day evening when I went out to find the post-office. Nothing seemed plainer than instructions.

"Go straight down the road facing you, and you'll come to a church. Close by it is a house; letter-box inserted in side of house; box painted red, you know."

Of course I knew; set off with a light heart and handful of letters. A little way down high road, on right-hand side, lane suddenly opened and delved downwards. its sinuous course embowered in trees; where they failed, barricaded with hedges. High road seemed originally bent upon taking this direction; changed its mind; turned abruptly to left. Suppose a few traps driven down hill must occasionally have taken this dip; feeble attempt to avoid too frequent recurrence of accident made by setting posts on line of high road, and painting tops white. If, after this, anyone on pitch-dark night mistakes road, only themselves to blame. Other roads and lanes perplexingly branching out to right and left at short intervals; kept on steadily till church came in view; found the house; not difficult, as there was only one; also discovered letter-box painted red. Twenty minutes to five was hour for clearing box; barely that; posted letters. Turning away when observed remark on letter-box, "Next collection Monday."

Pretty go, this; postman evidently been before his time; no sign of him on wide expanse. Looking round perceived Elderly Gentleman sitting in garden behind house; doubtless this was the householder; apparently had anticipated Sunday by putting on best

"THE ART OF 'SAVOY FARE.'"

MR. D'OYLY CARTE is to be heartily congratulated on his brilliant mounting of Messrs. GILLIVAN and SULBERT's most recent production entitled Utopia (Limited). "Limited" it is in more senses than one. As there was, according to the immortal Cyrus Bantam, M.C., when he was giving his information to Mr. Pickwick, "nobody old or ugly in Ba-ath," so there is on "the spindle side" no one old or ugly on the stage of the Savoy Theatre. And this, too, with a difference, applies to Sir ARTHUR'S music, in which if there he nothing particularly new-and the old familiar friends receive the heartiest welcome-there is at all events nothing dull, even though it may "hardly ever" rise above mere commonplace. Occasionally there is a snatch of sweet melody that brings to mind the composer's happiest inspirations, whether in oratorio or burlesque.

As to dramatic plot-well, strictly speaking, there is none; and it would be difficult to name a single telling "situation," in Utopia (Limited). The Monarch of Utopia wishes to introduce English customs into his kingdom; there is a court party opposed to this innovation: that's the essence of it. In the First Act the one hit, is the introduction of Captain Corcoran from The Pinafore of years ago, and the repetition of the once popular catchphrase about "What never?" and 'Hardly ever," which, taken as applying to our most recent tragical ironclad disaster, is thoroughly

clothes; black frock coat, getting brown about the seams; high collar, nearly covering black stock; black waistcoat, which seemed to belong to other suit than the coat; (was buttoned close up over stock, whilst coat, with generous lapels folded back, buttoned low down); brown trousers, a little short in leg; stout green umbrella under left arm. Elderly Gentleman was sitting on rustic bench, with cup of cider at hand, and expression of serene content on his wrinkled face. A quaintly-coloured cup, with two handles close together, presumably with view to taking a good pull at contents. "Bin my grandfather's," he said, looking at it with affection, and incidentally half emptying it. There was a motto roughly scrawled by the potter; Elderly Gentleman read it to me:

Erth I am et es most trew,
Disdain me not for so be yew.

Thus it was spelled, but no one born out of Devon could convey the tremendous sound of the u in the rhyming words. This peculiar to the soil; even barndoor fowls have it; notice that gamecock at The Cottage when it wakes me early in the morning, always shrilly pipes "cock-a-doodle-dew!" Asked Elderly Gentleman if he lived here? Born in the house, he said. Was he going for a walk? No, only sitting about. Then why the umbrella? Ah! he always took it out of drawer with his Sunday clothes, and put it under his arm, if he was only sitting in the garden. But that's another story, told me after we had caught the postman.

Unlimited, of which Mr. BARRINGTON, as the Mr. Johnson, is the life and soul. Is this the remarkably original creation of the united intellects of Messrs. GILBERT and SULLIVAN ? Have they ever heard of, or did either of them ever see a burlesque entitled Black Eyed Susan at the Royalty, which ran a long way over six hundred nights, and in later days was revived at the Opera Comique and elsewhere? I will quote from the Times' notice of that burlesque :

"The court-martial arranged after the fashion of the Christy's orchestra, every admiral being dressed in a colour corresponding to his title, an actual 'nigger' figuring as Admiral of the Black, is another odd device which keeps the audience in a roar."

THE UNION OF ARTS. "Again we come to thee, Savoy."-Old Duet.

64

And it is this "odd device," with a Lord Chancellor, if I remember right, or some legal luminary in black, for one of the "corner men," which is, after all is said, sung, and done, just the one thing (of the two in the show) that brings down the house, and is applauded to the echo as the outcome of the combined whimsical originality of Messrs. GILBERT and SULLIVAN Imitation being the sincerest flattery, the author of Black Eye'd Susan must be indeed gratified by this tribute to his original success paid by the librettist and the composer of Utopia, and having no further use for this particular bit of humour, he will, no doubt, he willing to make a present of it, free of charge, for nightly use, to the distinguished Savoyards as a practical congratulation to the pair of them on their return to the scene of some of their former triumphs.

appreciated. Beyond this, as far as dialogue and music go, in the Mr. BARRINGTON is the life and soul of the show; withdraw him, First Act there is very little anyone would care to carry away with him" after a first visit. And if that little were carried away the residuum would offer scant attraction.

and then there would be precious little left to draw, excepting, of course, the mise en scène, due to Messrs. HARRIS and CARTE, if I may put the HARRIS before the CARTE, and to the Scenic Artist, CRAVEN. Nor must I forget to mention the Electric Lightists. Messrs. LYONS and KERR, which last is a queer combination of names, from the king of the forest to the lowest of snappy dogs. Miss ROSINA BRANDRAM is, of course, excellent in what she has to do, and Miss NANCY MCINTOSH is equal to the occasion of her appearance. PERCY ANDERSON's costumes are gorgeous and artistic; and to the Parisian Diamond Company are due the gems of the piece. The dances are by the ever fertile and agile D'AUBAN, and everybody who has contributed to the success of the show obtains honourable mention in the neat programme-card.

As for the Second Act, with its Royal Drawing-room scene, its splendid costumes, and its mimicry of Court etiquette, have we not witnessed a similar spectacle on a larger scale in a Drury Lane Pantomime, not so very many years ago? And was not that arranged by the same artistic stage-manager, who is now, by a wise dispensation of theatrical providence, in command at the Savoy, yclept Mr. CHARLES HARRIS? I fancy the Drury Lane Pantomime had the best of it in point of broad fun. as, if I remember right, HERBERT CAMPBELL was the Queen, and HARRY NICHOLLS the King. Before this scene is the principal hit of the Second Act, when the King, Mr. BARRINGTON,-to whom author and composer are under considerable obligations for the success of the piece, and without "INQUIRER" writes: "I see an advertisement of a series called whose acting, dancing, and singing the entertainment would fare The Aldine Poets.' Exceptional bards I suppose, as I was always indifferently well, with his counsellors, an admiral, a Lord Cham-given to understand that poets rarely eat anything. Will this series berlain, and so forth, place their chairs in a row, and detaching be followed by The Allunch Poets,' The Allbreakfast Poets,' and from the back of each seat a musical instrument, turn themselves The Allsup Poets'? The last-mentioned, of course, will sing in into a St. James's ("Hall" not "Court") Christy Minstrel Company, praise of ALLSUP'S Ale."

·

'JIM, YOU OPPENS THAT THERE GAATE FOR NO MAN!' AND AR'M DENGED IF AR DIS FOR A

Sportswoman. "Now, MY BOY, OPEN THE GATE, PLEASE, AND LET ME THROUGH."
Young Hodge. "MY ORTHERS IS
WOMAN!"

The policeman seems unequal
to the job-

Toughish job.
The constabulary fails to quell
the mob-

Rowdy mob.
So, as, very plainly, something
must be done-

Promptly done,
The suggestion of the "Cat"'s
a happy one-

Happy one!
And Mr. Punch, with picture
and poem (grimly earnest,
though of Gilbertian tone)
urges its application energetic-
ally home upon the powers

after hundreds, nay, thousands of years, remains, fresh as is the new laid egg itself! After being used a million billion times, it gives now the same pleasure as ever it did when it first issued from the brain of its brilliant creator! Such a practical joke as this is "not for an age, but for all time," until there shall be no longer left a hen to lay an egg, or, if there be an egg left by the expiring hen, there shall be no longer a person remaining to eat hen; or, if the person and the the egg left by the egg-spiring egg be there, the last man and the last egg, there shall be no ten minutes allowed for refreshment, as there will be no more time for anything!! SOCRATES, HOMER, OVID, HORACE, PLAUTUS, TERENCE, SHAKSPEARE, WATT, Sir THE breakfast-eating practical ISAAC NEWTON, cum multis aliis! joker, who can be credited with their names are remembered, and the humorous invention of placing their fame is to the end of the the shell of an egg (the edible world! While, alas, the name of contents of which he has pre- the True Wit who first chuckled viously extracted and swallowed) over his stroke of genius, is lost inverted in an egg-cup, so as for ever, no work of art perpetto deceive the first hungry person uates his name. But his humour arriving late into fancying that is usque ad finem omnium rerum! the others have considerately de

that be.

prived themselves in order that MRS. R. is not surprised that he may not be without his favour- the Valkyrie did not win, when ite delicacy, this originator, I say, it broke its pinnacle and did not was decidedly a genius. His work have a centipede.