ng_. Why, I've
been _praising_ it to him, entirely on your recommendation.

_Phil_. No, no--_your_ mistake. I only asked you if you'd read
_Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece_, and, as I made up the title on the
spur of the moment, I should have been rather surprised if you had.
_He_ never wrote a line in his life.

_Mrs. M.G._ How _abominable_ of you! But surely he's famous for
_something_? He talks like it. [_With reviving hope_.

_Phil_. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina"
Soap--he says he'll make a fortune over it.

_Mrs. M.G._ But he hasn't even done _that_ yet! PHIL, I'll _never_
forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What _am_
I to do now? I _can't_ have him coming to me--he's really too
impossible!

_Phil_. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I
suppose--not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of
your lions, after all's said and done!

[_Mrs. M.G., before she takes her leave, contrives to inform
Mr. TABLETT, with her prettiest penitence, that she has only
just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that
her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to
Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime,
he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is
no harm done, after all_.

* * * * *

THE OPERA-GOER'S DIARY.

(_LAST WEEK OF OPERA._)

[Illustration: Hamlet Personally Conducted.]

_Monday_.--_Hamlet_. Music by AMBROISE THOMAS, and _libretto_ by
Messieurs CARRE and BARBIER, who seem to have read _Hamlet_ once
through, after which they wrote down as a _libretto_ what they
remembered, of the story. It would be difficult to mention any Opera
less dramatic than this. The question arises at once, adapting the
immortal phrase of JAMES LE SIFFLEUR, "Why lug in _Hamlet_?" Why
not have called it _Ophelia_? Whatever interest there may be in the
Opera--and there is very little--is centred entirely in _Ophelia_.
The _Ghost_ is utterly purposeless, but of distinguished appearance
as a robust spectre, marching in at one gate, and out at another, or
hiding behind a sofa, and popping up suddenly, in order to frighten
an equally purposeless _Hamlet._ Like father, like son. M. LASSALLE
is a fine, substantial, baritonial _Hamlet_, who is always posturing,
weeping, calling out _ma mere_, and blubbering on the ample matronly
bosom of h