class="indent">Watching Forbes-Robertson as Romeo, I could not help thinking what an excellent Hamlet he would make; perhaps when I see him in that character, I shall remember how good he was as Romeo:—

"Hamlet Romeo amem, rentosus Romeo Hamlet."

But that's another story; so suffice it that temporarily Forbes-Robertson is "Our Only Romeo."

The Rev. Nutcombe Gould, as Friar Laurence, gives quite a new reading of the part. His Friar has ever a merry little twinkle in his eye, as if quietly enjoying some intensely humourous idea. From this point of view, Mr. Nutcombe Gould's Friar, being a sort of Rev. Theodore Hook, ever ready with a practical joke and an impromptu, is admirable and—inimitable.

Mercutio's part is "full of plums"; but these, in Mr. Coghlan's mouth, seemed rather to mar the distinctness of his utterance, as plums in a mouth have a way of doing. The Apothecary, by Brother Robertson, was not so poor as he looked: but in spite of tradition as to the wondrous excellence of this "bit of character," what is there to be done with it except in a three minutes acting illustration of an artistic "make up"? Were I offered the part I should bargain (after settling of course to receive a thousand a week) for a scene so arranged as to show the exterior and the interior of the shop. I would be "on" from the first, visibly sleeping under the counter. The interior should be fitted up with shelves just as Romeo describes it. Then while Romeo is talking, my Apothecary would be examining his "till"; he would turn it upside down to show there was no cash; he would then in pantomime explain how famished he feels, and would search, even in an old mouse-trap, for a bit of cheese. At last, there being no dinner and no hope of food, he, after a pantomimic exhibition of frenzied despair, would be in the act of drinking from a large bottle, labelled "Poison,—for external application only," when he hears Romeo calling him. Then he starts: while there is life there is hope! he answers the summons! And so forth. Then imagine the Apothecary with the money after Romeo's departure!! As the scene is closing the Apothecary should be seen bucking himself up, and preparing to go out to make a night of it at the nearest restaurant. Should Mr. Forbes-Robertson be making any alterations he is welcome to these suggestions.

Mrs. Pat Juliet Campbell making herself into a Japanese Puzzle as she takes a Father's Curse.

"THE CRAWL TO THE SOUTH."

Sir,—In "the dead season," when despairing editors, or their representatives, pant for something especially attractive, the maxim acted upon by those whom Providence has afflicted with the "cacoethes scribendi" appears to be, "When in doubt, abuse the London, Chatham, and Dover." As a much-travelled Ulysses, experienced in "lines cast in pleasant" and unpleasant "places," and as a sympathising fellow-traveller with "A Season Ticket Holder,"—(a descriptive signature rather suggestive of a "kettle-holder" that keeps your fingers from being burnt,)—I, the Ulysses aforesaid, emphatically endorse all that "S. T. H.," in the Times of last Thursday, has written. Having "crawled" North, South, East, and West, I can venture to affirm that the L. C. & D.'s "Granville Express" is, as far as my experience goes, which is co-extensive with the whole length of the line, up and down, about the most punctual of time-keeping trains with which this Ulysses happens to be acquainted. When "S. T. H." attests that "for courtesy and attention to the oft-times exacting demands of passengers the company's staff will compare not unfavourably with those of the Northern railways," I beg "to say ditto"; with the proviso, that, personally, I am, in a general way, of Mrs. Malaprop's opinion, that "caparisons are odorous." Sir, addressing you, Mr. Punch, as Universal Chairman of All Railways, if I wanted to pick out a fine specimen of Railway Troops, I would go to the London, Chat-with-'em and Dover for both "Guards" and "Line."

Yours, An Inconstant Traveller.

P.S.—By the way, if names are for anything in the matter (and I object to "calling names," though this must be done at every station on the line), then isn't the Brighton and S. C. the "Crawley" Line? I only ask.

Education not Price-less.—The Methodist Times recently announced that Mr. Price-Hughes is about to publish an explanation of his suggestions as to an "educational concordat." So the present form of the educational question is, "'What Price' Hughes?"

EGOMANIA.

Scene—The Bar Parlour of the "Little Peddlington Arms" during a shower.

Little Peddlingtonian (handing newspaper to Stranger from London). "Have you seen that Account of our Fishing Competition in the Little Peddlington Gazette, Sir?"

"No. I'm afraid I've not!"

"It's a very interesting Article, Sir. It mentions my Name several times!"

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The Baron has dipped into a refreshingly light and airy volume called The Impressions of Aureole, published by Chatto and Windus. Just the volume for the tourist resting awhile from his London-seasonable labours. Aureole does a little bit of everything and enjoys it all. She has the faculty of appreciation for scenes in town and country, at home and abroad. She "sails away in a galliant ship" like Roy Neil's bride into Icebergian regions, where "we pray under our breaths for illuminating sunshine and the ice bink is given us in half-miraculous substitution." "Half-miraculous" is good. Half a miracle better than no miracle at all.

Then on another occasion writes Aureole:—

"We find our way into a gleamy wood, and I gather some crimson berries, oozing from a cool green bank like drops of blood, while unfamiliar blossoms flourish in gay clusters at my feet."

"Personally," says the Baron, speaking for himself, "should not like to gather 'drops of blood.'" Glad that the blossoms were so well behaved as not to be familiar.

How delightful to be on board with our enthusiastic Aureole, and, if she will only trust one with it, enjoy for a few moments the loan of her "ivory lorgnette" with "diamond initials" which "seem to gleam responsively when," says Aureole, "I sweep the horizon with ecstacy."

Aureole, the gadabout and globetrotter, is