PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 109, October 26, 1895.
edited by Sir Francis Burnand

WINTER COVENT GARDEN OPERATIC NOTES.

Sir Augustus Anglo-Operaticus has done well at Covent Garden, and will probably go one better. To Miss Alice Esty, as Elsa, in Lohengrin, we say "Esty perpetua." All are good: and the houses have been apparently as good as the company. A season of German-French-Italian Opera in English is a risky venture for a winter season; still, if successful, and at popular prices, there is in it good promise for the future. The conductors are Messrs. Feld, Henschel, Glover, and Mr. C. Hedmondt, which sounds like an English rendering of Tête Monté. A Tête Monté can carry many a project through triumphantly where a Tête moins Monté would fail.

Tuesday.—Excellent Faust. Mr. Philip Brozel, first time in English, decidedly good. Sir Druriolanus thought the old opera "wanted a fillip," and so gave us Philip Brozel. Kate Lee a capital nurse, and Fanny Moody a delightful Marguerite. Olitzka a pleasing Siebel, and conductor Glover, as his name implies, keeping all hands well employed, and ready to give fits to any hand that might be "difficult." The remainder of the week "going strong."

In the interests of English opera, or rather of opera in English, we wish Druriolanus Covent Gardensis Operaticus, with Messieurs Tête Monté et Cie., every possible success.

THE AMNESIA BACILLUS.

IT was an alarming state of affairs. The first indications of the new epidemic were noticed in the autumn of 1895. A lady who mislaid her identity at Brighton, and failed to recover it for a whole week, had the doubtful distinction of being the initial case. Her example was very shortly after followed by a servant-girl who "lost her memory" at Three Bridges Railway Station. Not being properly labelled, there was naturally some delay before she was returned to her supperless and sorrowing mistress. Then the plague spread.

Among the first to suffer were the numerous class of persons who had been so unfortunate as to borrow money. The simple operation of transferring a half-crown or a fiver seemed to carry contagion with it. From the instant that the fatal coin was in the palm of the innocent and unsuspecting borrower, all recollection of his previous personality vanished. The unhappy victim had no resource but to start life afresh as he best could, with new struggles to face, new lenders thus to victimise him—and new capital (a paltry equivalent!) wherewith to mourn his hopeless loss of memory. It was observed that these sufferers were subject to recurrent attacks of the amnesia bacillus. Some scientific alienists went so far as to maintain that the complaint was no new one, but had been prevalent, in a more or less virulent form, ever since the first leather coinage was invented.

The Woman with a Past was the next to succumb. She was not quite so much en évidence as in the two or three previous years; still, a considerable number of her carried on a contented, if obscure and occasionally chequered, existence. She only rarely imitated the Second Mrs. Tanqueray in putting a violent end to her career. Then all at once she, too, caught the disease. All the romance fled out of her life, all the deep insight into masculine character, all the love-souvenirs, so interesting to herself—and to her female acquaintances. (They did not forget any of these entertaining details, however.) But as far as she was concerned, her Past completely vanished, and, poor thing, like the half-crown borrower, she had to begin all over again. It was weary work, converting her future into a Past, or series of Pasts, and if she frequently failed in her task, we must put it down to the deadly and character-destroying bacillus.

Then the New Women took it severely, and quite forgot themselves. However, they have been so completely advertised and satirised of late, that there is no necessity to describe the symptoms of this class of patient any further. We might add, though, that in some cases the sequelæ of the complaint aged the subject by ten or twenty years.

It was distressing to note that even the respected occupants of the Bench did not invariably escape; but they received the infection in a mild form. They fairly well managed to retain their dignity and personality, but they could not remember the names of such common objects as an "oof-bird," or the meaning of so familiar a term as "going tommy-dodd." This was inconvenient, as it necessitated the employment of cockney interpreters.

It was a case of "dunno 'oo they are" with a good many other individuals and sections of the community.

One reverend gentleman had it badly, and turned litigant on the spot. Quite oblivious of his sacerdotal functions and character, he imagined that he would be a public benefactor if he went about suing unoffending 'busses for obstructing a minute portion of their window-lights with advertisements and notice-boards. This amused the public at first, but after a while he was voted a nuisance and a bore. Then the Salvationists caught the bacillus en bloc. One and all they thought they were musicians, and, as such, entitled to make Sunday a Day of Riot.

Amongst other unfortunate specimens of humanity were the shop-lifters, who fancied they were shop-walkers; the burglars, who habitually mistook their home address; the quarterly tenants, who, on the other hand, forgot to remain at home at periodical intervals; and our old friend 'Arry, who forgot his manners and his h's.

The list of victims might be indefinitely extended. Once it was thought that they were responsible for their actions; but now, thanks to the progress of medical science, the amnesia bacillus has been identified. It only remains for a new Pasteur to invent some counteracting microbe.

CRAZY TALES.

The Duchess of Pomposet was writhing, poor thing, on the horns of a dilemma. Painful position, very. She was the greatest of great ladies, full of fire and fashion, and with a purple blush (she was born that colour) flung bangly arms round the neck of her lord and master. The unfortunate man was a shocking sufferer, having a bad unearned increment, and enduring constant pain on account of his back being broader than his views.

"Pomposet," she cried, resolutely. "Duky darling!"

(When first married she had ventured to apostrophise him as "ducky," but His Grace thought it infra dig., and they compromised by omitting the vulgar "c.")

"Duky," she said, raising pale distinguished eyes to a Chippendale mirror, "I have made up my mind."

"Don't," expostulated the trembling peer. "You are so rash!"

"What is more, I have made up yours."

"To make up the mind of an English duke," he remarked, with dignity, "requires no ordinary intellect; yet I believe