them from Alfonso's yoke.

By way of liberal reward

He made the childless Scutt a lord,

And then despatched him on a Mission

In honorific recognition

Of presents sent for our relief

By a renowned New Guinea Chief.

The natives of those distant parts

Are noted for their generous hearts,

But, spite of protests raised by us,

Continue anthropophagous.

And this, I have no doubt, was why,

When Members wished Lord Scutt good-bye,

You could not see one humid eye.

AN AFRICAN APPEAL.

The Baboo must look to his laurels, for other dusky aspirants to fluent articulate culture are on the warpath, and they are by no means to be underrated. I have seen lately quite a number of letters from young studious gentlemen of Ashantee, who, having acquired a little English, desire more, and develop a passion for correspondence with English strangers, whose names they pick up. The following typical example, dated March 9th, 1917, will serve to illustrate the new habit:—

"Dear Sir,—I am with much pleasure to indite you about your name that has come to my hand with great, joy. On the receipt of this letter, know that I want to be one of your fellow friends. You have been reported to me by a friend of mine of your good attention and benevolences. My openion of writing you is to say, I want to take you as my favourite friend. Everything or news that may be happened there at your side, I wish you to report same to me. And I also shall report same to you satisfaction. Will you be good enough to agree with me? Then I hope to get few lines of news from you being as you consented or disconsented. To have a friend at abroad is something that delights the life. I am earnestly requested to hear from you soon. I beg to detain, dear Sir,

"Yrs truly,
——."

To whom do you think that letter is addressed? You would suppose to some public personage with a reputation for cordial sympathy with the young and earnest, such as the Chief Scout, for instance. But no, the "Dear Sir" is in reality a limited liability company, one of whose circulars, I suppose, wandered to the Gold Coast.

THE LAW COURTS THEATRE.

"ROMNEY'S RUM 'UN."

London was probably never richer in comic actors than at the present moment, for not only is W.H. Berry at the Adelphi, Leslie Henson at the Gaiety, Arthur Roberts at the Oxford singing his old songs, and Robert Hale and George Robey twice daily elsewhere, but in the Law Courts Playhouse Charles Darling has been lately at his very best. Dropping in there last week, during the performance of a new farce, entitled Romney's Rum 'Un, I was again fascinated by the inexhaustible wit and allusive badinage of this great little comedian, beside whose ready gagging George Graves himself is inarticulate. Had not George Robey invented for application to himself the descriptive phrase, "The Prime Minister of Mirth," it should be at once affixed to the Law Courts' fun-maker; but, since it is too late to use that, let us think of him as "The Chancellor of the Exchequer of Mirth."

Charles Darling's success is the more remarkable because he keeps so still. He sits in his chair as steadily as another of his outdistanced rivals, Sam Mayo ("The Immobile Comedian," as he is called), remains standing. He has few gestures; he rarely, if ever, sings, and I have never seen him dance; and yet the way in which he "gets over" is astonishing. "Laughter holding both his sides" is the most constant attendant of this theatre.

What is the secret? Well, first and foremost it is of course to be sought in the genius of the actor himself; but contributory causes are the acceptivity of the audience, which is more noticeable in the Law Courts than in any other London theatre, and the willingness of his fellow-performers to "feed" him, as stage-folk have it; that is to say, provide him with materials upon which (again resorting to stage language) he may "crack his wheezes." The other day, for example, that excellent comedian, John Simon, was his principal ally in this way, and nothing could have been better than the sympathy between the two funny men. To Charles Darling naturally fell the fat of the dialogue, but no one enjoyed the treat more than John Simon, in whose dictionary the word jealousy does not exist. Leslie Scott also did his best to "feed" his principal, and the results were a scream.

If the jokes were now and then a little legal, what did it matter? Many of the audience were legal too, and that there is no better audience the reports of the farces played here day after day abundantly prove. They are out for fun, and therefore in an appreciative and complaisant mood.

To prove a comedian's genius to the mere reader is a difficult matter, and one can never hope to re-embody him in all his humorous idiosyncracies; but quotation comes to one's aid, and in the case of such a wit as Charles Darling it is invaluable. Thus John Simon, referring to Mrs. Siddons' unwieldiness in her old age, said that in a certain part she had to be helped from her knees by two attendants. Quick as lightning came the comment, "When she was younger she was able to rise on her own merits." Was ever so exquisitely funny and unexpected a turn given to the dull word "merits"? Another perfect thing from this diverting piece, followed also by Homeric cachinnations, was the mock-serious apophthegm: "If a cloud is going to support a lady of substantial proportions, you must make it fairly solid."

I came away with reluctance, filled with wonder at the want of enterprise shown by our revue-managers in not having, long ere now, secured Charles Darling's services. If only he continues to take his art seriously he has a great future. Meanwhile I am applying embrocation to my sore sides.

NATURE NOTES.

 

The Gloaming,"
North Kensington.

Dear Mr. Punch,—I wonder if any of your intelligent readers have noticed the wonderful adaptability of Nature, of which I send you the following remarkable instance:—The yellowhammer, which we are always told sings, "A little bit of bread and no che-e-ese," has (unless my ears grossly deceive me) changed its words this year to "A little bit of cheese and no bre-e-ead!" Need I say more?

Your obedient servant,
Observator.

"Mr. Isaac L. —— is in Cape Town. We hope the change will do Mrs. L. —— good."—Weekly Paper.

We trust that no domestic differences are indicated.

"The bread...had been collected from local hostels and barracks for pigs."—Daily Mail.

Does the writer delicately hesitate to call a sty a sty, or has the internment of the food-hog really begun?

"Lord Robert Cecil concluded: