Appreciation of the drama is neither strong nor clear in at least one part of the vicinity of Shakespeare’s native town. After the busy time of the ‘Tercentenary,’ Mr. Julian Young sent his servants to the theatre in Stratford. They had never been in a playhouse before. The piece represented was ‘Othello.’ On the following morning, wishing to know the effect of the drama on his servants’ minds, Mr. Julian Young questioned them in their several departments. The butler was impressed to this effect: ‘Thank you, sir, for the treat. The performers performed the performance which they had to perform excellent well--especially the female performers--in the performance.’ The more impulsive coachman, in the harness-room, exclaimed, ‘’Twas really beautiful, sir; I liked it onaccountable!’ But when he was asked what the play was about he frankly confessed he didn’t exactly know; but that it was very pretty, and was upon sweet-hearting! On a former occasion, when the gardener and his wife had been treated to the Bristol Theatre, their master, on the next day, asked, ‘Well, Robert, what did you see last night?’ The bewildered fellow replied, after a pause, ‘Well, sir, I saw what you sent me to see!’ ‘What was that?’ ‘Why, the play, in course.’ ‘Was it a tragedy or a comedy?’ ‘I don’t know what you mane. I can’t say no more than I have said, nor no fairer! All I know is there was a precious lot on ’em on the theayter stage; and there they was, in and out, and out and in again!’ The wife had more definite ideas. She was all for the second piece, she said, ‘The pantrymine, and what I liked best in it was where the fool fellar stooped down and grinned at we through his legs!’ Good creature! after all, her taste was in tune with that of King George III., who thought Garrick fidgety, and who laughed himself into fits at the clown who could get a whole bunch of carrots into his mouth, and apparently swallow them, with supplementary turnips to make them go down! The gardener’s wife, therefore, need not be ashamed. She is not half so much called upon to blush as the wife of the treasurer of Drury Lane Theatre, who was one of a score of professional ladies and gentlemen dining together some forty years ago. The lady hearing ‘Venice Preserved’ named, made the remark that she believed ‘it was one of Shakespeare’s plays, was it not?’ We have ourselves a bill of Drury Lane, not ten years old, in which ‘Othello’ is announced as Bulwer’s tragedy, &c.; but that, of course, was a misprint. On our showing it in the green-room, however, not one of the performers saw the error!