Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, Complete eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 1,359 pages of information about Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, Complete.

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GENERAL SATISFACTION.

Lord Coventry declared emphatically that the sons, the fathers, and the grandfathers were all satisfied with the present corn laws.  Had his lordship thought of the Herald, he might have added, “and the grandmothers also.”

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ADVERTISEMENT.

If the enthusiastic individual who distinguished himself on the O.P. side of third row in the pit of “the late Theatre Royal English Opera House,” but now the refuge for the self-baptised “Council of Dramatic Literature,” can be warranted sober, and guaranteed an umbrella, in the use of which he is decidedly unrivalled, he is requested to apply to the Committee of management, where he will hear of something to his “advantage.”

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[Illustration]

“PUNCH’S” LITERATURE.

  I.  “The Hungarian Daughter,” a Dramatic Poem, by George Stephens,
     8vo., pp. 294.  London:  1841.

 II.  “Introductory(!) Preface to the above,” pp. 25.

III.  “Supplement to the above;” consisting of “Opinions of the Press,”
     on various Works by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 8.

 IV.  “Opinions of the Press upon the ‘Dramatic Merits’ and ’Actable
     Qualities’ of the Hungarian Daughter,” 8vo., closely printed,
     pp. 16.

The blind and vulgar prejudice in favour of Shakspeare, Massinger, and the elder dramatic poets—­the sickening adulation bestowed upon Sheridan Knowles and Talfourd, among the moderns—­and the base, malignant, and selfish partiality of theatrical managers, who insist upon performing those plays only which are adapted to the stage—­whose grovelling souls have no sympathy with genius—­whose ideas are fixed upon gain, have hitherto smothered those blazing illuminati, George Stephens and his syn—­Syncretcis; have hindered their literary effulgence from breaking through the mists hung before the eyes of the public, by a weak, infatuated adherence to paltry Nature, and a silly infatuation in favour of those who copy her.

At length, however, the public blushes (through its representative, the provincial press, and the above-named critical puffs,) with shame—­the managers are fast going mad with bitter vexation, for having, to use the words of that elegant pleonasm, the introductory preface, “by a sort of ex officio hallucination,” rejected this and some twenty other exquisite, though unactable dramas!  It is a fact, that since the opening of the English Opera House, Mr. Webster has been confined to his room; Macready has suspended every engagement for Drury-lane; and the managers of Covent Garden have gone the atrocious length of engaging sibilants and ammunition from the neighbouring market, to pelt the Syncretics off the stage!  Them we leave to their dirty work and their repentance, while we proceed to our “delightful task.”

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