class="smcap">B-rtl-ys bored!)
Business? O fiddle-de-dee!!!
With pleasure and love make jubilee.
Leucosia, Ligea, Parthenope
Will load your briar and brew your tea.
And we keep rare stingo down under the sea,
For we tithe earth's commerce, all duty-free!
Where will you light on a happier shore.
Or gayer companions or richer store,
All the world o'er, all the world o'er?
Whither away? listen and stay! To Judy and Parliament fly no more!"

CONFRÈRES.

Master Jacky (who took part in some school theatricals last term,—suddenly, to eminent Tragedian who has come to call). "I say, you know—I act!"

LYRE AND LANCET.

(A Story in Scenes.)

PART XI.—TIME AND THE HOUR.

Scene XIX.—The Dining Hall.

Spurrell (to himself, uncomfortably conscious of the expectant Thomas in his rear). Must write something to this beggar, I suppose; it'll keep him quiet. (To Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris.) I—I just want to write a line or two. Could you oblige me with a lead-pencil?

Mrs. Chatteris. You are really going to write! At a dinner-party, of all places! Now how delightfully original and unconventional of you! I promise not to interrupt till the inspiration is over. Only, really, I'm afraid I don't carry lead-pencils about with me—so bad for one's frocks, you know!

Thomas (in his ear). I can lend you a pencil, Sir, if you require one.

[He provides him with a very minute stump.

Spurr. (reading what he has written on the back of Undershell's missive). "Will be in my room (Verney Chamber) as soon after ten as possible.

"J. Spurrell."

(He passes the paper to Thomas, surreptitiously.) There, take him that.

[Thomas retires.

Archie (to himself). The calm cheek of these writin' chaps! I saw him takin' notes under the table! Lady Rhoda ought to know the sort of fellow he is—and she shall! (To Lady Rhoda, in an aggrieved undertone.) I should advise you to be jolly careful what you say to your other neighbour; he's takin' it all down. I just caught him writin'. He'll be bringing out a satire, or whatever he calls it, on us all by-and-by—you see if he won't!

Lady Rhoda. What an ill-natured boy you are! Just because he can write, and you can't. And I don't believe he's doin' anythin' of the sort. I'll ask him—I don't care! (Aloud, to Spurrell.) I say, I know I'm awfully inquisitive—but I do want to know so—you've just been writin' notes or somethin', haven't you? Mr. Bearpark declares you're goin' to take them all off here—you're not really, are you?

Spurr. (to himself). That sulky young chap has spotted it! (Aloud, stammering.) I—take everything off? Here! I—I assure you I should never even think of doing anything so indelicate!

Lady Rhoda. I was sure that was what you'd say! But still (with reviving uneasiness), I suppose you have made use of things that happened just to fit your purpose, haven't you?

Spurr. (penitently). All I can say is, that—if I have—you won't catch me doing it again! And other people's things don't fit. I'd much rather have my own.

Lady Rhoda (relieved). Of course! But I'm glad you told me. (To Archie, in an undertone.) I asked him—and, as usual, you were utterly wrong. So you'll please not to be a Pig!

Archie (jealously). And you're goin' to go on talkin' to him all through dinner? Pleasant for me—when I took you down!

Lady Rhoda. You want to be taken down yourself, I think. And I mean to talk to him if I choose. You can talk to Lady Culverin—she likes boys! (Turning to Spurrell.) I was goin' to ask you—ought a schipperke to have meat? Mine won't touch puppy biscuits.

[Spurrell enlightens her on this point; Archie glowers.

Lady Cantire (perceiving that the Bishop is showing signs of restiveness). Well, Bishop, I wish I could find you a little more ready to listen to what the other side has to say!

The Bishop (who has been "heckled" to the verge of his endurance). I am—ah—not conscious of any unreadiness to enter into conversation with the very estimable lady on my other side, should an opportunity present itself.

Lady Cant. Now, that's one of your quibbles, Dr. Rodney, and I detest quibbling! But at least it shows you haven't a leg to stand upon.

The Bishop. Precisely—nor to—ah—run away upon, dear Lady. I am wholly at your mercy, you perceive!

Lady Cant. (triumphantly). Then you admit you're beaten? Oh, I don't despair of you yet, Bishop!

The Bishop. I confess I am less sanguine. (To himself.) Shall I have strength to bear these buffets with any remains of Christian forbearance through three more courses? Ha, thank Heaven, the salad!

[He cheers up at the sight of this olive-branch.

Mrs. Earwaker (to Pilliner). Now, I don't altogether approve of the New Woman myself; but still, I am glad to see how women are beginning to assert themselves and come to the front; surely you sympathise with all that?

Pilliner (plaintively). No, really I can't, you know! I'd so much rather they wouldn't. They've made us poor men feel positively obsolete! They'll snub us out of existence soon—our sex will be extinct—and then they'll be sorry. There'll be nobody to protect them from one another! After all, we can't help being what we are. It isn't my fault that I was born a Man Thing—now, is it?

Lady Cant. (overhearing this remark). Well, if it is a fault, Mr. Pilliner, we must all acknowledge that you've done everything in your power to correct it!

Pill. (sweetly). How nice and encouraging of you, dear Lady Cantire, to take up the cudgels for me like that!

[The Countess privately relieves her feelings by expressing a preference for taking up a birch rod, and renews her attack on the Bishop.

Mr. Shorthorn (who has been dragging his mental depths for a fresh topic—hopefully, to Miss Spelwane). By the bye, I haven't asked you what you thought about