good-natured Courier explains that it signifies the luggage-receipt.

Away ambles the Porter, leaving me with that orphaned sort of feeling which a luggageless Englishman experiences; it is pouring cats and dogs; I am dead beat; I creep into the dark omnibus. I find myself quite alone. I wait impatiently—a quarter of an hour—twenty-five minutes—still no Porter; I am famished; to distract myself, I peer through the door, whence I can discern the messy vista of the railway-station in the rain; it's lucky I do so; for there I behold my own portmanteau, with its huge purple stripe, being hauled away on the back of a railway-man, followed by an alien Hôtel Porter, not mine, doing nothing: they are always doing nothing. To rush out indignantly, seize my box, defy the brigands, and carry it back myself, seemed the work of an instant. Drenched and gasping, I find myself once more outside; the Porter of the Grand Hôtel Du Lac is at my heels, furious and impertinent. "Dis, not your loggosh: other shentleman's loggosh." He seized the portmanteau, and a struggle would certainly have ensued, when my own Hôtel Porter appeared on the scene triumphant, with a regiment of station-men carrying one small tin box. "What you do, Sar; see here, your loggosh!" The tin box belonged to a commercial-traveller, who was bound for the Hôtel Du Lac.

I am too exhausted to curse, and leave the rival Porters to fight it out themselves, after paying off the ragged regiment of Station-men. On the drive to the Hôtel, the Porter tries to propitiate me.

"Pity shentlemans like you, Sar, fetch de loggosh. I tell you, better leave it to me, Sar. You see, I get your loggosh. Dat bizley Porter of De Hôtel Du Lac, he change de empfangschein; but I sweep it from him, and bring to de 'Bus"—"'Bus" was good—and then he laughed!

"Pity shentlemans like you, Sar, retchistar de loggosh."

I never saw the brute again until the time of my departure; I had taken a carriage to the Station this time, thinking thereby to avoid the Porter-omnibus. I had registered my traps myself, and was looking out for some one to carry them to the den in which you are penned till the train arrives, when, lo! the chucker-out! smiling and bowing as if he had never seen me before—"Is better I retchistar de loggosh, Sar; pity shentlemans like you, Sar, retchistar de loggosh."

I turn on my heel with an imprecation which "Ingleese-spikers" understand. But he still waits there, smiling, and expecting to be tipped, Let him wait. So much for the Omnibus-Porter—at once the Gamp and Undertaker of my Grand Hôtel existence.

The House-Porter is of equal size, and equal uselessness. He sits in the hall, and always rises and salutes when you pass. If you want anything, he waits till you have got it, and then offers to procure it for you. If you ask to be called early, he chalks something on a slate, and you are safe not to be disturbed until you rise in your wrath and ring violently. Should you be in a town, and wish to secure theatre-tickets, he becomes more active; he implores you not to resort to "De Boxing Office, vare you pay premiums, you see;" but he has one or two left for sale. Should you be weak enough to yield, you will find that the worst seats at the highest prices are yours; and, if you remonstrate next day, he will sigh wearily, and remark,—"Is acheslant places, Sar; but was Gala Night, you see,"—an enigma, which those who run may read. He is always offering to do something, and doing you instead. He is absolutely unnecessary, for there is seldom anyone in a Grand Hôtel to "chuck out," and this would be his only justification.

THE "BLOWER" BURST UP!

"FONS ET ORIGO."—As to London Water "seek Wells," that is if you wish to avoid unpleasant seq-uels. "Don't leave Wells alone" is our motto, meaning "Sir SPENCER" of that ilk, who has a deal worth hearing to say on this subject.

TWO SIDES TO A QUESTION.

Major Podmore. "CONGRATULATE YOU, DEAR BOY!"

Disappointed Cricketer. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN? BOWLED FIRST BALL—NEVER GOT A RUN!"

Major Podmore. "QUITE SO, DEAR BOY. BUT IN THIS HOT WEATHER—80° IN THE SHADE—SO MUCH BETTER, IF YOU CAN, TO TAKE THINGS COOLLY!"

A ROUNDABOUT RAMBLE.

(A Fact Founded on Fiction.)

The sharp, bright little Traveller made his way to the Cabinet of M. CARNOT, and disturbed him at work.

"Do you know, M. Le Président," said he, "that the Russians are in secret treaty with the English, and the Russo-French Alliance is all nonsense—the most unreliable of broken reeds?"

"Well, no," replied CARNOT, "I have not heard anything of the sort; and, if anyone should be up in it—"

But the Traveller did not want to hear the rest, for he was once again on his road, telling everyone he met the disquieting intelligence, and, consequently, the French people were greatly troubled.

He was soon in Berlin. He did not ask for an interview with the KAISER, but took one.

"Your Royal and Imperial Majesty," said he, "are you aware that Italy is in secret accord with France, and that the Triple Alliance is a sham, and that the cry À Berlin! may be renewed at any moment?"

"Well, no," said the Emperor, "I have not heard this; and if anyone should know anything about it, I fancy—"

But the Traveller did not wait for the KAISER to finish the sentence, but was off again, telling everyone he met the disquieting intelligence. And, consequently, the German people were greatly troubled.

Then the Traveller obtained admission, in the same unceremonious fashion, to the apartment occupied by the Emperor of AUSTRIA.

"King of HUNGARY," said he, "are you aware that you cannot possibly rely upon your