thus deterred from making experiments in
the higher order of dramatic writing, for should their subject admit of
this individual display, its rejection by the "star" would render the
labour of months valueless, and the dramatist, driven from the path of
fame, degenerates into a literary drudge, receiving for his wearying
labour a lesser remuneration than would be otherwise awarded him, from the
pecuniary monopoly of the "star."

It is this system which has begotten the present indifference to the
stage. The public had formerly _many_ favourites, because all had an
opportunity of contending for their favour--now they have only Mr. A. or
Mrs. B., who must ultimately weary the public, be their talent what it
may, as the sweetest note would pall upon the ear, were it continually
sounded, although, when harmonised with others, it should constitute the
charm of the melody.

We have made these remarks divested of any personal consideration. We
quarrel only with the system that we believe to be unjust and injurious to
an art which we reverence.

* * * * *

VAUXHALL.--Vauxhall! region of Punch, both liquid and corporeal!--Elysium
of illumination lamps!--Paradise of Simpson!--we have been permitted once
again to breathe your oily atmosphere, to partake of an imaginary repast
of impalpable ham and invisible chicken--to join in the eruption of
exclamations at thy pyrotechnic glories--to swallow thy mysterious arrack
and

[Illustration: PUNCH A LA ROMAINE.]

We have seen Jullien, the elegant, pantomimic Jullien, exhibit his
six-inch wristbands and exquisitely dressed head--we have roved again amid
those bowers where, with Araminta Smith, years ago,

"We met the daylight after seven hours' sitting."

But we were not happy. There was a something that told us it was not
Vauxhall: the G R's were V R's--the cocked hats were round hats--the
fiddlers were foreigners--the Rotunda was Astley's--the night was
moon-shiny--and there was not--our pen weeps whilst we trace the mournful
fact--there was not "Simpson" to exclaim, "Welcome to the royal property!"
Urbane M.A.C., wouldst that thou hadst been a Mussulman, then wouldst thou
doubtlessly be gliding about amid an Eden of Houris, uttering to the verge
of time the hospitable sentence which has rendered thy name
immortal--Peace to thy manes!

STRAND.--The enterprising managers of this elegant little theatre have
produced another mythological drama,