which was
a great deal too much; for the piece would be far more tolerable if
considerably shorn of its unfair proportions. The translator seems to have
followed the verbose text of his original with minute fidelity, except
where the idioms bothered him; and although the bills declare it is adapted
by Mr. Charles Selby to the English stage, the thing is as essentially
French as it is when performed at the _Palais Royal_, except where the
French language is introduced, when, in every instance, the labours of
correct transcription were evidently above the powers of the translator.
The best part of the adaptation is the exact fitness of the performers to
their parts; we mean as far as concerns their _personnel_.

Of course, all the readers of PUNCH know Mr. Keeley. Let them, then,
conceive him an uncle at five-and-thirty, but docking himself of six years'
age when asked impertinent questions. He has a head of fine auburn hair,
and dresses in a style that a _badaud_ would call "quiet;" that is to say,
he wears brass buttons to his coat, which is green, and adorned with a
velvet collar. In short, it is not nearly so fine as Lord Palmerston's, for
it has no velvet at the cuffs; and is not embroidered. Add white
unhintables, and you have an imaginative portrait of the hero. But the
heroine! Ah! she, dear reader, if you have a taste for full-blown beauty
and widows, she will coax the coin out of your pockets, and yourselves into
the English Opera House, when we have told you what she acts, and how she
acts. Imagine her, the syren, with the quiet, confiding smile, the tender
melting voice, the pleasing highly-bred manner; just picture her in the
character of a Parisian widow--the free, unshackled, fascinating Parisian
widow--the child of liberty--the mother of--no, not a mother; for the
instant a husband dies, the orphans are transferred to convent schools to
become nephews and nieces. Well, we say for the third time, conceive Mrs.
Waylett, dressed with modest elegance, a single rose in her
hair--sympathise with her as she rushes upon the stage (which is "set" for
the _chambre meublee_ of a country inn), escaping from the persecutions of
a persevering traveller who _will_ follow her charms, her modest elegance,
her single rose, wherever they make their appearance. She locks the door,
and orders supper, declaring she will leave the house immediately after it
is eaten and paid for. Alas! the danger increases, and with it her fears;