hands with a friend.  Mr. Harley played the part of Mr. Harley (called in the bills Humphrey Rumbush) precisely in the same style as Mr. Harley ever did and ever will, whatever dress he has worn or may wear.  The rest of the people we will not mention, not being anxious for a repetition of the unpleasant fits of yawning which a too vivid recollection of their dulness might re-produce.  The only merit of “Court and City” being in the dialogue—­the only merit of that consisting of minute and subtle representations of character, and these folks being utterly innocent of the smallest perception of its meaning or intention—­the draughts they drew upon the patience of the audience were enormous, and but grudgingly met.  But for the acting of Farren and the managers, the whole thing would have been an unendurable infliction.  As it was, it afforded a capital illustration of

[Illustration:  ATTRACTION AND REPULSION.]

* * * * *

TEN THOUSAND A-YEAR!

The dramatic capabilities of “Ten Thousand a-Year,” as manifested in the vicissitudes that happen to the Yatton Borough (appropriately recorded by Mr. Warren in Blackwood’s Magazine), have been fairly put to the test by a popular and Peake-ante play-wright.  What a subject!  With ten thousand a-year a man may do anything.  There is attraction in the very sound of the words.  It is well worth the penny one gives for a bill to con over those rich, euphonious, delicious syllables—­TEN THOUSAND A-YEAR!  Why, the magic letters express the concentrated essence of human felicity—­the summum bonum of mortal bliss!

Charles Aubrey, of Yatton, in the county of York, Esquire, possesses ten thousand a-year in landed property, a lovely sister in yellow satin, a wife who can sing, and two charming children, who dance the mazourka as well as they do it at Almack’s, or at Mr. Baron Nathan’s.  As is generally the case with gentlemen of large fortunes, he is the repository of all the cardinal virtues, and of all the talents.  Good husbands, good fathers, good brothers, and idolised landlords, are plenty enough; but a man who, like Aubrey, is all these put together, is indeed a scarce article; the more so, as he is also a profound scholar, and an honest statesman.  In short, though pretty well versed in the paragons of virtue that belong to the drama, we find this Charles Aubrey to be the veriest angel that ever wore black trousers and pumps.

The most exalted virtue of the stage is, in the long run, seen in good circumstances, and vice versa; for, in this country, one of the chief elements of crime is poverty.  Hence the picture is reversed; we behold a striking contrast—­a scene antithetical.  We are shown into a miserable garret, and introduced to a vulgar, illiterate, cockneyfied, dirty, dandified linendraper’s shopman, in the person of Tittlebat Titmouse.  In the midst of his distresses his attention is directed to a “Next of Kin” advertisement.  It relates to him and to the Yatton property; and if you be the least conversant with stage effect, you know what is coming:  though the author thinks he is leaving you in a state of agonising suspense by closing the act.