Friday Night.—­Our blase young man writes to say, “I am suffering from effects of draughts at Opera.  Think it must be some Operatic air which has given me cold.  It’s a gruel case for yours truly.”

Saturday Night.—­Occasion described as “popular;” and, consequently, Il Trovatore announced.  A little old-fashioned, but what of that?  VERDI just the composer “to keep your memory green.”  Alas! cold once more to the front.  The blase one “still off duty, so no reliable report to hand.”  No doubt everything passed off pleasantly. Manrico obviously, when on the stage, more of a man than Germont Junior.  The standing line has been, “large audience much pleased with the entertainment.”  Altogether a successful week.’

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MEM.  FOR VISITORS TO LONDON.—­Don’t forget to look in at the bird-pictures of STACEY MARKS, R.A. Stay, see Marks! See Marks!  They are land-marks in the history of Modern Art.

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MR. PUNCH’S PRIZE NOVELS.—­NO.  VI., “Thrums on the Auld String,” next week.

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TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.

BEING A FEW NOTES TAKEN EN ROUTE IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT CURE.

“Give him another month here, and he’ll be giving you all the slip, and walking back to Calais on foot.”  Young JERRYMAN is commenting on the wonderful restoration that has taken place in the condition of the Dilapidated One, who has just been detected having a row on the lake, all by himself.  Not that this is a very prodigious aquatic feat, seeing that three or four good strokes either way take you either into the bank, or on to the heels or tails of a couple of very ill-tempered, and irascible swans, who appear to think, and with some reason, that there’s not too much waterway as it is, and resent the intrusion of the boat on their domain as a ridiculous superfluity.  However, the effort is one that the Dilapidated One would not have ventured on at his arrival a month since, and as our time is up, and we are starting on our return journey home in about half-an-hour’s time, we hail it as an indication that if he has not quite obtained the Perfect Cure, that his medical man promised him, as the result of a trip to this delightful spot, he is certainly not far off it.

But the best things must come to an end, and so we find ourselves at length, with much regret, taking our farewell of that excellent and capitally-conducted “Perfect Kurhaus” the Hotel Titlis.  And this reminds me, that in justice to that establishment, I ought to state that some comments I made last week on German feeding in general, in no way were meant to refer to the table d’hote at the Hotel Titlis, which, served in a lofty and well-ventilated salon, lighted by electricity, to four hundred people daily, a capitally well-appointed meal, is