puppets gradually declined; but "when things
are at the worst,  they mend," says an old
proverb. As we have already hinted, an
English manager has opened in London a
theatre of Marionnettes, which again promises
to put the flesh and blood performers on
their best legs. The new puppet theatre is
elegantly fitted up, and perfectly appointed.
Considering the taste for fun prevailing in
this country, and looking back to the past
history of puppets, we see reason to expect
for the present company a great success, if
it be shrewdly managed. The performances
which have already been given, have proved
a good beginning. We will not say that
even the most juvenile part of the audience
are cheated into the belief that the puppets
are real flesh and blood; for there is a certain
hovering indecision when they make their
first appearance—a spasmodic twitching which
accompanies their actions, and a something
between sailing and staggering in their
departures, which suggests to the spectators
that they are not altogether voluntary agents.
But this is a part of the humour and drollery
of such performances.

The stage-manager ("Mr. Albany Brown" in
the bills) possesses an advantage which is not
enjoyed by the other members of his
company—that of being able to ogle, to drop his
jaw, to elevate his brows, and to bow with a
hesitating grace peculiar to Albany Browns.
Censorious spectators will be prone to accuse
him of occasional attacks of delirium tremens.
However, like the other puppets, he combines
this quality with a subdued energy—like a
volcano kept down by extraordinary pressure
—that is uncommonly imposing.

The dancers gesticulate with the indecisive
fierceness of dreamers. They can knock
themselves against nothing, with a vehemence which
pulp faces and sawdust limbs only can achieve.
There is one gentleman who appears in the
course of the evening, a Monsieur Alexis
Mouiller, whose entrechats are superb; while
his aplomb equals anything ever executed by
Vestris. Monsieur Siffleur, who dances a
sailor's hornpipe in a nautical ballet, double-
shuffles, heels and toes, "splits" and rocks,
with wonderful verisimilitude. Mademoiselle
Rose Chasse is scarcely inferior in saltatory
proficiency: her pirouette is one of
the finest things visible east of the
Haymarket. Such is her enthusiasm for her art,
that, in moments of sublime excitement, she
actually pirouettes with both feet in the air—
a movement that brings down peals of
applause.

Despite the little peculiarities we have
pointed out—peculiarities observable in the
highest art of the Foreign Marionetti stage
—the dramatis personæ of the Adelaide
Gallery give excellent promise. Illustrating the
conventionalities of what is left of our stage;
good-humouredly reproducing the commonest
faults of our worst actors; hitting us in our
(theatrically speaking) pet weak places; and
pointing, besides, the jokes and follies of the
day; the Marionnettes may render good droll
service.

CHIPS.

FOX-HUNTING.

FOX-HUNTING, I maintain, is entitled to be
considered one of the fine arts, standing
somewhere between music and dancing. For
"Tally-ho!" whatever the simply sentimental
or severely philosophical critics may say to the
contrary, I claim the honours of a Household
Word, redolent of air, exercise, good-
humour, and all the " poetry of motion,"
which, like the favourite evening gun of
colonising orators, Britons have " carried round
the world." The plump mole-fed foxes of
the neutral ground of Gibraltar have heard
the jolly cry; it has been echoed back from
the rocky hills of our island possessions in the
Mediterranean; it has startled the jackal on
the mountains of the Cape, and his red
brother on the burning plains of Bengal. The
wolf of the pine forests of Canada has heard
it, cheering on fox-hounds to an unequal
contest; and so has the dingoe of Australia,
creeping over the golden plains of Bathurst,
and the bounding kangaroo of Tasmania.

In our native land " Tally-ho! " is shouted
and welcomed in due season by all conditions
of men; by the ploughman, holding hard his
startled colt; by the woodman, leaning on his
axe before the half-felled oak; by bird-boys
from the tops of leafless trees. Even Dolly
Dumpling, as she sees the " red rogue " flash
before her market-cart, in a deep-banked
lane, stops, points her whip, and in a shrill
treble screams " Tally-ho!"

And when at full speed the pink, green,
brown, and black coated followers of any of
the ninety packs which our islands maintain,
sweep through a village, with what intense
delight the whole population turn out! Young
mothers stand at the doors, holding up their
crowing babies; the general shopkeeper, with
his customer, adjourns to the street; the
windows of the school are covered with
flattened noses; the parson, if of the right sort,
smiles blandly, and waves his hand from the
porch of the vicarage to half-a-dozen friends;
while the surgeon pushes on his galloway and
joins for half-an-hour; all the little boys
holla in chorus, and run on to open gates
without expecting sixpence. As for the
farmers, those who do not join the hunt criticise
the horse-flesh, speculate on the probable price
of oats, and tell " Missis " to set out the big
round of beef, the bread, the cheese, and get
ready to draw some strong ale,—" in case of
a check, some of the gentlemen might like
lunch as they came back."

It is true, among the five thousand who
follow the hounds daily in the hunting season,
there are to be found, as among most medleys
of five thousand, a certain number of fools and