From the Queen.  A Correspondent writes:—­

“JOURNALISM.—­I want to become a Dramatic Critic; how should I begin?  I am fond of going to the theatre, but find it difficult to remember the plot of the play afterwards.  What kind of notices do Editors prefer?—­Histrionica.”

Isn’t it Mr. DAVID ANDERSON who has set up a flourishing School for Journalists?  Why shouldn’t there be a School for Critics?  The Master would take his pupils to the Theatre regularly, and could lecture on the Play as it proceeded.  Should Managers and Actors be so blind to the best interests of their Art as to refuse to allow the play to be stopped from time to time to allow of the Instructor’s remarks, then he would have to wait until after each Act, and retire with his pupils into some quiet corner of the Refreshment-room, where he could give his lecture.  Or teacher and pupils could hear a Scene or an Act every night,—­and if they paid for their places (a reduction being made for a quantity), the particular drama they patronised would be considerably benefited by this plan.

There might be a uniform or an academic costume for these critical scholars—­say Shakspearian collars, Undergraduate gown, and portable mortar-board, to fold up, and be sat upon.  There might be a row reserved for them at the back of the Dress Circle, and twenty-five per cent. reduction on tickets for a series.  The M.C., or Master of Critics, would take a fee for a course from each pupil.  Fee to include seat at theatre, instruction, and supper afterwards.

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IMPORTANT CONTRIBUTION TOWARDS THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE,—­“Hallo!” being the recognised telephonic summons in use between companies and individuals of all nationalities, may be already considered as “Hallo’d by a variety of associations.”

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MR. PUNCH’S POCKET IBSEN.

(CONDENSED AND REVISED VERSION BY MR. P.’S OWN HARMLESS IBSENITE.)

NO.  I.—­ROSMERSHOeLM (CONCLUDED.)

ACT III.

Sitting-room at Rosmershoelm.  Sun shining outside in the Garden.  Inside REBECCA WEST is watering a geranium with a small watering-pot.  Her crochet antimacassar lies in the arm-chair.  Madam HELSETH is rubbing the chairs with furniture-polish from a large bottle.  Enter ROSMER, with his hat and stick in his hand.  Madam HELSETH corks the bottle and goes out to the right.

Rebecca.  Good morning, dear. (A moment after—­crocheting.) Have you seen Rector KROLL’s paper this morning?  There’s something about you in it.

Rosmer.  Oh, indeed? (Puts down hat and stick, and takes up paper.) H’m! (Reads—­then walks about the room.) KROLL has made it hot for me. (Reads some more.) Oh, this is too bad!  REBECCA, they do say such nasty spiteful things!  They actually call me a renegade—­and I can’t think why!  They mustn’t go on like this.  All that is good in human nature will go to ruin if they’re allowed to attack an excellent man like me!  Only think, if I can make them see how unkind they have been!