mind. "Nobbled!" Ah! were they able

To get at his groom, or sneak into his stable,

How gladly some of them would give him a dose!

That's right, ARTHUR; watch him, my lad, and—keep close!

Trainer. Ay, ay, Sir! They will not get much out of me, Sir!

A still tongue to Tipsters and Touts is a teaser.

They're awfully curious about t'other horse;

Dissolution, you know. Try to pump me.

Noble Owner. Of course!

Very natural, you know, I should be, in their case.

If they knew that this nag couldn't win the big race,

Or was not meant to run, then their course would be clear.

[Espies Stranger approaching.

Hillo! Not too near, ARTHUR! (Aside.) Whom have we here?

Polite Stranger (insinuatingly).

Beg pardon, my Lord! A bit out of my track.

Missed my way. But—ahem!—is that really the "crack"?

Why, he looks cherry ripe—at a distance. I've heard

All sorts of reports—gossips are so absurd!

But—would you mind telling me—has the Great Horse

Been really—got at? Entre nous, mind!—

Noble Owner (drily). Of course!

Dissolution's shy backers would much like to know.

But—tell them who sent you to ask—it's no go!

[Exit, leaving Polite Stranger planté là.

A LAY SERMON.

(Suggested by certain recent manifestations of the Nonconformist conscience.)

"REGRETS AND GREAVES."—But for a recent trial, who of the outside public would even have guessed that the unromantic and quite Bozzian name of "Mr. and Mrs. TILKINS" meant the clever musician, Mr. IVAN CARTEL and the charming and accomplished actress and soprano, Miss GERALDINE ULMAR? The TILKINSES are to be congratulated on their winning the recent action of Tilkins v. Greaves with the award of one thousand pounds damage, which is the price the transmitter of scandal to the New York World has had to pay for his industry.

THE OTHER "WESTMINSTER STABLE."

POLITE STRANGER. "I BEG YOUR PARDON, SIR: WOULD YOU KINDLY INFORM ME IF HE'S BEEN—'GOT AT'?"

NOBLE OWNER. "H'M!—AH!—WOULDN'T THE BACKERS OF DISSOLUTION LIKE TO KNOW!"

OUR COOKERY-BOOKERY.

Most Cookery-Books are bosh. I have read them all—from the 'Αρχιμαγειρος of FRANCATELLIDES (1904 B.C.) to the Ayer Akberi: or Million Recipes of RUNG JUNG JELLYBAG, compiled in Sanskrit, Pali, Singhali, Urdu, Hindustani, Bengali, and the Marowsky language, for the "Kitchens measureless to man" (see COALRIDGE), of the Golden Dome of Kubla Khan; from Mrs. GLASSE to Dr. KITCHENER; from UDE to ALEXANDRE DUMAS; from CARÊME to Mrs. MARKHAM (who is said to have adopted the pseudonym of "RUNDELL" for her culinary mistress-piece); and from Miss ACTON (who was also the distinguished authoress of Austen Fryers, Pies and Prejudice, Sense and Saltcellars, &c.) to SOYER. The only modern culinary manual which (with one exception) is worth anything is by Mrs. DE SALIS, whose name has a happy affinity to that of The Only Trustworthy Authority as a Cookery-Bookerist, and whose immortal contributions to mageiristic lore are appearing weekly in Sal—— (Here the M.S. is firmly scored out by the Editorial blue pencil; but, faintly legible, is, "circulation, 2,599,862-3/8.") From this "Golden Treasury" of gormandising I have been permitted to cull a few recipes. Here are two or three for scholastic bed-room suppers. The first will be invaluable in Seminaries for Young Ladies:—

Saucissons en Petite Toilette.—Purchase your sausages on the sly, and keep them carefully in your glove-box, or your handkerchief case till wanted. Prick them all over with a hair-pin before cooking. Sprinkle them lightly with violet powder, and fry in cold cream (bear's grease will do as well) on the back of your handglass over the bed-room candle. If the glass gets broken, say it was the housemaid, or the cat did it. Turn with the curling-tongs. When done to a rich golden brown, put your sausages on a neatly folded copy of S—— (Editorial blue pencil again), and serve hot. Thin bread and butter, plum-cake or shortbread may accompany this appetising dish, and a partially ripe apple munched between each sausage will certainly give it a zest; but it would perhaps be as well not to eat too many chocolate creams afterwards.

Soufflé de Fromage de Hollande.—This is a very favourite dish for the dormitory in Young Gentlemen's schools. Procure, on credit, a fine Dutch cheese, keep it carefully in your play-box or in your desk; but don't let your white mice get at it. Before cooking in the dormitory, you and your young friends can have a nice game of ball with the merry Dutchman, only refrain from trying his relative hardness or softness by hammering the head of MUGG, the stupidest boy in the school, with it. Now cut up your cheese into small dice and carefully toast them on a