"Sir-1 voice

Then Mr Sothern recalled with an un comfortable feeling the last pages of- his great work, and his grand plans for tHe amelioration of humanity at arge. How much easier it was to be benevolent to a world at large than to this creature who was also a man and a brother. ■■•

"If he were only at large, I might con sider his case ; but he's too near, decidedly too near," thought the philanthropist, who saw the young man preparing for another embrace. "He is .a pleasing in giving "me so rare an opportunity, I suppose ; but how ho would brighten if he would only take his flight."

"My deliverer I" criod the young man, with a new access of enthusiasm. ■' " Tell •lie yonr name, that 1 may put it first in my prayers."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself," Mr Sothern exclaimed; "but' here is my. card."

" Ah," cried the other with a grateful gasp ; " in my orisons it shall be—but. you must know mine." .

" Not the least consequence." " True; of what am I thinking ? My old self dead—my old name also. You shall name me now ; I will never put a single fetter of that old life on mo again. Any thing you like, my dear friend ; only as the vorld is all before us whence to choose we might as well take a fine name. What an improvement if the whole thing were ar ranged in this way—to choose for ourselves when we arrive at years of discretion ! Now, what shall it be?" .

' What the devil do I care?"

"I incline to Howard—a noble, sonorous ring to it: 'Mot all the blood of all the Howards.' Percy Howard! how would that do?"

" As well as anything."

"Mrs Percy Howard ! if you had a' daughter—but you haven't ; perhaps a niece ?" " No." "If there could be anything to cement more closely the bond that unites us it would be "

" But didn't you speak of a lost lovp.?" suggested Mr Sothern, hoping to turn the fellow's thoughts to some potept spell of the past.

" Don't mentio» it ! All thatis over now. SI)*: was false—she had black hair ; now I shall find a gelden-haired girl witfi a true heart. Do you happen to know a golden haired girl with a true heart?"

" Heavens ! —if he should see Jean," thought Mr Sothern, with a«old ckll strik ing his veins,

And at that moment the sound of a little trill, soft and sweet as the- waking note of a woodland bird, was heard on the stairs. Then the door opened suddenly, and a radiant vision appeared—a young girl in one of the most ravishing pale-blue crepe tea-gowns—with billows of creamy laGe all over it, a petticoat of wing-hued brocado, beneath which little feet in high-heeled slippers and pale-blue silk stockings—"like little mice crept in and out."

But Percy Howard, as he called himself, did not regard the feet; his eyes were fixed upon the aureole of golden hair that floated about the fresh young face. "It is she—my soul's idol !" he cried, clasping his hands. "I mean she will bo my soul's idol!"

Jean stopped—flushed, and stepped back a little.

"Oh ! I did not know you had com pany," she said.

'' No —ha—is not," exclaimed Mr Sothern, hesitating. " Allow me," the young man said, hastily. "lam Percy Howard, and I hope we shall be bettor friends in time.' This gentleman is my guardian, and so I am not company, but one of the family." "His guardian !" cried Jean; "how nice !—why, now I shall "not be so" lonely, guardy dear." "By' Jove!" said Mr Scthern, below his breath ; "the girl's going daft, too, and the fellow is really good-looking, when he gets rid of his hangdog expression." "My dear," ho said, clearing his throat, " the young man is good enough to wish mo to assume relations which I really must de cline. He is, as you see, quite old enough to be his own master, and so "

"But you see there is no other course,' exclaimed Tercy Howard, in a calm tone. You cannot put me back into the state of mind in which you found me. I had no hope—life was a desert—now it blossoms as the rose" (with a rapturous look at Jean) ; "so, of course, you cannot rationally expect that I should hang myself again." Jean uttered a piteous little cry, and Mr Sothern an oath. "Well, well," he said, reading in the bluo eyes the pity which is said to be so dangerously akin to love, "I will think it over, and if you prove fit for anything—only—l am not ablo to arrange anything just now."

"I feel very weary myself," answered the young man ; " it's a good deal to go through in one evening—bidding adieu to the world and taking a dissolving view from an apple bough ; so if you will ring for a servant to show me a room, I'll say ta-ta for the present."

•" began Mr Sothern, in a furious

"My dear young lady," Howard went on, "I did not know such angols as you were in the world, or I neror would have wished to leave it,"

Jean should have looked at this presum ing young man with a frown of offended dignity; but strange to say, she smiled sweetly.

" What has got into the girl?" thought her guardian, " I must get the fellow out of the way ; there is a certain eloquence about him, and hb ia hot destitute of manner. I did not notice it while ho had the noose on his neck, "but I suppose a Chesterfiold would fail to impress me in that situation."

So with the best grace he aould ho showed the stranger into a room, and then stopped to say ft word of warning to his ward. "I think the fellow is a sort of crank," he said to her, confidentially;" so if he .stays here for a day or two you had better keep out of the way ; I don't want to cast him out on the world without a chance—l could never write another page of Rational Progress 'if I did; but it is an embarrass ing case!" "Arid \vas he really hanging himself?" asked" Jean, with intense, compassion. " How .very, very miserable the poor fellow must have been !"

"Deuce take it," thought Mr Sothern, " there is a strange sympathy for criminals in every woman's heart. This would be worse —much worse than that penniless ad vocate—for I suppose he is at least sane. My dear child," he said, kindly, "do not cherish any illusions about this individual. He probably deserves all the misery ho has ■—and more."

" But, oh, guardy, did you notice his eyes ?"

" Well—not particularly." " They are so pathetic," exclaimed Jean, with a little sigh, and then she vanished up stairs, leaving her guardian in a very unenviable frame of mind.

When Mrs Sothern, a few days after, sur prised Jean in the act pinning v rosebud in Mr Howard's buttoofpi she came to her husband in considerable trepidation. "When do you intend to get rid of that incubus?" she said, impatiently. . " My dear, I am looking about for a situa- I ion for him," her husband answered. •' I can't exactly feirn him out iin the street.

You see he tells me that if I had not inter fered he would have been provided for with out any further trouble to himseli, and so I am bound—-"

"Oh ! ye?, I heard; all that before," ex claimed his wife, impatiently, •' but when I see Jean making loytsto him under my very eyies——"■' . ,j& ~-... •-.-.' . .._

" Ah, that's all owing to the inconstancy of your sex, my dear," answered Mr Sothern. "Only a month ago she was pining for ori otljer penniless ad"ventuier —perhaps another lunaticmight oust this one, but then I don't want to turn my house into a lunatic asylum, I must reason with the girl." . "I'm afraid, Jean, you're letting your sympathy carry you top far," he said, when he had the opportunity.'

Jean was charming in a smoko-tinted satin with plush trimming. She had a be witching capote of the same tint and a long mist-hue feather that dropped over her fresh young face. She was going for a walk. *• Why, how do yon mean ?" she asked. " Yon are getting interested in this fel low who has billeted himself on us." "Billeted? Oh, how cruel!" cried the girl her eyes kindling. " You snatched him back from death-^wherehe would have been so comfortable, and now you want to fling him out on a cold world."

"See here, young woman, what was the name of a certain young aspirant to your hand, whose offer I cruelly declined, and to whom you vowed eternal fealty '!" ■ "Oh, suppose you are thinking of Russel Gay," the girl replied with a pout. ' There's no use digging up the past, as Percy says ; 'Life has glorious possibilitiesinthefuture.' "

"And one of those glorious possibilities for that,fellow is to get you and your fortune into his hands. I shall put him out neck and crop. I shall call the police." " Oh, no, guardy. You won't. It would ruin your reputation as a philan thropist. Why, think of the chance you have ; here is a human soul—a free, un trammelled human soul; he has no duties, he owes no allegiance to any one, he lias no ties, he is :yours—- a clean, white page for you to write on."

"Oh ! I'm not so certain about that clean, white page," growled Mr Sothern.

" Yon can make him what you will—you can experiment on his, plastic soul," said Jean with a laugh. "Imbnehim with your doctrines, let him lecture on your views, exemplify your theories of the perfectibility of man under certain influences. Give him those influences and you will see how his soul will expand—like a sunflower in the sun."

"That will do,'' grumbled Mr Sothern. " I recognise the fellow in your eloquence. Go and take your walk.'' "^'^StL^-'^S While they were gone, the guardian wrote the following letter : Ilussel Gay, Esq. —Dear Sir : Upon re flection I feel that I treated your proposal for the hand of my ward, Miss Jean Devereux, with too decided a negative. I would be glad to make your acquaintance, and if I find you worthy, I shall place no further obstacles in your way. Let mo know when you will find it convenient to visit us. Yours truly, Hugh Sothern. There was a subdued triumph in Mr Sothern's eyes as he met the young couple on their return. But he noted a new look of happiness in Jean's radiant face, and he feared that he was too late.

" My dear, I've just been writing to an old friend of yours. I hope, Mr Howard, you wont mind posting this, as I want it to go by the first mail." "Certainly," exclaimed that young gentleman with alacrity. "You know you have only to command me. ' Am I not yours?—a sort of flotsam and jetsam,' snatched from the billows of that sea that surrounds .all living.". "An old friend ';" exclaimed Jean ; " well, I don't know——" But Mr. Howard had the letter in his hand, and, to the amazement of all, tore it open. "By George ! this is too much," cried Mr Sothern, in great wrath: "you impudent puppy ! By what pretence do you open my letters ?"

■ " I am opening my letters,"answered the young man, coolfy, " and lam very grate full for your invitation. You see all moans are fair in love and war. Confess now it was ingenious."

Jean began to laugh, but her guardian did not quite uppreciate the joke. " IJou you mean to say you are " '•Yes, I am—Russel Gay at your service. If you inquire into my record you will find lam not a bad fellow. Positively I could not bear the exile from my dear girl any longer. I was ready to hang myself in earnest rather than live without her."

"And I suppose she is equally persuaded that she cannot live without you!" asked the guardian grimly. Jean blushed and was silent for a moment, but her hand had stolen into her lover's, and her look was more eloquent than speech. " Well, I must say I have a better opinion of you than I had an hour ago," said her guardian.

" Then I thought you were a fickle little baggage whose heart could not be worth much to any one. Now, we'll see. Let Mr. Gay give me a chance to know him, and if all ia satisfactory I shall not make him serve seven years. I shall be rather glad to transfer to him my fearful responsibility." The fearful responsibility gave her guar dian a rapturous little kiss, and her lover whispered softly ;

There comes a Bound of marriage bells.' Smwton's Story Teller.

Emperor William as a Sportsman.

Some truly wonderful accounts have recently been transmitted from Germany of the sporting achievements of the Emperor and of Prince William. His Majesty is re ported to have slain forty deer and wild boars in a day, while at Neuberg his grand son brotight down seventeen chamois in one day, a bag which obtained for him the con gratulations of the Emperor of Austria, which, • however, were probably ironical. Chamois-hunting among the Alps is, per haps, the most exciting sport that can be found in Europe, except bear-shooting, the surroundings of which, however, are of an entirely different" character. Bat people who'suppose'that Prince William and his party chased the chamois in the good old fashion are vastly mistaken. The fact is that these chamois are almost tame animals, as they are kept in a park, and when there is a battue the sportsmen take their stand at the end of a defile, and the luckless animals are driven through it by a regiment of drivers, literally passing within a few yards, so that it is a wonder that they are not blown to pieces. Each royal and noble sportsman has three jiiger to load their rifles. When the butchery is over, the dead chamois are hoisted into carts, and con veyed to the courtyard of the Schloss, where they are laid out upon pine-branches, and the jttger attend in the evening with lighted torches, when (the hunters come out after dinner to inspect their bag. The Emperor of Austria disdains this burlesque of sport, and usually goes out alone before sun rise, attended by a single jager, with whom he penetrates the most remote glens and valleys. He is probably the finest game shot in Europe. The German Emperor has the beaete driven past him as he sits in an easy-chair.— ,'Truth."

OUR LONDON FLANEUR.

Social, Theatrical, and Literary Gossip,

[Bt our Lonijon- Cokkespondevt],

l*i> for the Cattle Show—Amongst the Porkers—A Full Budget of Theatrical Intelligence—"Claudiax" at the Prin cesses'—A Remarkable Play and a Grkat Success — Outline op the Plot—Holy Clement's Curse—The EARTHQUAKE—EX traordinary scenic effect—a luckless Love—Atonement—Mr Wilson Barrett as " Claudian "—Opening of the New Alhambba—Sons ajjd Cray's Opeha, "The Golden Ring"—A Semi-euccess—Notable Aibs—The Story—"Wild Oats" at the Strand—Re-opening of tue Olympic—Mrs Conover's History — Failure oh the "Spider's Web"—New Books of Travel- Important Reprints—Mrs Lynn Linton'b "Tonk"—Programmes of the Magazines tor 1881.

London, December,

This is Cattle Show week, and agricultural England has, for the time being, abandoned ite usual pursuits and invaded London. They are a hearty, kindly, hospitable race, these farmers. All day they stroll up and down the aisles of the vast hall at Islington, poking fat beasts in the ribs, plunging their hands into the fleeces of the prize sheep, in specting new machinery, and stowing away vast potations of malt liquor. The pigs, somehow, seem to carry special attractions with them. On Wednesday afternoon, when I betook myself, northwards, this part of the Show was—despite odours of a pain fully pronounced character—by far the most crowded. Women (bcth young and old) evidently took- the fondest interest in the porkers' condition. One immensely fat female in deep mourning blocked up the gangway for fully rive minutes whilst »he discanted on the manifold charms of the prize boar. I tried in vain to overhear what she was saying, but could only catch— " Lor', Bill, ,'ow ypur pore dear feyther would have enfyed seem" that there pig." In the evening during Cattle Show week country folks fill the theatres to overflow ing, and it is delightful to listen to their jolly laughter and hearty applause. The Adelphi is the favourite rendezvous, for on the stage melodrama reigns supreme, and Farmer Hodge likes his play to be like his grog—hot and strong. Talking of plays reminds me that I must put off telling you what little social gossip is rife at present till my next, for the budget of theatrical intelligence this mail happens to be exceptionally full and interesting. The expectations raised with reference to the piece at the Princesses' have been more than realised. Whether regarded as a romantic drama of tragic power and in tensity, or as an accurate picture of life in Eastern Europe a few hundred years after the birth of Christ, " Claudian" is a remark able play.and ought to livelong in thememory of all who see it in London. To give you a wholly accurate impression of its many beauties will, I fear, be impossible, but the following outline of the story may convey some idea of them :—

The rising of the curtain displays, to the intense delight of the astonished audience,a scene that Alma Tademn himself might have painted. "It is" (to quote the description oi Mr Clement Scott) "a city rof white marble overlooking a sea of wave less blue." We are in the market place of Byzantium in the year of our Lord 362, a time when paganism was still struggling with Christianity, and when" the new Koine had not delivered up the last remnant of its luxury and Epicureanism. The stage is a mass of life and colour. Slaves ot every variety of tint and beauty lie at the back awaiting the auction, which will by-and by scatter them abroad. At the side area dozen or so of gladiators discussing feats of the arena, at another a group of students and philosophers conversing earnestly. Busy citizens, haughty patrician ladies, fol lowed by eunuchs and slaves, dark-skinned water-carriers, and cheery vendors of fruit pass and repass. Everything betokens the happy moment of a sensuous and extravagant age. And now the action of the piece commences. Into the midst of a knot of chattering art students bursts Theorus, a young sculptor, with the announcement that he is the hap piest man in the world. Asked why, Theorus explains that his adored wife Serena has till now been the slave of a patrician noble. This worthy is dead ;so Serena, with the rest of his property, will presently be put up to auction in the mar ket-place, and Theorus, lucky fellow, has saved the sum necessary to lansom her and make her a free woman and his own for ever. The bystanders cordially congratu late the young husband, and the fair haired Serena is clinging lovingly to him, when murmurs from the crowd proclaim the advent of some notability. In a moment the sunshine of life disappears for Theorus, and an agonising fear takes its place. The new comer is Claudian Andiates, the handsomest, strongest, wealthiest, and most dissolute noble in all Byzantium. Though blessed with youth, uncommon personal beauty, a majestic presence, and muscles of iron, Claudian is a clave to all the worst of conceivable pas sions. Bred up in luxury, and accustomed to have his lightest whim humoured, the man would be brave indeed who dared to thwart him. No woman is safe from Claudian. When Theorus hears he is coming, the unlucky youth hides Serena behind all the biggest stones, and prays that she may not be seen. Accompanied by a brilliant train of servants and syco phants, and preceded by soldiery, who lash a lane through the cringing crowd with whips, Claudian Andiates, a noble figure indeed, makes his appearance on the scene. At first Serena stand." unnoticed, but just as Claudian seems- to bo leaving, and the danger is over, an old wretch, Volpas by name, drag? the girl to light and commences to bid for her. For an instant Claudian'sattentien is attracted, and the mischief done. Despite the agon ised appeals of Theorus, and the prayers of Serena, Claudian buys the girl. "A brace let will soon dry her pretty tears," he says, " and as'for the husband, let him be given this diamond ring." Theorus throws the diamond into the river and springs upon his oppressor, but one blow from Claudian's mighty fist lays him prone on the ground. "To my palace with her !" says the great man, and retires. The populace, however, are_ furious at the treatment of their fellow citizen, and, roused by his appeals for assis tance, fall upon the soldiery. A wonder fully well managed street brawl follows, in the midst of which Serena makes her escape. The scene melts away, and we are in the rocky sanctuary of Holy Clement, a monk who lives in a mountain fastness near Byzantium. Hither comes the luckless Serena to claim hiding and protection. Claudian, however, follows and discovers her; moreover, undeterred by the monk's solemn warning, he pene trates holy ground and tries to seize his prey. Holy Clement, intervening, is ruth lessly slain, but before he dies he gathers up his strength and launches upon the head of the savage adulterer an awful curse. Claudi&n has taken Serena in his

arms, and, covering her senseless face with kissee, remarks rapturously, " With lips like these to kiss I could be young for ever." Clement, catching, up the last words cries with solemn wrath— " Be young for ever through the centuries, see generations born, and age, and die, and all who flattered, served, or loved thee dust; but thou live on. Thy course, like baneful star across the sky, shall blight and ■wither all upon thy track. To love thee, or to be beloved by thee, alike shall poison, maim, and kill. The innocent sunshine shall die out before thee, and the black shadow of misfortune follow. Thy soul shall hunger, thirst, and famish to do good, and try in vain to do it. The happiness as pure as crystal well, touched by thy lips, shall become muddy at its source. Thy pity shall envenom what 'twould soothe, be poison to the wound, till thou couldst pray for the hard heart again thou hast to day. Thy charity, which might have com forted one-half the kingdom's poor, breed pestilence and ruin—until the vaulted rocks shall split, a gulf be struck 'twixt thee and me, then thou shalt choose either to die or live accurst till doom. From dying lips thiscurse from heaven has fallen." The curse is no sooner uttered than a subtle change comes over Claudian. He no longer desires to make Serena his mistress. On the contrary, he will restore her to Theorus, and endeavour to pacify the offended gods by makinc the young couple happy. He will, indeed, do anything to get rid of the strange chill at his heart. Turning to Serena, who still lies half-fainting close by,. Claudian tells her of his changed intentions. But the curse already works, and his first attempt at well-doing brings sorrow to the persons he wishes to kelp, for Serena, worn out, dies at the unhappy man's feet. With a bitter cry of anguish Claudian falls agonisedly before the dead monk's crucifix, and the curtain falls.

"Be Young for Centuries." A hundred years have passed, and we are now at a vineyard feast in Carydos, a city of Bibtynia. Thither, .still young, wealthy, and powerful, comes Claudian, currying, alas ! the awful curse with him. To his friends he brings ruin, to his acquaintances misfortune ; to any country he resides in, war and famine. Things ha-ve arrived at such a pass'that he dare not try to do good. Worn out by the solicitations of a poor woman with a starving child, Claudian gives her a guinea. Ten minutes iater the little one dies. Instances of this kind multiply, and the natives begin to suspect the wealthy stranger of possessing an "evil eye." Amongst others Claudian accidentally meets Almida, a lovely young girl, just betrothed to her first and only love—Agazil, a blacksmith. One glamee suffices to rivet Almida's heart eternally to Claudian. The old love is forgotten—she knows not why. It may be she has been bewitched (as Agazil suggests),but Claudian alone is her love, her life, her master. In vain Claudian warns the girl that he is the most miserable, the most unfortunate of mankind. Before a throng of friends Almida openly avows her attachment, but as Claudian's hand touches her's, and they are about to embrace, the hapless girl totters and falls. She has been struck blind. The greater part of the third act is taken up with some ex-citing scenes, in which a lecherous old tetrarch persecutes the blind Almida, who is seeking for the mysterious Claudian. Of course, at the right moment the latter rescues her, but even then he hesitates to link the maiden's lot with his. Kow comes the finest scene in the play. We are at Claudian's palace—a magnificent pile, supported by massive marble pillars. Everything is on a leviathan scale—solid, vast, and splendid. The female slaves gossip in the great hall, and almees dance there. At last, however, Claudian comes, and the retainers disap pear. Almida is with him, and still prays he will marry her. The tussle between love and conscience proves severe. Again and again Claudian hesitates, but at length love wins. The unhappy man is about to step forward and embrace his betrothed, when an earthquakereduces the city to chaos. No such scene as this has ever been imagined before, much less successfully carried out. The way in which the temples and palaces were crushed to atoms, the mighty pillars fell in, and the walls tumbled to pieces, was appalling. Every human being seemed to be dead save Claudian, who, standing un hurt in the lurid grandeur of this awful scene, murmurs out the miserable words, "But I shall live on." The last act takes place amidst the ruins of Carydos. Claudian, believing Almida to be dead, and mindful that according to Clement's prophecy "the vaulted rocks have split," calls upon the monk to redeem his promise and give him death. The ghost of the holy man appears, and, believing in Claudian;s purification by suffering, grants his prayer. He must, however, decide whether to live on for ever accursed or to die blessed before the moon sets. The arrival of Agazil and Almida, who have been miraculously saved from the eartaquake, explains this alterna tive, and once more Claudian's heart is torn with mortal love. Fortunately, lie remembers the disastrous consequences of .such a passion, not only to himself, but to the innocent Almida and her lover. Sacri fice and atonement alone remain for him. With a great cry, the suffering man invokes death, and is instantly struck down by lightning. At the same moment the blind girl recovers her sight, and the spell which laudian's affection cast over her heart being removed, she rushes into Agazil's arms.

It will be easily seen from the foregoing that " Claudian " is practically a one-part play, all the other characters merely re volving round the central figure. Mr Wilson Barrett undertakes the character at the Princesses', and achieves therein the crowning triumph of his long and pains taking career. I dcubt very much whether even Irving could play "Claudian" as well. Mr Barrett looks an arrogant Koman noble to the life. The. classic costume (utterly impossible to nine actors out of ten) sits most gracefully on his well-knit figure, and every movement is easy .and dignified. In other respects "Claudian " might have been much better cast, for Miss Eastlake (always the same in every part she plays) is not strong enough for Almida, and Mr Willard seems wholly out of his element as the monk, Clement.

The new Alhambra was opened to the public on Monday, December 3rd, just twelve months from the time the old house disappeared in ashes*. I can't say I think the architect is to be congratulated on his work. A year ago the Alhambra was unique amongst European play - houses. Now, though commodious and perhaps unburn able, it is a gaudy horror decorated in vermilion and prussian blue like a booth at a country fair. Both auditorium and stage have been considerably enlarged, but even this change is a drawback rather than an advantage. In old days the ballet comfort ably filled the scene, now it looks decidedly skimpy. The auditorium, too, has aprison like appearance, and gives one the shivers. The doors to the private boxes are of iron, and theirinteriorH resemble nothing so much as comfortable family vaults. In Bummer time the Alhambra, with its Btone stair cases, metal balconies and asvestas paint will, no doubt, be pleasantly cool, but at present, with the thermometer at freezing point, and snow on the ground, I prefer a less " generally improved" edifice. The opening piece, " The Golden King," a fairy opera comique, the work of Sims and Clay

(of " Merry Duchess " fame), was received very favourably by the critics?, and certainly contains some pretty ballads. Personally, however, I thought both spectacle and music much below the old Alhatibra standard. The ballet, as I have said, seemed lost on the enlarged stage, and the procession, which closed the last act, was a failure. The only encores received were for a tenor ballad entitled "The Last Good - bye," and a buffo song, " I Shall Leave My Good Lady at Home," excellently sung by Mr J. G. Taylor, who I believe is known in the colonies^ The late lamented Mr Euclid might be able to unravel the plot of the "Golden Ring.' I couldn't. There were good fairies and bad fairies, noble princes and naughty ones, a rakieh old king, and a jealous old queen. What they and a great many more strange people were doing I'm sure I can't say, but whenever anybody got into trouble, the "golden ring" (which was, of course, a magic one, and passed from hand to hand) got nim or her out again. A far saner and an infinitely more amusing evening's entertainment is to be seen just now at the Strand Theatre, where young Compton, son of the famous deceased comedian of that name, and Miss Virginia Bateman are drawing crowded houses in " Wild Oats." Compton has proved a true "chip of the old block.' His "Jack Rover" is an admirable performance ; and if, as I hear, he and his wife (Virginia Bateman) intend visiting the antipodes professionally next winter, you have a real treat before you.

Mrs Conover, an amateur unknown to fame, has taken the Olympic Theatre for a season, and opened it last week with the "Spider's Web," a comedy by Henry Pettit, which failed so utterly and com pletely that to refer to it further would be sheer waste of time. A revival of the everj green "She Stoops to Conquer" is now talked of. Mrs Conover is the lady to whom Mr Oretton, the great brewer and turfite, left an immense fortune abont a year ago. The deceased's relative* were naturally furious, but as the will was in rci/lc, nothing could be done. Gretton drank heavily towards the end of his life, and pleas of "undue influence " and " insanity :> were discussed. The case however, never came to anything. It is not often I read books of travel, but last week I got through two and enjoyed them both thoroughly. One was Mr Gilmour's " Among the Mongols," and the other a cheap edition of the " Voyage of the Vega." The former seemed to me specially entertaining, and being by a missionary may be put into anybody's hands without fear. Talking of cheap editions, be sure (if you haven't already seen it) to procure a copy of the new issue of Lady Blomfield's " Reminiscences of Court and Diplomatic Life." It was the. great book of last London season, and ran through six editions in the expensive form. Another cheap re-issue that haa had a prodigious sale is the " Recollections of a Literary Life," by Mary Russell Mitford, nor must I omit to mention " Memories of Old Friends from the Journals of Caroline Fox, of Pevyerrick," which is now obtainable for six shillings.

Mrs Lynn Linton'a new novel, "lone,"is a love story of profound intensity and tragic power, but few -will lay it down without a feeling of satisfaction that they have got to the end. The heroine, lone, bears a strong family likeness to far abler creations of this author, to wit, "Lizzie Lorton and Learn Dundas." She is a most disagreeable female, either sensuously affectionate or stormily jealous, and when, after leadin" her husband a rare life, she stabs him in a fit of passion, one feels that next to com mitting suicide, she has done him the greatest kindness within her nower, " Annan Water," Robert Buchanan's' latest effort, is written on the same line as "a "Child of Nature," but will not compare with "God and the Man,'1 or "TbeShadow of Sword." It is a dull book on the whole. The programmes issued by the leading magazines for 18S4 are now out. "Temple Bar" will, as usual, be specially stron Erin fiction. Miss Fothergill (whose " First Violin " and " Kith and Kin "' were such popular stories) once again supplies the principal serial, a romance entitled" Peril," and an anonymous writer has in preparation a novel called " Zero." The "Gentlemen's" will also rely on an anonymous work. -It has been christened " Philistia," and is attributed to Mr Laurence Oliphant. " The Lover's Creed," by Mrs Cashel Hoev, will be the piece tie resistance of " Belgravia " and Wilkie Collins is writing a sensational story styled "I Say No" for "Time." " Longman's," of course, continues Clark Russell's "Jack's Courtship," which so far has disappointed every body, and "Harper's" hope to make a hit with ">Vm. Black's Elizabethan romance, "Judith Shake speare" The "English Illustrated Maga zine " retains its reputation as an admirable sixpennorth in so far as the illustrations are concerned, but the letterpress is still a touch too heavy for the general public. The six penny "Cornhill," on the contrary, improves steadily. Some of the short stories in the first volume (which iw now published at 4s 6d, and contains an admirable selection of miscellaneous reading) are exceptionally clever, and have been most favourably noticed by the " Westminster " and other reviews. Charles Reade will finish a new three-volume novel this month. He has sold it to the Tilloteons of Bolton, who arc arranging with a comprehensive syndicate ot newspapers for the publication of the story in weekly portions. Miss Braddon primarily issues all her novels in this way nowadays. The principal serial in "Cassell's Magazine " for the coming year is " Within the Clasp," a story of the Yorkshire jet finders, by John Berwick Harwood, and ."Good Words" will rely on Miss Linskill's " Between the Heather and the Northern Sea" and Mins Sarah Tytler's " Beauty and the Beast." To the .January number of the latter magazine Princess Beatrice con tributes a paper. I had intended to say a word or two about the new dance music for Christmas, but this letter is already too long, so the subject ■must stand over till my next. P.S.— I learn this morning Gilbert and Sullivan's " Princess" is to be produced at the Savoy on January sth, and that Plan quette's "Nell G-.yynne" replaces "La Vie" at the Avon iv; about the same date. A revival of " A Sc.ap of Paper " is medi tated at the St. James's, and either " Peril " or "Diplomacy" will follow "Lords and Commons "at the Haymarket. " Camaral zaman " has been selected by Burnand as the subject of his Christmas piece at the Gaiety.

The Princess Alice on her Position.

Thirty-nine years of not enviable reign, if it were not for the sake of the services which one can render one's country and the wotlji in general. Private individuals are natur ally much better ofT; our privileges contain more duties than advantages, and their non existence would be no privation in compa rison with the enormous gain of being one's own master, and on the same footing with other people, and of being able to know men and the world as they are, and not only as they choose to show themselves to us in order to please m.-Letter from, /'ri.ctia Alice to Qmeii Victoria.

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, FEBRUARY 23, 1884.

3