The few theatres now open seem to be doing uncommonly good business. The Shaftesbury, with _Morocco Bound_, was as nearly full as it could be in the first week of September, when the cry is not yet "They are coming back," but they are remaining away. Another week will make all the difference. _Morocco Bound_ is not a piece at all, but a sort of variety show, just held together by the thinnest thread of what, for want of a better word, may be temporarily dignified as "plot." Mr. CHARLES DANBY is decidedly funny in it. Mr. TEMPLAR SAXE is a pretty singer. Mr. GEORGE GROSSMITH well sustains the eccentric reputation of his family name; and, if any opposition manager could induce the present representative of _Spoofah Bey_ to appear at another house, it would be "all up" with _Morocco Bound_, as such a transfer would entirely take "the Shine" out of _this_ piece. Miss JENNIE MCNULTY does nothing in particular admirably; and Miss LETTY LIND, charming in her _entr'acte_ of skirt-dancing, is still better in her really capital dance with the agile CHARLES DANBY. This entertainment has reached its hundred and fiftieth night (!!!), and all those who are prevented from going North to stalk the wily grouse may do worse than spend a night among the Moors in _Morocco Bound_. Oddly enough, but quite appropriately, the acting-manager in front, who looks after the fortunes of Morocco and its Moors, is Mr. A. BLACKMORE. Out of compliment he might have let in an "a" after the "k," dropped the final "e," and given himself a second "o." Still, in keeping with the fitness of things, he has done well in being there. * * * * * ANCIENT SAWS RESET. "All work and no pay makes JACK a striking boy." "All pay and no work makes JACK'S employer go without a shirt." * * * * * During the recent tropical weather, Mrs. R. observed that it was the only time in her life when she would have given anything "just to have got a little cold." * * * * * [Illustration: ON HIS HONEYMOON TOO! _Man with Sand Ponies._ "NOW THEN, MISTER, YOU AN' THE YOUNG LADY, A PONY APIECE? 'ERE Y'ARE!" _Snobley (loftily)._ "AW--I'M NOT ACCUSTOMED TO THAT CLASS OF ANIMAL." _Man (readily)._ "AIN'T YER, SIR? NE' MIND." (_To Boy._) "'ERE, BILL, LOOK SHARP! GENT'LL HAVE A DONKEY!"] * * * * * "THE BOOK THAT FAILED." [A publisher writes to _The Author_ to say that, for the first time in his experience, the writer of a book which was not a success has sent him an unsolicited cheque to compensate him for the loss he has sustained by producing it.] AS THINGS ARE TO-DAY. _Publisher (nastily)._ I tell you that it's no earthly use your asking about profits, because there are none.