Apart from the painful crudity of the scene that was loosely described as “The Other Side,” the play abounded in amateurisms.  For one thing there was too much sermonising.  It began with an obtrusive homily on the part of an inspector of police, who went out of his way to admonish Julia about the danger of associating with “The Daisy.”  Another instance was that of the bank-messenger, a person of such self-possession and detachment that he contrived to deliver a moral address while holding one foiled villain at the point of his revolver and gripping the other’s wrist as in a vice.

Nothing again could have been more naive than the innocent home-coming of the domestic carving-knive, freshly sharpened, from the grinder’s just in time to be diverted to the objects of a murderous enterprise.

Altogether, it was rather poor stuff, unworthy of the talent of many of its interpreters and of the trouble that Miss EDITH CRAIG had spent over its scenic effects.  Perhaps the audience had been led to expect too much, for “The Daisy,” far from being the “wee, modest” flower of ROBERT BURNS, had been at some pains to draw preliminary attention to its merits.

O.S.

* * * * *

=The Bedroom Shortage.=

    “That a woman ought to dress quietly and practically in the street
    is unquestionable.”

“Times” Fashion article.

* * * * *

“As the harvest season this year is late, sport will not be general for at least two weeks hence, when grain crops may be expected to be in stook.  For some time to come sheep will be confined to the low hill-sides and pasture lands and turnip fields, and a few good bags were had there yesterday.”—­Scotch Paper.

We still prefer the old-fashioned sport of partridge-shooting.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  =WAR AND SCIENCE.=

Greek Officer. “CAN’T YOU THINK OF SOMETHING QUICK?  THE ARMY IS WAITING AND THE ENEMY APPROACHES.”

Archimedes. “SCIENCE IS NOT TO BE HUSTLED, GENERAL.  JUST GET YOUR ARMY TO DO A LITTLE PLAIN FIGHTING WHILE I THINK OUT A FANCY SCHEME.”]

* * * * *

SPANISH LEDGES.

SCILLY.

      The bells of Cadiz clashed for them
                When they sailed away;
      The Citadel guns, saluting, crashed for them
                Over the Bay;
      With banners of saints aloft unfolding,
      Their poops a glitter of golden moulding,
      Tambours throbbing and trumpets neighing,
      Into the sunset they went swaying. 
  But the port they sought they wandered wide of,
  And they won’t see Spain again this side of
                Judgment Day.