much to say.  For these, last Saturday, he commenced the first of his series of Lenten Oratorios at Covent Garden—­it was the 14th of February, and this was his Valentine—­and on the 17th, i.e., the Tuesday afterwards, having made, so to speak, a clean sweep of everything serious, out he comes with his Fancy Dress and Masked Ball. Elijah the Prophet, on Saturday, in the Covent Garden Calendar, must be reckoned among the “minor profits,” seeing that the biggest profit would be found in the Bal Masque on Tuesday.  Over the doors should be the motto, “Festina Lente,” whereof the Druriolanian translation must be, “Keep it up in Lent.” Ave Janus Druriolanus!

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OLD TIMES REVIVED.

[Illustration]

What! when London Assurance is going off so well every night, isn’t it a pity that it should go off altogether?  CHARLES WYNDHAM as Dazzle is delightfully flashy, and FARREN as the old beau, Sir Harcourt, admirable.  Miss MOORE charming, Mrs. BEERE bright and sparkling; BOURCHIER quite up to “the Oxonian” mark of Tom and Jerry; BLAKELEY delicious, and GIDDENS as good a Dolly Spanker as you’d wish to see.  It’s too good to be “taken off.”  Not that the piece itself is a perfect gem, but the acting! Tout est la. Oddsfish, your Majesty, CHARLES REX, Merry Monarch of the Cri, don’t remove it altogether, but let us have it just once or twice a week during the season.  CHARLES, “our friend,” do!  It’s worth while, if but to see you sitting carelessly at the end of the piece in that chair, R.H., as if you didn’t care for anything or anybody.  Only—­cut the tag and come to the Curtain.

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THE ETHICS OF MATCH-BOXES.

BY COUNT DOLLSTOI.

(INTENDED FOR A CONTEMPORARY, BUT FOUND TO BE TOO SHORT.)

I.

What is the true explanation of the use which people make of matches—­of safety matches, wooden matches, wax matches, and, less commonly, of fusees?  Ask any man why he uses such things, and he will tell you that he does it to get a light, or because others do it.

Is this true?  You will probably think so.  Let us examine the question.  Why does a man hold his hand in front of a match when he lights it in the street?  To screen it from the wind, or to hide it from the sight of passers-by? Why do ladies leave the dinner-table before the men begin to smoke?  To avoid the smell of tobacco—­which is well known to be aromatic, healthy, and delightful—­or because the natural modesty of women shrinks from witnessing the striking of a match? Why, in a railway-carriage, do you hold your fusee out of window when you light it?  Is it because you do not care about being half-choked—­a paltry plea—­or is it to conceal from young persons who may be in the carriage the sparkle which must inevitably remind them of wicked and alluring eyes?