haffluence, I was trained to fill the lofty position which was to have been my lot. But 'necessitas,' Sir, as you are aware, 'necessitas non abat lejim,' and such I found it. While still receiving a classical education at Cambridge College—(praps you are yourself an alumbus of Halma Mater? No? I apologise, Sir, I'm sure)—but while preparing to take my honorary degree, my Father suddenly enounced, the horful news that he was a bankrup'. Strip of all we possessed, we were turned out of our sumchuous 'ome upon the cold world, my Father's grey 'airs were brought down sorrowing to sangwidge boards, though he is still sangwin of paying off his creditors in time out of what he can put by from his scanty hearnings. My poor dear Mother—a lady born and bred—sank by slow degrees to a cawfy-stall, which is now morgidged to the 'ilt, and my eldest Sister, a lovely and accomplished gairl, was artlessly thrown over by a nobleman, to 'oom she was engaged to be married, before our reverses overtook us. His name the delikit hinstinks of a gentleman will forbid you to inquire, as likewise me to mention—enough to 'int that he occupies a prominent position amongst the hupper circles of Society, and is frequently to be met with in the papers. His faithlessness preyed on my Sister's mind to that degree, that she is now in the Asylum, a nopeless maniac! My honely Brother was withdrawn from 'Arrow, and now 'as the yumiliation of selling penny toys on the kerbstone to his former playfellers. 'Tantee nannymice salestibus hiræ,' indeed, Sir!

"But you ask what befell myself." (You have not—for the simple reason that, even if you desired information, he has given you no chance, as yet, of putting in a word.) "Ah, Sir, there you 'ave me on a tender point. 'Hakew tetigisti,' if I may venture once more upon a scholarly illusion. But I 'ave resolved to conceal nothing—and you shall 'ear. For a time I obtained employment as Seckertary and Imanuensis to a young baranit, 'oo had been the bosom friend of my College days. He would, I know, have used his influence with Government to obtain me a lucritive post; but, alas, 'ere he could do so, unaired sheets, coupled with deliket 'elth, took him off premature, and I was once more thrown on my own resources.

"In conclusion, Sir, you 'ave doubtless done me the hinjustice to expect, from all I 'ave said, that my hobjick in obtaining this interview was to ask you for pecuniary assistance?" (Here you reflect with remorse that a suspicion to this effect has certainly crossed your mind). "Nothing of the sort or kind, I do assure you. A little 'uming sympathy, the relief of pouring out my sorrers upon a feeling art, a few kind encouraging words, is all I arsk, and that, Sir, the first sight of your kind friendly face told me I should not lack. Pore as I am, I still 'ave my pride, the pride of a English gentleman, and if you was to orfer me a sovereign as you sit there, I should fling it in the fire—ah, I should—'urt and indignant at the hinsult!" (Here you will probably assure him that you have no intention of outraging his feelings in any such manner.) "No, and why, Sir? Because you 'ave a gentlemanly 'art, and if you were to make sech a orfer, you would do it in a kindly Christian spirit which would rob it of all offence. There's not many as I would bring myself to accept a paltry sovereign from, but I dunno—I might from one like yourself—I might Ord hignara mali, miseris succurreary disco, as the old philosopher says. You 'ave that kind of way with you." (You mildly intimate that he is mistaken here, and take the opportunity of touching the bell). "No, Sir, don't be untrue to your better himpulses. 'Ave a feelin 'art, Sir! Don't send me away, after allowing me to waste my time 'ere—which is of value to me, let me tell yer, whatever yours is!—like this!... Well, well, there's 'ard people in this world? I'm going, Sir ... I 'ave sufficient dignity to take a 'int ... You 'aven't got even a trifle to spare an old University Scholar in redooced circumstances then?... Ah, it's easy to see you ain't been at a University yourself—you ain't got the hair of it! Farewell, Sir, and may your lot in life be 'appier than—All right, don't hexcite yourself. I've bin mistook in yer, that's all. I thought you was as soft-edded a young mug as you look. Open that door, will yer; I want to get out of this 'ole!"

Here he leaves you with every indication of disgust and disappointment, and you will probably hear him indulging in unclassical vituperation on the landing.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The Baron is delighted with MONTAGU WILLIAMS's third volume of Reminiscences, published by MACMILLAN & Co. His cheery after-dinner conversational style of telling capital stories is excellent. He is not writing a book, he is talking to us; he is telling us a series of good things, and, quoth the Baron, let me advise you to light your cigar and sit down in your armchair before the fire, as not only do you not wish to interrupt him, even with a query, but you feel inclined to say, as the children do when, seated round you in the wintry twilight, they have been listening to a story which has deeply interested them—"Go on, please, tell us another!" The following interpolated "aside," most characteristic of MONTAGU WILLIAMS's life-like conversational manner of telling a story, occurs at page 8, where giving an account of a robbery, of which he himself was the victim, and telling how a thief asked to be shown up to his, the narrator's room, he says, "The porter, like a fool, gave his consent." The interpolated "like a fool," carries the jury, tells the whole story, and wins admiration for the sufferer, who is the real hero of the tale. But beyond the book's merit as an interesting and amusing companion, it contains some valuable practical suggestions for relieving the ordinary distress in the poorest districts which ought to receive attention in the highest quarters.

To some readers interested in theatrical life, Polly Mountemple must prove an interesting work of fiction, if a story can be so styled which, as its author assures his readers with his latest breath, I should say in his last paragraph (p. 291), "Is a true tale." It is the story of a "ballet lady" who rises in "the profession" to the dignity of a speaking part, and is on the point of being raised still higher in the social scale, and becoming the wife of a real live young nobleman, when she sensibly accepts a considerable sum of money, consents to forego her action for breach of promise, and finally marries a highly respectable acrobat, and becomes the landlady of the "Man of Kent." The earlier portion is entertaining, especially to those who are not altogether ignorant of some of the personages, sketches of whom are drawn by the author, Mr. CHARLES HOLLIS, with, it is not improbable, considerable fidelity. They are rough sketches, not by any means highly finished, but then such was the character of the original models. Before, however, it can be accepted by the general public as giving an unexaggerated picture of a certain sort of stage-life, it ought to have the imprimatur or the nihil obstat of some generally acknowledged head of the profession; for "the profession" is Hydra-like in this respect—a republican creation, with many heads.

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

ENCOURAGEMENT.