Henschel has sung at every great festival in England during the last five years.

Fred. Coyne, a popular London comic singer and author, will shortly make a tour in the United States. He will best be remembered as the author of "Pull Down the Blinds," "Whoa, Emma," and other songs that have gained popularity.

It is understood that Mr. Mapleson has engaged M. Lassalle, who has hitherto been a great favorite at Covent Garden, in London, and who is enthusiastically termed by the London Times "the king of modern baritones," for his company next season.

The way is gradually being cleared for Sarah Bernhardt's return to the Comedie Francaise. The nomad star has been given to understand that if she pleases to come back, the 100,000 francs damages to which she has been condemned will not be exacted; whereas, if she plays at the Vaudeville in the autumn, as she has arranged with Sardou, the Comedie will exact the payment of that sum. In any case, Sarah's return to Paris will be a great event. It will be curious to see what effect her travels will have had upon her talent and her golden voice, and whether, as the foreign critics say, she has become Americanized in her style of acting, or her London marriage with M. Damala, a Greek, has made her more classic.

Mlle. Rhea has captured the capital. "Washington society," says the Spirit of the Times, "has taken her up and made a pet of her. President Arthur attended her performance of 'Adrienne' - his first visit to the theatre since his inauguration - and went behind the scenes between the acts, so that Mlle. Rhea might be presented to him. 'I admire all of Washington very much,' she said in reply to a question. 'And all Washington admires you very much,' gallantly responded the President, who has not forgotten how to charm the fair sex as adroitly as he manages politicians."

Signor Chizzola, like all Italians, is eminently superstitious. He said, the other day: "I knew, before my season began with Rossi, that it would be a failure. Every one told me so, and the omens came out right, as always. The day Rossi arrived at St. Petersburg the Czar was killed. The day I signed a contract for America with him President Garfield was shot. The steamer we came over in took thirteen days to cross, and we arrived on a Friday. There were three carriages waiting at the boat when we arrived. The first street-car we took had seven people, and the first man who bought a ticket in Boston was cross-eyed. How could we make money after all that? And we didn't." [Dramatic Times.

"Do you know," says Emile Zola, "why I do not like the American stage? It is superhumanly good - so good that it becomes unnatural. Remember, that a stage need not be unpleasantly realistic in order to be natural. All that is necessary is that you give place to the improper as well as to the proper. Take your women for instance; you write your plays as if there was no such thing on earth as a wicked woman, or that if there is, neither you nor your audience had ever met or heard of one. And so, instead of a handsome, charming, dazzling, fascinating creature, that bewitches with her art, I care not if it be good or bad, you show some whining, tearful, beseeching virgin, or some simple, twaddling, namby-pamby chit, whose only excuse for being good is that she don't know how to be bad."