dread secret! Once more ... yes—no, yes, it is Timburina! Thank Heaven, she yet breathes! But Brunette? Can she have stuck in the mud at the bottom? Ha, she, too, is rescued—saved—ha-ha-ha!—saved, saved, saved!

[Swoons hysterically, amid deafening applause.

Enter Frank Manly, supporting Brunette, who carries Timburina.

Bl. (wildly). What, do I see you safe, beloved Brunette?

Br. Yes, thanks to his courage, I'm not even wet!

Frank (modestly). Nay, spare your compliments. To rescue Beauty, When in distress, is every hero's duty!

Bl. Brunette, forgive—I'm cured of all my folly!

Br. (heartily). Of course I will, my dear, and so will dolly!

"THE NEW GERMAN RIFLE."

(A Fancy Sketch of its Startling Appearance.)

"The Regulations for the employment of the new German Infantry Rifle have just been published. With regard to the capabilities of the new rifle, the Regulations assert, that in this arm the German Infantry possesses a weapon standing fully abreast of the time with a range such as was heretofore held to be impossible of attainment."—Standard, Jan. 25.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Commemoration Birthday Concert.—The programme you are preparing, after the fashion set the other evening in St. James's Hall, at an entertainment organised in honour of the birthday of the poet Burns, for the purpose of paying a similar tribute to the memory of his great fellow-countryman, Sir Walter Scott, certainly promises well. As you very truly point out that, as at the Concert which you are taking as your model, though the name of Burns was tacked on to nearly every item in the programme, as if he had been responsible for the words, music and all, it did not seem limited to the Poet's work alone, you might certainly allow yourself the latitude you propose in arranging your own scheme. The fact that, at the Burns Celebration, M. Nachez played his own Hungarian dances, the connection between which and the Poet's birthday is not, at first sight, entirely obvious, and that another gentleman, with equal appropriateness, favoured the company with "The Death of Nelson," on the trombone, seems certainly to give you a warrant for the introduction you contemplate making, in commemoration of Sir Walter, of the Chinese Chopstick Mazurka, and the Woora-woora Cannibal Islanders side-knife and sledge-hammer war-dance. It may of course be possible, in a remote way, to introduce them, as you suggest, into Old Mortality, but we should think you would be nearer the mark with that other item of your programme, that associates Jem Baggs with The Lay of the Last Minstrel. Your idea of accepting and utilising the offer of the Giralfi family to introduce their Drawing-room Entertainment into your programme seems excellent, and has certainly as much in common with the Birthday of Sir Walter Scott as the "Death of Nelson," on the trombone, has with that of the distinguished Novelist's great brother Poet. There is no reason, as you further point out, why you should not organise a whole Series of Commemorative Birthday Entertainments, as you think of doing, on the same plan, and with Beethoven, Macaulay, Dr. Johnson, and Warren Hastings, the celebrities you mention, to begin upon, you ought to have no difficulty in working in the solo on the big drum, the performance of the Learned Hyæna, the Japanese Twenty-feet Bayonet-jump, and the other equally appropriate attractions with which you are already in communication. Anyhow, begin with Sir Walter Scott, following the St. James's Hall lead, and let us hear how you get on.

Striking Wedding Presents.—As you seem to think that a list of the presents made to your young friends who are about to be married will in all probability be published in some of the Society papers, "with the names of the donors," we think, on the whole, we would advise you not to give them, as you seem rather inclined to do, those three hundred weight of cheap sardines of which you became possessed through a seizure of your agents for arrears of rent. You might certainly present them with the disabled omnibus horse that came into your hands on the same occasion. Horses are sometimes given as wedding presents. There were four down in a list of gifts at a fashionable marriage only last week. But, of course, it would not suit your purpose to appear as the donor of a "damaged" creature. We think, perhaps, it would be wiser to accept the five pounds offered you through the veterinary surgeon you mention, and lay out the money, as you suggest, in sixteen hundred Japanese fans. If it falls through, and you find the horse still on your hands, there is no need to mention its association with the omnibus. "Mr. John Johnson—a riding horse," doesn't read badly. We almost think this is better than the fans. Think it over.

THE LUXURY OF PANTOMIME.

One day last week, after a struggle for life, Her Majesty's Theatre was shut up, five hundred persons, so it was stated, lost employment, and the Cinderella family, proud sisters and all, nay, even the gallant Prince himself, were turned adrift. Smiling, at the helm of the Drury Lane Ship, stands Augustus Druriolanus, who sees, not unmoved, the wreck of "Her Majesty's Opposition," and murmurs to himself as Jack and the Beanstalk continues its successful course, "This is, indeed, the survival of the fittest," and, charitably, Druriolanus sends out a life-boat entitled "Benefit Performance" to the rescue of the shipwrecked crew. Ave Cæsar!

From this disaster there results a moral, "which, when found," it would be as well to "make a note of." It is this: as evidently London will not, or cannot, support two Pantomimes, several Circuses, and a Show like Barnum's, all through one winter, why try the experiment? especially when the luxe of Pantomime, fostered by Druriolanus, is so enormous, that any competitor must be forced into ruinous and even reckless extravagance, in order to enter into anything like rivalry with The Imperator who "holds the field" for Pantomime, just as he holds "The Garden" for Opera, against all comers.

These rival establishments only do harm to one another, spoil the public by indulging their taste for magnificent spectacle, increasing in gorgeousness every year, until true Pantomime will be overlaid with jewelled armour, crushed under velvet and gold, and be lying helpless under the weight of its own gorgeosity. We should question whether the