drama.  To this I may say I have been vowed from the cradle, by a sire who was well known in the early days of the metropolis of Sydney as a pioneer in the great movement which has made the dramatic talent of Australia what it is.  To-day a magnificent theatre rises on the site forever consecrated to me by those paternal labours, but—­but I can never forget it.  In Miss Hilda Howe I have found a great coadjutor, and one who is willing to consecrate her royal abilities in the same line as myself, so that we have been able to maintain a high standard of production among you, prices remaining as usual.  I have to thank you, as representing the public of the Indian capital, for the kind support which has been so encouraging to Miss Howe, the company, and myself personally, during the past season.  Many a time ladies and gentlemen of my profession have said to me, ’Mr. Stanhope, why do you go to Calcutta?  That city is a death-trap for professionals,’ and now the past season proves that I was right and they were wrong; and the magnificent houses, the enthusiasm, and the appreciation that have greeted our efforts, especially on the Saturday evening performances, show plain enough that when a good thing is available, the citizens of Calcutta won’t be happy till they get it.  Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to join me in drinking the health, happiness, and prosperity of Miss Hilda Howe.”

“Miss Howe!” “Miss Howe!” “Miss Hilda Howe!” In the midst of a pushing back of chairs and a movement of feet, the response was quick and universal.  Hilda accepted their nods and becks and waving glasses with a slow movement of her beautiful eyes and a quiet smile.  In the subsidence of sound Mr. Stanhope’s voice was heard again:  “We can hardly expect a speech from Miss Howe, but perhaps Mr. Hamilton Bradley, whose international reputation need hardly be referred to, will kindly say a few words on her behalf.”

Then, with deliberate grace, Hilda rose from her chair, a tall figure among them, looking down with a hint of compassionateness on the little man at her left.  She stood for an instant without speaking, as if the flushed silence, the expectation, the warm magnetism that drew all their eyes to her were enough.  Then out of something like reverie she came to the matter.  She threw up her beautiful face with one of the supreme gestures which belonged to her.  “I think,” she said, with a little smiling bow in his direction, “that I will not trouble my friend Mr. Bradley.  He has rendered me so many kind services already that I am sure I might count upon him again, but this is a thing I should like to do for myself.  I would not have my thanks chilled by even the passage from my heart to his.”  There was something like bravado in the glance that rested lightly on Bradley with this.  One would have said that parley of hearts between them was not a thing that as a rule she courted.  “I can only offer you my thanks, poor things to which we can give neither life nor substance, yet I beg that you