once that “more” is excellently represented by Mr. ERIC LEWIS as a Duke, Mr. LIONEL BROUGH as a Landlord (by the way the Uncle of the Ant), and Mr. E.W.  GARDEN as the Bill of the Play.  Perhaps on the first night the CHEVALIER SCOVEL as the Chevalier de Bernheim was not quite at home in his new surroundings.  Accustomed to a more serious kind of entertainment, he appeared a trifle heavy, and his tenor notes (not unsuggestive of the Bank of Elegance) were sometimes of doubtful value.  By this time, however, no doubt, he has regained his normal composure, and sings as successfully as any of his colleagues.

After the last Act everyone was called, inclusive of the composers and the author; the latter, being at that very moment on his way to France, could not respond to the hearty applause with which his name was greeted, and must accordingly await the personal congratulations of the audience until his return from foreign parts.  Mr. CARYLL who had done so much to musically illustrate the Christmas Tree Scene (thus meriting the title of Mr. CHRISTMAS CARYLL), was also not to be found when wanted, and so the Sole Lessee and Manager had nothing more to do than return thanks for all concerned, and make up his mind to a run that seems likely to keep him on his legs until Easter.

* * * * *

TO MR. STANLEY.

[At a meeting of the Cardiff Corporation on Tuesday, October 7, a letter was read from Mr. H.M.  STANLEY stating, that he would be unable to fulfil his engagement to visit Cardiff and accept the freedom of the borough.  All preparation for the ceremony had been made, and a costly silver casket, which is now useless, was specially ordered.  Mr. STANLEY’s excuse was pressure of business in preparing for his American tour.—­Daily Paper.]

  The Council at Cardiff looked angry and glum,
    Their chagrin was so great it was useless to mask it,
  They had only just heard you were not going to come,
    And alack! and alas! they had ordered the casket!

  The address had been settled; the language was tall,
    The phrases were apt and so beautifully rounded,
  They had told of your pluck so well known to us all,
    And your praises, of course, they had suitably sounded.

  And then you can’t come!—­But it scarcely avails
    To become of excuses a common concocter,
  For if “pressure of business” will keep you from Wales,
    Why go down to Cambridge to pose as a Doctor?

  Yes, think once again of your promise, and so
    Just alter your mind, it would be much too hard if
  You left unfulfilled your engagement to go
    And receive (in a casket) the Freedom of Cardiff.

* * * * *

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