periment. The gratuitous soap is accompanied by the prospectus of a
perfume, which "never becomes faint," and a preparation for the hair,
which makes it "soft and glossy for ever." We are quite sure that the
individual who sent the announcement to us can have no notion of the
disorderly haycock which does duty on the top of our poll for a head of
hair, or he would never undertake to render it "permanently," or even
for one moment "soft and glossy."

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE TWO DROMIOS.]

* * * * *

BULLY BOTTOM.

Bully _Bottom_ is, in truth, "translated" by MR. PHELPS. Translated from
matter-of-fact into poetic humour--translated from the commonplace
tradition of the playhouse to a thing subtly grotesque--rarely, and
heroically whimsical. A bully _Bottom_ of the old, allowed sort, makes
up his face--even as the rustic wag of a horse-collar--to goggle and
grin; and is as like to the sweet bully of PHELPS--bears the same
relation in art to the _Bottom_ of Sadler's Wells--as the sign-post
portrait on the village green to a head, vital by a few marvellous dots
and touches of RICHARD DOYLE. In these days we know of no such
translation! Translate a starveling Welsh curate into a Bishop of
London, and PHELPS'S translation of _Bottom_ the weaver shall still
remain a work of finer art, and--certainly to all humanising intents of
man-solacing humour--of far richer value. We have had, plentiful as
French eggs, translations of facile, delicate French into clumsy,
hobbling British; and now, as some amends, we have _Bottom_ translated
by PHELPS from dull tradition into purest airiest SHAKSPERE. MR. PHELPS
has not painted, dabbed, we should say, the sweet bully with the old
player's old hare's-foot; but has taken the finest pencil, and, with a
clean, sharp, fantastic touch, has rendered _Bottom_ a living weaver--a
weaver whose brain is marvellously woven, knitted up, with self-opinion.

Now this, we take to be the true, breathing notion of SHAKSPERE, and
this notion has entered the belief of the actor, and become a living
thing. _Bottom_ is of conceit all-compact. Conceit flows in his
veins--is ever swelling, more or less, in his heart; covers him from
scalp to toes, like his skin. And it is this beautiful, this most
profitable quality--this human coin, self-opinion, which, however
cracked, and thin, and base, may be put off as the real thing by the
unfailing h