s and
sermons. The dancing-master was perfect. Then came a bit of Colman's
"Heir at Law." Dr. Pangloss--again I regret the absence of the
programme--was a creation, and--notwithstanding the proximity of King's
College to the Strand Theatre--the youth wisely abstained from copying
even so excellent a model as Mr. Clarke. Of course, the bits of Latinity
came out with a genuine scholastic ring. Then a bit of a Greek play, at
which--mirabile dictu!--everybody laughed, and with which everybody was
pleased. And why? Because the adjuncts of costume and properties added
to the correct enunciation of the text, prevented even those, who knew
little Latin and less Greek, from being one moment in the dark as to
what was going on. The passage was one from the "Birds" of Aristophanes;
and the fact of a treaty being concluded between the Olympians and
terrestrials, led to the introduction of some interpolations as to the
Washington Treaty, which, when interpreted by the production of the
American flag and English Union Jack, brought down thunders of applause.
The final chorus was sung to "Yankee Doodle," and accompanied by a
fiddle. The acting and accessories were perfect; and what poor Robson
used to term the "horgan" of Triballos, was wonderful. That youth would
be a nice young man for a small tea party. It is to be hoped that, like
Bottom the weaver, he can modulate his voice, and roar as gently as any
sucking-dove.

Most wonderful, however, of all the marvels--that met me at my old
school--was a scene from the "Critic," played by the most Lilliputian
boys. Puff--played by Powell (I don't forget that name)--was simply
marvellous. And yet Powell, if he will forgive me for saying so, was the
merest whipper-snapper. Sir Christopher Hatton could scarcely have
emerged from the nursery; and yet the idea of utter stolidity never
found a better exponent than that same homoeopathic boy.

Last of all came the conventional scene from Moliere's "L'Avare." Maitre
Jacques was good; Harpagon more than good. I came away well satisfied,
only regretting I had not brought my eldest boy to see it. My eldest
boy! Egad, and I was just such as he is now, when I used to creep like a
snail unwillingly to those scholastic shades. The spirit of Pangloss
came upon me again as I thought of all I had seen that day,--there was
nothing like it in my day. King's College keeps pace with the times.
"Tempora mutantur!" I mentally exclaimed; and added, not without a