First Bystander (discussing Physical Courage with a friend). No, I never 'ad no pluck. I don't see the use of it myself—on'y gits you into rows'. (Candidly.) I'm a blanky coward, I am.

His Friend (admiringly). Give us yer 'and. Yer can't be a blankier coward than me!

The A.P. (with just pride). Oi've been wan o' the biggest libertines in this or anny other city in me toime—there's no blagardhism oi'd have put beyant me—but oi till ye this. If PARNELL was to come up to me here, now, and ask me to sheek um by the hand, oi'd say, "Shtand back, ye d——d scoundthrel!" Ah, oi would that!

Belated Orator (perorating to an embarrassed stranger on a seat before him, under a muddled impression that he is addressing a spell-bound multitude). I tell yer—yes, hevery man, and hevery woman among yer—(Here he bends forward, and touches his hearer's right and left elbow impressively) don't you go away under the impression I'm talking of what I don't understan'! (The Stranger shifts his leg and looks another way.) I speak sense, don't I? You never 'eard nothin' like this afore, any of yer, 'ave yer? That's because I read between the lines! (Waving his arm wildly.) An' I want heach man and boy of you to 'member my words, and hact upon them when the time comes!

[Here he staggers off with a proud and exalted air, to the immense relief of his hearer.

A Professional Pietist (with a modest working capital of one hymn and a nasal drone). "My richest gynes" ... (To Charitable Passer. A copper, Sir? bless your kind 'art!) "I cayount" ... (Examining it. A bloomin' French 'ap'ny!) ... "but loss; And pour contemp'" ... (Call yerself a Christian gen'lman, yer—&c.) ... "on a—a—ll my proide!"

(Here the Reader will probably have had enough of it.)

A REAL TREAT.—Advice to Covent-gardeners.—If Carmen is to be done again this season with the same cast as it had on Saturday last, no one who cares for an exceptionally first-rate performance should miss this opera-tunity. There is no better representative of Carmen than Mlle. ZELIE DE LUSSAN,—how can there be, since the Spanish Gipsy heroine of the plot is herself a Loose 'un? Madame MELBA was charming as Mickie Ella, the Irish girl in Spain. M. LASSALLE appeared as Escamillo. the bull-fighter, in a novel, and doubtless a correct, costume, and his great Toréador song was vociferously encored. Then, finally, JEAN DE RESKÉ, who made of the usually idiotic Don José a fine acting as well as a fine singing part. It drew a big house, and would have been a pretty dish to set before an Emperor on Wednesday, if, on that occasion, the Opera itself were the only consideration.

OFF TO MASHERLAND.

(By Our Own Grandolph.)

(SECOND LETTER.—B.)

The Magnum Opus.

À propos of this heading, what a treasure a Magnum Opal would be. This remark is only "by the way." My motto is Business First, Play (on words) afterwards. So to work.

I really think I shall take to Guide-book writing. Grandolph's Guides would be immensely popular. I'm sure I can do it—for upon my word I can do a'most anything if I only buckle to. By the way, 'Buckle' suggests history. Can go in for "making history" when I've done this work. WILLIAMS—not MONTAGU the Magistrate—(good title this for something)—but my friend the Companionable Captain —— is at work; when he has done, he reads out a few descriptive paragraphs for my approbation, or the contrary. When I nod it means that I like it; when I don't nod, he has to wait till I do. I generally begin nodding about the middle of the first paragraph.

"Well," says he, the other day, quite suddenly, "I'm glad you like it all so much."

"Like all what?" I exclaimed, blowing the cigar-ash off my pyjamas, and wondering to myself how I could have been so absorbed in his reading aloud as to have let my half-smoked havannah tumble on to the floor.

"Why, all I've been reading to you for the last hour and a half," returned the Captain, apparently somewhat annoyed; peppery chap, the Captain,—'Curried' Captain when on board Sir DONALD's boat,—but to resume. Says the Curried Captain, still a bit annoyed, "You passed all the paragraphs, one after the other, and whenever I stopped to ask you how you liked it, you nodded."

I didn't like to hurt the gallant scribe's feelings, but the fact is that he, as a reader, has a very soothing-syrupy tone and, I fancy, that in less than a quarter of an hour, judging by the moiety of my cigar. I must have fallen fast asleep.

"That's posted, is it?" I ask, evading further explanation. "It is," he answers. "But I've got another lot—"

"Good!" I interrupt him, rather abruptly I own, but, from experience I say it, if I don't take