"PINAFORE" ON THE BRAIN.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1781, 5 November 1879, Page 3

"PINAFORE" ON THE BRAIN.

A disgusted mother complains in the Philadelphia "Mirror" of the terrible realities which oppress her since the " Pinafore" craze set in. She says :—" Fancy if you car, my. daughter Edith at the piano directly after breakfast, shrieking out, ' Farewell, my own, light of life, farewell,' and Mary in the back parlour insisting, in a still higher key, that she is ' called Little Buttercup, though she cannot tell why,' while their brother George, in the dining room, is shouting at the top of bis voice that' He has polished up the handle at the big front door,' So incessant has become the repetition of these snatches of operatic nonsense, that I am unconsciously falling into the same folly myself, and this morning caught myself whistling' The merry merry maiden.' Am I going mad A too, I wonder ? A few evenings since my minister called; and so earnestly had we engaged in considering the cheapest method of clothing the benighted heathen that tha hour had grown late when he rose to depcac. Suddenly tha parlour door flew open,, and in strode George, bawling in tones tha* alight have been heard a block away, ' Ha is an Englishman, and it's greatly to h»S; cnedit.' Then, seeing my visitor, he stopped and begged pardon. ' But,' said he, 'really, Mr Steadfast, you should have been, at the theatre tonight; the Admiral was immense.' The good man looked shocked, and, as for me, I was ready to faint, and you might have knocked me down with a feather after what followed, for in a voice of great solemnity Mr Steadfast addressed the wretched boy: ' Young man, do yon never think of your latter end 1' ' Well,' replied George, with a shrug and grin, ' h-a-r-d-1-y ever.' I think the good man was dißgusted, for he passed out with the remark that he was afraid George was a very wicked young man. It was long before I fell asleep that night; my nerves were quite upset: Just as I was entering the realms of Nod a sound reached my ears—a mournful wail as of some one in distress—and Ellen, my youngest, who sleeps with me, heard it too, and muttered, dreamily, ' Ob, isn't it quite alarmin ?' Going to the hall, I discovered that the ] noise proceeded from George's room. With flying feet I ran up stairs. Perhaps he was ill. 11l ? Not a bit of it; but he Bat in undreßß uniform before the window, howling at the moon and asking it, 'Why everything was either at sixes or sevens.' ' Oh, why are you not in bed ?' I cried ; 'it is two o'clock in the morning. You will be the death of me,' I continued 'come, get to bed this moment," and I began palling him from his seat. ' Refrain, audacious tar 1' he roared, easily putting me out of the room and lookicg the door. 'Ellen,' said I as I crept back into the bed, ' that boy is a lunatic* ' And so are his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts,' chanted the half-asleep girl. You see how it is, Mr Editor. Do you think we shall ever hear the last of ' Pinafore' 1 "