"Yes," she replies; "punning, like beer and other vices, is the peculiar
prerogative of men, I suppose. But you need not be afraid. I read
PUNCHINELLO sometimes, and it is a terrible warning to people who are
tempted to pun. I could give you frightful instances of the appalling
depth to which the men who make puns in PUNCHINELLO occasionally sink."
I hastily close the discussion by inviting her to come to WALLACK'S and
see an old comedy. So we find ourselves on the following evening in the
only theatre in the country where that rather important adjunct of a
theatre--a company--is to be found,
There are quantities of elegant dresses in the house,--the ladies having
an idea that an old comedy is one of those things which every
fashionable person ought to see. There are also numbers of nice young
men, who, being the burning and shining lights of fashionable society
(after their day's work behind the counter is ended), come to be bored
by the old comedy, with a heroism which proves how immeasurably superior
to the influences of tape and calico are their youthful souls. By the
by, it is one of the unavoidable _désagréments_ of New York society that
the wearer of the elegant dress is often conscious that her partner in
the waltz knows precisely how many yards of material compose her skirt,
and exactly how much it cost per yard, for the excellent reason that he
himself measured it with his professional yard-stick, and cut it with
his private scissors. This, however, is a subject that belongs not to
old comedy, but to the extremely modern comedy of New York society. The
two resemble each other only so far as they are fashionable and dull.
But to our WALLACKIAN old comedy. The curtain rises upon the veteran
GILBERT and the handsome ROCKWELL. They converse in the following style:
GILBERT.--"Well, you young dog, ha! ha! So you have decided to make your
old uncle happy by marrying my neighbor's daughter. Gad! I remember my
own wedding-day. Well, well; we won't talk about that now, but hark ye,
you young villain, if you don't marry the girl, I cut you off with a
shilling."
ROCKWELL.--"My dear uncle, I can have no greater pleasure than to fulfil
your wishes. But suppose our adorable young neighbor has the
ill-breeding to refuse me."
GILBERT.--"Refuse you! Refuse my nephew? Gad! I'd like to see THOMAS
OLDBOY permit his daughter to refuse my nephew! I'd--d--e, I'd--"
(chokes and stamps with rage.)
Further on we meet with Miss OLDBOY and her mother,--the latter a stout
old lady, addicted to smelling salts and yellow silks.
LYDIA OLDBOY.--"To-day I am expecting the arrival of young WILDOATS, who
comes to pay his addresses to me. I wonder if he is like that dear,
delightful THADDEUS OF WARSAW."
Mrs. OLDBOY.--"Now, Miss, remember that your honored father insists upon
this match. I expect you to be a dutiful daughter, and accede to his
wishes. Here comes the young man himself."
ROCKWELL.--"My. dear Mrs. OLDBOY, I am charmed to see you. You are
looking positively younger than your ravishingly beautiful daughter.
Fair LYDIA, I come to lay my heart at your feet. 'Tis the wish of my
uncle and your honored father that we should unite our respective
houses. Let me touch that exquisite hand. Unseal those ruby lips and
tell me that I am the happiest of men."
Here the UNCLE and OLDBOY enter. They chuckle, and poke one another in
the ribs, remarking "Gad" and "Zounds" at intervals. They bless the
young couple, and order up some of the old Madeira. The curtain falls as
OLDBOY gives the health of the young people, with the wish that they may
have a dozen children, and a cellar never without plenty of this
splendid old Madeira,--"that your father, bottled, Miss LYDIA, the year
our gracious sovereign came to the throne."
This is a fair sample of the old comedy. The oaths are of course
omitted, out of deference to the tender susceptibilities of the editor
of PUNCHINELLO. So are the indecencies, which are the spice of the old
comedy, but which cannot be written in a respectable journal, and are
almost too gross and brutal for the _Sun_. Take from an old comedy its
oaths and its grossness, and nothing is left but a residuum of
boisterous inanity. The condensed old comedy which has just been laid
before the readers of PUNCHINELLO, is as inane and vapid as anything
that WALLACK'S theatre has shown us in the past month. Do you find it
dull? For my part, I don't hesitate to say that the "Essence of Old
Virginny," as furnished by the venerable poet, Mr. DANIEL BRYANT, is
vastly more amusing than the Essence of Old Comedy.
All of which I say, in my most impressive manner, to MARGARET as we
struggle through the crowded lobby. But she irreverently disputes my
assertions, and asks, "How is it that everybody admires these comedies
if they are so wretched as you say they are? Is your judgment better
than that of anybody else?"
There being nothing to say, if I mean to maintain my ground, except that
my judgment is the only infallible critical judgment in this city or
elsewhere, I promptly and unblushingly say so. But MARGARET tells me I
am "a goose"--(I think I have mentioned that she is my aunt, and hence
allows herself these pleasing freedoms of speech)--and says that I shall
take her to see the old comedies every night, until I am willing to say
that I like them.
Who is there that, in view of this threat, will not drop the tear of
sensibility, so neatly alluded to by Mr. STERNE, in sympathy with the
prospective sufferings of