Ditto, for taking wine—­an allegro, movement, with da capo for the second glass.

Ditto, for taking porter, beer, or any other inferior swipes—­a similar movement, but not con spirito.

Ditto, for the entrance of an attorney—­a coda in one sharp, 6-8 time.  If accompanied by a client, an accidental flat may be introduced.

Ditto, for discovering a lost babby—­a simply affettuoso strain, in a minor key.

Ditto, for recognising a disguised count—­a flourish of trumpets, and three bars rest, to allow time for the countess to faint in his arms.

Ditto, for concealing a lover in a closet, and the sudden appearance of the father, guardian, or husband, as the case may be—­a prestissimo movement, with an agitated cadenza.

Ditto, for taking an oath or affidavit—­slow, solemn music, with a marked emphasis when the deponent kisses the book.

Ditto, for a lover’s vow—­a tender, broken adagio.

Ditto, for kicking a low comedy man—­a brisk rapid stoccato passage, with a running accompaniment on the kettle-drums.

The examples we have given above will sufficiently explain our views; but there are a vast number of dramatic situations that we have not noticed, which might be expressed by harmonious sounds, such as music for the appearance of a dun or a devil—­music for paying a tailor—­music for serving a writ—­music for an affectionate embrace—­music for ditto, very warm—­music for fainting—­music for coming-to—­music for the death of a villain, with a confession of bigamy; and many others “too numerous to mention;” but we trust from what we have said, that the subject will not be lost sight of by those interested in the elevation of our national drama.

* * * * *

THE RISING SUN.

The residence of Sir Robert Peel has been so besieged of late by place-hunters, that it has been aptly termed the New Post Office.

* * * * *

THE PUNCH CORRESPONDENCE.

In presenting the following epistle to my readers, it may be necessary to apprise them, that it is the genuine production of my eldest daughter, Julia, who has lately obtained the situation of lady’s-maid in the house of Mr. Samuel Briggs, an independent wax and tallow-chandler, of Fenchurch-street, City, but who keeps his family away from business, in fashionable style, in Russell-square, Bloomsbury.  The example of many of our most successful literary chiffonniers, who have not thought it disgraceful to publish scraps of private history and unedited scandal, picked up by them in the houses to which they happened to be admitted, will, it is presumed, sufficiently justify my daughter in communicating, for the amusement of an enlightened