OCTOBEr 26, 1861.] 61I PAN AT THE PLAY. F course PAx rejoices with the rest K !-2 of the play-going public at the news 'o ". f MR. ROBSON'S recovery. In the .' present state of the stage (now, I am not going to write a lot of rubbish S about the "decline of the drama," f '1 '\ the only "decline of the drama" I I \ know of, being when MR. WEBSTER A would'nt see the merits of my S ,: Ogalonga the Outcast, in three acts, returning it with a polite note in four days,-perfect proof that he never read it, for it would have taken him longer than that)-oh, dear I where was I? Oh! in the present state of S-the stage, when all the promising low' comedians are turning comic singers, -- and taking innumerable "turns" a -_ -- night at the concert-halls, we cannot afford to lose for any length of time such a genuine artist as MR. RonsoN. Neither can the theatre afford to lose his services for any length of time, ', unfortunately, the little gentleman has been so over-worked, that fen Hamlet breaks down, Polonius and Lacrtes and the Ghost find it uncommonly difficult to carry on the performances without him. The new drama of Jack of all Trades is neat, but not gaudy. One might say, if one felt sufficiently depressed to make a bad pun, as it is somewhat intricate, that it is neat, but a gaudy'un not. This naturally leads me to the Strand, where MR. STIRLING COYNE, by some unaccountable chance, has produced a miserably bad farce, composed of old materials unskilfully put together. This is one of those strange things a clever man may occasionally do. MR. COYNE is not only a very droll and original writer of dialogue, but he is essentially a " dramatist," thoroughly knowing how to handle his effects" and place his characters to the best advantage. But Black Sheep and How to settle accounts with your Laundress would condone a-half- dozen Affairs at Finchley. Managers are beginning to think about their Christmas pieces; the short days and misty evenings are getting very suggestive of trans- formation scenes, blue fire, tinsel, tomfoolery, puns, parodies, and practical jokes. The domestic establishments of MESSRS. BROUGH, BuRNAND, BUCKINGHAM, BLANCHARD, and BYRON, will be anything but "abodes of bliss" during the next two months. There ought to be something like unanimity amongst them, for all their names begin with B. SONG-WRITING "WITH A PURPOSE." MR. FuN,-I wish to say a few words in a rapid manner on a plain subject. I believe you likely to become a great organ-I think that's the phrase-of public opinion. I hate all jokes and detest puns, so I don't admire you for making people laugh. I don't laugh myself, and never made anybody laugh either, so you see, though I write to you in this way, we do not in any sense correspond. Understand that. I am a tax-gatherer, and collect the means of supporting the revenue of this country; in fact, I am one of those useful officials without whom you would have no national defences-I believe that's the term-at all. Well, my experience teaches me the patriotism of this country wants rousing, and I want you to stimulate householders into that enthusiasm which would recruit the exchequer in the same way as DIBDEN, in bygone days, recruited the navy. I have never found anybody yet who paid his taxes with that readiness which a Briton should evince; and though I have no respect for poets, as they generally forget their water-rate, I think something might be done through their influence to smooth my daily progress towards the Englishman's breeches-pocket. I am no hand myself at stringing verses together, but I have got a rhyming ratepayer that I call on quarterly to add up a few lines together, on the condition that I indulge him with a little more time. He has taken DiDINN for a model, and I am sure he couldn't have a better. I send you what he has written in the hope that it will stimulate others to follow so good an example; and assured, MR. FUN, that you will see the immense importance of this suggestion in strengthening the stability of the country, increasing the prosperity of every parish, and improving the moral tone of the people generally, I beg to remain, Sir, yours regularly, THE TAX-GATHERER. SECOND APPLICATION.-I have just heard that we have got a Poet- Laureate \ho is paid out of the national exchequer. Why don't li devote himself to this kind of thing, and earn his money as lie ought to do? A NATION. NA. liC'. I A HOPELESS CASE. A CORRESPONDENT who, through a persistent course of reading the alarmist articles in the Morning A dvertiser, and by constantly brooding upon the dangers to Europe to be feared front the territorial aggran- dizement and aggressive schemes of a neighboring power, has gone utterly insane, sends us the following:- Upon what country do the kitchen windows of the Tuilories look out?-Upon Boney's Areas!" We have paid a visit to the wretched man, with a view to ascertain, if possible, whether it was Buenos Ayres lie meant; but the men11111t, we alluded to the subject, the fearful prospect of the whole extent of country between Paris and that distant land being absorbed by French ambition, seemed to have such an effect upon him as to render his explanation utterly unintelligible. He has since broken out again with the following :- "Why would the most recent annexation to the French EMPERsiO'S dominions be entitled to a prize at a horticultural exhibition ?-Because it is the greatest Savoy cabbage ever known." Anxious to draw his mind away from the dangerous topic of foreign politics, we turned the conversation upon the pretty little house lhe lived in himself. He immediately exclaimed:- "Why is the place I live in, in the vicinity of Paddington, like egg- flip ?-Because it's Maida Vale." We fancy he meant "made of ale;" but we give up him and his conundrums together. DISMAL JoKE.-We had always supposed that anything to do with MR. SMITH O'BRIEN was no joke. We have been mistaken. lHo perpetrated a most miserable jest the olier day. In a speech, re- markable for its veracity, MR. O'BRIEN likened Ireland to lungary. Where was its similarity ? The patriot possibly alluded to the sad time of the famine, when, and when only, we are glad to say, was Ireland anything like Hungary. Oh BRIEN ! IF an intimate friend of thie Ev. MA. BiiLLEW weorn to meet limn unexpectedly on the plains of Chinese Tartary, why would the friend express his surprise in most ridiculous and childish thorns P-Because he would probably give vent to his emotion in a Hullo! 13ELLEW ! (Hullaballoo.) VP TT ^ ~ A pattern to householders, Tomkins, s:ys Ih', .11 tell you the things thit I like,- A light Water Rate and good cistern give me, And it ar'nt for a little I'll strike. Though the tempest niay rattle the windows at night, And the landlord won t, daniage make good, A, Inn,, is I know that my Rates are all right, I I ... I an Englishmanii should. Years past I have walked with my head up aloft, And without the least, bend in my back ; For the jolly collector who calls on me oft, Never twice has to ask for his whack. I said to my wife, for you see she would cry, When a man of our goods was possessed, What argufies grieving for debts long gone by, When you know we ve just paid the Assessed. For the Property Tax we owe nothing at all, And our Income's all settled be sure, And though our last Poor Rate was not very small, Being paid-we shan't hear of it more. What then,-there's the Highway,-come don't be so soft, Twelve shillings does that in a crack, Never yet shall the tax-man who calls here so oft Without his full payment go back. That man's a true Briton I call every inch, In his purse who his fingers will dip, And pay what he's taxed without trying to flinch, And giving collectors the slip. As for me in all parishes, streets, lanes, and ends, Where I live in accord with my means, My heart is my wife's, and my wine is my friend's, And as for my cash, it's the QUEEN'S. So when a rate's left you, don't you be so soft, In arrears long to let it go back, For that same tax-collector who calls on me oft, Will a summons soon leave on your track.