mind of the foreigner the great Metropolis is primarily and chiefly associated with "JACK the Ripper" and his exploits.

"I rob you not hard," WILLIAM incidentally remarks, pounding at your chest as if it were a parquet flooring he was polishing; "but I strong so I can break a shentleman's ribs."

I make due acknowledgment of the prowess, being particularly careful to refrain from expressing doubt, or even surprise. WILLIAM, always smiling, repeats the assertion just as if I had contradicted him. Try to change subject.

"I would break hees ribs!"

"I wonder if CHARLEMAGNE had a massage man in his suite?" I say, "and who was his Doctor? Now if he had had Dr. BRANDIS, I believe he would have been alive at this day. But we cannot have everything. CHARLEMAGNE had the Iron Crown of Lombardy; we have Dr. BRANDIS."

"Y e e s," said WILLIAM, still gloating over his own train of thought; "eef I like I break a shentleman's ribs."

Sometimes WILLIAM'S smile, contracting, breaks into a whistle, horribly out of tune. He rather fancies his musical powers, and is proud of his intimate acquaintance with the fashionable chansons current in London to-day, or as he puts it, "Vat dey shings at de Carrelton Clob." Then he warbles a line of the happily long-forgotten "Champagne CHARLIE," with intervals of "Oh what a surprise!" He sings both to the same tune, and fortunately knows only two lines of one and a single line of the other.

Try to bring him back to CAROLO MAGNO.

"Wouldn't you," I ask "give all you are worth to have lived in the time of CHARLEMAGNE? Suppose some day you walked into this room and discovered him sitting on his marble throne as OTHO found him with the Iron Crown on his head and his right hand grasping the imperial sceptre, what would you do?"

"I would break hees ribs," said WILLIAM, his face illumined by a sudden flash of delighted anticipation.

Alack! we are thinking of two personages sundered by centuries. My mind dwells on CHARLEMAGNE, whilst WILLIAM is evidently thinking of Champagne CHARLIE.

"ANNALS OF A VERY QUIET FAMILY."

There were eight of us, each within a year or so of one another.

Father was a very quiet man, engaged all day in his study.

Mother was equally quiet.

Father would never allow a trumpet, drum, or any instrument of torture, except the piano, to be brought into the house.

Mother quietly saw his orders carried out.

In due course we all left home one after the other, and having been so quiet for so long, each one of us has contrived to make a considerable noise in the world since, and are all doing well. "Doing" may be used in the widest possible sense. Among other accomplishments we blow our own trumpets, as you see. As father and mother object to noise, we have not encouraged their visits.

DEA EX MACHINÂ!

(A Reminiscence.)

"AS HE'D LIKE IT."

(Shakspeare once more freely adapted to the situation.)

["We wanted, and we want, to do for the villages, what the first reformed Parliament did in conferring municipal government upon the towns. We knew that the Tory Party did not really mean to give us village or parish Councils.... 'The Radical agitators,' says Sir MICHAEL HICKS-BEACH, 'want to see a complete change in the social condition of rural society.' What if we do?... Why, it was for this that many of us, seven or eight years ago, and many more years ago, fought for getting the labourer a vote."—Mr. John Morley at Cambridge.]

SCENE—The Forest of Ha(w)arden.

Touchstone (Mr. J-HN M-RL-Y); Audrey, (The Agricultural Vote); Jaques (Mr. P-NCH), behind. Afterwards William (Sir M-CH-L H-CKS-B-CH.)

Touch. Come apace, good AUDREY: I will fetch up your votes, AUDREY. And how, AUDREY?—am I the man yet? Doth my simple programme content you?

Audrey. Your programme! Lord warrant us, what programme?

Touch. I am here with thee and thy Votes as the glittering poet-god Apollo was among the herds of Admetus.

Jaq. (aside). Oh, knowledge oddly applied! Fancy Olympian Oracles in a thatched cottage!

Touch. When a man's speeches cannot be understood, nor a man's good platform wit seconded by the froward child popular understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a small minority on a big Bill. Truly, I would the gods had made thee political.

Aud. I do not know what political is. Is it honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing?

Touch. (with sardonic frankness). No, truly; for the truest politics show the most feigning; and Tories are given to politics; and what they swear, in politics, may be said, as Tories, they do feign.

Aud. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me political?

Touch. I do, truly; for they swear to me thou art true Tory, parson-and-squire-ridden Tory. Now, if thou wert political, I might have some hope thou didst feign—to them!

Aud. Would you not have me Tory?

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert fortune-favoured; for Toryism coupled to poverty is to have folly a sauce to misery.

Jaq. (aside). A shrewd fool!

Aud. Well, I am not rich; and therefore I pray the gods to make me Liberal.

Touch. Truly, and to cast away Liberalism upon a willingly "unemancipated" Voter, were to deck a porker with pearls.

Aud. I may not be "emancipated," but I thank the gods I am "enfranchised."

Touch. Well, praised be the Liberals for thine enfranchisement! Emancipation—from "squarsonry"—may come hereafter. But, be it as it may, I will marry thee.

Jaq. (aside). I would fain see this wedding. Methinks there will be sport forward ere it be fully achieved.

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy!

Touch. Amen.... But, AUDREY, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis: he hath no interest in me in the world. Here comes the man you mean.

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a—Tory: by my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

Enter WILLIAM.

Will. Good even, AUDREY.

Aud. Give ye good even, WILLIAM.

Will. And good even to you, Sir!

Touch. Good even, gentle friend.... Art thou wise?

Will. Ay, Sir, I have a pretty wit.

Touch. You do desire this maid?

Will. I do, Sir.

Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned?

Will. No, Sir.

Touch. Then learn this of me; to have is to have; for it is a great figure in Gladstonian rhetoric, that votes being deducted from one Party and added to another, by putting the one Out do put the other In; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now you are not ipse, for I am he.

Will. Which he, Sir?

Touch. He, Sir, that must marry the woman. Therefore, you Tory, abandon—which is, in the vulgar, leave—the society, which in the boorish is, company—of this female,—which in the common is, woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or Tory, thou vanishest; or, to thy