Failing merry-go-rounds and cocoanut-shies, the delights of which are apt to pall, the English masses have still left to them their main redoubt of rational enjoyment, which, for reasons no man may skill, is called the music-hall. The English music-hall is practically an expansion or efflorescence of the old-fashioned "sing-song." Sixty years ago the man who went out to take a stoup of ale at his inn was accustomed to be regaled with a little music free of charge. Mine host had possessed himself of a second-hand piano, and secured the services of some broken-down musician to play it for him. There was a great singing of old songs, and the time sped merrily, as it did in the golden age. These feasts of harmony brought custom, and in course of time the evening "sing-songs" at certain hostelries became organised institutions and were run on lines of great enterprise, the piano being supplemented by an orchestra, and the pianist by a number of professional singers and entertainers. Within the last fifty years the "sing-song" has been separated from its parent the alehouse, and has developed into the music-hall. To-day the English music-halls are almost as thick on the ground as churches and chapels. In the metropolis you would have a difficulty to count them. In the provinces every town of size supports two or three halls, and insists on London talent and London style. The class of entertainment provided may be costly and amusing, but it is certainly not edifying. The performers almost to a man, and one might say to a woman, are persons who can be considered "artists" only in the broadest sense, and whose ignorance and vulgarity are as colossal as their salaries. Roughly, the entertainment may be divided into two sections, the one concerned with feats of strength, juggling, and the like, and the other with laughter-making and vocalism. As regards the first of these sections, a man who can balance a horse and trap on the end of his chin appears to give great satisfaction to an English audience. Why this should be so, nobody knows. The good purpose that may be served by balancing a horse and trap on the end of one's chin is not obvious; but the English masses are ravished by the spectacle. They also have a great fondness for the stout lady who catches cannon-balls on the back of her neck, for the other stout lady who risks her life nightly on the flying trapeze, for the gentleman who walks about the stage with a piano under one arm and a live mule under the other, and for the gentleman who rides the bicycle standing on his head. To the mind of the English masses these are marvels and well worth the money. They give a zest to life, they provide material for conversation, and their attraction seems perennial.