THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE,
POLITICAL PROMENADE AND CONSERVATIVE CONCERTS.
The most splendid night of the season! Friday, the 20th of August.
CAPTAIN ROUS’S NIGHT!
British Champagne and the British Constitution!—The Church, the State, and Real Turtle!
The performances will commence with
FISH OUT OF WATER,
Sam Savory—Captain Rous, R.N.
After which,
HIS FIRST CHAMPAGNE;
Which will embrace the whole strength of THE STEWARDS.
In the course of the Evening, the ENLIGHTENED
LICENSED VICTUALLERS,
(Those zealous admirers of true British spirit) will parade the room amid
A GRAND DISPLAY OF ELECTION ACCOUNTS.
To be followed by a GRAND PANTOMIME, called
HARLEQUIN HUMBUG;
OR, BRAVO ROUS!
OLD GLORY (afterwards Pantaloon) SIR F. BURDETT,
who has kindly offered his services on this occasion.
HARRY HUMBUG (a true British Sailor, afterwards Harlequin), CAPT. ROUS.
DON WHISKERANDOS (afterwards Clown), COL. SIBTHORPE.
The whole to conclude with a grand mélange of
HATS, COATS, AND UMBRELLAS.
TICKETS TO BE HAD AT ANY PRICE.
Stretchers to be at the doors at half-past 2, and policemen to take up with their heads towards Bow-street.
VIVAT REGINA.
THE ADVANTAGES OF ANIMAL MAGNETISM.
The experiments of M. Delafontaine having again raised an outcry against this noble science, from the apparent absence of any benefit likely to arise from it, beyond converting human beings into pincushions and galvanic dummies. We, who look deeper into things than the generality of the world, hail it as an inestimable boon to mankind, and proceed at once to answer the numerous enquirers as to the cui bono of this novel soporific.
By a judicious application of the mesmeric fluid, the greatest domestic comfort can be insured at the least possible trouble. The happiest Benedict is too well aware that ladies will occasionally exercise their tongues in a way not altogether compatible with marital ideas of quietude. A few passes of the hand (“in the way of kindness for he who would,” &c. vide Tobin) will now silence the most powerful oral battery; and Tacitus himself might, with the aid of mesmerism, pitch his study in a milliner’s work-room. Hen-pecked husbands have now other means at their command, to secure quiet, than their razors and their garters. We have experimentalised upon our Judy, and find it answer to a miracle. Mrs. Johnson may shut up her laboratory for American Soothing Syrup; mesmerism is the only panacea for those morning and evening infantile ebullitions which affectionate mammas always assign to the teeth, the wind, or a pain in the stomach, and never to that possible cause, a pain in the temper. Mesmerism is “the real blessing to mothers,” and Elliotson the Mrs. Johnson of the day. We have tried it upon our Punchininny, and find it superior to our old practice of throwing him out of the window.
Lovers, to you it is a boon sent by Cupid. Mammas, who will keep in the room when your bosoms are bursting with adoration—fathers, who will wake on the morning of an elopement, when the last trunk and the parrot are confided to you from the window—bailiffs, who will hunt you up and down their bailiwick, even to the church-door, though an heiress is depending upon your character for weekly payments—all are rendered powerless and unobtrusive by this inexplicable palmistry. Candidates, save your money; mesmerise your opponents instead of bribing them, and you may become a patriot by a show of hands.
These are a few of its social advantages—its political uses are unbounded. Why not mesmerise the Chinese? and, as for the Chartists, call out Delafontaine instead of the magistrates—a few mesmeric passes would be an easy and efficient substitute for the “Riot Act.” Then the powers of clairvoyance—the faculty of seeing with their eyes shut—that it gives to the patient. Mrs. Ratsey, your royal charge might be soothed and instructed at the same time, by substituting a sheet of PUNCH for the purple and fine linen of her little Royal Highness’s nautilus-shell.
Lord John Russell, the policy of your wily adversary would no longer be concealed. Jealous husbands, do you not see a haven of security, for brick walls may be seen through, and letters read in the pocket of your rival, by this magnetic telescope? whilst studious young gentleman may place Homer under their arms, and study Greek without looking at it.
MESMERISM.
FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.
The Marquis of Waterford and party visited Vauxhall Gardens on Monday. The turnpike man on the bridge was much struck by their easy manner of dealing with their inferiors.
Alderman Magnay laid the first shell of an oyster grotto one night this week in the Minories. There was a large party of boys, who, with the worthy Alderman, repaired to a neighbouring fruit-stall, where the festivity of the occasion was kept up for several minutes.
The New Cut was, as usual, a scene of much animation on Saturday last, and there was rather a more brilliant display than customary of new and elegant baked-potato stands. The well-known turn-out, with five lanterns and four apertures for the steam, was the general admiration of the host of pedestrians who throng the Cut between the hours of eight and twelve on Saturday.
A BITTER DRAUGHT.
SIR R. PEEL, in the celebrated medicinal metaphor with which he lately favoured his constituents at Tamworth, concludes by stating, “that he really believes he does more than any political physician ever did by referring to the prescriptions which he offered in 1835 and 1840, and by saying that he sees no reason to alter them.” This is, to carry out the physical figure, only another version of “the mixture as before.” We are afraid there are no hopes of the patient.
“Why are the Whigs like the toes of a dancing-master?”—“Because they must be turned out.”
“Why are Colonel Sibthorp and Mr. Peter Borthwick like the covering of the dancing-master’s toes?”—“Because they are a pair of pumps.”
“Why are the Whigs and Tories like the scarlet fever and the measles?”—“Because there’s no telling which is the worst.”