MARY ANSELL—­now playing, and, he might say it who shouldn’t, playing charmingly in Walker, London. The Chairman didn’t mean that.  No?  But he (Mr. TOOLE) did, and he might add, though “it was nothing, a mere nothing,” that the performance of his three young men—­Mr. C.M.  LOWNE, as the sensible lover; Mr. SEYMOUR HICKS, as the young medical student; and Mr. CECIL RAMSEY, as “W.G.,” a youthful athlete, was admirable.  They were all in Walker, London.  In reply to Mr. T.H.  BOLTON, who wished to know if the Witness considered his Theatre a substantial edifice, Mr. TOOLE said that he certainly did, because, you see, the Theatre would never go to pieces as long as the pieces went to the Theatre, and as long as it was supported by the public. Have I any complaint?  Nothing to speak of, except a touch of gout.  Oh, beg pardon, you meant complaint as to the Theatre?  Oh, no, except it’s not large enough to hold the millions who can’t be crammed in nightly.  Has an excellent Acting Manager in Mr. GEORGE LEE, and as to friend BILLINGTON’S stage-management of the House Boat (the scene, he might say, was painted by Mr. HARKER, a name not unknown at the Mansion House), it is the best thing of the sort ever done.  Any evening that Mr. PLUNKET, Mr. WOODALL, or Mr. BOLTON, or any other of the Honourable Gentlemen would like to look in and see Walker, London, they have only to send to the Box Office, or any of the Libraries, and book in advance—­he couldn’t say fairer than that—­because it was advice that he always gave to “Friend IRVING,” and which he had adopted.  No more?  Hope he doesn’t intrude.  Would the Committee excuse his glove?  Yes?  Then, remember, Walker, London.

Mr. J.L.  TOOLE then hurried out.  After his departure it was found that all the spectators had on their backs adhesive labels advertising Walker, London.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  A WARNING.

Archie (to his Sister, who has been reading him Fairy Tales).  “WON’T THERE BE A LOT OF US, IF NONE OF US GO AND GET MARRIED?  WORSE THAN HOP O’MY THUMB!”

Sister. “YES; BUT YOU KNOW I MEAN TO BE MARRIED!”

Archie. “DO YOU MEAN TO SAY YOU’D GO AND LIVE ALONE WITH A MAN AFTER READING BLUEBEARD?”]

* * * * *

A WAITING GAME.

WARY WILLIAM, loquitur:—­

  Drat that dog! 
    Dogs are mixed,—­like men. 
  Few know how to jog;
    Hasty tongue and pen,
  Many a bungler bog,
    Steady! I’ll say when!

  Lots of dogs I’ve bred. 
    Most want whip, a deal. 
  This one, be it said,
    Is more hot than leal;
  Wants to go ahead,
    Hates to come to heel!

  Skies are overcast;
    Slowly comes the spring,
  Quarry’s tracked—­at last,
    Strong, though, on the wing. 
  Steady!  Not so fast! 
    Waiting game’s the thing.