As the manager
           of the Performance sits
         before the curtain
               on the boards and looks
                   into the Fair,
           a feeling of profound melancholy
            comes over him
                   in his survey
                       of the bustling place.

    There is a great quantity
           of eating
         and drinking,
           making love and jilting,
         laughing and the contrary,
           smoking,
         cheating,
           fighting,
         dancing and fiddling;
        there are bullies pushing about,
           bucks ogling the women,
         knaves picking pockets,
           policemen on the look-out,
         quacks
           (OTHER quacks,
               plague take them!)
 

    bawling in front
           of their booths,
         and yokels
              looking up
                   at the tinselled dancers
                       and poor old rouged tumblers,
         while the light-fingered folk
            are operating
                   upon their pockets behind.

    Yes,
           this is VANITY FAIR;
        not a moral place certainly;
           nor a merry one,
           though very noisy.

    Look at the faces
           of the actors
         and buffoons
         when they
              come off from their business;
        and Tom Fool
              washing the paint
                   off his cheeks
             before he
                sits down to dinner
                       with his wife
                           and the little Jack Puddings
                       behind the canvas.

    The curtain
        will be up presently,
           and he
            will be turning over
             head and heels,
         and crying,
           "How are you?"

    A man
           with a reflective turn
               of mind,
           walking through an exhibition
               of this sort,
         will not be oppressed,
           I take it,
         by his own
              or other people's hilarity.

    An episode of humour
          or kindness touches
        and amuses
               him here and there
          --a pretty child
              looking at a gingerbread stall;
        a pretty girl blushing
             whilst her lover talks
                   to her
                       and chooses her fairing;
        poor Tom Fool,
           yonder behind the waggon,
         mumbling his bone
               with the honest family
              which lives by his tumbling;
        but the general impression
         is one more melancholy
                than mirthful.

    When you come
         home you
              sit down in a sober,
           contemplative,
         not uncharitable frame of mind,
           and apply yourself
               to your books
              or your business.

    I have no other moral
           than this
          to tag
               to the present story of
         "Vanity Fair."

    Some people
          consider Fairs immoral altogether,
           and eschew such,
         with their servants and families:
        very likely they are right.

    But persons who think otherwise,
           and are of a lazy,
         or a benevolent,
           or a sarcastic mood,
         may perhaps like
              to step
                   in for half an hour,
           and look at the performances.

    There are scenes of
           all sorts;
        some dreadful combats,
           some grand and lofty horse-riding,
         some scenes of high life,
           and some
               of very middling indeed;
        some love-making for the sentimental,
           and some light comic business;
        the whole
              accompanied by appropriate scenery
                   and brilliantly
                  illuminated with
                       the Author's own candles.

    What more
        has the Manager
               of the Performance to say?

    -- To acknowledge the kindness
         with which it
            has been
                  received in
                       all the principal towns
                           of England
         through which the Show
            has passed,
           and where it
            has been most favourably
                  noticed by the respected conductors
                       of the public Press,
         and by
               the Nobility and Gentry.

    He is proud to think
         that his Puppets
              have given satisfaction
                   to the very best company
                 in this empire.

    The famous little Becky Puppet
        has been pronounced
              to be uncommonly flexible
                   in the joints,
           and lively on the wire;
        the Amelia Doll,
           though it
            has had a smaller circle
                   of admirers,
         has yet
            been carved and
                  dressed with the greatest care
                       by the artist;
        the Dobbin Figure,
           though apparently clumsy,
         yet dances in a very
              amusing and natural manner;
        the Little Boys' Dance
            has been liked by some;
        and please
              to remark the richly dressed
                   figure of the Wicked Nobleman,
           on which no expense
            has been spared,
         and which Old Nick
            will fetch
                  away at the end
                       of this singular performance.