Now I’ve pitched the Manual away that got me in this mess,
  And in ingenious pantomime my wishes I express. 
  They take me for an idiot mute, an error I deplore: 
  But still—­I’m better understood than e’er I was before!

* * * * *

A PRODUCT OF THE SILLY SEASON.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

London at the end of August is not particularly inviting, save in one respect—­it is negatively pleasant to find that Matinees are all but suspended.  I should say quite, were it not that the Shaftesbury Theatre on the 27th opened its doors at a quarter to three o’clock in the afternoon, for the performance of The Violin Makers, an adaptation of Le Luthier de Cremone, and the production of a “new and original Comedy sketch,” in two Acts, called The Deacon, by HENRY ARTHUR JONES.  The first piece I had already seen at the Bushey Theatre, with Professor HERKOMER, R.A., in the principal character.  I had now an opportunity of comparing the Artist-Actor with the Manager-Actor, and must confess that I liked the former better than the latter.  Mr. WILLARD as Filippo, was Mr. WILLARD, but Professor HERKOMER, shaved for the occasion, seemed to be anyone other than Professor HERKOMER.  The mounting of the piece at Bushey was also greatly to be preferred to the mise-en-scene in Shaftesbury Avenue, and as the accomplished Artist-Actor had also supplied some exceedingly touching music to his version of FRANCOIS COPPEE’s Poetical Play, which was wanting two hundred yards from Piccadilly Circus, I was altogether better pleased with the entertainment served up with sauce a la Herkomer.  I may be wrong in preferring the amateur to the professional, or I may be right—­after all, it is merely a matter of opinion.

Mr. JONES is entirely justified in calling The Deacon a “sketch,” as it can scarcely claim greater histrionic importance.  I think I may take it for granted that a sausage-maker, from the nature of his employment, is usually presumed to be a man not absolutely without guile, and, therefore, Abraham Boothroyd, “Wholesale bacon-factor, Mayor of Chipping Padbury on the Wold, and Senior Deacon of Ebenezer Chapel,” may perhaps be counted one of those exceptions that are said to prove the rule.  According to Mr. JONES, this eccentric individual comes up to town to attend an indignation meeting held with a view to protesting against the conversion of Exeter Hall into a temple of the drama, and after dining with “a Juliet of fifteen years ago,” and a new and quaint sort of Barrister, accompanies them to the play, and is so greatly pleased with the performances presented, to him, that, before the curtain falls, he announces his intention of repeating his visit to the theatre every evening until further notice!  This may be true to human nature, because there is authority for believing that the said human nature is occasionally a “rum un”; but,