is the birthright of fools, and, when discovered, is more than half found out?

Servant (taking up coal scuttle). Like the hair of your Lady-ship—out of curl!           [Exit.

Countess. A quaint conceit; but here is my husband. Let me avoid him. A married man is quite out of date—save when he forms the subject of his own obituary.           [Exit.

A pause. Enter the Duchess of BATTERSEA.

Duchess. Dear me! No one here! So I might have brought the Duke with me, after all! And yet he is so fond of the petticoats. He loses his head when he begins kissing his hand. And I lose my head when I fail to catch a 'buss. A kiss with him and a 'buss with me—where's the difference?

Enter Earl PENNYPLAINE.

Earl (angrily). You here!

Duchess (with an appealing gesture). You are not pleased to see me! You regard me as an adventuress! You are ashamed of my past! A past unblessed by a clergyman—in fact, a past without a pastor!

Earl. Begone! Do not dare to darken my doors again. This is no home for old jokes!

Duchess. You must hear me. Do you know why I have treated you so badly? Do you know why I have taught your wife to regard me as a rival? Why I have blackmailed you to the tune of hundreds of thousands of pounds? Do you know why I have done all this and more? I will tell you. Because I am your Mother-in-law!

Earl (in a choking voice). I suspected as much from the very first!

Re-enter the Countess, carrying a heap of family portraits.

Countess. Here, Duchess, although you are not to my liking, I have brought you a few pictures of my husband and some of his predecessors. Take 'em, and bless you!

Duchess (overflowing with emotion). My dear, this is too much. (Weeps.) You unwoman—I should say unlady—me!

Enter Lord TUPPENCE CULLARD.

Lord T.C. Come and marry me.

Duchess. With pleasure! Lawks-a-mussy!           [Exeunt.

Earl. And now, let us remember that while the sun shines, the moon clings like a frightened thing to the face of CLEOPATRA.

Quick Curtain.

Applause follows, when enter the Author. He holds between his thumb and forefinger a lighted cigarette.

Author. Ladies and Gentlemen, it is so much the fashion nowadays to do what one pleases, that I venture to offer you some tobacco while I enjoy a smoke myself. (Throws cigars and cigarettes amongst the audience à la HARRY PAYNE.) Will you forgive me if I change my tail-coat for a smoking jacket? Thank you! (Makes the necessary alteration of costume in the presence of the audience.) And now I will have a chair. (Stamps, when up comes through a trap a table supporting a lounge), and a cup of tea. (Another table appears through another trap, bringing up with it a tray and a five o'clock set.) And now I think we are comfortable. (Helps himself to tea, smokes, &c.) I must tell you I think my piece excellent. And all the puppets that have performed in it have played extremely well. I hope you like my piece as well as I do myself. I trust you are not bored with this chatter, but I am not good at a speech. However, as I have to catch a train in twenty minutes, I will tell you a story occupying a quarter of an hour. I repeat, as I have to catch a train—I repeat, as I have to catch a train—

Entire Audience. And so have we!           [Exeunt. (Thus the Play ends in smoke.)

HOW TO SAVE LONDON.

(Rather more than a Fairy Story.)

JOHN SMITH, of London, sat in front of his fire pondering over the fact that, at a great sacrifice to the interests of his native city, the coal dues had been abolished, and yet his bill for fuel was no lighter. He watched the embers as they died away, when all of a sudden a small creature appeared before him. He could not account for her presence, and did not notice from whence she came. But she was there, sure enough, and began to address him.

"JOHN SMITH, of London," she began, in a small but admirably distinct voice, "I am the Fairy Domestic Economy, and I have come to warn you that, unless you wake up, you will come to grief."

"Wake up?" queried J.S. "Wake up about what?"

"Why, the election of the London County Council, to be sure!" returned the Fairy, impatiently. "Here, the election is close upon you, and the chances are twenty to one that you will let it pass without recording your vote." "What election?"

"Bless the man!" exclaimed the Fairy. "He does not know that the Members of the L.C.C., the Masters of London, are to be chosen on Saturday, the 5th of March, and will from that date remain in power for four years!"

And then the Fairy showed him the possible future, explaining that it was in his hands to alter it. The vision she conjured up before him seemed intensely idiotic. Everything was to be done for nothing. There were to be free railways, free tramways, free bakeries, free butchers' shops, free ginger-beer manufactories, free clothiers, free hosiers, free boot-makers, free gas companies, free waterworks—in fact, everything was to be gratis.

"But somebody must pay for it!" said JOHN SMITH, of London.

"Why, of course," returned the Fairy, "and you are to be the paymaster. You will have to pay about five shillings in the pound as a commencement, with additional crowns to follow!"

"But how am I to avoid this fate?" cried JOHN SMITH, in a tone of genuine alarm.

"By voting for the Moderates, and doing your best to keep out the Progressives. And, mind, don't forget my warning."

And then the Fairy disappeared. A few moments later, and poor JOHN SMITH found himself sprawling upon the floor.

"Why, I do believe I have been asleep!" he exclaimed.

And then he woke up in good earnest, and hurried off to the polling stations, and voted for the Moderate candidates.

At least it is to be hoped he will!

A TRAGEDY ON THE GREAT NORTHERN.

SCENE—A Third-Class Carriage.        TIME—Three Hours before the next Station.       DRAMATIS PERSONÆ— Jones and Robinson.

"IT'S THE LAST!—AND IT'S A TÄNDSTICKOR. IT'LL ONLY STRIKE ON THE BOX!"

"STRIKE IT ON THE BOX, THEN;—BUT FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, BE CAREFUL!"

"YES; BUT, LIKE A FOOL, I'VE JUST PITCHED THE BOX OUT OF WINDOW!"

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

House of Commons, Monday, February 21.—"What a day he is having to be sure!" murmured the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, looking across the table at the other eminent country gentleman who is our First Minister of Agriculture.