Returning to what I venture to imagine must be "new matter" not in the
Herman-_plus_-Jonesian version, I consider the scene in which _Nora_
chaffs _Dr. Rank_ about his illness absolutely nauseous, and the
drink-inspired admiration of husband for wife in the concluding Act
repulsive to the last degree. On Tuesday the spectators received the
piece with patient apathy; and, this being the case, I could not help
feeling that anyone who could single out such a play as suitable for
performance before an English audience, could scarcely possess the
acumen generally considered a necessary adjunct to the qualifications
of an efficient Dramatic Critic. The hero, the heroine, the doctor,
as prigs, could only appeal to prigs, and thank goodness the average
London theatre-goer is the reverse of a prig. There was but one
redeeming point in the play--its conclusion. It ends happily in
_Nora_, forger, liar, and--hem--wedded flirt, being separated from her
innocent children.

For the rest, the piece was fairly well acted. But when the Curtain
had fallen for the last time, and the audience were departing more in
sadness than in anger, I could not help asking myself the question,
Had the advantages obtained in witnessing the performance balanced
the expense incurred in securing a seat? I am forced to reply in the
negative, as I sign myself regretfully,

ONE WHO PAID FOR A PLACE IN THE PIT.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

I see three ladies in a drawing-room, each with a green volume. "What