Trial by Jury is inherently the better show, due no doubt to Gilbert's brilliant libretta. Boosted by a chorus of buxmale jurors, Trial has the vitality the Cox and Box seems to lack. Directed by Constance Miller, an accomplished actress in her own right, it was superior on all counts. But despite the small stage and undermanned orchestra the Savoyards managed to pull off two happy shows.

The Savoy Operas are durable and thus immortal; they are almost indestructable. They can only be ruined by the worst of hospital benefit groups. Fortunately the Savoyards have a number of shining lights among them and cannot be accused of theatrical genocide, though last evening's performance was not entirely free of bruises. Still, under ideal conditions, with a good stage and full orchestra, they are the best collegiate G and S group group in town, and three of the company deserve special mention.

Paul Seltzer, as Cox, and the punctillious defendant in Trial, is by no stretch of the imagination a good singer, for he tends to fade beneath the chorus lines. He is, however, a very fine actor. When he launches into a pompous Gilbertian harangue you just have to crack up. He struts. He sashays. His face is made of rubber. Given a lead in, say Iolanthe, and with some voice training, Seltzer should be truly outrageous.

Linda Houpt, as the jilted fiancee in Trial, has a voice of silver and considerable acting talent to boot. A veteran Savoyard, Miss Houpt can make you laugh or cry as evidenced by a great showing in last spring's production of H.M.S. Pinafore. Yet she has one shortcoming: she's often vocally lazy. Though by far the best soprano in the company she seems never to fully turn on the juice. She's very good but we'd like to hear the full dose. Her batting eyelashes are hysterical and her facial takes classic.

Jeff Weisenfreund, as the Faginesque landlord in Cox and the womanizing judge in Trial is doubly blessed. He has a rich, rich voice and on stage is the most convincing of double-dealing scoundrels. A consistent performer, Weisenfreund sparkles in a good company and shines in a bad one. His single-handed salvaging of an otherwise deplorable MIT rendition of the Mikado last spring is testimony to his talent. He's a great crook and you should never buy a used hansom cab from this man.

The two shows were hardly flawless though, for small stages, smaller orchestras, and little time tend to mar the finished product. Yet Cox and Trial had flashes of occasional brilliance and, if not polished jewels, they were perhaps small diamonds in the rough.