tears by
the unsusceptibility of her Godchild (MR. OWEN NARES).]

Altogether a pleasant wholesome evening's entertainment. Young men and
maidens of our day needn't hesitate to take their parents.

"ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGONS."

There is much more of the substance of wit and truth in Mr. EDEN
PHILLPOTTS' "Devon comedy" at the Kingsway. The _St. George_ of the
title is not the Cappadocian, but that somewhat irreverent Father in
God, _St. George Loftus_, Bishop of Exeter; the dragons are two quite
unsuitable suitors for the hands of _Monica_ and _Eva_ (daughters of
his dull old friend, _Lord Sampford_), who don't believe in class
distinctions. _Monica's_ young man is the son of a yeoman farmer,
personable, certainly, on horseback and of a blood older than the
_Sampfords'_, but an essential resilient, and altogether impossible when
playing the concertina or after mixing his drinks (or both). _Eva's_
follower is a brilliant raw young man from Glasgow, recently ordained,
with professional ambitions as pronounced as his accent.

The parents try the now exploded method of direct opposition. _St.
George's_ weapons are smooth words and a heart chokefull of guile. Does
his god-daughter _Monica_ want to elope with her yeoman? By all means
let love have his sacred way. But his lordship will contrive in the
_role_ of a strayed and bogged fisherman to be at Stonelands Farm before
the young couple arrive _en route_ for London and the registry-office,
and he will see to it that _Monica_ learns what the daily life of a
working farmer is like, and what the beer (or bad champagne for festal
occasions) and rabbit pie in the kitchen; with sudden frank explanations
as to the imminence of the crisis in the interesting condition of
_Snowdrop_ the Alderney; what, too, is the Stonelands' notion of music
and the dance, with Teddy's braying concertina and cousin Unity's
quavering treble and the ragged bass and candid speech of old _Caunter_,
the head man.... So much for _Monica_.

And _Eva_ thinks she wants to tie herself to this crude Glaswegian.
Well, here it will be best to insinuate to the young man how unfortunate
it is that the vacant chaplaincy to the Bishop of Exeter is designed
for a celibate, and to the young woman that to marry so brilliant (and
ingenuous) a youth is to hang a millstone round his neck. For, after
all, muses the prelate, revealing dreadful depths of low cunning and
perfidy, it's easier to change a chaplain than a h