Last night the Conservatives gave their annual performance of the good old farce entitled, Choosing a Candidate; or, Who’s got the Money-bags? We are glad to be able to congratulate this distinguished body of amateurs on the modest success which attended their efforts.  Most of the performers are well-known to the Billsbury public.  Alderman Tolland, as the heavy father, provoked screams of laughter by the studied pomposity of his manner.  His unctuous rendering of the catch-phrase, “Constitutional Progress,” has lost none of its old force.  Mr. CHORKLE was, perhaps, not so successful as we have sometimes seen him in his representation of a real Colonel, but the scene in which he attacked and routed Lindley Murray, went extremely well.  Mr. JERRAM as a singing journalist, was admirable.  We cannot help wondering why so remarkable an actor should confine himself to the provincial stage.  We had almost forgotten to mention that the part of The Candidate was, on this occasion, assigned to a Mr. Richard PATTLE, a complete novice, whose evident nervousness seriously imperilled the success of the piece.  He had omitted to learn his part adequately, and the famous soliloquy, “The country has need of me,” was painfully bungled.  Mr. PATTLE has few qualifications for the ambitious role he essayed, and his friends would be doing an act of true kindness if they insisted on his withdrawal from a profession for which he is in no way fitted.  The performance will be repeated as usual next year.

I suppose the Meteor people think that witty.  When I got home, an awful thing happened.  Mother, of course, wanted to see the papers, so I gave her the Standard, with which she was much pleased.  She said it was evident I had made a wonderful impression, and that the Billsbury Conservatives were particularly sensible people!  But, by some mistake, I left the Meteor lying on the drawing-room table.  It seems that, in the afternoon, that sharp-tongued old hag, Mrs. SPIGOT, called.  She saw the Meteor, took it up, and said, “Dear me, is this something about your son?” Mother, thinking it was the Standard, said, “Oh yes—­do read it, Mrs. SPIGOT; it’s a wonderfully accurate account, RICHARD says;” and that old cat read it all through.  She then smiled, and said, “Yes, very flattering indeed.”  After she had gone, mother took it up, and, to her horror, found what it was.  She was furious.  When I got home in the afternoon, I found her in a state of what Dr. BAKER calls “extreme nervous excitement,” with the Meteor lying in little scraps all over the drawing-room, just as if a paper-chase had been through there.  She said, “Don’t let me ever see that infamous paper again, DICK.  The man who wrote it owes you some grudge, of course.  Such a scoundrel ought to be denounced.”  I said I quite agreed with her.  Later on, met VULLIAMY at the Club.  We spoke about Billsbury.  He asked me, with a sort of chuckle, if I’d seen the Star, and advised me to have a look at it, as there was something about me in it.  This is what I found in the column headed “Mainly About People":—­