complete and chilling ignorance of GORTON, and the deputation from Ballywhacket, which had gone to London in search of gold, had to return empty-handed to their native place, after wasting a varied stock of full-flavoured Irish denunciation on the London pavements. But GORTON was undaunted. He actually published an address in which he lashed the hateful ingratitude of men who betrayed their friends with golden words, and abandoned them shamefully in the hour of defeat. But never, so he said, would he abandon the betrayed electors of Ballywhacket. Others might shuffle, and cheat and cozen, but he might be counted upon to remain firm, faithful, and incorruptible amidst the seething waves of political turpitude.

Having issued this, he vanished again, and was heard of no more for six or seven years. Then he gradually began to emerge again. He was engaged in the completion of an immense work of genealogical research, which was intended to cast an entirely new light on many obscure incidents of English history. For this he solicited encouragement—and subscriptions. He enclosed with his appeals some specimen pages, which appeared to promise marvels of industry and research. His preface was a wonderful essay, of which a HAYWARD would scarcely have been ashamed. In this way he gathered a large amount of money from historical enthusiasts with more ardour than knowledge, and from old friends who, knowing his real ability, believed that he had at last determined to justify the opinions of him which they had always held and expressed. It is unnecessary to add that not another line was written. For several years ill health was supposed to hinder him. We read piteous stories of his struggles against the agonies of neuralgia and rheumatics, some of us threw good money after bad in the effort to relieve the imaginary sufferer; but to this day the proofs of PERKIN WARBECK's absolute claim to the throne, and of JACK CADE's indubitable royal descent remain in the scheming brain of GORTON. Eventually the poor wretch did die in penury, but over that part of his story I need not linger. The irony of fate ordained that when he was actually in want he should wish to be thought in possession of a large income.

I knew a Clergyman once—at least I had every reason to believe him to be a lawfully ordained Minister of the Church of England. He was taken on as temporary Curate in a remote district. His life, while he remained there, was exemplary. He was untiring in good works; the poor adored him, the well-to-do honoured him. We all thought him a pattern of unselfish and almost primitive saintliness, and when he departed from us he went with a silver inkstand, a dining-room clock and a purse of sovereigns, subscribed for by the parish. The odour of his sanctity had scarcely evaporated before we discovered, with horror, that the man had never been ordained at all! He was an impostor, masquerading under an assumed name, but while he was with us he did good and lived a flawless life. These matters puzzle me. Perhaps you, my dear PLAU, can explain.

Yours,
DIOGENES ROBINSON.

A RATHER LARGE ORDER.—Amongst the many suggested plans for housing the collection of pictures once offered by Mr. TATE to the Nation, is a scheme for turning the Banqueting-hall at Whitehall to a useful and good account. As a thoughtful Artist has observed in this connection, "At this moment the spacious building is tied round the necks of the Members of the United Service Institution like a white elephant."

A MONEY-LENDER said he had never been inside a Church since the day he looked in at hymn-time, and heard them singing, "With one per cent. let all the earth," and he didn't want to hear anymore.

TRYING TO THE TEMPER.—Mrs. R. says nothing can induce her to eat cross buns, as they are sure to disagree with her.

TRIALS AT THE LAW COURTS.

A TIMID BUT ERUDITE "LEADER" IS URGED TO TAKE A "BAD OBJECTION."

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

All who are interested in the theatrical celebrities of past times will do well to read a brief, indeed, a too brief paper, about DOROTHY JORDAN, written by FITZGERALD MOLLOY, for The English Illustrated Magazine of this month. The Baron does not remember if THACKERAY touched on the story of this talented Actress in his Lectures on "The Four Georges;" but the sad finish to the brilliant career of Mrs. JORDAN could hardly have escaped the great Satirist as being one instance, among many, illustrating the wise King's advice as to "not putting your trust in Princes;" "or," for the matter of that, and in fairness, it must be added, "in any child of man." Poor DOROTHY, or DOLLY JORDAN! but now a Queen of "Puppets," and now—thus, a mere rag-dolly. Ah, CLARENCE!—"False, fleeting, perjured CLARENCE!" as SHAKSPEARE wrote of that other Duke in Crookback'd RICHARD's time, for whom the "ifs" and "ands" of life were resolved for ever in a final "butt."

In the issue for 1891 of that most interesting yearly Annual, The Book-Worm, for which the Baron, taking it up now and again, blesses ELLIOT STOCK, of Paternoster Row, there is a brief but interesting account of The Annexed Prayer-Book, which, after some curious chances and changes, was at last ordered to be photographed page by page, without being removed from the custody of Black Rod. "By means of an elaborate system of reflecting," the process of photographing was carried on in the House of Lords. It is satisfactory to all Book-worms to know that so important a work was not undertaken without even more than the usual amount of reflection.

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

THE HAMLET IN THE HAYMARKET.

With Mr. TREE's impersonation of Hamlet most London playgoers are by this time acquainted, though not yet familiar. It is a most interesting performance, especially to those who remember the inauguration of startling new departures by CHARLES FECHTER. The question for every fresh Hamlet must always be, "How can I differentiate my Hamlet from all previous Hamlets? What can I do that nobody has as yet thought of doing?" "To be or not to be" Hamlet, "that is the question"; whether 'tis better continuously to suffer the tortures of uncertainty as to what you might have achieved had you essayed the part, or to take up the study of it, and ceasing to shiver on the bank, leave off your damnable faces, and plunge in? Mr. TREE has plunged, and is going on swimmingly.

Mrs. TREE's Ophelia sane, is charming. Her distraught Ophelia is very mad indeed, and her method in her madness is excellent.

"I am thy Father's Ghost!"

There is a curious monotony in some of the stage-business. Thus, Ophelia pauses in her exit and comes up quietly behind the absent-minded Prince as if to play bo-peep with him: then, later on, after his apparently brutal treatment of her, Hamlet returns, and, while he is stooping and in tears, he kisses her hair and runs away noiselessly as if this also were another part of the same game. Then again, in the Churchyard, after the scandalous brawling (brought about by the stupid ignorance of a dunderheaded ecclesiastic, to whose Bishop Laertes ought to have immediately reported him), Hamlet returns to weep and throw flowers into the grave. Now excellent "returns" are dear to the managerial heart, and consoling to his pocket, when they attest the overflowing