Punch (80.1881)

Apeil 2, 1881.]

149

Boer, "It was 'Nek or Nothing;' so I gave him the Neck, and I've
got his New Stamp Receipt."

THE CENSUS.
April 4, 1881.

Ah! Postumtts, truly the " anni fugaces"

Glide by and, old friend, we no longer are young;
A new generation brings fair and fresh, faces,—

The wrinkles now show on the girls that we sung.
In vain 'gainst attacks of old age doctors fence us,

Though bravely we combat its aches and its pains,
The Registrar-General conies with hisCensus,

To show us we 're nothing but fossil remains.

The young folks to-day proudly put down their ages,

The future is theirs to enjoy and explore ;
We've written our record and turned down the pages,

For good or for evil, 'tis there evermore.
Yet one consolation may still recompense us,

Though Henniker shows us that time travels fast,
"We've lived and have loved,—laughed and wept, and
the Census

Must leave us at least the indelible Past.

THE PLEASING BIRTHDAY BOOK.

Instalment for April.

For Anybody on the— 1st. ''A Fool! A Fool! "—As

You Like It.

For a Secretary. 22nd. " But oh, what damned

minutes tells he o'er." — Shae-
speaee.

For a Novelist. 2ith. " Story! God bless you ! I

have none to tell, Sir."—Canning.

For a Director of a 26th. " Light, more light! "
Gas Company. Goethe.

For a rich Relative. 29th. "Thou art going to the

grave ! but we will not deplore
thee."—Hebee.

For a Tobacconist. 30th. " My dank and dropping

weeds."—Milton.

CANDAHAR—BY JINGO!

Air—" There you are, don't you know.''

Theee is an Afghan City, whence to scuttle were a pity;

Can-da-har, don't you know!
In case of any shindy a true Master Key to India ;

Can-da-har, don't you know!
For England, to be safe and great and dominantly strong,
Must collar everything she wants, and never own she 's wrong,
And to that end there 's one more spot to England must belong ;

Can-da-har, don't you know !

CHRISTOPHER SLY AT THE PRINCESS'S.

Here we witnessed such an indifferent performance of The Mer-
chant of Venice as might do for a Booth, and would, if often repeated,
"do" effectually for a first-class London theatre. The American tra-
gedian has his admirers, and it seems that Mr. Ieving is one of them,
as he has engaged his Transatlantic cousin to play with him at the
Lyceum. The prices are to be doubled ; it strikes us they should be
halved, and a liberal discount for cash allowed to everyone visiting the
theatre when Mr. Booth plays either Hamlet, or Shylock, or Petruchio.

It was_, alas, our fate to witness the greater part of Katherine and
Petruchio. Heavens ! what an extravagant, pantomimical, senseless
absurdity! Only Hanlon-Lees, the Pantomimists, and a couple of
very ordinary burlesque actors, could do justice to this creation of the
Bard's, which, had it been "the work " of a modern dramatic author,
would most assuredly have been hissed off the stage. But after all,
perhaps, Shakspeare only intended it for Christopher Sly's delecta-
tion ; and he went to sleep in the middle of it.

Mr. Booth as Petruchio reminds us forcibly both7 in face, and
voice, and manner, of the late Mr. Dewar when made up, not for
Captain Crosstree, but for some part in a domestic comedy.

One merit we must concede to Mr. Booth, he is a master of dis-
guise. It was almost impossible to recognise in Petruchio the man
who had but twenty minutes before appeared as Shylock. We wish
it had been somebody else. But professional entertainers can rival
him in this, and at the Gallery of Illustration the two .Alfreds—
Messrs. Reed & Bishop—can do as much, and more.

Mr. Booth's style of acting seems to us'to be several generations
behind the time. Charles Young and the Kembles wouldn't

A tihakspearian Comedy witnessed by Christopher Sly the Tinker.

have a chance now; rolling the eyes, elevating the eyebrows (but
not the audience), and twitching of the fingers, are the stock-in-
trade of a few travelling Crummleses; unless, along with growrings,
gruntings, grumblings, and upheavings of the breast, even these old-
fashioned signals of distress have disappeared with the Macreadx
tradition, and with the last of the old school, Mr. Phelps.

Ieving, "with all thy faults we love thee still! "—'still! " -< Yes,
"still Ieving" is preferable to sparkling effervescing Irving, or
Irving in movement: but even then—well our Tragedian is a 'cute
cuss to extend his hand to the Yankee. Brayvo, Irving !