had to bring the Word in somehow.

Pushington. Bring it in?—but you needn't have let it out. There was SETTEE there, shouting "liar" till he was black in the face. We must have looked a set of idiots from the front. I shan't go in again (muttering). It's no use acting Charades with people who don't understand it. There; settle the Word yourselves!

AFTER THE WORD. AMONG THE AUDIENCE.

General Murmur. What can it be? Not Turk, I suppose, or Magician?—Quarrelling?—Parnellite?—Impertinence? Shall we give it up? No, they like us to guess, poor things; and besides, if we don't, they'll do another; and it is getting so late, and such a long drive home. Oh, they're all coming back; then it is over. No, indeed, we can't imagine. "Familiar!" To be sure—how clever, and how well you all acted it, to be sure—you must be quite tired after it all. I am sure we—hem—are deeply indebted to you ... My dear Miss ROSE, how wonderfully you disguised yourself. I never recognised you a bit, nor you, Mr. NIGHTINGALE. What part did you take?

Mr. Nightingale. I—er—didn't take any particular part—wasn't wanted, you know.

Miss Rose. Not to act,—so we stayed outside and—and—arranged things.

An Old Lady. Indeed? Then you had all the hard work, and none of the pleasure, my dear, I'm afraid.

Miss Rose (sweetly). Oh no. I mean yes!—but we didn't mind it much.

The O.L. And which of you settled what the Word was to be?

Mr. N. Well, I believe we settled that together.

[Carriages are announced; departure of guests who are not of the house-party. In the Smoking-room, Mr. PUSHINGTON discovers that he does not seem exactly popular with the other men, and puts it down to jealousy.

ROBERT'S XMAS BANKWET.

We held our annywal Crismus Bankwet larst Satterday. Our principel Toast of course was, "Success to the Grand Old Copperashun, and may it flurrish for ewer!" with 3 times 3, and one cheer more for the bewtifool LADY MARESS, and may she flurrish for ewer too! Ah, we Waiters is a gallarnt race and knows our dooty to the fairer and weaker sects quite as well as ewen Aldermen theirselves. I next perposed the City Livvery Compnys, in a speech, as BROWN said, as ort for to be printed and sircculated. I had serttenly given a good deal of atention to it, and praps shood have dun ewen better if I hadn't quite forgot ewery word of the werry last part, which, unfortnitly, was all about the lots of money as they gives away. But I remembred all about their luvly dinners, and that was naterally more intresting to my hordience. I was werry much pressed to say which, in my opinion, of all the Nobel Livvery Cumpnys guv the most nobly scrumpshus Dinners of 'em all, but I declined, on the ground that it wood naterally cause a most enormous emount of gelosy, and was of too delicat and xquisit a natur to be thus publicly discussed. There was werry considerabel diffrens of opinion about their warious choice wines, but all agreed in praising them werry hily, but ewen more, the trew libberality with which they was served, and not poured out so close as to make the pore Waiter's dooty a thirsty and tanterlising one indeed.

We drank the Nobel Army of Hotel Keepers, most serttenly not forgettin the gentlemanly Manager of the truly "Grand," as ewerybody knows as is anybody, and drank to their great success, for werry ewident reesons.

Young FRANK returned thanks for the Ladies, and, with all the reckless ordassity of a young feller of forty, was rash enuff to say, as how as he werrily believed, that if the prinsiple Hotel Keepers was to hintroduce pretty Gals as Waiters, all us old Fogys, as he rudely called us, woud have to go and git our seweral livings in a more manly employment! Of course boys will be boys, so we kindly forgave him, more specially as he stands six foot one in his stockings, let alone his boots. However he made up for his bad manners by singing with his capital voice, his new Song of "Old Robert the Waiter" being a rayther complementary Parody, as he called it, upon "Old Simon the Cellerer," which was receeved with emense aplause. So he gave, as an arncore, the Waiter's favrite Glee of "Mynear Van Dunk," with its fine conwincing moral against Teetotaling and all such cold rubbish.

BROWN wound up the armony of our truly appy heavening by singing his new song of, "The LORD MARE leads a nappy life," and we sort our seweral nupshal couches as happy and contented a lot as his Lordship hisself, our werry larst drink all round being to the follering sentiment given out by me as the prowd Chairman: "May all the well to do in this grand old London of ours enjoy as merry a Crismus as we have enjoyed to-night, and may they all give a kind thort, and a liberal stump-up, to all the poor and needy who so badly wants it this bitter weather." ROBERT.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Toll'd after Supper. Subject for a Knellegy.

MR. JEROME K. JEROME, or, more easily pronounced, "Mr. JERUMKY JERUM," is occasionally very amusing in his book for Christmastide, entitled Told After Supper. What he wants, that is, what he ought to have whether he wants it or not, is judicious editing. Had this process been applied to this eccentric haphazardy book, scarcely more than a third of it would have been published. "His style, in this book at least, and, for my part," says the Baron, "I say the same of his Three Men in a Tub, suggests the idea of his writing being the work of a young man who, among his companions and admirers, has earned the reputation of being a 'deuced funny chap,' and so has to struggle to live up to this reputation, or to live it down." JERUMKY JERUM still somewhat affects Yankee humour, not, however, in so forced and vulgar a manner as in his overpraised Three Men in a Boat. Two of the Ghost Stories are humorous, but their setting is unworthy of them. Had they been introduced into a tale as DICKENS (of whose style there is a very palpable attempt at imitation in the description of a stormy winter's night) brought in his story of Tom Smart, and of the inimitable Gabriel Grub, their mirth-raising value would have been considerably enhanced. As it is, these choice morsels—sandwich'd in between heavy slabs of doughy material—stand a chance of not being tasted. To anyone who comes across the book the Baron says, "read about the Curate and the Card-trick, and JOHNSON and EMILY. The tinted paper on which it is printed is a mistake, as are also most of the amateurish illustrations."

Goblins.

WOMAN—not "lovely woman" who "stoops to folly"—nor woman who in our hour of ease is uncertain, coy, and hard to please. But Woman, the weekly Woman who is doing uncommonly well and in her fifty-third number, gave the week before Christmas, her idea of a Christmas dinner, and, but for "sweetbread cutlets," a very good and simple dinner it was. The same Woman gave also, among a variety of next-day's treatments of Turkey, Turkey in Aspic, Turkey in Europe, and Turkey in Asia—yes—but what about