Punch (66.1874)

January 31, 1874.] PUNCH, OK, THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 43

And thence transmitted to the Isle of Wight
(To-day we ’ll hope the wires will be all right),

Informs our Monarch that her second Son
Has claimed the Prize he so adroitly won.

Descend, sweet Muse, from yonder spheres sublime,

And deign to join the revel of the time :

It is not very frequently, I think,

I offer incense on the shrine of drink,

But the heart’s poor that never will rejoice,

And vent its feelings in a festal voice—

So with this homage let the wine go down—

“ The Duke and Duchess of Edina’s Town.”

January 23, 1874.

OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.

In three Places, and reports as usual.

tii,—With this letter I intend
to sum up, for the present, the
general Theatrical case. The
Holidays are over, or nearly so.
Tommy Merton and Harry Sand-
ford must go hack to the Rev.
Dr. Barlow, where the Roddy-
dendrons are in bloom all the year
round. Both the Princess’s and
Covent Garden have afforded ex-
cellent entertainment for children;
and Little Bo-peep's pet lambs,
crossing the rustic bridge, are as
pretty a sight as our young lamb-
kins can well see. Your Re-
presentative heard that H.R.H.’s
children were clamorous for the
purchase of a whole flock of these
trained Baa-lambs, but the Mana-
ger Rice, not being inclined to
make a Baa-gain, respectfully
declined the offer, that is, during
the run. He will have ’em again
next winter probably, when il
reviendra a ses moutons; or, rather,
his muttons, will return to him.
They have (I mean the sheep have)
been excellently trained; _ and it
only shows what application and
study will effect in (what the
actors elegantly term) “ getting a part through the wool.”

Cinderella, too, at Hengler’s Circus, Argyle Street (which esta-
blishment, it strangely enough occurs to Your Representative, The
New Gallery, where the “Happy Thought” Entertainment is,
adjoins) has delighted thousands this holiday time, and will pro-
bably continue to do so as long as any children are left at home.
The little couple of mites in Watteau costume, who are always
getting in the way, and being knocked down by the other dancers at
the Prince's ball (given in the Circus, you understand), are very droll.
Misted Sandy, the Clown, is really grotesque and original. Your
Representative only noticed one pensive face among the generally
merry audience at Hengler’s : it was that of a young lady of eight
years of age. “Why so sad?” inquired Your Representative be-
nignly. She sighed ; then—never once talcing her eyes off Sandy—she
replied, with earnest intensity, “ I should like to marry the Clown.”
Vainly did I attempt to distract her from her purpose by suggesting,
as altogether better partis, the Master of the Ring, the daring ana
elegant gentleman on three horses, the accomplished musician who
struggled with the drum, and even the groom in livery. No ; she
was not to be dazzled by finery; her heart was true to PoU; she
only repeated, “ I should like to marry the Clown.”

Finally, Your Representative represented You, Sir, in full cos-
tume—flower in my button-hole, a curl on the front of Jove, with
gloves and boots of dazzling brightness, and, in fact, in every way
worthy of You, Sir, with all your polish. My visits to the Alham-
bra are angelic in their character, being few and far between ; and
therefore when an angel does do this sort of thing, he had better
do it thoroughly, unless he is the Angel of Islington, who would
bring discredit on his order (he’d be sure to come with an “ order ”)
by arriving in a threepenny ’bus.

However, there I was. What a wonderful place, Sir! What a
wonderful sight! As the Pickwickian M. C. said, “ No one is old or
fat in Bath,” so no one, on the Spindle side of the ranks, is over
nineteen, and aU are lovely, at the Alhambra. Crowded from floor
to ceiling: a large proportion being evidently “ friends from a dis-
tance,” who have “ kindly accepted” the intimation conveyed in the

advertisements. Respectabilities from the Provinces, about town for
a few days en gar con, consider it as much a part of their duty, now-
a-days, to visit the Alhambra, as they still do to visit subsequently
Evans’s, and shake hands with our venerable “ dear hoy,” Patrick,
whom middle-aged strangers respectfully address as “Mister
Green,” whom cocky youngsters caU “Green,” and cockier ones
(their rashness makes me shudder as I munch my well-earned
underdone chop) slap on the shoulder, styling him “ Paddy.”

But there he is, little great man, the Napoleon of the Music Halls,
welcoming everyone—all friends, no foes—to all comers he is semper
idem, toujours vert, ever-GREEN ! Vive Vancien garqon /

But I was (for You, Sir) at the Alhamhra, and I’ve wandered off
the beaten path on to the Green.

In Mr. Byron’s Don Juan at the Alhambra there is plenty to see,
lots to laugh at, and much, musically, to hear. There’s a new song
by the indefatigable and clever Monsieur Jacobi, with a swimming
chorus. It is sung by Miss Santley, ever a favourite with the Alham-
brites, and just suits her, or she just suits it, or somehow they both
suit one another, and everybody is delighted. But bless us! how
mighty difficult it is to get another success like Mr. Frederick
Clay’s “ Nobody knows as I know." The latter composer hasn’t done
it again. Like Sheridan, whose School for Scandal wouldn’t succeed,
because of his powerful Rivals. In Mdlle. Rose Bell we have une
vraie artiste. Her first song from Offenbach’s Bridge of Sighs is
trebly encored. Her second song “ Sparkling Wine," also composed
by M. Jacobi, is encored vociferously. For the Prince of an extra-
vaganza, for the dashing cavalier of an Opera Bouffe, no one could
be found better in voice, manner, and appearance than Mdlle. Rose
Bell.

Of the other bright creatures I have not time to speak now, save
that gorgeous, merry, sparkling Miss Amy Sheridan was as capti-
vating a Corsair, as you’d wish to he captured by. (I think You
are quite right, Sir, in sending me to represent You on these occa-
sions.) The Commendatore's Statue, by Mr. Jarvis, is played with a
good deal of grotesque humour ; Mr. Worboys does what he can
with nothing in particular, and Mr. Paulton has plenty of funny
“ comic business ” as Leporello. His final waltz with the Ghost
is one of the best things in the piece.

The Ballet, of European fame, called Flick and Flock followed.
Over this I could dwell for hours. I love a ballet with a story in it.
I haven’t time to tell you the story. Let anyone who enjoys a good
ballet-piece go and see Flick and Flock. But I must tell you one
incident. A fairy will show Mr. Flick and Mr. Flock (who are two
friends), a series of panoramic views of the various cities of the
world. We went to Berlin, we went to St. Petersburg, and Heaven
knows where besides, every place being illustrated by dancers in
the costume of the particular nationality. Well, Sir, we were taken
to Rome. There were St. Peter’s and the Yatican plain as a pike-
staff. We were in the Great Square. Lo and behold, out came
from different sides, dancers in the dresses of Peasants of the Cam-
pagna. Such petticoats ! Lovely ! Then they struck up a dance,
a gay and festive, not to say wild dance. Sir, I trembled to
think that this was taking place within a stone’s throw of the
Yatican, and that from one of the windows in the distance the vene-
rated Pope might be looking at us. I expected every minute that
he’d come out, and stop it. Alas! poor man, I forgot the present
circumstances. It flashed across me aU at once, why these indecorous
(from a clerical view only) proceedings could be now allowed in the
Great Square of St. Peter’s. Why ?—because the Pope is a prisoner,
and he can’t come out of the Yatican and get at ’em. This made me
shed a tear, but I plucked up again, and was soon looking with
wonder at the marvellous antics in the “ famed Parisian Quadrille.”
Elegant dancing by Mdlle. Pitteri, and wild evolutions by Miss
Sara. Vive le General Baum ! Adieu, kind Sir, I will rest from
theatrical labours for a week or so, look round again, see what’s
worth seeing, hear what’s worth hearing, and be ever

Your Representative.

Memoires (of Whalley) Pour Servir.

1873. January 20.—Mr. Whalley, M.P., is severely rebuked by

Sir Alexander Cockburn, and fined £100 for Contempt of
Court.

1874. January 20.—Mr. Whalley, M.P., writes a letter, for which

Sir Alexander Cockburn orders him to attend, the letter
being Contempt of Court.

1874. January 23.—Mr. Whalley, M.P., appears in Court, and is
fined by Sir Alexander Cockburn in the sum of £250.
The eminent Protestant Religionist remarks, “I won’t pay! ”
and is sent to HoRoway Gaol.

{To be continued—per haps.)

The Ship which the Duke of Edinburgh has now given
up.—The Court-Ship.