I shrink from the odious task of distinguishing between the merits of a most admirable cast, but I must mention the delightfully piquant drollery of Miss SYDNEY FAIRBROTHER as _Mrs. Micawber_, and the too-brief excellence of Mr. ROY BYFORD as the _Waiter_ of the "Golden Cross," and Mr. GAYER MACKAY as _Littimer_. Mr. QUARTERMAINE'S _Uriah Heep_--a very careful study--seemed perhaps too obviously stamped from the start with the hallmark of villany. Conversely the _Betsey Trotwood_ of Miss AGNES THOMAS appeared to be lacking in austerity of mien. One shared Mr. NIGEL PLAYFAIR'S enjoyment of the futility of _Mr. Dick_; but this freakish figure, so typical of DICKENS, seemed always a little out of the picture. Though _Mrs. Gummidge_, played with a sound restraint by Miss ADA KING, insisted from time to time upon the fact that she was a "lone lorn creetur'," we were spared a good many of the author's reiterated tags, and I think it was not till his friends had guaranteed to lubricate his passage to the New World that _Mr. Wilkins Micawber_ so much as alluded to his habitual expectation of something "turning up." The popularity of the production promises to be exceptional, and with good reason, apart from the high quality of the performance. For with its human tenderness, and the relief of its gaiety, it offers just the right kind of distraction to the strain of public emotion in these times. And, though its matter bears no relation to the subject which absorbs our hearts, the very name of CHARLES DICKENS makes immediate appeal to that national spirit which the War has reawakened. O. S. * * * * * [Illustration: TWO HERBERTS IN THE FIELD. [In the scene of the emigration ship the entrance of _Micawber_ follows with startling rapidity upon the exit of _Dan'l Peggotty_.] Sir HERBERT TREE (as _Dan'l Peggotty_) to Sir HERBERT TREE (as _Micawber_). "THEER, I ZED 'TWOULD HAPPEN ZO ONE OF THESE VINE DAYS. YOU'VE TURNED UP TOO ZOON!"] * * * * * TO SOME OF OUR EDITORS. Ye pundits who edit our papers, How long will it take you to learn That mere egotistical capers Are not of the highest concern? The writers who cut them for ages In the nostrils of England shall stink, Yet while able to hamper, you pet and you pamper These slingers of poisonous ink. In the stress of a conflict Titanic, When personal sorrow is mute, We see them beset with a panic Of losing their chances of loot; So they start with indecent endeavour, On the flimsiest pretext and hint, Criticising and squealing, but only revealing Their passionate craving for print.