What is your theory of authorship?

Margot. I think one should assume that everything that happens to oneself must be interesting to others.

Carlyle (as though staggered by a new idea). Why?

Margot (simply). Because oneself is so precious, so unique.

I asked him once what he really thought of Mrs. Carlyle, but he changed the subject.

Bismarck.

It was in Berlin, when I was seventeen, that I met Bismarck. It was at the Opera, where, being a young English girl, I was in the habit of going alone. The great Chancellor, who was all unconscious that I had penetrated his identity, watched me for a long while between the Acts and then overtook me on my way home and in French asked me to supper.

Margot (also in French). But I am not hungry.

Bismarck. In Germany you should do as the Germans do and eat always; (with emphasis) I do.

Margot (scathingly). I wonder if you are aware that I am English?

Bismarck (muttering something I could not catch about England lying crushed at his feet). But you are beautiful too! Some day you will be a countrywoman of mine.

Margot. How?

Bismarck. Because we shall make war on England and conquer it, and it will then be our own and all of you will be our people and our slaves. At least we should conquer it if——

Margot. If what?

Bismarck. If it were not for a young man who will then be Prime Minister. It is of him we are afraid.

Margot. What is his name?

Bismarck. Asquith.

Could prescience further go? Bismarck then left me with another ungainly effort at French: "Au revoir, Mademoiselle." But we never met again.

Disraeli's Last Days.

I was with Disraeli (who was one of the few men who did not propose to me) not long before the end, and he gave me many confidences, although he knew all about my friendship with Gladstone. But then I have always chosen my friends impartially from all the camps. My exact memory enables me to repeat my last conversation with Dizzy word for word:—

Margot. You look tired. Shall I dance for you?

(Continued on page 104).

THE REAL MUSIC.

John Bull. "I WISH THEY'D LET ME HEAR THE LADY."

The Wife (bitterly). "Yes, it makes a nice outin' for me, don't it—settin' in the rain all day guardin' a tin o' worms?"

Dizzy. No, no.

Margot (brightly). Let us be sensible and talk frankly about your approaching death. Have you any views as to your biography?

Dizzy. Need there be one?

Margot. Of course.