our nature? Is fashion to be permitted to invade us in our
green lanes, and our high roads, under our vines and our fig-trees,
without hindrance, and without pockets? For the sake of human nature, we
hope not--for the sake of our bleeding country, we hope not. No! "Take
care of your pockets!" is one of the earliest maxims instilled into the
youthful mind; and emphatically do we repeat to our
fellow-countrymen--Englishmen, take care of your pockets!

* * * * *

PUNCH'S THEATRE.

[Illustration: C]Critics, as well as placemen, are occasionally
sinecurists, and, like the gentlemen of England immortalised by Dibdin,
are able, now and then, to "live at home at ease"--to dine (on dining
days) in comfort, not having to rise from table to give authors or actors
their dessert. This kind of novelty in our lives takes place when managers
produce no novelties in their theatres; when authors are lazy, and actors
do not come out in new parts but are contented with wearing out old
ones--when, in short, such an eventless theatrical week as the past one
leaves us to the enjoyment of our own hookahs, and the port of our
cellar-keeping friends. The play-bills seem to have been printed from
stereotype, for, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, they have never
altered--since our last report.

This unexpected hot weather has visited the public with many a "Midsummer
night's dream," _although_ it is--and Covent Garden has opened _because_
it is September; Sheridan's "Critic" has been very busy there, though
PUNCH'S has had nothing to do. "London Assurance" is still seen to much
advantage, and so is Madame Vestris.

The Haymarket manager continues to wade knee-deep in tragedy, in spite of
the state of the weather. The fare is, however, too good for any change in
the _carte_. "Werner" forms a substantial standing dish. The "Boarding
School" makes a most palpable _entree_; while "Bob Short," and "My Friend
the Captain," serve as excellent after-courses. The promises recorded in
the Haymarket bills are, a new tragedy by a new author, and an old comedy
called "Riches;" a certain hit, if the continued success of "Money" be any
criterion.

It is with feelings of the most rabid indignation that we approach the
_Strand Theatre_, and the ruthless threat its announcements put forth of
the future destruction of the only legitimate drama that is now left
amongst us; that is to say, "PUNCH." When Thespis and his pu