the _carte_. "Werner" forms a substantial standing dish. The "Boarding
School" makes a most palpable _entrée_; 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 pupil Phynicus
"came out" at the feasts of Bacchus; when "Roscius was an actor in Rome;"
when Scaramouch turned the Materia Medica into a farce, and became a quack
doctor in Italy; when Richardson set up his show in England--all these
geniuses were peregrinate, peripatetic--their scenes were really moving
ones, their tragic woes went upon wheels, their comedies were run through
at the rate of so many miles per hour; the entire drama was, in fact, a
travelling concern. Punch, the concentrated essence of all these, has, up
to this date, preserved the pristine purity of his peripatetic fame; he
still remains on circuit, he still retains his legitimacy. But, alas! ere
this sheet has passed through the press, while its ink is yet as wet as
our dear Judy's eyes, he will have fallen from his high estate: Hall will
have housed him! Punch will have taken a stationary stand at the Strand
Theatre!! The last stroke will have been given to the only ancient drama
remaining, except the tragedies of Sophocles, and "Gammer Gurton's
Needle."

With feelings of both sorrow and anger, we turn from the pedestrian to the
equestrian drama. The Surrey has again, as of yore, become the Circus; she
has been joined to Ducrow and his stud by the usual symbol of union--a