I will not pretend that the motives of the characters were clear or that (for me) the phantasy quite passed the test of being translated from the medium of the written word into that of canvas, gauze and costumed players, with those scufflings of dim figures in the semi-darkness and that furtive and by no means noiseless zeal of scene-shifters; or, again, that I was much attracted by a picture of the life after death, in which opera-going (please cf. Mr. VALE OWEN) figured so prominently.  Indeed I think that the play would be better if it ended with the death of the dreamers and did not attempt that hazardous last passage.

But certainly there were quite admirable tableaux and some very intelligent individual playing—­in contrast with the team-work of (particularly) the First Act, which was ragged and amateurish.

Mr. BASIL RATHBONE’S Peter was an effective study, avoiding Scylla of the commonplace and Charybdis of the mawkish—­no mean feat.  A young man with a future, I dare hazard; with a gift of clear utterance, and sensibility and a useful figure.

It is a good deal to say that Miss CONSTANCE COLLIER so contrived her Duchess of Towers as to make us understand Peter’s worship.

Miss JESSIE BATEMAN’S Mrs. Deane seemed to me an exceedingly competent piece of work, and Mr. GILBERT HARE thoroughly enjoyed every mouthful of Colonel Ibbetson’s wickedness, and made us share his appreciation.  And you couldn’t accuse him of over-playing, though he certainly looked too bad to be true.

Mr. WILLIAM BURCHILL’S little sketch of an old French officer was almost too poignant.

Why the landlord of the Tete Noir was got up to resemble Mr. WILL EVANS so closely is a deep matter I could not fathom, and, if ever I kill my uncle, may Fate send me a less rhetorical chaplain than Mr. CYRIL SWORDER!

T.

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[Illustration:  THE INTRUDER.]

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THE ORDER OF THE B.S.O.

One of the oldest of Mr. Punch’s young men thought he would like to hear some orchestral music on Monday week last, so he dropped in at the Queen’s Hall to assist at a concert of the new British Symphony Orchestra.  The name of the founder and conductor, Mr. RAYMOND ROZE, was already familiar, for Mr. Punch’s young man was old enough to remember Mr. ROZE’S mother, MARIE ROZE, in her brilliant prime as prima donna of the Carl Rosa Company; and he is glad to know that she is still living in her beloved Paris, where she was decorated by M. THIERS for her gallant conduct during the siege of 1870.  So it is pleasant to find her son so actively associated in the good work of finding permanent musical engagements for demobilised soldiers in the British Symphony Orchestra.