asked, tenderly. "Crosse! yes! and Blackwell, too, if you like," I answered in my (occasionally) flippant way, which I always regret instantly after. Arthur threw down his mallet. "This—Gladys—this is the sort of thing which—which—," &c. We had a short quarrel, and a long reconciliation. Arthur is a great dear, you must understand, and I am very happy. He does not show me the book of dried flowers nearly so often now, and has written some verses about me, he is going to show them to me to-night.

Arthur is very interesting when he talks of me; it is when he discusses abstract subjects—such as chemistry, or big sleeves—that he is not quite so amusing. He is dreadfully prejudiced about sleeves. Do you think he will gradually get accustomed to them? I think he will by the time they have quite gone out!

I am sure you will like dear Arthur. Of course one has to understand him. When he came down to stay with us, I said, "You must be very tired after your short journey," and I was surprised how much it annoyed him! Don't say anything of that sort to him—at first. He is apt to take things—just a little—seriously. It is rather a charming quality in a man to whom one is engaged—don't you think so? Such a love as ours cannot fail to have an ennobling effect: as Arthur says, it seems to lift us above all thoughts of this world. Write soon. I am longing to hear about the new skirts, and to show you my sapphire ring.

Your affectionate friend, Gladys.

From Our Own Schoolboy, a Student of Lemprière.—Sir,—I have heard Mr. Arthur Balfour spoken of as "the Lœda of the House of Commons." Who is its Jupiter?

AT CROMER.

What middle-aged frequenter of the Old Ship, Brighton, does not recall the bland personality of Arthur Bacon, part proprietor and principal representative of the landlordism of the excellent ancient hostelrie:—

The gammon of Bacon was admirable; and his strict attention to the duties of servants towards visitors to the hotel was "aside of Bacon" not to be forgotten. A. B. was an ideal landlord, ever ready at his door to welcome the coming and speed the parting guest.

* * *

"The Grand" at Cromer is not an enormous hotel: it is a Semi-Grand. The example of Bacon aforesaid could be therefore easily imitated. Warned of our arrival by letter, rooms secured, train punctual (from St. Pancras to Cromer) to within ten minutes, we drove up to the door of the Semi-Grand in our one-horse fly. Not a soul about. Surely the hotel is open? Yes, the driver knew that much, "because he had taken some people away from there in the morning." These might have been the last roses of summer, the last visitors at the hotel for the season! We waited; no signs of life. "Should he (the driver) ring?" Certainly: a most happy thought. He descendeth; he ringeth. We wait. Then the sound as of a somebody coming. "A Boots in sight appears. We hail him with three cheers"—at least, we ask "if our rooms are ready," and the Boots is of opinion that they are; whereupon another Boots appears, and the pair of Boots lug our luggage into the hall, where we find an amiable lady with keys in her hand who invites us to inspect certain apartments. Our answer is an adaptation of Hamlet's command to the Ghost, "Lead on, we follow."

* * *

We see: we refuse. These are not the rooms we had ordered. "No, they are not." So much is admitted. Then, perhaps, we had better depart and seek hospitality elsewhere. Our beckoner would rather not put us to such inconvenience, and soon discovers what will suit us exactly. So we take them then and there. They do suit us exactly: not down to the ground, as they are first floor. A room with balcony, in the shade all day, facing north, commanding a lovely sea view. What more could mortal require?

* * *

The air of Cromer, where there is "nothing between you and the North Pole"—so any malicious reports to the contrary may be safely disregarded—is most exhilarating. But the dust O! The dust! On with the water-carts, and down with sandy dust! It is all sand—everywhere. As to situation the Semi-Grand has a decided, and sea-sided, advantage over the other hotels.

* * *

Delightful view from front windows of the Semi-Grand. Of course the back rooms are rather behind in this respect. Which is but natural.

* * *

Civility, and a desire to please, are the characteristics of the working staff at the Semi-Grand, directly you know them individually and collectively. But, as the song says, "You've got to know 'em fust."

* * *

With the arrangements of the salle à manger as worked at the Semi-Grand under the superintendence of a distinguished and invaluable foreigner garçon en chef, very little fault can be found. The experiments of the youthful and less-experienced subordinates who are probably there to learn English, are interesting from a certain point of view, which is attained when, under the guardianship of their chief, or one of his trusty lieutenants, you have had everything you require. Then you can sit and watch the recruits at their garçonic exercises.

* * *

I wonder if the Generalissimo has them out for drill every morning before visitors are up? Are there any colleges, or barracks, for waiters, where, as undergraduates, or recruits, they can learn their business? From what I have seen I should say most probably not. But there ought to be schools and colleges for waiters, with degrees conferred and diplomas given. Switzerland would be the place wherein to start this idea.

* * *

Were it not for the refreshing breezes, which rival and excel those of Margate, the Cromerites would be burnt to cinders. As it is, they are generally a delicate improvement on the colour of their own lobsters when boiled. "To this complexion must you come at last"—if you stay long enough at Cromer.

* * *

Did Napoleon ever try to land at Cromer, and lose his celebrated cocked hat in the attempt?

A Curiosity at Cromer.—Exactly in front of where I am now seated, enjoying the Cromeric morning breezes on the very edge of the cliff, and at a distance of about twenty-five yards from the Cromer Sands, there rises a remarkable wooden effigy, on the true import of which I positively refuse to be enlightened by any native offering me a mere matter-of-fact explanation.

* * *

The object, which I