class="smcap">Mangles; and—er—if I do find I have a photograph to spare——but the portrait of him on that leaflet is really more like, you know!"

"No, don't put down your pipe, Mr. Gowles; I—I love the smell of tobacco!... You weren't intending to—how friendly of you!... I daresay you don't know who I am?... Perhaps not, but you'll let me tell you, won't you?... I've come to ask you to vote for my husband, Mr. Honeyball; he's not a Tory, you know, he's a thorough-going Radical.... Not going to vote for either of them?—Now why?... Oh, no, I'm sure you're not—you're much too pleasant and gentlemanly to be a horrid Socialist!... You want everything done away with? Well, the Liberals are going to abolish a lot of things. There's the House of Lords, for instance, you're against them, I'm sure.... Not more than you are against the House of Commons? Oh, but you don't really want to destroy one of our most ancient institutions!... Capitalists? oh, they're sharks and bloodsuckers and landgrabbers and all that, I quite agree with you there—only they're all Tories, you know.... Why shouldn't you share in all the wealth you're assisting to produce? Why are you to be robbed of the product of your brain and hands?—I really don't know—it's very wrong, no doubt—what do you produce?... Oh, you're a bill-poster? I see. Now don't get excited.... Your only hope is in the Gospel of Hate?... Now really, such a disagreeable thing to say!... If I could only bring you to see that by voting for the Liberals——... I'm not a smooth-tongued humbug, and it's extremely rude of you to call me anything of the kind.... I never said you hadn't a perfect right to vote as you pleased.... Very well, then, keep your horrible vote, I'm sure I don't want it! (To herself, as she departs.) I shall go home. If I see any more of these people, I shall find I've turned into a rabid Tory—and I'm sure Horace wouldn't like that!"

OPERATIC NOTES.

Monday memorable for Melba. Never sang better than as mad-as-a-hatter heroine of Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor. Three hearty, deafening, unanimous encores for the brilliant fireworky Hanwellian vocalisation in Lucy's (not "H. W. Lucy's," of the D. N., but Miss Lucia's) great de lunatico inquirendo scena. After encore, inevitable gigantic basket of flowers handed up to triumphant cantatrice by Beaming Bevignani and talented assistants in orchestra. Conductor and musicians ought not to be used as agents for delivery of bouquets to prime donne. If somebody among audience wishes to publicly present singer with floral testimonial, why not let that Somebody step forward (as the person in church who would "forbid the banns" is invited to do) and hand it to her himself on a stick? Or if he be in some other part of the house, Dulcissimus Druriolanus would himself introduce him and his basket of flowers on to, and off, the stage. The encores and the floral testimonial quite turned mad heroine's head.

alvé à la "'Ria."

That is, so turned it round again that she became quite sane and chatted amicably with two or three of the leading chorus "up stage" until it suddenly occurred to her that she must go mad again, which she did at once, most effectively. After this "Fra poco," the swan-like (if swan a tenor) death-song of Edgardo, cannot go for its value unless sung by a most popular and highly-gifted tenor. So it stands to the credit of Signor Dash-my-Vignas that, in this, he was enthusiastically applauded, and soon after "laid him down and dee'd" in the midst of an admiring and more-or-less sympathetic Chorus. Great opera for Chorus giving expression to their feelings. How they cry or laugh, and point and gesticulate and threaten and sympathise as guests in low dresses without anything distinctively Scotch about them, except in the case of one lady over whose shoulder I fancy I detected a tartan scarf of clannish pattern. Normanno, played by, I think, Iginio Corsi (which name, in compliment to the national Scotch liquor, ought to have been changed to "Iwiskio Corsi"), bore remarkable resemblance to Markis o' Salisbury. I do not remember ever having seen or heard Lord Salisbury as a vocalist. To be remembered as The Melba Night of the Season—up to now.

Wednesday.—Calvé as Carmen simply perfect. That is all I have to say; like the Raven (not Barnaby Rudge's, but Edgar A. Poe's), I announce "Only this, and Nothing More." And Alvarez as José, "Gentleman Joe," who does not drive, but is driven to madness, first-rate; in last scene, struggle and assassination most thrilling, dramatically: even stall-by-the-season'd opera-goers holding breath, and clutching at backs of seats. Audience, ordinarily indifferent to fate of heroine in last act, wait till bitter end. They only quit when quite sure Carmen cannot possibly sing any more. Madame Melba, who, "by request of the Management"—how modestly is this put, O Druriolanus Operaticus!—"has kindly consented to play Michaela," exceeded the terms of her amiable contract, as she not only "played" Michaela, but sang the music superbly, her singing being faultless, which her "playing" was not. Mossoo Albers rather out of it as Escamillo, and Toréador was not an Encoreador, whereat Toréador non contento. All the principals sang in French, "knowing the language," but clever Chorus stuck to Italian. Benissimo! Bevignani beaming, and beating time. House crowded; elections and political parties disturb not the harmony of Covent Garden. Yet "last week but one" announced, and end in view. Wagstaff, seeing Calvé in first act with scarf or belt round waist, suggests riddle, "Why is Calvé a perfect Carmen?" Before you can break away from him, without damage to your button-hole, he answers, "Because she plays the part with a-band-on." Exit Wagstaff.

Friday.—Pagliacci.—A new Nedda in Mlle. Zélie de Lussan. Nedda is rather a Loose'un, and Mlle. Zélie is as good a Nedda as you can get "when t'other dear charmer's away." Then to follow, Calvé in Calvé-'lleria Rusticana admirably dramatic. Can't believe this Magdalenish saint-like woman can possibly be that deuce of a young woman, Carmen, of t'other night. But "Fœmina varium et mutabile (also cantabile) semper." All the others good as ever, specially Giulia Ravogli, as the gay Lo-la-li-ety.

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

The hedgehog is sometimes accused of helping himself to a drink from a recumbent cow, but his larger relative, the domestic pig, is to be even