"Return again Whittington, Pantomime of London" were the words to the chimes that on or about Boxing Day must have been ringing in the ears of Mr. Ex-Sheriff Harris, Knight, and spectacle maker from morn to dawn. This is not the first time that our own Druriolanus has chosen the intermittent Lord Mayor (for did not Dick pass the chair thrice?) as the subject for his annual. That he has been wise in making the selection has been proved by the result. Sir Augustus (with the assistance of his literary colleagues, Messrs. H. Hamilton and Walter Raleigh; and his chief of the staff, Mr. Arthur Collins) has beaten his own record. Nothing better than the present show has been seen at Drury Lane within the recollection of the existing generation. And it is highly probable that the memory of man does not, anent times past, run to the contrary.

The ex-sheriff has begun a new lease of the old house, and seemingly has taken the success he has so long established on the premises as one of the fixtures. A most excellent commencement to a contract that should be highly satisfactory to both manager and public.

So much for pantomimic things in general, and now to turn to details in particular. The book of the words is decidedly a superior article. Hitherto when the Drury Lane Annual has contained a fault the mistake has been discovered in "the cackle." On former occasions it has been said (by the dyspeptic and consequently disappointed) that "the turns of the halls" have been too numerous. Those excellent comedians Messrs. Dan Leno and Herbert Campbell have sometimes been a little too much in evidence to suit every taste. In 1894-95 they have plenty to do, but only enough to satisfy the most fastidious. They are quite as amusing as usual, and when the curtain falls before "the transformation" people are rather inclined to ask for more than to say that they have had quite enough. This is the token of a good sign. Then the Brothers Griffiths are particularly pleasing. That member of the brethren who plays the cat is at once comic and pathetic. He makes Malkin quite a loveable character. Then Miss Ada Blanche, as Dick, is altogether a hero of romance. She may sing the old songs of the halls, but she tempers her comic vocalism with a touch of sentiment that makes the whole world kin after it has had its grin. Miss Marie Montrose, too, is winsome, and so are Misses Agnes Hewitt, Eva Westlake, and Madge Lucas. In fact, the opening is well played by "all concerned." It is a wonder that, after the first innings of the morning performance, they should have scored so heavily in the evening's representation. But score they do, and are likely to "continue the movement" until Easter.

The scenery must be seen. It baffles description. Who could paint the sun? Who could report the wonders of the solar system? A first impressionist would declare that the gorgeous production of colour, light, and form, could only be adequately suggested by the word "Harris." So the entire audience thought on Boxing Night. Let it be known that after the wonderful "Feast of Lanterns" Scene, Sir Augustus was called to the front three or four times, and might have "gone on" indefinitely so far as the house was concerned. Indeed, the enthusiasm showed no sign of diminution when the lessee had made his exit. Still the Gallery called for "'Arris!" still the Stalls expressed their opinion by the gentle tapping of well-gloved hands. Nay more, there were members of the superior classes who not only rapped out their applause, but roared with laughter. From first to last, thanks to a thoroughly appreciative (and yet discriminating) audience, the play went admirably.

So the bells will ring for Whittington for a long time to come. And where the belles are there will be found the beaux. To continue the association of ideas, the shot of Sir Augustus has ended in a hit. It does not take a prophet to predict that Dick will not only be the centre of numberless matinÉes, but the hero of at least a hundred nights. Dick will listen to his bells until Easter changes the music.

WHY DOST THOU SING?