Chuzzlewit, and Sir Coventgardensis Druriolanus can do it when he likes, rather! The front of the house is quite a "mask of flowers," which the Master of the Gray's Inn Revels, himself present in a gorgeous and awe-inspiring uniform, regards with a benign and appreciative smile. Interesting to note a number of ordinarily quiet and unobtrusive individuals, personally known to me as the mildest-mannered men, who now appear as the fiercest, and, on such a night, the hottest of warriors; seeing that if it is 98 in the shade, the temperature must be ten degrees higher to those who are buttoned up to the chin in a military uniform, with straps, belts, buckles, boots, weighted too with a dangling, clattering sword, and having to carry about a thickly-furred hat, with a plume in it like a shaving-brush, that obstinately refuses to be hung up, or sat upon, or put out of sight, in any sort of way whatever, and which, like a baby in arms, must be carried,—or dropped. The Venetians on the stage in all their mediæval bravery are not arrayed like one of these simple English yeomen, for, as I am given to understand, to that glorious body of our country's agricultural defenders do these dashing Hussars, in their Hessian-fly boots, belong! Ah! with such warriors England is safe!

"Pas de Druriolanus; or, All among the Roses."

Then there are what Mr. Weller would have termed "My Prooshan Blues," and likewise the diplomatic Muscovite, in hard-looking cap, blue, naval-looking coat, and (apparently) flannel boating trousers, falling, rather short, on to ordinary boots, with plain unornamental spurs; a costume which, on the whole, suggests that its wearer, at the command of the Autocrat of all the Russias, must be ready at a second's notice to execute a forced march, dance a hornpipe, run as a footman, take somebody up as a policeman, head a cavalry charge, or (still in spurs) steer a torpedo boat on its dangerous errand. Opera going strong, with the De Frisky Bros. & Co. The Last Act (by Royal Command) is omitted, and so for the first time in dramatic history the story of Romeo and Juliet ends as happily as possible. The lovers are only interrupted by the fall of the curtain, and there are no sleeping draughts, poisonings, or burials. It is a realisation of the line in The Critic, "In the Queen's name I charge you all to drop your swords and daggers!" Only the order is given in the Princess's name, and the swords, daggers, and deadly draughts are all dropped accordingly. Greatest possible success. Gloria Druriolano!

Friday Night.—First performance of I Rantzau, and first-rate performance, too. The Plot is simply a Plot of Land. Scene laid—laid for seven dramatis personæ—in a Vague Village of the Vosges; time, present century. The Rantzaus are the Capulets and Montagues of this district; the son of one faction is in love with the daughter of the other; but it doesn't end tragically, and the lovers marry. That's all. It was played as a Drama at the Français, with Got in it; when subsequently it was turned into an Opera, it had the "Go" taken out of it. De Lucia, Ancona, Castelmary, Bispham, and Corsi doing their very best, as do also the lamplighter and his assistant, who deftly perform their "Wagnerian watchman" "business" to characteristic music. Mlle. Bauermeister great in a small part; and Madame Melba does her very best with the singularly uninteresting part of Luisa, who is a very "Limited Loo." Signor Mascagni conducted the Opera, and was himself conducted on to the stage as often as possible in order to receive the congratulations of his "friends in front." I Rantzau not "in it" with Mascagni's Cavalleria, which, like the Rantzau family at the end of the piece, "still holds the field." Thermometer 95° in the stalls. House animated and appreciative.

Saturday.—Les Huguenots. Grand Cast. Thermometer down again.

A DITTY OF THE DOG-DAYS.

ROBERT AT THE MANSHUN HOUSE.

I have long nown as how as the present Lord Mare was one of the werry nicest, as well as one of the werry liberallists, of Lord Mares as we has had for many years, but I most suttenly did not kno, till larst Saturday, that, noticing, as he must have done, how shamefoolly the County Counsellors is a trying for to destroy the grand old Copperation, and take pusession of Gildhal and the Manshun House, he had the courage to assemble round his ospiterbel Table all the most princiblest of the great writers of our wunderful and powerful Press, and let them judge for theirselves whether sich a hinstitootion as he represented was worth preserwin or not! Ah, that was sumthink