should not we? and if we eat at all, why not the best? My experience in the culinary art, vulgarly known as cooking, is, I may say, extensive; you will therefore permit me, mum, without being intrusive, to offer occasional hints and cursory observations."

I don't like interference in my cooking, and never shall; but I said, "Oh, certainly!" and so that matter dropped.

Mr. Sucker soon made himself quite at home; he seemed able to settle down immediately. He was always bustling about in a state of good-humoured activity, always talking, and smiling all over his face, till his fat baggy cheeks shook, and rubbing his hands. He was very fond of having me with him, either asking me up to his rooms or coming down to mine, and though he was rather a trouble sometimes, yet he talked so fast and well about all kinds of things, that I got to like his fidgeting about at last. He was the most open of men, telling me frankly all about himself; and yet, somehow or other, I never got a clear idea of what he was, or how he lived; his was a kind of frankness which seems a great deal, and leads to nothing. One thing about him I never could discoverwhat denomination of religion he belonged to; he used to talk about advanced schools of thought, but I never heard him mention a Sunday School, and he used to be continually saying that he was before his age, and wasn't appreciated, which I think is very likely.

"You see, mum," he said, one day, we are all intended to be centres in life, one in one way, one in another. You are a centre, Mrs. Brumby, round which revolve the domestic arts of making comfortable lodgings, easy beds, and succulent dishes. I am a centre, mum, though just now, owing to unforeseen circumstances, over which I have no control, my sphere is circumscribed, and my opportunities of being a centre of usefulness are limited. I was lately the centre of a congregation, large, important, wealthy; but bigoted, narrow, mum, to a frightful degree, despicably narrow. I advanced views which should have met with universal approbation, as being advanced, liberal, free from sectarian bias. I advocated a community of goods; I said, 'My friends, are we not brothers? Let us share as brothers, as members of one family?' I explained to them patiently and clearly-for they were dull, mum, pigheaded, I may say-I explained to them that I was in reduced circumstances, and the natural conclusion to be deduced from that fact was, that there was something wrong somewhere; I suggested a participation in all our possessions, but I was misunderstood; pig-headedness and sectarian bias triumphed; I retired in disgust from an uncongenial soil, and why? Because, mum, I am before my age, and my thoughts and sentiments are too advanced for a slow-minded people to appreciate. What pudding were you proposing for to-day, mum?"

"I thought a nice plain batter pudding would

be a change, sir," said I.

$5

Throw in a raisin, mum," said Mr. Sucker;

"my son Erskine likes a raisin, and, to be can did with you, so do I."

Of Erskine Sucker I saw very little; he seemed to be always studying, and if ever his name was mentioned his father used to talk of his wonderful sharpness and legal knowledge till I got quite tired of the subject.

"My son Erskine, mum," Mr. Sucker would say, "is a shining light, a bright example to youth in general and sons in particular. My son will be a centre one day, a legal centre of extreme clearness; my son has prospects, mum, great prospects; he will in due course be admitted into the office of Messrs. Catchflat and Gripehard, of whom you have doubtless heard. You don't know them? Well, they are a most respectable and respected firm, I can assure you; Mr. Catchflat's father was connected with Mr. Drylore, the celebrated lawyer of whom you must have heard, and Mr. Gripehard's sister-but I trouble you, Mrs. Brumby, with what does not interest you. Don't forget the Worcester sauce added to the roast mutton; we're all worms, it's true, but-don't forget the sauce."

In course of time Mr. Sucker was absent frequently during the day and evening, and often dined away from home, generally ordering something hot for supper on his return. I began to suspect he was making a centre in Margate, and at last asked if such was the case.

"I will not deny, mum," said he, with one of his self-satisfied smiles, "that I have hopes of establishing myself as a centre here. I have been engaged in various duties of a mixed character lately, principally tending towards the establishment of useful and benevolent societies. I have organized a committee for a society to be called "The Genial Intercourse and Mutual Provident Edification Society," of which the prospectus will shortly be issued, a friendly printer having embraced the views of the society. You will observe that this draft of the Prospectus, mum, contains my name, the Rev. Abel Sucker, as Treasurer. I have this evening attended a meeting which I was instrumental in assembling, for the purpose of exporting hair-pins to the Feejee Islands; managing agent, Rev. Abel Sucker. You will perceive, mum, that I am a philanthropist; but my philanthropy is not of a coarse and common order: it belongs to an advanced school of thought not yet appreciated; I have no doubt that I shall be misunderstood, but I must rest content with the knowledge that such a fate belongs to those who are before their age. Julius Cæsar, of whom, mum, you have heard, was before his time; so was Galileo; and so, in a word, mum, am I. But then, again, what of that, for what are we? worms!" I suspect that Mr. Sucker found his centre in Margate very profitable, as he always seemed to have plenty of money, and paid his way as a gentleman should. I must say, too, that Mr. Sucker's conduct was always of the most correct kind while lodging in Shingle-street, though I can't say as much for his son Erskine. Besides, being always a morose, yellow-complex

greatly improved. Mdlle. Liebhart, Miss Julia | Derby, and Mr. George Perren have been engaged. Mr. Charles Hall, so well known as the musical director at the Princess's Theatre, will officiate as chef d'orchestre; whilst the indefatigable Mr. Hingston will fill the post of manager, with his accustomed efficiency and urbanity.

Perhaps the great novelty of the past month in the theatrical world was the production of Mr. Charles Reade's drama, "Dora," founded on the Laureate's poem. The first act is certainly the strongest point of the drama; for towards the close of the piece the interest decidedly seems to flag. Miss Kate Terry played the part of Dora very charmingly, though we have certainly seen her in characters we have liked better. Mr. H. Neville played Farmer Allan with an obstinacy and a "pig-headedness" which was most characteristic of the ignorant, unforgiving old agriculturist. Mr. Ashley and Mr. Billington creditably filled the rôles of William and Luke Blomfield, whilst Miss Hughes showed a marked improvement in her rendering of Mary Morrison. The erratic and mysterious behaviour of the sun, in the last scene, which caused much amusement on the first night, has since been rectified, and sets "every evening until further notice," with a due regard to propriety and the feelings of the audience. A farce by Mr. Maddison Morton, with a most obscure plot, has been introduced at this house. Mr. Clarke makes the most of a wretched part. When are we to see this admirable comedian again in a part worthy of his powers?

Mr. Tom Taylor's "Antipodes," produced at the Holborn Theatre, despite the fuss made about it, and notwithstanding the efforts of a considerable claque, who applauded every other sentence in that heartless, persistent, metallic manner which only can emanate from a claqueur, was anything but a success. It is needless to go into the plot, which was of a most complicated and unlikely description. It seemed to be composed of misty recollections of other dramas pitchforked together, without rhyme or reason. The great features in the play were Mrs. G. F. Watts and Mr. Sam Emery-the former looked charming in a very poor part, and the latter made all he possibly could of one that was worse. Some of the scenery was good, and the piece was carefully and elaborately mounted. We agree with the accomplished critic of the Times, when he says: "After much revolvershooting of which a fearful inassacre of supernumeraries is the consequence, the right people are saved and the audience are liberated from the contemplation of a dreary, complicated, uninteresting story, which has made them regret that the word 'Antipodes' is only the name of the piece and does not indicate the place at which it is performed."

"True to the Core" has migrated from the Surrey side to the Princess's, where, thanks to the magnificent scenery by Mr. Lloyd, and the admirable way in which it is acted, it seems to be in a fair way of enjoying a second run in public

favour. Miss Nelly Moore was very charming as Mabel, though she seems to be somewhat out-of-place in melodrama, and we miss her sunny face and sweet manners from the comedies at the Haymarket, where she was so great an attraction.

It is said Miss Madge Robertson has accepted an engagement in Mr. Buckstone's company. An adaptation of a French piece, "Les Domestiques," has been brought_out at the Strand, under the title of "Our Domestics." It somewhat reminds one of that admirable farce "High-life below Stairs," on which it is said the original French piece was founded. This amusing trifle is the work of Mr. F. Hay, and in it Mr. T. Thorne, Miss E. Johnstone, Mrs. Manders, Mr. D. James, and Mr. Parselle combine to keep the house in a continual roar of merriment.

At the Olympic, "Woodcock's Little Game" (revived for Mr. Charles Mathews' benefit) has kept its place in the bills ever since, drawing crowded houses with the ever-popular revival of "The Liar."

At the St. James's, a company under the direction of M. Raphael Felix are performing a selection of French plays. No one should omit going to see the inimitable Ravel.

Mr. Howe, the gentlemanly and accomplished actor, so long connected with the Haymarket, has been seriously indisposed; so much so that he was unable to play for a week. We are glad to say that he has now recovered, and is once more at his post. Mr. William Farren has seceded from the Haymarket company, with which he had been connected for many years. Mr. Belmore has entered into an engagement with Mr. Webster, and will shortly make an appearance at the Adelphi.

The first number of a new sixpenny magazine, The Broadway, will be published in August, by Messrs. Routledge. It will be edited by Mr. Edmund Routledge, who has secured an immense quantity of names of high repute on his staff. The author of "Guy Livingstone" will write the leading novel. A new theatrical paper, called the Sock and Buskin, but which seems scarcely composed of the proper elements for such a publication, has made its appearance; and a Conservative weekly, the British Lion, will be before the public as soon as these pages are. The Hawk, a monthly feuilleton to which we have already alluded, seems to continue its career with considerable success. Though its circulation is necessarily limited, on account of its interest being local, we are told it is greatly in request in those counties of which it is the organ, namely Dorset and Wilts.

An amateur performance of no ordinary kind, in the cause of charity, will be given at the Haymarket Theatre, early in July, by the principal contributors to Fun and some of their friends. A comedy, supported by professional talent, with a new burlesque, written and acted by some of the well-known writers of the day, will be amongst the chief attractions.

YOUR BOHEMIAN,

E

THE PET CANARY.

(A Tale for Little Girls.)

BY A YOUNG MOTHER.

Nelly Pryor was, I am sorry to have to record it, one of the most heedless little girls I ever knew, and caused her dear mamma many anxious moments, in thinking how she could cure her little daughter of this sad, but common fault. I never knew a more sweet-tempered child, or one who possessed a more obliging disposition; delighted at being allowed to execute any little commission, she yet never performed it exactly in the way she had been told to do; somehow, it generally happened she forgot half of what she had to remember, and thus was really of more trouble than use. When her forgetfulness was pointed out to her, she always seemed to regret her heedlessness, and, penitent for her fault, always promised to try and do better in the future; but, alas! all her good resolutions were soon forgotten, and her mamma almost began to despair of eradicating this deep-rooted fault in her disposition.

One summer's afternoon, Nelly ran with breathless haste into the drawing-room. "Oh! mamma dear, cousin Margaret has brought me such a lovely canary, and you know, mamma, you said that if I would give my dolls to Cousin Annie, I should some day have a canary. Mamma, may I have this?"

"If I allow you to have it, dear child, who is to take care of it?"

"I, mamma, to be sure !" replied Nelly, with a look of surprise at the question : I will take the very greatest care of the dear little thing."

"Ah! Nelly dear, you say so now, but I am really afraid to trust you," replied Mrs. Pryor; "you are so very thoughtless, that I fear some day poor little birdie will be forgotten, and so die of hunger.'

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"Dear mamma," replied Nelly, "how can you think I would be so cruel? I will promise you never to come to breakfast without first having fed my bird, and when I do forget him, you may take him from me. Oh! I shall love him so, and will teach him to be fond of me. I may have him?"

Thus coaxed and caressed by her little daughter, Mrs. Pryor at length consented that Nelly should have the bird, at the same time expressing a hope that her careless and indolent habits would not cause the bird a troubled life. Nelly thanked her mamma over and over again, and danced out of the room, shaking, in her joy, the poor little canary fearfully.

Carrying it into the dining-room, she hung it up in the window, and delightedly called the

domestics to come and admire her pretty present.

For some time "Dick" found himself well cared for; for Nelly, true to her promise, gave him seed and fresh water each morning before sitting down to her breakfast: If there were any biscuits after dinner, a bit was always saved for him, and a lump of sugar was ever at his service; so that for the present all was well.

Dick was not ungrateful for her kindness; he would hop down from his perch whenever his little mistress approached him, opening his beak to welcome her, and he invariably began to whistle as she drew near him. Nelly passed many hours with her new favourite, and never seemed tired of admiring his pretty plumage.

Before many weeks passed, Nelly began to tire of her possession: the novelty had worn off, and, I regret to say, the task of feeding him was no longer a source of pleasure. Her papa, too, had given her a doll's house, and she was so amused with this, that poor Dicky was neglected, and although he cried "Pretty Dick! pretty Dicky!" each time she entered the room, she scarcely listened to him. Three days passed without his having any fresh chickweed, and his last lump of sugar looked exceedingly dirty and dry. Still he seemed contented with his hempseed, and sang as cheerfully as ever, but Nelly paid but small attention to his little endeavours to attract her notice; she seemed wholly devoted to her doll's-house.

These

At the end of the month, her birthday arrived, and with it came a box of "croquet." were speedily arranged in the garden, and Nelly, with her young friends who lived near her, soon revelled in the delights of this pleasant game. The next day, and the next, Nelly gave every spare moment to this fresh amusement, and poor Dick was completely forgotten.

One day after dinner, Mr. Pryor happening to look at the bird's cage, saw the poor little thing sitting with his beak open, and hardly able to breathe; his feathers ruffled, and his eyes, once so bright, were sunk and dim. He went up to the cage, but Dicky was no longer able to chirrup" his welcome, for there was hardly any breath in his poor little body! "Nelly," said her Papa, "what is the matter with your little bird ?"

Nelly coloured and faltered, "Oh, papa! I-I-I have forgotten to feed him!" Sobbing bitterly, she ran down to the kitchen for both seed and water, which she hastily ran back with into the dining-room.

Mr. Pryor took down the cage, and found poor Dicky had neither seed nor water! "Ah! poor little bird!" said he, "you have fallen, I fear, into cruel hands: if I had for one moment thought you would have been treated thus, I