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Echoes from Piccadilly.

Dvorak is the musician of the moment.

I assure you Jane Hading is Sarah's formidable rival.

General Gordon's birthday was January 28th., age 52.

Battenberg will hardly relish the Mother-in-Law business.

The German Emperor's tenure of life is vitally important just now.

Professor Huxley ought to take a run out to Australia and recruit.

The "Private Secretary" is still the most amusing play in London.

Sarasate is the only violinist, and witches London with his luscious bowing.

Heard anything of Berlioz in Melbourne yet? Damnation of Faust? Messe Solennelle?

Read Henry Chaplin on "Hermit," the racehorse, in the new periodical, England.

Patti's £400 a night, and so on, has made a failure of the Covent Garden Italian Opera Season.

Miss Fortescue is not married—yet. Garmoyle travels leisurely home through the United States.

Wolseley's eye troubles him, and, like Gambetta, he has only one, having left the other in the Crimea.

The question is whether Augustus Harris will try "Theodora" at Drury Lane, with Mrs. Bernard Beere.

The curious want to know how much Sankey pocketed over the hymn-books, but Moody wouldn't take any.

Have you received the score yet of that fleshy, secular, successful oratorio, Mackenzie's "Rose of Sharon?"

Like Napoleon, Scott, Buckle, Garfield, and most other great men, Chinese Gordon owed everything to his mother.

Please tell me who Mr. Henniker Heaton is. Ginx's Baby Jenkins has retired, and now comes another buzzing gadfly.

Who is to command in Egypt if Lord Wolseley bites the-dust? Sir Red vers Buller? This young General is Chief-of-Staff.

"Edward VI.," "Edward VII.," so is the succession settled. The young Prince will be no Hal, and takes Germany as his model.

Will Wilson Barrett go to America, with "Claudlan" and "Hamlet?" I think so. What fresh realm is left in London for him to conquer?

President Cleveland and Henry Irving were lately present at a performance, by Joseph Jefferson, of Golightly, in "Lend Me Five Shillings."

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The religious world in France draws a moral from the financial circumstances which worried Edmond About to death.

Capital likeness of Sir Salmon, in Vanity Fair. He is looking up. No more occasion to entertain poor Blue Bloods, of the Teck tribe.

General Sir F. Roberts is kept very quiet in his Madras command. Perhaps he will come with a rush. Will he ever be wanted again in Afghanistan?

A nice little business that of the dynamitards—blowing up Parliament Houses. What, oh, what would old Guy not have done if he had dynamite?

Our youngest general is Sir Herbert Stewart, aged 42. In his boyhood he was a crack of Winchester school as a wicket-keeper and forward football player.

We have been much impressed with the funeral of our excellent Bishop of London, Jackson. The whole grave was lined with moss and flowers, making it quite a thing of beauty.

Yates is making capital by writing letters from his prison to the World. He aptly nicks off Fred Burnaby by likening his appearance to an Italian baritone, rather than a dashing Guardsman.

Goschen has withdrawn his name from the Liberal clubs, and all but throws in his hat with the Conservative party. He will be wanted, as Chancelier of the Exchequer.

Mrs. Langtry has made a fiasco, appearing as Princess Georges, at the Prince's. The play, by Dumas, is too gamey. Besides, it was badly done.

And they say the Bancrofts have cleared £100,000 by theatrical management. Contrast this with the failure of a man like Chatterton—the manager, not the poet. Where's the secret? How were the Bancrofts launched at the little Prince o'Wales'?