A VERY POSSIBLE FUTURE ACADEMICIAN.

* * * * *

BEFORE AND BEHIND.

(From a Thoughtful Grammarian.)

    SIR,—­In the Times’ Court Circular, on Friday last, I read
    that—­

    “Mr. WILLIAM NICHOLL had the honour of singing before Her
    MAJESTY and the Royal Family.”

This was indeed an honour.  I regret that the Courtly Circularist did not tell us what Mr. NICHOLL sang before the QUEEN and Royal Family, and also what the QUEEN and Royal Family sang (solo and chorus?) after Mr. NICHOLL.  But suppose “before” does not here relate to time, but to position.  It would have been a novelty indeed, and one well worth recording, if Mr. NICHOLL had had the honour of sinking behind the Royal Family.  And then, what a compliment if Her Gracious MAJESTY and the Royal Family had all turned round to listen to him!  If I am wrong in my interpretation of the Court Circular’s Circular Note, wouldn’t it have prevented any possible error to have said, “In the presence of”?  I only ask for information, and am

    Yours,

    FIDELITER.

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A NEW TRACT FOR THE SALVATION ARMY.—­The “General,” who is the biggest BOOTH in the show, announced last week that he had been offered a big tract of land.  Hear!  Hear!  Where?  Where?  “Anywhere, anywhere out of the world “—­at least, out of our little world of Great Britain & Co.  Let not “the General” be too particular, but accept the tract,—­though he is more used to distributing tracts than accepting them,—­and let him and his army, his lads and lasses, go away and leave us to enjoy our Sundays in peace and quiet.

* * * * *

NEW CITY FIRM (adapted from West End by Our Own Scotchman).—­“SAVORY AND MAYOR.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  SKY-SIGNS IN THE COUNTRY. (AS SEEN BY OUR ARTIST IN SEARCH OF THE PICTURESQUE.)]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  NOSTALGIA.

“YOU SEEM OUT OF SORTS, JAMES, EVER SINCE WE’VE COME NORTH.  IT’S THE CHANGE OF CLIMATE AND SCENERY, I S’POSE!” “IT’S WUSS NOR THAT, MARIAR.  IT’S THE CHANGE OF BEER!”]

* * * * *

VOCES POPULI.

AN EVENING WITH A CONJUROR.

SCENE—­A Suburban Hall.  The Performance has not yet begun.  The Audience is limited, and low-spirited, and may perhaps number—­including the Attendants—­eighteen.  The only people in the front seats are, a man in full evening dress, which he tries to conceal under a caped cloak, and two Ladies in plush opera-cloaks.  Fog is hanging about in the rafters, and the gas-stars sing a melancholy dirge.  Each casual cough arouses dismal echoes.  Enter an intending Spectator, who is conducted to a seat in the middle of an empty row.  After removing his hat and coat, he suddenly thinks better—­or worse—­of it, puts them on again, and vanishes hurriedly.