The of Science and Art." As a music-hall, it is not only admirably appointed and superbly decorated, but, unlike most theatres, it is seldom unpleasantly hot, and enjoys a happy immunity from offensive odours. The heavy chandelier which formerly hung from the dome has been replaced by an arabesque border of gas jets, and a central light so arranged as to diffuse but little heat, though it is at once picturesque and useful. The band is one of the finest in London, and if strictly classical music comes not within its scope, you may hear selections and favourite overtures performed in a manner to satisfy the most exacting connoisseur. The Alhambra ballets are not to be spoken of lightly. They are triumphs of art-saltatory, pictorial, and mechanical. The glories of such productions as "King Dragon-fly" and "The Bulrush Fens" set powers of description at defiance. "comic pantomimic ballet" brought out at Christmas abounded with fun and bustle. The most astounding feats were performed by a showily-attired individual, who impersonated a "swell" of an undeveloped type and peculiar habits; and to judge from the applause of the audience, the Clown, Harlequin, Pantaloon, and Columbine were as efficient as any in London. In "The Mountain Gorge" we have an eastern ballet, and some useful hints to Mussulmans and Cretans. We learn from it that guns are not only of service in a fight, but wonderfully effective in a dance, especially when handled by ladies; also, that there is a degree of picturesqueness in an encampment by moonlight, which can be duly appreciated only when we are in perfect good-humour with ourselves and neighbours, and untroubled by any fear of the provisions falling short. The overhanging rocks, mountain defile, clear moon, and luminous atmosphere are marvels of scenic art, and all thoughts of the painter's brush or mechanical contrivances are effectually forbidden. Whatever your position in the Alhambra, you will always see and hear to advantage. As much cannot be said even of our smaller theatres, and it should be remembered that the vast building in Leicester Square is capable of accommodating as many as 5000 persons. Had we space, we might enlarge on the new and convenient "crush-rooms," the improved means of access to and escape from the various parts of the building, the "greatly-enlarged supper-room, "upwards of a hundred feet long," and the civility and attention displayed by every one connected with the establishment. The terms of admission are moderate, and range from sixpence for the upper balcony to three or four guineas for a commodious private box. We may add that, for the convenience of those who object to mixing with the crowd, reserved seats have been provided, price four shillings each. Mr. Strange certainly supplies the best and cheapest evening's entertainment in London. There is constant variety, and everything is good of its kind. More than this we cannot say, unless it be further praise to add that the Alhambra Palace is about the only redeeming feature of Leicester Square. On the site of an old-fashioned inn, known as the "White Lion," which formerly stood in the Edgeware Road, and within half a mile of the Marble Arch, there has been erected a handsome and spacious music-hall, bearing the title of "The Metropolitan." Its internal arrangements slightly resemble those at the Alhambra, though of course on a diminished scale; and whilst the prices of admission are surprisingly moderate-being sixpence for the area, ninepence for the balcony, and a shilling for the stalls-the accommodation is excellent, and the entertainments generally of a superior order. Of late, the whole of the interior has been brilliantly re-decorated, the audience has gained in respectability, and the refreshments have undergone a marked and much-needed improvement. There is a stage, supplied with a picturesque act-drop and a fair stock of scenery, but too limited in extent to allow of extraordinary spectacular display. The band, though small, is efficient; and the entertainments include the usual allowance of serio and would-be comic songs, gymnastic feats, and theatrical dancing. "Mythological ballets" were attempted at one time, but have been wisely discontinued. Sextilian," not inaptly termed the "wondrous," performs extraordinary feats with hoops and half-filled tumblers to an air from Haydn's "Seasons; and the sensational element is supplied by a gentleman of reckless tendencies, who imperils his own limbs and other people's heads also by his "deeds of daring on the " 'flying trapèze." The "Jolly Nash" gains the thorough goodwill of the audience, and not only enjoys a double encore, but has to apologise for not complying with further demands. The popular favourite seems to possess but a moderate share of talent, though much tact. He has an air of frankness and good-humour which pleases his listeners immensely. He affects the bearing of a sociable host entertaining his friends. When the audience joins in a chorus, he smiles and keeps time with his hand. He is always apparently anxious to gratify reasonable desires; but when his friends are exacting he excuses himself, though in such pleasant terms as to carry conviction to every one, and arouse a fresh enthusiasm. There are a couple of curious music-halls opposite the barracks at Knightsbridge. They are respectively entitled "The Sun" and "The Trevor; and if the former is the most decorously conducted, the latter is decidedly the most amusing. "The Sun" has lately been rebuilt, and is now a commodious, welllighted, and admirably-ventilated hall, in a composite style of architecture, of which the most prominent features appear to be columns of Gothic extraction, and classical friezes delineative of utterly-impossible men on conventionally-impossible horses. The passage at the entrance is of a gorgeous and bewildering description, and conducts to a spacious vestibule, whereof the roof is supported by a couple of elderly gentlemen, who from the waist downwards are formed after the manner of mermaids. The hall itself, though spacious and substantial, savours much of the chapel. The "stalls " are approached by an underground passage, suggestive of the catacombs at Kensal Green, and having reached them, and glancing backwards, you observe a large gallery, resembling the spacious organ-lofts of old-fashioned churches. It is occupied by both civilians and military men, refreshing themselves with creature comforts, and attentively regarding the business of the stage. The chairman, who occupies a raised seat in the "stalls," is strict in enforcing order, and it is pleasant to observe the snug little party which gathers round the table whereat he presides. In addition to being an energetic and courteous manager, he apparently possesses the gift of mental abstraction to an extraordinary degree, and even during the progress of a comic song, he may be observed making notes and abstruse calculations with a degree of calmness at once unique and impressive. The performances usually commence with an operatic selection, and conclude with a composition of sterling merit-say the "War March of Priests," from Mendelssohn's "Athalie." It may be doubted whether music of so ambitious a cast comes within the scope even of the "greatly enlarged" orchestra, and we might have fancied that the audience would have preferred a waltz or a polka; but the conductor probably decides for the best, and it is gratifying to think that classical music is already on its journey to Hammersmith. The 66 company at the Sun," or "Knightsbridge Music-hall," appears to be made up of a few "stars" and a good many "sticks." Amongst the former are the D'Aubans and Wards, who "brought the house down," in a species of farce, followed by some clever dancing, Sextilian the "in imitable," and the "great Vance." With regard to the last-named gentleman, if his merits have been unduly enlarged upon, they have also been unduly depreciated. His conceptions, though farcical, are seldom offensively extravagant. He does himself mischief by yielding to a clap-trap habit of "gagging," or extemporising witticisms, for the delectation of the "groundlings." If he could conquer this propensity, he might sink in the estimation of the area,' ," but would escape destroying some almost perfect illusions. In his delineation of a self-satisfied member of the beau monde he is peculiarly happy, and the artist is effectually lost sight of in the character represented. There is an ease and nonchalance in the performance that are irresistibly charming. Though the minutiae of the picture are filled in with extraordinary care, there is no undue straining after effect, and some of the most significant touches are the more admirable from being apparently spontaneous. The "make-up" is perfect; every gesture is appropriate, and the affected drawl and conceited strut are sufficiently marked, but not so decided as to degenerate into buffoonery. In " Costermonger Joe" there is much to admire, particularly the nervous fidgeting of the hands, the crafty smile, rapidly shifting changes of countenance, and gradual merging of awkward shyness into unabashed impudence. The "Life Guardsman" is a capital piece of costuming, and the dancing scene is life-like and humorous. The 66 great Vance" has an average voice, which he employs effectively. We have been told that he is not popular with the "profession;" but then he has enjoyed an extraordinary degree of success, and a prophet is rarely held in esteem by those of his own calling. His mannerism is closely copied by the majority of his censurers, but he possesses a certain quaint originality which is incapable of being reproduced in other persons. We are acquainted with one gentleman, who is a fair imitation so long as he refrains from action and keeps his mouth closed, but though clever in his "make up," his performances sooner or later degenerate into unmeaning buffoonery, and though there may be something particularly mirth-provoking in a squint, it is one of those efforts of genius to which recourse should not be had more than half-a-dozen times in five minutes. But further remarks on the "Sun" and "The Trevor " must be reserved for our next and concluding paper, in which we shall describe the struggles and adventures of those whose energies are taxed for the great amusement of the British public. ARTHUR OGILVY. Some milk had from a temple taken; To seize the thief and all his clan. Like bubbling fire through the summer wave, THE UNSEASONABLE WORSHIPPER. CHAPTER I. "YOU'LL find Mrs. Wartnaby very odd, sir," said the old parish clerk, in answer to my inquiries respecting the occupants of the great house of the village. "In what way, Jennings ?" I asked. "Oh, all ways, sir," and he struck the bunch of keys he held in his hand smartly against the churchyard gate, as if it were of no use going into details. "Do you know why she was not at church yesterday? I hope she is not ill." "She never does come,—not at servicetime," was the clerk's singular answer. "But she allus sends her dog," he added, with a chuckle. "Perhaps you saw it, sir, with the young ladies. A little brown terrier it is." "Was it that that made the yelping noise while I was preaching ?" "Yes, sir, and I expect Miss Moreton kicked it, in hopes it would put you out, sir," and the old fellow tried to make his broad grin respectful by pulling at his hat-brim. "It sleeps just under Mrs. Wartnaby's seat, and if anybody puts a foot near it it allus goes on like that. Miss Black Curls-that is how they call Miss Moreton, sir-of course she knows it, and I should say she did it on purpose." "I hope not," I could not help exclaiming. "I am a perfect stranger to her; she cannot have any ill-feeling against me. Black Curls! Then it would be she who sat nearest the door?" "It would be your being a stranger would do it. She doesn't like strangers, she says. When the curate from the other parish first began to come, she bothered him badly," and Jennings paused to laugh at some humorous recollections. "But she's better than her aunt," he resumed, with a grave shake of the head; "for though she sneers at you to your face, Miss Moreton will do you a kindness behind your back. I shouldn't wonder a bit, sir, if she sends you a present to-day, just because she was rude yesterday. All anybody gets now from the big house comes from her; but nobody must ever thank her. Mistress Edith is allus very particular in saying that." "Who may Edith be?" "She is the housekeeper, sir, a nice old lady, and Miss Moreton sends her with the presents." Well, it is rather queer news you give me, Jennings, and I don't altogether fancy my visit," I answered, for I was then on my way to make a first call at the White House. "Is there anything peculiar about the other young lady? I suppose you call her Golden Curls? The one, I mean, who sat in the far corner of the pew. She is cousin to Miss Moreton, I believe ? " I had noticed on the previous day that she was peculiarly attentive to the sermon; unusually so, as things go in these lukewarm times. "Yes, Miss Daley. No, sir; she isn't called any name," and the old man chuckled. "People don't take much notice of her. I think she is a nice young lady myself, and she is very good-disposed, I've heard; but they say she has no money of her own, and her cousin keeps her at an under. Miss Moreton allus goes to the fore, sir." "Does she? You said something about Mrs. Wartnaby not coming to the church for service. Does she come at any other times, Jennings?" I inquired, my thoughts reverting to a previous remark of his. "Two or three times a week, sir. Of course she has the key to the side-door, and she lets herself in as she likes. Nobody knows what she does, and I'll defy 'em to know, for the dog is allus with her, and if you go near the big door it hears you, and yelps like mad.” The indignant sparkle in the speaker's eyes suggested that his curiosity had in this way been baffled. "P'r'aps she goes to say her prayers there, instead o' worshipping like other people on a Sunday; but as she sends the dog on th' Sabbath, maybe she thinks that's as good," he added, with a grin. Good morning, Jennings. It is all very strange," I said, turning away, and starting to make my not very grateful visit. I thought this conversation had gone far enough. If it went much further, I possibly should not have courage to venture to the White House. "Thank you, sir. Don't be frightened at the dog," Jennings called after me. "She'll make it bark; but it won't bite you. She learns it to bark at anybody," he added, grinning through the iron bars of the gate, as he locked himself inside, and then hurried off to the church, to see about its dusting and cleaning, which he attended to himself, having, however, as I afterwards learned, special instructions never to enter the great White House pew, which was attended to by Mrs. Edith, the housekeeper, none of the underservants even being entrusted with the duty! Before proceeding further, I should explain that I had just entered on the curacy of P, the rector of which parish, a distant relative of mine on my father's side, had been ordered abroad for the recovery of his health. It was expected that he would have to remain away for a couple of years at the least, a long absence from our climate being considered the only chance of alleviating a chronic disease under which he was labouring; and until his return I was to fill his place. He was a bachelor, so that I took possession of parsonage as well as pulpit; indeed, for all practical purposes, I was rector instead of merely curate. The parish was a very small onethe whole population did not exceed three hundred souls; and my relative's letters, I am bound to say, dwelt chiefly on a single family that of the White House, the "big mansion" of the village. Gervase Moreton, Esq., the recent head of that household, was an old college friend of my father's cousin, which was how he came to get the presentation, it being vested in the Moreton family; but the Squire had died rather suddenly some eighteen months ago, leaving only one child, an orphan daughter, his wife having preceded him in her decease, and as the guardian of the heiress, who had been educated abroad, he appointed his wife's sister, a Miss Sophia Wartnaby, but who, though yet a spinster, was so far advanced in life that she adopted the style of "Mrs." Wartnaby on assuming the management of the White House. My relative in his correspondence, for I had never visited him at his own place, had impressed me with the necessity of standing on good terms with the Moreton family, it may be in the hope of my succeeding to the reversion of the living when he ceased to hold it. Some vague hints were given of family eccentricities; but no details were supplied: and as I had only arrived at the village late on the Saturday night, greatly wearied, too, from a long journey, I had no time to pay a ceremonial visit. Next day, at both services, the big pew, with the oak frame draped with dusty red curtains, was occupied by two young ladies; but Mrs. Wartnaby herself was not present on either occasion. There was a private aisle leading to this pew, entered by a door on the opposite side from the vestry, so that I had no opportunity of accosting the ladies either on their entrance or withdrawal. I had, however, learned from the servants at the parsonage who they were, and found that the fair-complexioned one was not, as I at first thought, the Squire's daughter, but was her cousin, who also lived permanently at the White House. The snarling of a dog in the pew during the evening service, which did not seem at all novel to the scattered congregation, and also the strange behaviour of Miss Moreton, whose dancing black ringlets made her every movement discernible, had naturally puzzled me; and this morning, before proceeding to pay my indispensable visit to Mrs. Wartnaby, I had purposely got into talk with the old clerk, not liking to push the inquiries too closely among the parsonage domestics, with whom as yet I was not intimate. Jennings's conversation had not at all tended to reassure me, and it was with a curious feeling of apprehension that after parting from him I hurried along the path over the two or three intervening meadows, and approached the large, dusky, grey stone mansion, half-surrounded with trees. The blinds, I noticed, were missing from some of the upper windows, which always gives a house a comfortless look, and that and the not very well-kept walks and grounds made the place appear neglected. After waiting for a minute or two in the entrance-hall, while the servant-girl fetched an elderly personage, whom I knew from previous descriptions could not be Mrs. Wartnaby, and whom I suspected to be Mistress Edith, I was shown into a kind of large parlour on the left-hand side, where I found a little woman, with white hair, partly lying on a sofa, wrapped in a shawl, and with a small terrierdog rising from the carpet near her. "It was of no use her going to church, for she could not profit anything, owing to her deafness," Mrs. Wartnaby said, in a pause of the dog's barking, and the little heed she seemed to take of the interruption went to show that she must be very deaf indeed. The clerk had not mentioned this circumstance to me, and though not a valid ground of excuse, |