We are looking forward to Ivanhoe, by Sir ARTHUR S. SULLIVAN, Mus.  Doc.  From what our Musical Critic has seen of the score, he is able to wink his eye wisely but not too well, and to hint that as Mr. Guppy says, “There are chords”; and to make these chords in combination, the strings are admirably fitted.  There is one chord (will it be recognised as belonging to Box?) which—­ But, as Sir ARTHUR says, “Where will be the surprise, if your Musical Critic tells everything beforehand?” He is right, quite right, and, thank goodness, he is quite well, and not [Illustration:  Musical staff:  treble clef, quarter notes C, D.]; but the Composer is in the playfullest of humours, and laughs over his recent row with [Illustration:  Musical staff:  treble clef, quarter note G.]; in fact, he was in such good spirits, that, when I wanted to hear all about it, and I told him he could either sing it or play it to me, he replied, “You [Illustration:  Musical staff:  treble clef, quarter notes B, D-ligature-D.]!” Exactly like him, which neither of these two [Illustration:  Musical staff:  treble clef, quarter notes F, E, G, G.] is.  However, I’m not offended, as I said to him, or rather said and sang to him, by way of reply.  My Name’s [Illustration:  Musical staff:  treble clef, quarter notes E, C.], and So it is.

* * * * *

A SEMI-OFFICIAL INTRODUCTION.

    [BERRY was introduced in a semi-official way, and at once
    said, “Good morning, Ma’am.”—­See Daily Papers on Mrs.
    Pearcy’s execution.]

  KING DEATH has a great Ambassador who journeys through all the land,
  With a cap, and a strap, and a slip-noosed rope all ready to his hand. 
  He’s a genial man with a joke for all, and a smile on his jovial face,
  And a grip of the hand that is frank and free when he comes to the
        trysting place. 
  And, oh, when the gloomy winter night is fading into the day,
  He comes to the cell and is introduced in a semi-official way;
  With a jolly “Good morning, Ma’am,” he comes, and as quick as a morning
        dream
  He has corded his living parcel and flung it across the stream.

  The stream flows silently onward, and the flood seems deep and strong,
  And some of us pause on the hither-bank slow-footed, and linger long. 
  But early or late we must plunge in and battle across the tide,
  Though the beckoning shapes look dark and grim that wait on the farther
        side. 
  But they whom the King’s Ambassador, or ever their race be run,
  Has summoned, must leave at the moment the sight of the friendly sun. 
  He’s a kindly man, with a cheerful voice, but he never brooks delay
  When once he has come and been introduced in a semi-official way.