class="sc">Dizzy (earnestly). Would you write it? You would be so discreet.

I had to refuse, but I am sure I could have made a more amusing job of it than Mr. Buckle has done, in spite of the love-letters. What a pity they didn't entrust it to my dear Edmund Gosse!

A Browning Poem.

Here is a little poem that Browning wrote for me on hearing me say that when we were girls "we did not know the meaning of the word 'fast'":—

Talks with the Dead.

The great Napoleon had died many years before I was born; and how unjust it is that the lives of really interesting people should not coincide! But with the assistance of my beloved Oliver Lodge I have had many conversations with him. Our first opened in this manner:—

Margot. Do you take any interest in current English politics?

Napoleon. Oui (Yes).

Margot. What do you think of Lloyd George?

Napoleon. An opportunist on horseback.

Margot. I love riding too. I met most of my friends in the hunting-field. You should have seen me cantering into the hall of our town mansion. Who do you think our greatest statesman?

Napoleon. Asquith beyond a doubt.

Both Plato and Julius Cæsar, whom my beloved Oliver has also introduced to me, said the same thing.

E. V. L.

FLOWERS' NAMES.

Solomon's Seal.

SQUATTERS.

Ursula came into the study, carrying something that had once been a photograph, but which the ravages of time had long since reduced to a faded and almost indecipherable problem.

"Dear," she said, "you know this portrait