THE ABSTRACT AND THE CONCRETE.
Mamma (solemnly).
"'But he lay like a Warrior taking his rest,
With his Martial Cloak around him.'"
Small Child. "And did he really get it from Marshall and Snelgrove's, Mummy?"
AN OLD "ADELPHI TRIUMPH!"
Passing through town from one country place to another. Sparse attendance at club. Am regarded with surprise by the few members present, all anxious to explain why it is they are not out of London. "Autumn Session" splendid excuse for everybody generally. "Compelled to stop in town, dear boy. Autumn Session, dash it!" "But you're not in the House." "No," is the ready rejoinder, "if I were I would 'pair' and fly to the moors. But business connected with the House" (this given with that mysterious nod and wink which together, or apart, are accounted as equally intelligible to a blind horse), "business, my dear chap, detains me." Great chance for the club bore to get an audience of one. The Ancient Mariner's time is in the dead season, when he can stop the shootist en route. I am wary, and avoid him. I will dine earlyish, and go to—let me see, what hospitable house of theatrical entertainment is open? The Adelphi. Here I can see A Woman's Revenge, as written by Henry Pettitt. Quite so. Dine at 6.30, and see it all out, as I hear the final scene, an Old Bailey Trial, realistic to the last degree, is the great attraction. Clearly to understand the pleadings on behalf of the prisoner at the Bar I must be conversant with the details of the entire story. By 8.10 I am in my seat, regretting the loss of ten minutes' worth of the plot. Regret soon ceases on finding that I am among old friends acting a story more or less familiar to every playgoer. The house is literally crowded in every part, and this, too, on a far from cold night at the very end of August. Town may be empty, but the Adelphi is full, and "The Heavenly Twins," the Messrs. Gatti, must be rejoicing greatly.