I confess the thing that pleased me most was a gay little piece of burlesque by Mr. ARTHUR CHESNEY as the red-haired shop assistant who was not a pacifist.  Mr. CHARLES GLENNEY so thoroughly enjoyed the robustious sea-captain that we had to enjoy it too—­a sound notion of entertainment, that.  Mr. SEBASTIAN SMITH played chief rabbit with considerable skill and point; Mr. LENNOX PAWLE amused with his plump dundrearyed mayor; Mr. SAM LIVESEY’S offensive was, I am sure, as Hunnish as its author could possibly have desired.  Miss ELLIS JEFFREYS appeared in the first Act as a very plausible imitation of a prominent tradesman’s wife in an eighth-rate provincial town, with some quite excellent moments.  But she was evidently labouring under severe strain, and I amused myself by speculating how long she would keep out of a really well-cut skirt and a sophisticated air of Mayfair.  Just an Act.  And surely she is mistaken in thinking that an effect of extreme agitation is best conveyed, by very rapid quasi-cinematographic progression up and down the stage?  But I saw no reason to complain of the bold bad butcher’s taste in the matter of a subject for abduction.

T.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Sergeant (to Private Simpkins arriving two days late). “WELL, SIMPKINS, SO YOU’VE TURNED UP, HAVE YOU?”

Simpkins. “YES, SERGEANT.  BUT YOU ARE LUCKY TO GET ME.  WHAT WITH DOMESTIC TROUBLE AND ALL THAT DELUGE OF RAIN I NEARLY MADE A SEPARATE PEACE.”]

* * * * *

BUCEPHALUS AND THE ROAD-HOGS.

When Miss Ropes asked at breakfast how many of us would like to watch the very last cricket-match of the season at Lumsdale, practically the entire hospital held up its hand, and it was found that the two cars could not accommodate us all.  It was therefore settled that Haynes (who said he knew the moves) should drive Ansell and me over in the governess-cart.

It was also settled that the crew of the governess-cart should have an early cold lunch and start an hour before the cars; thus (it was calculated) we should all arrive at the cricket-ground fairly well together.  This did not take Haynes’ driving into account.  We started from the door at a very satisfactory pace, probably because Bucephalus, the fat pony, objected to the enthusiasm of our send-off.  When we reached the road he dropped into an amble so gentle that we decided that he had really been running away in the drive.  Next, taking advantage of an almost imperceptible upward slope, he began to walk.  Haynes clucked at him and flapped the reins, but this had no effect beyond steering Bucephalus into the left-hand ditch.

“I thought you said you knew the moves,” remarked Ansell.  “Surely this is wrong?”

“The bally beast’s lopsided,” said Haynes with heat.  “One side of his mouth’s hard and the other soft.”

“The difficulty being,” I suggested as we lurched across the road into the other ditch, “to discover which is which....  Now you’re straight.  We’d better trot.  It’s only a one-day match.”