never suffer the coarse humour and the shoddy patriotism.

Unfortunately, these one-act plays have destroyed the legitimate drama.
Whereas Maria Guerrero, that charming actress, will have a run of twenty
nights in a new play by Echegaray, a popular _zarzuela_ will be acted
hundreds of times in every town in Spain. But none can regret that the
Spaniards have evolved these very national little pieces, and little has
been lost in the non-existence of an indefinite number of imitations
from the French. The _zarzuela_, I should add, lasts about an hour, and
for the most part is divided into three scenes.

Such a play as _Los Borrachos_ is nothing less than a _genre_ picture of
Seville life. It reminds one of a painting by Teniers; and I should like
to give some idea of it, since it is really one of the best examples of
the class, witty, varied, and vivacious. But an obstacle presents itself
in the fact that I can find no vestige of a plot. The authors set out to
characterise the various lovers of the vine, (nowhere in Andalusia are
the devotees of the yellow Manzanilla more numerous than in Seville,)
and with telling strokes have drawn the good-natured tippler, the surly
tippler, the religious tippler. To these they have added other types,
which every Andalusian can recognise as old friends--the sharp-tongued
harridan, the improviser of couplets with his ridiculous vanity, the
flower-seller, and the 'prentice-boy of fifteen, who, notwithstanding
his tender years, is afflicted with love for the dark-eyed heroine. The
action takes place first in a street, then in a court-yard, lastly in a
carpenter's shop. There are dainty love-scenes between Soledad, the
distressed maiden, and Juanillo, the flower-seller; and one, very
Spanish, where the witty and precocious apprentice offers her his
diminutive hand and heart. Numerous people come and go, the drunkards
drink and quarrel and make peace; the whole thing, if somewhat confused,
is very life-like, and runs with admirable lightness and ease. It is
true that the play has neither beginning nor end, but perhaps that only
makes it seem the truer; and if the scenes have no obvious connection
they are all amusing and characteristic. It is acted with extraordinary
spirit. The players, indeed, are not acting, but living their ordinary
lives, and it is pleasant to see the zest with which they throw
themselves into the performance. When the hero presses the heroine in
his arms, smiles and pa