TO-DAY.
MERCERON'S first opera, The Sultan of Shagpat, has, as you are doubtless aware, made triumphal progress round the two hemispheres. The British composer has at length emerged from obscurity, and the nations are loud with acclamation. The unexpected has again happened. As for Harvey, he takes his honours lightly, and ponders further conquests. Mrs. Merceron—for the yellow domino has put aside her titles—lately presented him with a daughter. The child's name is Isabella.
Sopwith, snug in his Bayswater flat, has bravely overcome defeat. His songs are conspicuous in the shop-windows. He paid seventeen pence in the pound. As the hero of a late courageous, yet ill-fated attempt, he supports his position with a certain mournful dignity very edifying to the spectator. "The race is not always to the strong," his graceful comment upon the news of Harvey's first success, charmed a large and influential circle, besides implying a generous acceptance of the situation created.
And of all the diversified, the momentous events and struggles recently traversed, of this whole dance-of-life which he himself put into motion, saving a bald and unconvincing outline, Hutchinson, the instrument, Hutchinson, the original instigator and responsible head, knows nothing, absolutely nothing!