LOST AT SEA.

ACT I. Scene 1. Enter Virtuous Banker. "I have embezzled
WALTER CORAM'S money, and he is coming from India to claim it. I am a
ruined man." Enter Unprincipled Clerk. "Not so. WALTER CORAM is lost at sea, and
we will keep the money." Virtuous Banker. "Thank heaven! I am not found out, and can remain
an honest man as usual." Scene 2. Enter Comic Villain. "I am just released from prison
and must soon meet my wife." (Swears and smashes in his hat.) Enter Unprincipled Clerk. "Not so. WALTER, CORAM is lost at sea.
Personate him, draw his money, and share it with me." Comic Villain. "I will." (Swears and smashes in his hat.) Scene 3. Enter Miss Effie Germon. (Aside.) "I am supposed to
be a virtuous and vagabond boy. I hate to show my ankles in ragged
trowsers, but I must." (Shows them. Applause) Enter Daughter of Comic Villain. "I love the unprincipled clerk; but
there is a sick stranger up-stairs who pokes the fire in a way that I can
hardly resist. Be firm, my heart. Shall I be untrue to my own unprincipled
——-" Enter Unprincipled Clerk. "Not so. WALTER CORAM is lost at sea, and
I must leave these valuable boxes in your hands for safe-keeping."
(Leaves the boxes, and then leaves himself.) Enter Sick Stranger. "I am WALTER CORAM. Those are my boxes.
Somebody is personating me. Big thing on somebody. Let him go ahead."
(Curtain.) Young Lady in the Audience. "Isn't EFFIE GERMON perfectly lovely?" Accompanying Bostonian Youth. "Yes; but you should see RISTORI in
Marie Antoinette. There is a sweetness and light about the great
tragedienne which ——-" Heavy old Party, to contiguous Young Man. "Don't think much of this;
do you? Now, in TOM PLACIDS's day——" Contiguous and aggrieved Young
Man pleads an engagement and hastily goes out. ACT II. Scene 1. Virtuous Banker's Villa, Comic Villain,
Unprincipled Clerk, and Wealthy Heroine dining with the Banker. Enter Original Coram. "I am WALTER CORAM; but I can't prove it, the
villains having stolen my bootjack." Enter Comic Villain, who smashes in his hat, and swears. Original Coram. (Approaching him.) "This is WALTER CORAM, I believe?
I knew you in India. We boarded together. Don't you remember old FUTTYGHUR
ALLAHABAD, and the rest of our set?" Comic Villain, in great mental torture. "Certainly; of course: I
said so at the time." (Swears and smashes in his hat.) (Exeunt
omnes, in search of Virtuous Banker.) Scene 2. Enter Miss Effie Germon, by climbing over the wall.
"I hate to climb over the wall and show my ankles in these nasty trowsers,
but I must." (Shows them. Applause.) Enter Daughter of Comic Villain. "Great Heavings! What do I see? My
beloved clerk offering himself to the wealthy heroine? I must faint!"
(Faints.) Enter aristocratic lover of wealthy heroine, and catches the faintress
in his arms. Wealthy heroine catches him in the act. Tableau of virtuous
indignation. (Curtain) Young Lady before-named. "Isn't EFFIE GERMON perfectly sweet?" Bostonian Youth. "Yes; but RISTORI——" Mighty Young Men. "Let's go out for drinks." ACT III. Scene 1. Enter Daughter of Comic Villain. "My clerk
is false, and I don't care a straw for him. Consequently, I will drown
myself." Enter Original Coram. "I am WALTER CORAM; but I can't prove it, the
villains having stolen my Calcutta latch-key. Better not drown yourself, my
dear. You'll find it beastly wet. Don't do it." (She doesn't do it.)
(Curtain.) Young Lady before-named. "Isn't EFFIE GERMON perfectly beautiful?" Bostonian Youth. "Yes. But at her age RISTORI——" Heavy old Party murmurs in his sleep of ELLEN TREE. More young men go
out to get drinks. ACT IV. Scene 1. Enter Virtuous Banker. "All is lost. There
is a run on the bank ——-" Enter Unprincipled Clerk. "WALTER CORAM presents check for £7 4 S.
We have no funds. Shall we pay it?" Enter Original Coram. (Aside.) "I am WALTER CORAM; but I
can't prove it, the villains having taken my other handkerchief. (To the
Banker.) Sir, you once gave me a penny, and you have since embezzled my
fortune. How can I repay such noble conduct? Here is a bag of gold. Take it
and pay your creditors." Scene 2. Enter Unprincipled Clerk and Comic Villain. Unprincipled Clerk. "The original CORAM has turned up. We must turn
him down again. I will burn him in his bed to-night." Comic Villain. "Burn him; but don't attempt any violence." (Swears
and smashes in his hat.) Scene 4. Enter Original Coram. "I am WALTER COHAM; but I
can't prove it—I forget precisely why. What is this in my coffee? Opium!
It is, by SIVA, VISHNU, and others! They would fain drug my drink. Ha! Ha!
I have drank, eaten, smoked, chewed, and snuffed opium for ninety years. I
like it. So did my parents. I am, so to speak, the child of poppy. Ha! What
do I see? Flames twenty feet high all around me! Can this be fire? The
wretches mean to burn me alive! (Aside—And they'll do it too, some
night, if Moss don't keep a sharp look-out after those lazy carpenters.)" Enter Miss Effie German. (Aside.) "I must get on the roof and
drag CORAM out. I hate to do it; for I shall have to show my ankles in
these horrid trowsers. But I suppose I must." (Gets on the roof with
Comic Villain's Daughter, shows ankles, lifts up roof and saves Coram, amid
whirlwinds of applause and smoke.—Curtain) Young Lady before-named. "Isn't EFFIE GERMON too lovely?" Bostonian Youth. "Yes. RISTORI is, however ——-" Heavy old Party. "This fire business is dangerous, sir. Never saw it
done at the old Park. EDMUND KEAN would ——-" ACT V. Enter Original Coram. "I am WALTER CORAM. I can now prove it
by simply mentioning the fact. I love the daughter of the Comic Villain,
and will marry her." Unprincipled Clerk. "All is lost except WALTER CORAM, who ought to
be. I will go to Australia, at once." (He goes.) Comic Villain, (smashes his hat over his eyes and swears). Virtuous Banker. "Bless you, my children. I forgive you all the
injuries I have done you." (Curtain.)

Every body in the audience. "How do you like—Real fire; STODDAHT'S
faces are—Real fire; EFFIE GERMON is—Real fire; Come and take—Real fire;
JIM WALLACK is always at home in—Real fire; There is nothing in the play
but—Real fire." Misanthropic Critic, to gentlemanly Treasurer. "Can I have two seats
for to-morrow night?" Treasurer. "All sold, sir. Play draws better than Ours!" Misanthropic Critic. Well! no matter. I only wanted to send my
mother-in-law, knowing that the house must take fire some night. However,
I'll read the play to her instead; if she survives that, she isn't mortal. Suggestion kindly made to Manager Moss.—Have the fire scene take
place in the first act, and let all the dramatis personae perish in
the flames. Thus shall the audience be spared the vulgar profanity of
STODDART'S "Comic Villain," the absurdity of WALLACK'S "Coram," the twaddle
of HIELD'S "Virtuous Banker," and the impossible imbecility of FISHER'S
"Unprincipled Clerk." Miss GERMON in trowsers, and Miss HENRIQUES in tears,
are very nice; but they do not quite redeem the wretchedness of the play.
The sooner Mr. Moss gives up his present flame and returns to his early
love—legitimate comedy—the better. MATADOR.

HOW TO BEHAVE AT A THEATRE.

MR. PUNCHINELLO: I take it you are willing to receive useful information.
Of course you are—Why? Because, while you may be humorous, you intend also
to be sensible. I have in my day been to the theatre not a little. I have
seen many plays and many audiences. I know—or, at least, think I do—what
is good acting, and—what good manners. Suffer me, then, briefly to give
you a few hints as to how an audience should behave. I shall charge nothing
for the information, though I am frank to insinuate that it is worth a
deal—of the value, perhaps, of a great deal table. First. Always take a lady with you to the play. It will please her,
whatever the bother to you. Besides, you will then be talked to. If you
make a mess of it in trying to unravel the plot, she will essentially aid
you in that direction. Nothing like a woman for a plot—especially if you
desire to plunge head foremost into one. Second. If you have any loud conversation to indulge in, do it while the
play is going on. Possibly it may disturb your neighbors; but you do not
ask them to hear it. Hail Columbia! isn't this a free country? If you have
any private and confidential affairs to talk over, the theatre is the place
in which to do it. Possibly strangers may not comprehend all the bearings;
but that is not your fault. You do your best—who can do better? Third. If you have an overcoat or any other garment, throw it across the
adjoining or front seat. Never mind any protests of frown or word. Should
not people be willing to accommodate? Of course they should. Prove it by
putting your dripping umbrella against the lady with the nice moire antique
silk. It may ruffle her temper; but that's her business, not yours; she
shouldn't be ridiculous because well dressed. Fourth. Try and drop your opera-glass half a dozen times of an evening. If
it makes a great racket—as of course it will—and rolls a score of seats
off, hasten at once to obtain possession of the frisky instrument. Let
these little episodes be done at a crisis in the play where the finest
points are being evolved. Fifth. Of course you carry a cane—a very ponderous cane. What for? To use
it, obviously. Contrive to do so when every body is silent. What's the use
in being demonstrative in a crowd? It don't pay. Besides, you dog, you know
your forte is in being odd. Odd fellow-you. See it in your
brain—only half of one. Make a point to bring down your cane when there is
none, (point, not cane,) and shout out "Good!" or "Bravo!" when you have
reason to believe other people are going to be quiet. Sixth. Never go in till after a play begins, and invariably leave in the
middle of an act, and in the most engaging scene. These are but a few hints. However, I trust they are good as far as they
go. I may send you a half-dozen more. In the mean time I remain Yours, truly, O. FOGY.
V. H. to Punchinello. The following letter, received by the French cable, explains itself. After
the perusal of it, America warms toward France: HAUTEVILLE PARK, March 25,1870. To THE EDITOR OF THE PUNCHINELLO: MONSIEUR: The advance copy of your journal has stormed my heart. I owe it
one happy day. Europe trembles. They light their torches sinister, those trans-alpine
vacillationists. The church, already less tranquil, dis-segregates itself.
We laugh. To your journal there is a future, and there will be a past. The age has its pulsations, and it never forgets. I, too, remember. There is also blood. Upon it already glitters the dust of glory. Monsieur! I salute you and your confreres! Accept my homage and my emotion. VICTOR HUGO.