the sight of the coin seemed to operate like some weird talisman, leading me to a remote part of the stage, the floor of which had been tastefully littered with orange-peel in a variety of patterns; "we shall be comfortabler."

"Now tell me," I said, "about this new piece."

"It's what they call a Tragedy," said the boy.

"Ah!" I replied, "that is interesting; but I want to know about the Author. What do you think of him?"

"The horther? Oh my!" said the precocious lad, producing an apple from his trousers' pocket, but his right eye still fixed on the talisman, "'e don't count. Why we none of us pays no attention to 'im. Crikey, you should 'a seen 'im come a cropper on his nut down them new steps. But, look 'ere, Sir," he continued, more solemnly, "I'm a tellin' yer secrets, I am; and if DILEY were to 'ear of it, I'd get a proper jacketin'. Swear you won't peach."

I gave the requisite pledge. "And that ere arf-crown?" he said. I nodded assent to what was evidently in his mind. Then he resumed. "It's a beautiful piece. The play, I mean," he explained; being fearful lest I should consider him as over-eager for the coveted and covenanted reward. "I'm sure o' that. The horther says so, and DILEY says so, and Miss O'GRADY says so; she's got the 'eroine to play,—and oh, don't she die in the lawst Act just proper, with pink light and a couple o' angels to carry 'er up! Then there's Mr. KEANE 'ARRIS, 'e touches 'em all up with 'is sword, 'places his back to the wall, and defies the mob,' is what the book says. So you may take it from me, it's fust-rate."

I thanked my intelligent little friend for his information, and was proceeding to put a further question about the music for this new Drama, which, as everyone will soon know, is to be a real chef d'oeuvre of Sir HAUTHOR SUNNIVUN, when a step was heard approaching across the stage—the deepest, by the way, in London—to where we were talking.

"That's 'im," said the boy, trembling. "'E's a noble-'earted master, so kind and generous, but 'e 'ates deception, and it would be more than my place is worth to let 'im catch me talking these 'ere dead secrets to you. Give us the coin. I'm orf!"

And, before I was able to carry out my portion of the contract, he was gone. And in another moment—so was I.

THE UP-TO-DATE CONVERSATIONIST.

He (at the end of a turn). I see there's been a row in Chili—what do you think about it?

She. I don't know the place—isn't it somewhere in America?

He. I shouldn't be surprised if it were, but my geography's shaky. I rather fancy it's somehow connected with pickles.

She. Oh, then it's a mistake their quarrelling, as I suppose it will be hard upon the poor, especially during the winter?

He. Fancy that's the idea. Been to the Guelph Exhibition?

She. Yes, and I think it's a pity they took the jewels out of GEORGE THE FOURTH's Crown. I should like to have seen the Koh-i-Noor.

He. But they wanted them for the one at the Tower, don't you know, and as for the Koh-i-Noor, was that invented in his time?

She. Perhaps it wasn't. Stay, wasn't it discovered by Captain COOK, or DRAKE, or somebody?

He. I daresay. I have never looked the matter up. À propos, One-pound Bank-notes are to be issued.

She. Are they? I suppose they will be useful for change?

He. Shouldn't be astonished, but don't pretend to know anything about it. By the way, do you take much interest in the subjects we have been discussing?

She. Not the faintest.

He. No more do I! [Waltz continued.

DEARNESS AND DEARTH.

"Spanish onions are rising in price, though probably only temporarily."—Daily News.

THE PROPOSED ONE-POUND NOTES.—"Ne-Goschenable currency."

AN ELEGY ON A MAD DOG.