[Illustration]
NOTHING particular this week. Mlle. MELBA, the two DE RESZKÉS, and M.
LASSALLE sang, by Royal command, in the afternoon at Windsor Castle.
"Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the QUEEN?" Rather. We meant
to wind up the week with _Le Prophète_, but JEAN DE RESZKÉ had caught
cold,--perhaps on the return journey from Windsor,--and so _Faust_ was
substituted, with MELBA as _Marguerite_, and RAVELLI the Reliable as
_Faust_. We are looking forward to _Hamlet_. "_To be or not to be_"?
Probably "to be." Highly successful Season gradually drawing to a
close. Where's _Masaniello_? Not heard it for years. It would come out
as quite a novelty. Let the Sheriff-elect look to it. If not for this
Season, let it mark the year of office of DRURIOLANUS OPERATICUS.
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"PAROCHIAL" POLITICS INDEED!--Making over to a handful of Colonists
that would not fill many an English parish the "mighty mileage" of
Western Australia!
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[Illustration: TOUCHING RECIPROCITY BETWEEN HUSBAND AND WIFE.
EDWIN CARRIES HIS ANGELINA'S PARASOL, AND ANGELINA CARRIES HER EDWIN'S
SKETCHING MATERIALS.]
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"HOPE DEFERRED."
"Weary of watching and waiting!"
So the old song-words go!
Charity here, contemplating
This trio of lads in a row,
Might turn from the slums of the City,
From "Nobody's Children" might spare
One glance of true practical pity,
One hour of considerate care.
The waifs from the slum and the gutter
Are off "to the country" in troops,
To feed on new eggs and fresh butter,
To frolic with balls and with hoops;
These three, with their eyes on the poster
That hints unattainable joys,
Must envy the son of the Coster,
The waifs of the Workhouse. Poor boys!
They, too, are unitedly yearning
To "go to the country," together.
Hope on the horizon is burning
With prospect of promising weather.
One pities them, looking and longing,
Aweary of waiting their turn
With those who are country wards thronging;
The "Voice of the Country" _they_'d learn.
The lay of the lark or the linnet?
The babble of brooklet or rill?
Nay, that "Voice," to their ears, hath more in it
Than sounds in the nightingale's trill.
There's a song, though to some it sounds raucous,
For them most seductively rolls;
'Tis the crow of a bird (the "Caw-Caw-Cus")
Whose song is _so_ like "_Pretty Poll's"!_
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