JOE sits all the time in his own still-room,
    And a taster clever is he. 
  ’Tis in vain that his enemies kick up a fume. 
    And swear he is half a Torie. 
  But there are sly meetings upon the backstair. 
  And watchers say JOE is oft gossiping there. 
  Now JOE distrusts someone who’s Grand, and who’s Old,
  And says that he must be kept “out in the cold.” 
      And ho! ho! ho! old JOKIM doth know
      That many a flask of his best comes from JOE.

  ’Cute JOKIM keeps blending JOE’s taps and his own;
    Though knowing harsh rumours are rife;
  And Brummagem JOE is oft heard to declare,
    Their partnership may last for life. 
  And JOKIM says, “some call Brum JOE a bad chap,
  But they’ll soon learn to relish the taste of his tap,
  And while I may Brummagem JOE call my friend,
  I think I shall customers find for our ‘Blend.’”
      While ho! ho! ho! he’ll chuckle and crow;
      “What, turn up Brum JOE, my boys?  No! no! no!”

* * * * *

OPERATIC NOTES.

Monday, May 4.—­ZELIE DE LUSSAN’s Carmen is about the best when all the other dear charmers are away, and in the character she will probably remain in possession of the field, or, rather, “the Garden,” till the end of the season.  The remainder as before, with DEVOYOD as Escamillo.  But what has become of the “go” in the Toreador’s great song?  Where are the double encores?  Where, indeed, the hearty applause?  Surely it has gone the way of the March in Faust, once so enthusiastically received and cheered to the echo; and now—­“March off!” It is true that, once let a “tuney tune” become vulgarised by street-musicians, and organic disease would be sufficient to kill it were it not tortured and ground to death by remorseless hands.  But the Toreador’s song and the March have not been the victims of an organised opposition.  Perhaps, though, they may have been, only ’tis so long ago as not to be within the ken of the present deponent.  Anyhow, the Toreador’s song goes for nothing nowadays, and yet ’tis as good as ever.

[Illustration]

Thursday.—­We welcomed The Don.  Not the Academic Don once so popularly represented by Mr. J.L.  TOOLE, but MOZART’s Italianised Spanish Don. A propos of Mr. TOOLE, it has always been the wonder of his friends, to whom the quality of his vocal powers is so well known, that he has never been tempted to renounce the simple histrionic for the lyric Drama.  It is said, and “greatly to his credit,” that, had it not been for his unwillingness to rob his friend SIMS REEVES of the laurel-crown he wears as first English Tenor of his age, he would long ago have set up a most dangerous opposition to that sweet singer, and have ridden off victoriously with “My Pretty Jane” seated up behind him, pillion-wise, on the noble steed known as “The Bay of Biscay O!”