didn't. It was all that accident to my poor uncle and cousin. And I'm about the poorest Peer in Scotland; if that's any excuse for me!

Miss Seaton. How can it be any excuse for your coming here? Have you no pride, Douglas!

Lord Strath. My goodness, what is there to be proud about? Why shouldn't I dine with anybody, provided——?

Miss Seaton. Please don't excuse yourself—I can't bear it. You know it is unworthy of you to be here!

Lord Strath. I don't indeed. I came here simply as a——

Miss Seaton. Don't trouble to tell me—I know everything. And—and you ought to have died rather than descend to this!

Lord Strath. Ought I? Died, eh? That never occurred to me; and, after all, Marjory, you're here! What's wrong? What have I let myself in for?

Miss Seaton (bitterly). What have you let yourself out for, you mean, don't you?

Lord Strath. (mystified). I don't know! I believe my man let me out; and, anyway, what does it matter now I've come? There's dinner announced. Marjory, before we're separated, just tell me what on earth I've done to deserve this sort of thing!

Miss Seaton (with a little gesture of despair). Is it possible you want to be told how horribly you have disappointed me!

[The couples are forming to go down.

[He moves away, and awaits his hostess's directions.

[He gives his arm to Miss Seaton, who accepts it without looking at him; they go downstairs in constrained silence.

(End of Scene IV.)

QUEER QUERIES.—City Improvements.—How much longer are we to wait for the widening of the whole of Cheapside, the removal of the Post-Office Buildings to a more convenient site, and the total and unconditional sweeping away of Paternoster Row and the south side of Newgate Street? These slight alterations are imperatively required. They will only cost about ten millions, and what are ten millions to the Corporation? As I purchased the five square yards on which my little tobacco-shop is built in confident expectation of being bought out at a high figure, I consider that any further delay in the matter involves something like a breach of public faith. Why should not the Government help? They have lots of money, and I haven't.—Disinterested.

"Facts and Figures."—The business of the Labour Commissioner has to be very delicately managed. There must be a good deal of "give and take" in the work. However much "taking" there may be, there is sure to be plenty of Giffen.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

There is something fascinating about the title of Mr. McCullagh Torrens' book, published in one handsome volume, by Bentley. There should be a good deal in Twenty Years in Parliament, more so when the epoch covers recollections of Palmerston in his green old age, Mr. Gladstone in his prime, Bright in his political prize-fighting trim, Cobden, Tom Duncan, Monckton Milnes, John Stuart Mill, Isaac Butt, and a host of other ghosts that have flitted off the scene. My Baronite turned to the book with gusto, read it through with patience, and left it with disappointment. Mr. Torrens knew all these men personally; in fact, he was indispensable to them. One marvels to find, from hints dropped and assertions boldly made, how much they were severally indebted to him for counsel and inspiration through the twenty years the narrative vaguely covers. The figures of the men named loom large in history; but they were all stuffed. The wires were pulled by plain unappreciated McCullagh Torrens. The weight of the responsibility has had the effect of somewhat muddling the narrative, and, from time to time, the diligent reader does not know exactly where he is. He begins with some episode in which Dizzy, with arm affectionately linked with that of McCullagh Torrens, is walking along Pall Mall, when a passing Bishop obsequiously takes off his hat and bows. McCullagh modestly says this obeisance was paid to Dizzy, but we know very well it was to McCullagh. Then, before we know where we are, we are in the middle of an account of the Bulgarian atrocities, the Russo-Turkish war, what Count Beust said to McCullagh, and how, in debate on the Vote of Six Millions, "a Right Hon. friend who sat next to me urged me to add a few words to what had been better said by others in this sense." Better said! Oh, McCullagh! Oh, Torrens! There is an ancient story of an old gentleman who had a treasured anecdote connected with the going off of a gun. When he could not drag it in otherwise, he was wont to furtively lift his foot and kick the table. "Hallo, what's that?" he cried. "Sounds like a gun; that reminds me"—and then the story. Thus Mr. Torrens drags in successive Parliamentary episodes through twenty years—the Disestablishment of the Church, the Charity Commission, State Aid to Emigrants, School Board for London, Extradition, Artisans' Dwellings; gives a not very clear summary of events leading up to each, and then treats the entranced reader to the heads of the speech he delivered. The book would have been more accurately entitled had it been called Twenty Years of McCullagh Torrens, and old Members of the House of Commons will agree that this is a little too much.

Baron de Book-Worms & Co.

The Three.

The First Bal Masqué of the Season.—Big success. Greater