev been, Sir ; but Wuts are Lookin’
up this Maknin’ ! ! ”

TO THE RITUALISTS.

0 rectors too ritualistic.

With albs and with chasubles fair,

With monograms monkish and mystic,

And incense that hangs on the air!

What means this maniacal passion,

As strange as the miracle plays,

Say, is it a tribute to fashion,

Supreme in these frivolous days F

We’ve sown the strong storm democratic.

To reap the fierce whirlwind, perchance,

You come with your stole and dalmatic
To lead us another long dance.

The Church, in a cranky condition,

Is trembling at thoughts of a fight;

And now we’ve a Royal Commission,

To tell us who’s wrong and who’s right.

Say, how shall we choose ’mid the number—

There’s Low Church, and Broad Church, and High ?
Serenely at sermons we slumber—

Your modern discourses are dry.

Supposing, instead of the quarrel,

To settle what doctrines to teach,

You gave up this gorgeous apparel,

And found us some men wbo could preach ?

There’s virtue, no doubt, in a vestment,

In changing the colour of stoles ;

But robes, as you know, were at best meant,

To aid in the saving of souls.

Go, speak to the dark populations.

That linger in sadness and sin,

Let England be first among nations,

The noblest of battles to win J

The people may stare and may wonder,

Susceptible maids you enthrall,

While fierce is the Record's small thunder,

And cackle of Exeter Hall.

Embroider the faldstool and hassock,

And don’t leave us thus in the lurch,

But stick to plain surplice and cassock—

And keep to the Protestant Church.

OUR THEATRICAL SPECTATOR.

“ Exoritur clamorque virum, clangorque tubarum.”—Vibo.

Soon as each act is at an end,

What clamour doth our ears offend !

Perhaps some notion may be formed of the miseries of life by wit-
nessing its pleasures ; and few people will deny that, if included with
the latter, a visit to a theatre is not unmixed enjoyment. The jolting
over the stones, the squabble with the cabman, the blackmail levied by
the boxkeeper, put you slightly out of temper before you take your
seat; and your happiness is not increased by finding you can hardly
stretch your legs, or even sit in comfort. Then perhaps you have the
luck to be seated next a Chatterer, who sprinkles the performance
with a shower of his small talk ; or a Hummer at your elbow fills your
ear with nigger songs, while you are listening to Shakspeare There
is the further nuisance, too, that the band between the acts plays loud
enough to deafen you, and drowns the conversation you perhaps wish
to take part in.

Chatterers and Hummers it is difficult to silence, but a manager may
surely bid his orchestra be quiet, without much lessening the liberty
enjoyed by freeborn Britons. When I go to see a play, I want all
my aural vigour to hear what may be said in it; and I don’t want to
lose my hearing through loud music iu the entr'acte. The noisy
braying of a band may sound perhaps delightful to the long ears of
the gallery, but that is not a reason why the comfort of the stalls
should aurally be sacrificed. When the drop-scene is down, soft music
is permissible, though it well might be dispensed with; but it never
should be loud enough to tire people’s ears, or make their talking
difficult.

At this happy time of year when every one leaves London, the
theatres do little to amuse those who are left in it. Act'ors require
rest, as much as most hard-workers, and August is the month when
they can best be spared to take it. So the Stars cease to shine in the
stage firmament of London : the Light Comedians get away from the
bright glare of the foot-lamps ; the Walking Gentlemen stretch out
their weary legs upon the beach; the Heavy Fathers sink up to their

noses in the sea, while the General Utilities employ themselves most
usefully in throwing pebbles into it.

Some four or five theatres, however, are still open, and lingerers in
town may either go and cry at a new play at the Princess’s, or laugh
at a burlesque which has been roared at in the Royalty for above two
hundred nights. The play would be just twice as good if it were half
as long, and it would be far better still if written in good English
instead of in bad Scotch. The plot is borrowed from the German; and,
if there were any real need to make their conversation unintelligible,
in stead of Scotch the actors might as well have talked High Dutch.
Shakspeare was too wise to make Macbeth speak Scotch. Imagine
Banquo’s Ghost appearing, with slow music on the bagpipes!

Shakspeare, by the way, may still be seen in London, though
nearly everybody else of any consequence is out of it. His home is
now at the Adelphi, where Kate Terry plays his Beatrice as prettily
and cleverly as he himself could wish.

It is rare to see an actress with such natural play of feature, and
subtle power of expression, not in voice-tone merely but in gesture and
in look. She appears to hold the floodgates of her heart in her com-
mand, and to have the power at will to flush or blanch her cheek. It
may be said of her hereafter, as it was said of one of old time, who,
however, was no actress—

‘1 Her pure and eloquent blood
Spoke in her cheeks : and so distinctly wrought
That one would almost say her body thought.”

Sequel of the Sultan’s Visit.

On Wednesday last week a deputation on the subject of education
in Scotland had an interview with Lord Robert Montagu at the
Privy Council Office. It consisted of Dr. Knox, Mr. Henry Sin-
clair, and Mr. John Macturk. The newspaper containing the
foregoing statement omits to mention that the iast-named gentleman
attended as the representative of a sect that demands the endowment
of schools whose teaching shall include instruction in the Koran.