Sir James Barrie has not yet exhausted the variations on his “enchantment” theme. After the enchanted wood of _Dear Brutus_, where people get a second chance in life, and the enchanted island of _Mary Rose_, where time stands still with you, he will with his next play sound enchanted bagpipes. These will be heard as a weird _obbligato_, whenever any one of the characters falls into insincerity, from _pp_ (amiable taradiddle) to _ff_ (thumping lie), and, while they are playing, the character will talk broad Scotch and sketch the postures of or, in extreme cases, wildly dance a Highland Reel. As the characters will be drawn exclusively from the Holland House set (the scene throughout will be one of the famous breakfasts), the extravagance of the compulsory fits of Caledonianism can be seen a mile off. The dismay of the poet Rogers (Mr. George Robey, specially engaged) at finding his best _méchancetés_, in his notoriously low voice, unexpectedly uttered in the broadest Scotch will only be equalled by the surprise of Sydney Smith at hearing his choicest witticisms in the same lingo. At one supreme moment the whole party will be joining in a Reel, led recalcitrantly but majestically by Lady H. Fashionable dames (a great opportunity for the costumier, and fabulous sums will be spent on the wardrobe) will suddenly change from lisping “vastly amusing I declare!” and rolled-collared _beaux_ from murmuring “monstrous fine women, egad!” to “aiblins,” “hoots, mon,” “hech, sirs,” etc. The situation will ultimately be saved by a little Scottish maiden, in a plaid (Miss Hilda Trevelyan), who, being sincerity itself, will never speak anything but the purest English, and a baby in a box nailed against the wall, who will not speak at all. For the enchanted bagpipes a squad of pipe-majors of the Black Watch, splendid fellows in review order, will be kindly lent from the Edinburgh garrison. Mr. Maugham has been to China, and has brought back a play which will aim at being as unlike _Mr. Wu_ as possible. In fact, no Chinaman will figure in it—Mr. Maugham would never do anything so artistically vulgar as that—nor anything Chinese except a little porcelain curio of the best period. This will be sold by auction in a scene (it will be the talk of London) faithfully reproducing a celebrated establishment in King Street, St. James’s, with Mr. Hawtrey and Miss Gladys Cooper as the rival bidders. It will serve, later, for chief _pièce justificative_ in a divorce case between the same parties (with a really witty judge—for he will have the wit of Mr. Maugham—who will make a certain actual humorist on the Bench green with envy), and in the end will be broken by an excited counsel (played by the famous crockery-smashing artist from the music-halls).