Mr. Mark Lemon has many authorities in favour of the mode of decoration he adopted being strictly Shakspearian. Setting the scenes, as far as chairs and tables were concerned, and hanging the placards by appropriately dressed attendants in sight of the audience, without lowering the curtain, had a quaint effect. To have been consistent, he should have excluded the fair sex from his dramatis persona; the stage should have been strewed with rushes; the musicians placed in a box in the flies; the audience supplied with playing cards, ale, nuts, and tobacco; and the roof of the Gallery of Illustration bodily removed. We should then, if the performance had taken place in the day time, and if ladies had come in masks and sedan chairs, have had a theatre completely of the Elizabethan period. As it was, the appearance of the stage was a novelty to the present generation; and the inconsistency of tapestry instead of scenery, with a clear stage and no rushes, gas light, a pretty Dame Quickly, and a comfortable little theatre properly roofed in, was reasonably permitted without complaint.

A very much more dangerous experiment was that of taking a play by Shakspeare to pieces, and performing parts of it separated from the whole. Such a proceeding would have been denounced as Vandalism of the highest order, had it been attempted with any other scenes than those chosen. Their excision was prudently and skilfully managed, and really did no violence to the plays concerned: the scenes selected containing a consistent plot distinct from the principal action of the dramas of which they form a part.

Falstaff is shown associating with the Prince of Wales, who encourages his dissipation and lawless doings: the famous highway robbery takes place, and is followed by the knight's marvellous recital of his exploits. The account of the men in buckram was most effectively given by Mr. Mark Lemon, who throughout all the scenes, and especially in this, contrived, while playing the part with unctuous humour, to convey an impression of Falstaff's superiority to his associates altogether independent of the text. Scene 4, act ii., of the "First Part of King Henry IV.," in which Falstaff impersonates the King, and which is usually omitted in the play, was judiciously restored, and afforded Mr. Lemon further opportunity of giving more dignity to his impersonation than is generally attributed to the character. Whether owing to this new reading of the part or to the rapid action of the entertainment, greater interest was excited in the lusty knight than is felt for him during the performance of the complete play. The spectator was brought to sympathise with his troubles and misfortunes; and when,

in the last scene of all, he was disgraced and dismissed from court, a pang of pity was experienced at his downfall.

This feeling was enhanced by Mr. Lemon's admirably conveying Falstaff's sense of his own humiliation. By a sudden change of countenance and manner, from that of sanguine hope to the expression of utter despair, the jaunty knight, whose doings hitherto had been the cause of laughter and derision, at once became the object of commiseration and regret. By thus terminating the entertainment, poetical justice was satisfied, and a healthy tone given to the whole representation.

Mr. Mark Lemon's Falstaff is a new creation. He has apparently studied the character more as a critic than an actor, and consequently impersonates it with more intelligence than would otherwise be the case. By nature he is "made up" for the part, and his special knowledge and vocation have necessarily given him an appropriate education for it.

Among the many points in Falstaff's speeches made much of by the audience, the words—

"I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men,"

were especially applauded, and applied directly to the editor of Punch who spoke them, and of whom they seem to be prophetic.

WALTER MAYNARD.

quite happy. We trust that if we have succeeded in depicting their characters as we intended to do, this is a point upon which our readers would not feel much doubt.

The firm of

Ada and St. Patrick have taken a house in Balaklava Grove, which is within a convenient distance of Uttoxeter Square. Rushworth and Smith are doing remarkably well; and it is not impossible that before many years are over, St. Patrick may be as rich as he was when we first introduced him to our readers. But even

in that event, it is not probable that he would care to re-purchase Brompton Grange. He has taken some interest lately in election. matters in the City, where he is much respected, and very much liked. If he is as successful in business as he seems likely to be at present, it has been suggested that he would be a good man to represent the City in the House at some future time. Lord Brighton asked him to stand for a Government borough a short time ago; but he thought the affairs of Rushworth and Smith required all his time at present.

And Ada. Ada is very fond of coming into the city to bring him home, according to his fancy the first night he met her in Uttoxeter Square.

Sometimes she appears there at rather an early hour in the afternoon, and carries him off to the Crystal Palace. She is a little anxious in her own mind for fear he should do too much work.

Clara and Richard are settled at Highbury, and still retain the management of "The Parthenon," which has quite fulfilled Lord George's prognostications, and is one of the best paying theatres in London. They must be making a fortune rapidly, but they have no intention of retiring for some years to come, for they are both fond of their profession.

Lord George has entered the House, and, to the astonishment of some of his friends, has made one or two remarkably good speeches. There was a good deal of what a celebrated statesman has called "chaff” in them, but the House did not like them any the worse for that. He is looked upon as a "rising young man," and in the event of a vacancy, will probably be made an under secretary.

Lord Brighton is precisely the same as he has been for many years past, and as, in common with the country, we hope he will remain for many years to come.

Lord Westsea is still collecting materials for another speech; at least, that is Lord George's report of him. The Smiths and the Baileys see him occasionally. Richard is fond of telling Clara that Westsea knows the particulars of St. Patrick's fate, and is afraid of

coming to Highbury very often, for fear she should marry him to somebody.

Are there any more of our minor characters waiting for final notes in this story of semi-Bohemia? Yes; what of Mr. Russell, the copyist? He is holding a creditable and particularly comfortable appointment in Smith's house. And Miffkins. What would he say if he was forgotten? Mr. Miffkins has gone upon the turf, and is now in partnership with his friend, Mr. Chivvers. We imagine he must have done well this year on the Derby, the Oaks, and the Chester Cup.

And this is our story. It is founded upon true passages in real lives, and love has been the guiding influence throughout,-the oldfashioned human passion which sways the destinies of all classes of people, in society or out of society. If our leading characters have lived rather in the shadow of society's sunny world, they have been none the less human; and we may take credit for discovering truth and love, and honour and generosity, out of that high estate from which St. Patrick Smith fell, when the great lord gave his daughter away after the manner of too many who are princes in society. But let us not be unjust to that oft maligned Upper Ten. Fulfilling the duties of the historian, have we not had to record noble acts of friendship on the part of distinguished members of that aristocratic world, who have found and acknowledged distinguished merit outside the magic pale? Out of society and in society the world is not half so bad as it seems: and if the reader does not discover a better one for himself, we ask his permission to let that be the moral which our story of "Not in Society" shall point and adorn.

Clara stamped her foot.

"I won't guess any more," he said; "if I do I shall have my ears

boxed directly."

Clara laughed. "It is Mr. Bailey."

Smith raised his eyebrows.

"Do you think I am very imprudent?"

"Oh!" said Smith, holding up his finger at her, "you won't catch me like that. I make it a rule never to give my friends good advice. When I see they have made up their minds, I say, 'Quite right; you could not do better.' Then they entertain a high opinion of my judgment."

The tears glistened in Clara's eyes. "I see you do not approve of it," she said.

Smith changed his tone immediately.

"I think you will be very, very happy," he said. "You must be. I can see you love him; he cannot help loving you. You have enough to live upon. There is nothing else in the world which

matters one atom."

Clara smiled. "A very different philosophy," she said, "from that which I have been accustomed to hear poured from Mr. Smith's lips in former days."

"Mr. Smith is changed," he replied; "I hope for the better. When is it to be? Of course, you may command my services." The wedding was to be a very quiet one. Fanny Milford was to be the one bridesmaid, Lord George the groomsman. Smith was the only other person invited.

Lord George had turned up just in the nick of time. He had been at Berlin since the autumn, attached to the Embassy there. He stated himself that he considered the word "attached" a misnomer, for he did not like it at all. He gave it as his decided opinion that the Prussians, as a people, "suffered from an inability to go." When he found out what was going on, he insisted upon being invited to the wedding; and having discovered that Bailey had not fixed upon a groomsman, he took the office upon himself immediately.

The morning before the wedding, Clara was surprised at receiving a visit from him. The servant told him she was not at home, but he replied directly, “Oh, nonsense, I saw her from the other side the way, between the windows. Tell her I want to see her upon particular business. And, I say," he called from the bottom of the stairs, as the maid had reached the drawing-room door, "tell her if she won't see me, I shall bring a camp-stool and sit in the front garden, and send the crossing-sweeper for a 'churchwarden' and some beer."