ience. The jolly spontaneity
of RONALD HAMMOND as young _Bimbo_ was a pleasant thing, and ELISE HALL,
concealing less successfully her careful training in the part, prettily
co-operated as his sister _Monkey_. The part of _Daddy_, the congested
author who was either "going to light the world or burst," was in O. B.
CLARENCE'S clever sympathetic hands. Mr. OWEN ROUGHWOOD gave you a sense
of his belief in the efficacy of star-dust. On what a difficult rail our
author was occasionally driving his express you may judge when he makes
this excellent but not particularly fragile British type exclaim, "I am
melting down in dew." The flippant hearer had always to be inhibiting
irreverent speculations occasioned by such speeches.

I couldn't guess if the children in the audience liked it. I hope they
didn't feel they had been spoofed, as MAETERLINCK so basely spoofed them
in _The Blue Bird_, by offering them a grown-ups' play "sicklied o'er
with the pale cast of thought." But the bigger children gave the piece a
good welcome, and called and acclaimed the shrinking author. T.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Princess Rosabel_ ... Miss Florence Smithson. _Florian_
... Mr. Eric Marshall.

_Princess Rosabel_ and _Florian_, a young man--though only a miller's
son--of considerable polish, especially about the hair and feet.]

* * * * *

"36 Magnificent, Acclimatised, Well-bred Dairy Cows, &c. Many of
these were bred on the Premises, and others were purchased from
a renowned Breeder of Friesland Cattle, and they need no comment
from the Auctioneers, but will speak for themselves."

_Natal Mercury._

Blowing their own horns, so to speak.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Irish Sergeant._ "Keep yer head down there! Don't ye
know that's the very place that Mike Rooney was shot through the fut?"]

* * * * *

THEY.

Just lately I have been thinking often of Them. But Their image has
never been more vividly in my mind than now, when I sit here among the
aftermath of festival. I wonder, for example, are the homes in which
They live pervaded with this same _debris_ of Christmas (or, as They
themselves are so fond of calling it, Yuletide)? Does dismembered turkey
coldly furnish forth Their meals? Are there too many calendars, and a
litter of crumpled paper? And cards--do They send each other cards?