["It is human nature, after all.  When conscientiously I cannot praise actors or actresses, or authors, they turn their backs upon me.  But when conscientiously I am able to draw attention to their great merits, they simply overflow.”—­Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT, in The Illustrated London News.]

  Unlucky Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT! 
    Since those who act our plays or write them,
  Are so exacting that he’s got
    The greatest trouble to delight them. 
  When conscience tells him not to praise
    They “turn their backs” and will not know him,
  When their “great merits” make him raise
    His voice—­they “simply overflow” him!

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NOTE FOR AN IMPERIAL DIARY.—­There were just a couple or so of real good wet days for our Imperial and Royal Highnesses.  Jupiter Pluvius ladled it out to us unstintingly in Imperial buckets full.  Our Cousin German, so affectionately dutiful to “Grandmamma,” won’t forget La Rain d’Angleterre in a hurry. Mem. Next visit to London, bring fewer uniforms and more waterproofs and umbrellas.

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[Illustration:  “GOOD-BYE, GRANDMAMMA!”]

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IMPERIAL AND OPERATIC.

[Illustration]

After considerable calculation as to re-imbursement for present outlay by a consistent course of future economy, I took a six-guinea stall for the EMPEROR’s state visit to the Opera.  “Court dress” being “indispensable,” I decided to summon to my aid the well-known amateur theatrical costumier, DATHAN & Co.  DATHAN sees at a glance what I want.  He measures me with his eye.  “Co.” in waiting is dispatched to bring down two or three Court suits.  In less than ten minutes I am perfectly fitted, that is, in DATHAN’s not entirely disinterested but still highly artistic opinion, with which “Co.” unhesitatingly agrees.  For my own part, as a mere lay-figure, I should have preferred the continuations being a trifle less tight round the knee; also if the coat were a little easier about the shoulders, and not quite so baggy in the back I should breathe more freely; and, while we are on the subject, the collar might be lower, as it is in close proximity to the lobes of my ears and irritatingly tickles me.  The white waistcoat—­“well,” as “Co.,” in the absence of DATHAN, rapturously observes, “might ha’ been made for yer!” “It might,” true:  but it certainly wasn’t, as it is somewhat long, and there’s a little shyness on the part of the last button but one in meeting the button-hole with which it ought to be on the best possible terms.  But sharp-eyed little “Co.” sees his way out of the difficulty; he hoists up the collar, he adjusts pins in the back, and, in a second, button and hole are in each other’s embrace.  The coat-collar can be taken in and done for—­“nothing easier,” says the undaunted Co.—­and the part across my manly chest can be let out,—­of course not a difficulty, as the whole suit, will be “let out” for the evening.