These are the objects that the Giver of Parties, as it is proposed to describe her, has at heart, and to their attainment she devotes herself with a persistent and all-embracing energy which no disappointment is capable of daunting. The envy of her friends, the smiles and the presence of Royalty, may be hers, but there is always some loftier height to which she must climb before she can say to herself, "J'y suis, j'y reste," and be thankful.

Her life has known many changes. Her parents were county people of good descent and position, but of a reduced income, for which they apparently sought compensation in an increasing family, mostly daughters. It was necessary that she should marry young, and she submitted to necessity by accepting the proposal of a man some ten years her senior, who had already come to be favourably spoken off for the success of his commercial ventures. It is needless to add that all her relations took good care to impress upon her mind the fact that the alliance was an honour to her husband, whose wealth, even though it might in time rival that of the ROTHSCHILDS, could never make him fit to be mentioned in the same breath with one who numbered among her remoter ancestors a Baron, who had fought and bled on many fields for King CHARLES THE FIRST. However, the marriage took place in spite of the inequality of rank, and the much-honoured husband bore his wife with him to London, where for a time the modest comfort of a house in distant Bayswater satisfied them. Business prospered, and money came pouring in. The wife, who, it must be said, had undeniable beauty, excellent manners, and the trick of intuitively adapting herself to any society, was taken up by a great lady who happened to see her holding a stall at a large bazaar in which the fashionable world took some interest. Acting upon the great lady's suggestion, she was photographed in the becoming Tyrolese peasant's costume which she wore as a stall-holder, and the photograph was in some mysterious way engraved in all the illustrated papers of the following week. Her name was enshrined in paragraphs, she was observed in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, she was introduced to a Royal personage who was pleased to confer upon her the distinction of his smiles, and to mention her to the select circle of his intimates as "a very pretty, pleasant little woman." And thus she was started upon the thorny path of ambitious pleasure.

It is well known that the sacred fire of fashion burns—or is supposed to burn—in Belgravia alone. Its warmth drew her irresistibly. Bayswater became too cold to hold her, and early in the following year it was announced that a large house in the purlieus of Grosvenor Square had been purchased by her husband. However, she was content to climb by degrees, and, in her first season of social brilliancy, she restricted herself to a small and early dance, and a musical evening. At the dance, universal admiration was excited by the lavish profusion of the flowers with which her staircase was adorned, by the excellent quality of the champagne, and the inexhaustible supply of oysters. At the musical evening the music was as admirably rendered as it was completely neglected. And at both parties only those people were present as to whose social status and absolute "rightness" there could be no question. Indeed the dancer, whose foot had been trodden upon at the former, might console herself with the thought that none but a noble boot had caused her pain; while at the latter the sounds of heavy breathing, which mingled inharmoniously with Mlle. FALSETTI's bravura, were forgiven, in consideration of the exalted rank of their producer. Her success seemed now to be assured, and even the muttered discontent of a neglected husband, who was foolish enough to prefer comfort to smartness, began to subside. In the following year her entertainments became even more splendid, and less comfortable. She took a house at Ascot, and, triumph of triumphs! a scion of Royalty deigned to accept her hospitality.

After this, one would have supposed that she might have reposed for a space. But the penalty of social life is its never-ending necessity for movement. Jealous rivals abound to dispute a hardly-won supremacy, and the least sign of faltering may involve extinction. Yet it must be said that she is kind to her own, even when she is most brilliant. She brings out a daughter to be the delight of young Guardsmen, and marries her to a widowed Peer; she furbishes up forgotten relations, and allows them to shine in the rays of her glory; she is charitable after the manner of fancy fairs, and the hospitality of her house becomes proverbial. But, in the midst of all the bustle, the confusion, and the rattling turmoil of her career, she sometimes sighs for the undistinguished ease of her life in the pre-Royal days, sighs, and returns with fresh vigour to the struggle.

And so the pleasureless days of the pleasure-seeker follow one another, each with its particular legacy of little strivings, until, at the last, consolation may come from the thought that there is at least one place where there are many mansions, but no social ambitions.

NEW PRAYER-BOOK REVISION.—Several alterations will now have to be made in the marriage service. If it be permissible for the bride to omit her promise "to obey," as is reported to have been the case at a wedding last week, why should any undertaking "to love," "to honour," "to cherish," and so forth remain in the text? With all this left out, a marriage, which, of course, will no longer be an ecclesiastical rite, will hardly be a very civil ceremony. In course of time all the promises will be made either explicitly or implicitly conditional, the only question being what is the least possible obligation that can be incurred by both contracting parties at the smallest possible expense.

FIN DE SIÈCLE CHILDREN.

He. "I SAY, HILDA, I SHOULD SO LIKE TO GIVE YOU A KISS!"

She (who WILL pick up such strange expressions from the Boys). "WOULD YOU, INDEED? 'I LIKE YOUR CHEEK'!"

He. "I'M SURE I SHOULD LIKE YOURS!"

NOT CAUGHT YET!