means of arousing much excitement; but it is, perhaps, with one exception, as correct, as free from offence, and as pleasing in moral throughout, as any English comedy one ever remembers to have seen on the stage, or even to have read in the closet; and that is saying much in these modernised "Clarissa Harlowe" days. It is not startlingly unnatural; nor is it at all dependent on situations and effects. The dialogue is neat, and happily turned in the extreme; there is a general ease and a smoothness; an evenness of good, unobjectionable writing in it, apparent on a first hearing in fact, a dialogue which springs from so slender a plot, and wins the attention and applause of the hearers, must be of good, attractive stuff indeed. We prepare the garlands and bouquets of unqualified approbation, and cast far away the pincers and chisels of criticism in despair, while contemplating the admirable acting of Mrs. Glover and Farren, and the irresistible drollery of quaint, care-killing Buckstone. We trust no harm can be imagined in imparting to the world our idea that Mr. Webster's clever impersonation of Spriggs, could not prevent his looking less like a lawyer's clerk than a tourist among the lakes, or anything, almost, but a constant sitter on a high stool at a still higher desk. True, that the charming Fanny has to love him; but if she must love one of the tribe, it should be a real, and not an imaginary one. The three young ladies acted and looked after a fashion that we should like to see more prevalent on our neglected stage; and the introduction of Hardman's daughter to the fraternity of lawyers' clerks at large, would be enough to create suspension of service of all and every writ in Her Majesty's dominions, for one day, at all events. The three gentlemen lovers are very well; perhaps Brandon's part is not a quite agreeable one throughout, and the other two have almost a surfeit of bye-play, a tedious business, if strictly kept up. Lastly, Mr. Hardman, as shown to us by Mr. Rogers, looked as unpleasant and disagreeable as could be desired; in fact, when uttering his measured sentences, he was quite horrible to contemplate. We hope never to meet with a gentleman of this stamp again (Mr. H., not Mr. R.), at all events, off the stage, though we do not think we should miss him much on.

Altogether, the Haymarket well repays the visit; but with its present company, it should be devoted almost wholly to comedy, vaudeville, and farce. If tragedy be attempted, it is to be hoped there will be a very considerable increase in the establishment; (by the way, why are Mr. Vandenhoff and his accomplished daughter so little seen?) If opera, that there will be no more "Wonderful Water Cures," where two gentlemen have to sing through some pages of most difficult concerted music; one of whom is the usual Irishman of the afterpiece, and the other well known as the representative of Blueskin and Mr.

Toffey, (which latter character is played much with the humour of the late John Reeve.) We say, without the least disparagement to the acknowledged musical talents and vocal powers of both Messrs. Hudson and Bedford, that the " Groves of Blarney," and "Jolly Nose," would have little value in the estimation of so ambitious a composer as Monsieur Grisar, the giver of music to "L'Eau Merveilleuse."

Lyceum and Haymarket, Valete! Ye are, in the present age of Albion's theatrical world, the Roxana and Statira, the Briseis and Chryseis, the Polly and Lucy, of that Alexander, Achilles, or Captain Macheath, (whichever you may please to make him,) the British public! to us, in our humble tour, you are as Windermere and Yarrow. Not only can we say to you,

"How happy could I be with either,"

but, "How happy we can be with both." In conclusion, again, Valete! In supporting the fabric you have in your charge, use props of the "brave old oak" of your country; for if you trust to foreign wood, beware of the dry-rot of indolence and the insidious vermin of immorality! Salaam! as we say in the East.

CHAPTER III.

Introducing Tippoo Khan the Elder to the reader.

As I am about entering upon personal, family matters, it will be necessary for me to use the " ego" for a short time againto be singular, I would have said, but that the singular man is he who avoids the all-fluent subject of self in toto. A respected uncle, whom I shall introduce to the reader as Tippoo Khan the Elder, has accompanied me in some of my excursions to the Lyceum, Haymarket, and other theatres. He has resided for upwards of five and twenty years in the East (the last five of which, owing to ill health and unfitness for active employment, have been devoted by him chiefly to Sadi, Hafiz, and preparations for quitting the world as he has seemed leaving India), and has now retired on a pension as member of the Bengal Civil Service, in which, for at least a score of years, he did the duty of the state with infinite credit. He reached England about a month ago, with a long beard, wearing mustachios, and head full of orientalisms. He despises my humble knowledge of Asiatic manners, and designates me a very infidel, or Kaffir," in the service of Persian poesy: he looks suspiciously on all his own country-folk; and as to our neighbours the French, and other European foreigners, he hates and abhors them. He lives and dresses much in the manner of a Mahomedan, though in point Jan., 1847.-VOL. XLVIII.—NO. CLXXXIX.

D

of actual religion I believe him to be as good a Christian as ever he smokes his kalyan (pipe), eats his "kabob," and drinks his "sherbet," and never acknowledges to a preference for Havannahs, cótelettes à la Soubise, and cold claret. He is, naturally enough, testy and opiniated in argument, and keeps himself constantly wrapt up in the cloak of self-approbation, rubbing the chin of prejudice (which, we leave to the present age to determine, a bearded or shaven one) with the fingers of satisfaction. He is a tall, spare man-very brown in complexion—has dark hair, small blue eyes, and somewhat delicate features-and looks more shy than sinister. From his professed contempt for the opinion of the world at large, I have ventured on this slight sketch of his character; and from my conviction that many of his sayings and sentiments are spouts from the source of true wisdom, I have suffered them to flow over the barrenness of the soil of these pages. Probably at the sight of one of the houris known as Fame, while wandering in the open harem of literature, he may pause in amazement, and strive to be possessed of such exquisite loveliness, and, in order to gain his end, struggle to become wearer of the crown of popular applause--for these figurative kings fall and rise fast as a race of Affghan monarchs. At all events, I will hazard the experiment, and endeavour to retain him in his own country, which he threatens to fly-by drugging him in the first instance with the opium of print.

His ideas about theatres are, with all their apparent wisdom, perhaps vague and unconnected, but they may occasionally serve to amuse the reader: for although he may prate of Mrs. Siddons, the Kembles, and other histrionic geniuses of his time, I fancy that their true images have long since been buried, for him, under heaps of "Khilats" and "Kurtahs," "Jikas" and "Jowahirs," Teghs" and "Tabanchas ;" in plain English, robes of honour and robes of common use, crown jewels and jewels for all classes, swords and pistols.

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Istighfar Allah! may I be forgiven!" said Tippoo Khan the Elder, when asked his opinion one night on the two theatres last visited and commented on. He had returned home to his quiet room and pipe, the light in the latter and the twinkle of contentment in the smoker's eye appearing at one and the same moment. To have questioned him when seated in the theatre, lost in the fog of contemplation, would have been as vain as for a tyro unknown to expect an answer from a manager on the presentation of a manuscript. "Istighfar Allah! but you are strange people, even among your theatres!" my uncle always made use of the second person to me when referring to English people generally, as though he were not a Briton himself. "I am glad I have seen your performances though, and know the race of your dramatic audiences, authors, and actors; the first of whom

talk too much; the second borrow and translate too much-are altogether too dependent on others; and the third think too much of the first, and too little of the second. I do not comprehend why people who come nominally in search of the ideal; nay, who pay for an illusion; should mar their objects so completely by forcing before themselves the commonest realities of life. You inconvenience yourself to dine early; eat a hurried meal; abandon the after-dinner wine, or dessert, or cigar, and go through the ceremonies of dress and ornament, for what? to talk, to hear the sound of your own voice, as though it had a treble sweetness and magic under the influence of gas-lamps and box hangings! Why, this end is much easier attainable by remaining in your 'khilwat,' or private apartment; ay, as we now are. If you want me to talk, suffer me at least to remain at home, and you will set the collar of obligation* on my neck for ever. As for your authors, they may be clever fellows-I know not: in these matters my vision is somewhat dim; but let us take your comedy writer, who should be the least faulty as most ambitious; and in the new production you so much extol, I see a very material 'aib' (defect) indeed! You and others may not view it in the same light; new morals may have set in with new means of travelling; but be the age of either or both parties twenty or sixty, and however ignorant one may be of the identity of the other, I profess dislike at hearing a brother offer or meditate an offer of marriage to a sister, in whatever way this may serve towards the arrangement of a satisfactory climax. Yes, although I may be much pleased with the tone of your comedy in a general point of view, yet by reason of this flaw, the fountains of my delight become muddy and the eyes of my happy condition obscured."

I believe I myself hinted at one exception to correctness of plot in the tour which brought me to "Look before you Leap ;" perhaps it referred to this particular point.

"Nor can I comprehend why some of your best performers, whose business you must allow to be their actual performance on the stage, should suffer their eyes, and evidently their thoughts too, to wander from that sphere, so perpetually to the boxes, pit, and gallery. Indeed," and my uncle took a deep inhalation of the smoke of the kalyan, as in the innocence of his heart he spoke this-" one would almost think some one or two of them were actually the managers of theatres themselves, looking to see how many people had come to the night's amusement."

We bowed our head, thought, and swallowed the saliva of submissive silence.

I must here remark, that whatever latitude of simile I allow for myself, all my uncle's figurative allusions are purely Persian, and will be found in Persian works, by those who feel interested in such matters.-T. K.

"Some of your lovers and younger men, too," continued my uncle," I have to quarrel with; not so much that they may want the appearance of those whom you point out to me, in the West-end, as the men of fashion of the day, but that they are out of all nature altogether; and I cannot admire the taste of the young ladies, in your farces, who consent to trick their parents and others for such unprepossessing people. The fire of annoyance kindles in my heart, and the waters of disappointment begin to run from my eyes, when I see a bright, moon-faced beauty wooed by a being swinging his arms about like a windmill, or as though he were dragging a net for fish; and whose simpers, smiles, hat-rubbings, and glances upwards, are the evident equivalents to so many rupees per week. Your bye-play, as you term it, is dangerous for these gentlemen and their brethren; for they do not hesitate to avail themselves of the inducement offered, to indulge in a little unartistical chat, more natural, perhaps, than conducive to the exact illustration of the author's meaning."

I thought my uncle somewhat severe here, and called to mind more than one exception to what he seemed to lay down as a rule. Possibly, he was mixing up the amateur performances of India with those he had lately seen at the London theatres. He continued :

"But, after all, what is it? We cannot help our formations: all is Kismat-Fate!

"When flies the arrow of Divine Decree,
Urged with an aim from bow of Destiny,
No shield of human skill-no human force,
Can turn it from its first intended course!"

My uncle made some more observations on these matters; but after translating, in my own mind, his Persian_verses as above (for he spoke them in their original form), I fell fast asleep; and am, consequently, wholly unable to record them. (To be continued.)

THE FIRST SNOW DROP.

BY MRS. EDWARD THOMAS.

How beautiful! Oh, where hast thou been nurst,
Through the bleak winter and capricious spring,

That thou in full maturity dost burst

Pure as the down on the white turtle's wing?
I see thee on the parterre gaily bloom,
And to its cultivation lending grace;

I've seen thee, also, blossom on a tomb-
In grief's most desolate and lonely place.