2. An Automatic Grand Jury-all ready "charged," by a Recorder or Judge, with electric force, and guaranteed to find true Bills for eight consecutive hours without renewing the supply. 3. The Judge's Friend. Being a robe formed exclusively of the dried skins of electric eels, causing the wearer a series of mild but continuous shocks, effectually stimulating the intellect and preventing sleep. 4. Patented Arrangement-for suddenly converting the interior of a Court of Law into a first-class Restaurant, so as to obviate the necessity of the mid-day adjournment. Cleverest Members of Junior Bar act as head waiters. Barons of beef for Mr. Baron HUDDLESTON's Court. Hash for Counsel. 5. The Mechanical Juryman-with a label, "Put a ton of forensic balderdash into the (jury) box, and the figure will return a verdict according to the weight of the evidence." 6. A Model Costs-Reducer. New method (been tried once) of drawing up Solicitor's charges and taxing them simultaneously. Has taxed the inventor's ingenuity for years. So far it has only failed to act on a single occasion. 7. New Way of "Taking Silk"-by subjecting silk-worms to unpleasant electric vibrations. SCENE.-The Grounds on a July afternoon. One heavy shower is just making way for another. A light fog. Military Band conscientiously performing to rows of wooden chairs. Attendants hoisting strings of limp Chinese lanterns to posts, and baling rain-water out of coloured oil-lamps. Enter a Pleasure-Seeker, who has been ordered by his Doctor to "divert his mind as much as possible." He feels a little uncertain where to begin his diversion, as the saddles of the galloping horses in the Steam-Circus look too soaked to be inviting; but, seeing a couple picking their way through the puddles towards the "Danish Grotto of Mysteries," he follows. IN THE GROTTO. A Gloomy Man in a Friar's habit receives their threepences, and leads the way into the interior, which is entirely dark. The Lady of the couple giggles. The Friar (in a solemn voice). Go straight on, and do not be afraid. (He stops before a sort of ticket-hole in the canvas rock, through which they dimly perceive an illuminated transparency depicting two insipid young persons on a garden seat.) Youth and Decay. The Gentleman. Where do you make out that Decay comes in, Guv'nor? Friar (with sombre triumph). Here! (Pulls string-figures on seat change to skeletons.) The Lady (unappalled). How funny! Do you mind doing that over again? [The Friar seems hurt and depressed by such a request, but complies. He then leads the Party to a Canvas Cavern, where, upon a board at the threshold being trodden upon, a rickety skeleton emerges. The Lady (still calm). Law! What are those two twinkling things? Friar (suppressing his annoyance). They are the flaming eyes of the apparition. The Lady. I suppose that's done with candles inside of its head ? The Lady. That's rather pretty, isn't it? Our Pleasure-Seeker seeks to restore himself by taking afternoon tea at a damp table under a dripping tree, until driven by stress of weather into the Conservatory, where a "Watteau Concert" is going on. Three Gentlemen in velvet Court suits and white wigs are singing a trio describing "What a merry, merry life we Gipsies lead!" with a laughing chorus. Concert concludes with "Vocal Polka" by three young Ladies, in costume, illustrating the joys of washing with real pails, linen, and soapsuds. Not greatly exhilarated, the P. S. repairs to the Lake. Here a languid row of spectators are gazing from under umbrellas at a Professor in a tight suit of black, who is standing on his head at the bottom of a glass tank while his feet are waving above the surface. The Professor rights himself, and puts his head above water to bow, and make a damp little speech. I shall now show you-Eating under water! Sits at bottom of tank and consumes a biscuit. Several Spectators drift away, their curiosity satisfied. The P. S., after watching the Professor and his Pupil gambolling in the Lake like porpoises, begins to feel depression coming on again, and enters the Exhibition, hoping to gain some idea of the Commerce and Industry of Denmark. IN THE EXHIBITION. 66 The Scene is characterised by a profound calm. Exhibitors behind stalls rouse themselves from torpor as the P. S. passes, and attempt to attract his attention. First Exhibitor (hopelessly). Have you heard the new organ-top, Sir? [Spins it on a plate; it drones in a devotional chord, reminding the P. S. of a Cathedral Scene on the stage. Second Ex. Excuse me, Sir, but have you seen the wonderful new invention for drawing corks? Third Ex. (imploringly). Will you allow me to show you this patent self-threading needle, Sir? Fourth Ex. One moment, Sir. The advantage of using our patent pickle-fork is that you avoid spearing, pricking, stabbing, or wounding the pickle, Sir; you press it gently with the knob-thus! [Illustrates this humanitarian device with a bottle full of small corks. P.-S. hurries on, like Ulysses passing the Sirens. At one stall the Exhibitor is asleep, and a Fireman is tickling his ear with a pen. At another a good-looking Policeman is dallying. Stallkeeper (archly, to Policeman). Ah, you haven't your friend opposite to talk to to-day! Policeman. What friend? All my friends-(tenderly)—are this side of the way. Stallk. How innercent we are! You know who I mean. Your partickler friend-MARY, if you must 'ave it. I've seen your goings on! [Policeman protests. Dialogue continued in undertone. A Stallkeeper (paying flying visit to another). Well, dear, and how have you been doing to-day? Her Friend (viciously). Oh, don't ask!-I could kick the people! (Two Old Ladies come up, and hover about stall undecidedly.) Those painted tambourines are pretty. (Indifferently.) Then A WEEK'S OPERATIC SCORE. Tuesday, July 17.-This week is last week. Odd jumble of time; but so it is. This Tuesday is last Tuesday-of Opera Season. Crowds to hear BoÏTo's Mefistofele, in a Prologue, Five Acts, and an Epilogue. (Didn't count the Acts, but think there are five.) Prologue magnificent: carried on by only EDOUARD DE RESZKÉ, conductor and orchestra visible-chorus invisible. EDOUARD is almost an Oratorio in himself. Enthusiastic applause at fall of curtain very gratifying to Signor MANCINELLI, who has written an Oratorio, and has conducted the Prologue con amore. a scene as bright and lively as any in GOUNOD's Faust. Staple of story of Mefistofele identical with that of Faust. Odd not to hear all GOUNOD's familiar airs in BoÏTo's Opera. All the soldiers here, but not the March. How they can come on without it is a puzzle. And no Valentine! Only WAGNER here, as a friend of Faust's, who is as un-Wagnerish as he can be, but this is before he composed Lohengrin. What an Opera GOUNOD'S Faust and Boïro's Mefistofele would have made combined! Immortal! at least we should never hear the last of it. If it began at eight, when would it be over? Miss M'INTYRE, as Margherita, charming, Mme. SCALCHI, as Marta, a very willing martyr. Opera full of melody and movement. Real chance for DRURIOLANUS in the Brocken Scene. Expecting Signor ENRICO IRVINGO every moment. Margaret's grim ghost The Old Ladies (enthusiastically). Oh, very, very pretty-and how much do you say? Is that all? Dear, dear! Well-we must look in some other time. Good afternoon! [They shuffle off. Girl. Stingy old cats! [Pleasure-Seeker finds his spirits flagging again, and enters the Theatre, thinking that the Tableaux Vivants from HANS ANDERSEN may revive him. An Orator is on the stage, describing the story from which the next tableau is taken. He has a fine voice and an imposing presence, but would evidently prefer to describe incidents of a less extravagant nature. Orator. TOMMALISE (leniently, as if the poor girl couldn't help her name), or "Little Tiny,' as (slight dash of the pedagogue here) she is called in some English versions, was born in a-(this apologetically, with an obvious misgiving that he may not be believed)-a tulip flower, and had some (as though he would put it more strongly if he had his way)-hem-surprising adventures. (In a bland tone.) A Toad (glances at audience to see how they take this) stole her as a wife for his son, and imprisoned her on (here he examines his gloves, apparently hesitating whether to impose further on his hearers' credulity) the leaf of a water-lily-but the fishes (very softly, as if desiring it to be distinctly understood that he gives this statement for what it is worth) nibbled the stalk, and set her free. She lived with a Kind, Old, Field-Mouse (slowly and condescendingly), who wanted to marry her to a Mole (pause, during which he seems considering the social objections to such an arrangement), but a swallow (here he grows doubtful again; "Will they stand the swallow?"-decides to risk it) -a swallow she attended when it was ill bore her away (quickly-to disarm captious objections), when it recovered, to the land of the Flower Spirits (feels he is over the worst now, and proceeds with more confidence), and they welcomed her, and gave her (he would clearly like to substitute some more ordinary and useful article here-but feels that he must stick to his instructions)-wings. [Tableau is disclosed: Charming children; Pretty music and grouping. Inevitable tendency to giggle and wobble towards the end. Exit Pleasure-Seeker, in slightly improved spirits. Rain. Fog. East Wind. Thunder. OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. WEMYSS REID's Life of W. E. Forster is a most Reidable biography, of special interest at the present moment. Here, from the commencement of the most dramatic portion of it, that is, from the 66 Druriolanus Covent-Gardenius Operaticus finishes glides in, and tells Faust of her "Brocken heart." Audience moved to tears seeing RAVELLI the Reliable for the last time, but subsequently much consoled to find that, resisting all temptations and the allurements of ELLA RUSSELL as the scrumpshus Elena of Troy Weight (i.e., La Belle Hélène, from OFFEN BACH), he has the moral courage to 66 'cling to his old black book," to defy EDOUARD DE REZSKÉ as the fiery-bearded Mefistofele, and that finally he dies, swan-like, as a singer should, while a shower of rose-leaves descends upon him, and everyone is more certain than day he became Irish Secretary until his resignationthe outsider is allowed more than a mere peep behind the scenes, during the performance of the earlier acts of the Irish Home Rule Drama at St. Stephen's. A fairminded student, possessed of no special knowledge, will probably be struck by two things: first, the overwhelming anxieties of the Irish Secretaryship; and, secondly, the light-hearted-ever that RAVELLI the Reliable is a real good tenor who has gone ness with which some mem-up higher than even TAMBERLIK'S C sharp. bers of a Cabinet can bear Saturday.-Blaze of triumph. Brilliant House; but forced gaiety the trials and troubles of on part of Organising Committee, because of its being positively the one of their own number. Very Last Night of Season. Every note of NORDICA'S, SCALCHI'S, I put down Forster, ELLA RUSSELL'S, of the Great DE RESKE BROTHERS, and, in fact, of and, pour me distraire, I everybody engaged in Les Huguenots,[breathes "Adieu! The Band take up PERCY FITZGERALD'S on Board the House Boat struggle manfully with their feelings, and Chronicles of Bow Street. "What's] Hecuba to him, or he to blow hard to stifle their emotion. Dry throats, but not a dry eye Hecuba?"-I mean what's Bow Street to FITZGERALD, or FITZ- anywhere. DRURIOLANUS triumphant after enlivening the MetroGERALD to Bow Street, that he should select this subject for his busy politan Board of Works with his evidence, also after his victory, in pen? He has, however, produced a chatty couple of volumes, full of County Court, over big umbrella man, and radiant in consequence of interest to the student of human nature, who can see the humorous side long leading article in Times this morning, all about himself and wherever it exists, of the curious stories of knaves, fools, dupes, and Italian Opera. He alludes with mysterious significance to his plans deceivers, heartless criminals and astute detectives. The stories of for next Season. Covent-Gardenia HALL cheerfully alludes to his "Old Patch" and other rascals are entertaining in a cynical sort of Box-plans for next Season. Pamphlet containing record of "busiway. But one of the best anecdotes is of an incident in the career of ness, done" circulated about House. Critical portion of pamphlet ADKINS "the Little Ferret," the pluckiest of detectives. signed "J.B." "JOEY B. is sly, Sir, devilish sly." JEAN DE RESZKÉ jumps out of window, and NORDICA Swoons for last time this Season. Shooting season commences-bang, bang-"piff paff," as Marcel sings-several hits-guns bring down trio-bring down curtainbring down house-great sport-all recalled-National AnthemDRURIOLANUS on-speech from throne-DRURIOLANUS congratulates everybody-everybody congratulates DRURIOLANUS-exeunt omnes— lights out-exeunt sentries-ditto linkmen-DRURIOLANUS locks uppockets keys (and notes)-off to bed-Italian Opera Season of 1888 is finished. Like most of my friend FITZ's entertaining compilations, the stories seem to have been strung loosely together trom time to time as he came across them at haphazard: and the form and style of the book suggest that friend FITZ treated it in a Gampish-cordial fashion -that is, the MSS. was "on the mankel-shelf, and the author put his pen to it when he was so dispoged." The consequence is that Chronicles of Bow Street, instead of being a work by "Frrz," is rather a work by "FITZ and Starts." Very entertaining all the same, says THE ECCENTRIC BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. THE BRITISH VOLUNTEER. (A New Song to an Old Tune, piped by Mr. Punch to his beloved Boys of the N.R.A.) SOME talk of going to Brighton, Is the pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop For seasons close on thirty They've popped at Wimbledon; That music still rang on. But those well-known ranges will no more With the pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop Punch feels a pang of sadness He cannot well suppress. He hailed "the Camp" with gladness, 'Midst the pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop He saw young Ross made hero, His annual visit he has made The pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, WINDOW STUDIES A SCHOOL TREAT IN JULY, 1888. Damply this year, but suavely, Of the pop, pop, pop, (at Wimbledon) To prejudice a stranger, But, boys, you'll have to budge. For the pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop Eh? Camp'neath Richmond's shades, lads? Can't yield those rural glades, lads, Those oaken clumps, those bracken-spreads, To the pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. WANTAGE is wrong this time, lads, You'll twig, my lads, instanter ! No harm? That's bosh and will not wash. Of the British Volunteer! But find some fitting range, boys,! For his crack-shots BULL must, And since you 're bound to change, boys, 'Tis to improve, I trust. Pot-hunters there, and popinjays' No more should raise the jeer Midst the pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop Such soldiers had the Teuton, So willing-and so cheap, A range for them to shoot on Be sure he'd find-and keep. And we, your Grace, must sigh some place Where BULL henceforth may hear GEN. VON MOLTKE (to H.R.H."the Dook"). "ACH! VIMPLETON! RICHMONT! DONNERVETTER! PY CHORCH! IF I HAT A ZO VILLING ZOLTIER ALS DAT, ZOON HIM VOOT I VIZ A SCHOODING-CROUND PROVITE." |