that there was the genuine ring of truth in his declaration.  When he appealed to me, as a dispassionate observer, to say whether I did not consider the conduct of the authorities arbitrary, unjust, and absurd, I was forced to admit that I did consider that conduct absolutely indefensible.  Lastly, when he announced that he intended never to say another word in praise of Ostend, I confessed that I had come in my own mind to the same determination.

P.S.—­I may add that I was accompanied by my son, who was also refused admittance.  But this is a matter of purely personal interest, and has nothing whatever to do with it.

* * * * *

THE CACHET OF CASH AT DRURY LANE.

[Illustration:  Medal found in the Neighbourhood of Drury Lane.]

A Million of Money, “a new military, sporting, and spectacular Drama,” is a marvel of stage management.  No better things than the tableaux of the Derby Day, the grounds of the Welcome Club, and the departure of the Guards from Wellington Barracks for foreign parts have been seen for many a long year.  In such a piece the dialogue is a matter of secondary consideration, and even the story is of no great importance.  That the plot should remind one of Drury Lane successes in the past is not surprising, considering that one of the authors (who modestly places his name second on the programme, when everyone feels that it should come first) has been invariably associated with those triumphs of scenic art.  AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS has beaten his own record, and the Million of Money so lavishly displayed behind the scenes, is likely to be rivaled by the takings in front of the Curtain—­or to be more exact, at the Box-office.  The Authors, in more senses than one, have carried money into the house.  But they have done more—­they have inculcated a healthy moral.  While Mr. HENRY ARTHUR JONES is teaching audiences a lessen in Judah, that would have received the enthusiastic approval of the philanthropic Earl of SHAFTESBURY, after whom Shaftesbury Theatre is, no doubt, called, the great HARRIS and the lesser PETTIT are showing us in the character of the Rev. Gabriel Maythorne, a Parson that would as certainly have secured the like hearty good-will at the same shadowy hands.  The Rev. Gentleman is a clergyman that extorts the admiration of everyone whose good opinion is worth securing.  He apparently is a “coach,” and (seemingly) allows his pupils so much latitude that one of them, Harry Dunstable (Mr. WARNER), is able to run up to town with his (the Reverend’s) daughter secretly, marry her, and stay in London for an indefinite period.  And he (the Parson) has no absurd prejudices—­no narrow-mindedness.  He goes to the Derby, where he appears to be extremely popular at luncheon-time amongst the fair ladies who patronise the tops of the drags, and later on becomes quite at home at an illuminated fete at the Exhibition, amidst the