And that (very nearly) was _Lord Charles Temperleigh's_ luck. Being a spendthrift he was kept at The Bungalow, Ashford, without money; he escaped to the shop of his old nurse at Mudborough, with the idea of borrowing from her--and if you are a clever dramatist you can easily arrange that he should be left alone in the shop and mistaken for the genuine salesman. Unfortunately for my complete happiness (and no doubt _Lord Charles's_ too) the shop was a chandler's; however, if that is not the rose, it is at least very near it. The chandler sells soap and the grocer sells cheese, and you can make a joke about the likeness as Mr. R. C. CARTON did. And if _Lord Charles_ should happen to be Mr. CHARLES HAWTREY and he should be accompanied by Miss COMPTON, you can understand that this and other jokes would lose nothing in their delivery. Yet somehow the shop scene was not the success it should have been. The First and Third Acts were better; they left more to Mr. HAWTREY. When Mr. CARTON is trying to be funny, even Mr. HAWTREY cannot help him much; but when he is taking it easily then he and Mr. HAWTREY together are delightful. Mr. EDWARD FITZGERALD as an Irish waiter was a joy. Miss COMPTON was Miss COMPTON; if you like her (as I do), then you like her. The others had not much chance. It is a HAWTREY evening, and (as such) an oasis in a desert of War thoughts. M. * * * * * A PRELUDE. ["Birds in London are already growing alive to the approach of Spring."--_The Times._] A portly, fancy-vested thrush, That carolled, on a wintry spray, A crazy song of Spring-time--Hush! No, not the one By MENDELSSOHN Victorian Britons used to play, But just the sort of casual thing An absent-minded bird might sing. Observing whom--"Alas," I said, "Good friend, how premature your theme! By some phenomenon misled, You've overshot The date a lot; Things are so seldom what they seem!" "Then hear the simple truth," quoth he, "For that's another rarity. "There is a foreign, furious man, That sends great engines through the air To deal destruction where they can, To rain their fires On ancient spires, Ousting the birds that settle there, And agitates, of fixed intent, Our pleasaunce in the firmament. "And everybody says the Spring Will see him pay the price of it, So that is why I choose to sing What isn't true-- But as for you, Be off and do your little bit! It's not for you to stand and quiz-- The season's _what I say it is!_" * * * * * "A Chicago Reuter message says that Hugh Henderson has won the American draughts championship by defeating Alfred Jordan, the London champion. Draught horses were in most demand at Aldridge's, St. Martin's-lane, yesterday, and the sums obtained ranged from 30gs. to 49gs." _Daily Telegraph_.