class="i2">To Church Mice thou art most dear,

But do please, but do please

Let us also share thy cheer:

For though our "freedom" gladsome seems,

Too oft it brings poor fare alone;

But aided by what haunts our dreams,

How many joys Church Mice have known!

Lovely Cheese! Lovely Cheese!

Long we've yearned to draw more near

To the ease, toothsome ease,

Of the dwellers in thy sphere!

There was a feeling of uncertainty in the House of Commons last Wednesday, as to what should be taken to constitute "A Religious Body." Not to go harking back to the Rev. Sydney Smith's definition of "a Corporation"—which, without speaking it profanely, cannot be here quoted without offending eyes polite,—one may say that "A Religious Body" is a contradiction in terms. It is simply "A Soul-less Thing."

"What's the name of that German Beer?" asked Mrs. R., "I rather think it is Pil-sen-ner. It sounds to me more like medicine."

THE MAN FROM BLANKLEYS.

A Story in Scenes.

Scene XI.—The Drawing-room. Mrs. Gilwattle is still unable to express her feelings by more than a contemptuous glare.

Uncle Gabriel. My—ah—love, you didn't hear me. I was saying I've almost prevailed on his Lordship——

Mrs. Gilwattle (becoming articulate). His Lordship, indeed! If that's a Lord, I don't wonder you're such a Radical!

Uncle Gab. Why—why—what's come to you, Joanna? My Lord, I hope you'll excuse her—she's a little——

Mrs. Gil. Fiddlesticks! You've been made a fool of, Gabriel! Can't you see for yourself that he's neither the manners nor yet the appearance of a real nobleman—or anything but what he is?

Uncle Gab. (dropping Lord S.'s arm). Eh? If you're not a Lord, Sir, what else are you?

Lord Strath. (wavering between wrath and amusement). Afraid I can't enlighten you—I'm extremely curious to know myself.

Mrs. Tid. (distractedly). Oh, Aunt, it wasn't my fault, really! Montague would have him! And—and we sent round to say he wouldn't be required—we did indeed! Please, please don't tell anybody!

Mrs. Gil. (rigidly). It is my duty to let everyone here know how disgracefully we have been insulted to-night, Maria, and might have gone away in ignorance, but for that innocent child—who has done nothing, that I can see, to deserve being shaken like that! I'm not going to sit by in silence and see a man passed off as a Lord who is nothing more nor less than one of the assistants out of Blankley's shop, hired to come and fill a vacant seat! Yes, Gabriel, if you doubt my word, look at Maria—and now ask that young man to dine!

[Profound sensation among the company.

Uncle Gab. I—ah—withdraw the invitation, of course—it is cancelled, Sir, cancelled!

Feminine Murmur. I had a feeling, the moment he came in, as if—so thankful now I didn't commit myself by so much as—ah, my dear, it all comes from a desire to make a show!—&c., &c.

Uncle Gab. It's the bare-faced impudence of coming here on false pretences, that I can't get over. Come, Mr. Shopwalker, Counterjumper, or whatever you really are, what have you got to say for yourself?

Lord Strath. Say? Why——

[He struggles to control his countenance for a moment, until he is convulsed at last by irrepressible laughter.

All (except the Tidmarshes). He's laughing—positively laughing at Us! The brazenness of it!

Lord Strath. (regaining composure). I—I'm awfully sorry, but it struck me suddenly as so——After all, the joke is only against myself. (To himself.) Must try and get my unfortunate hostess out of this fix—not that she deserves it! (Aloud.) If you will kindly let me explain, I think I can——

Mr. Tid. (suddenly). Oh, hang explaining! It's all out now, and you'd better leave it there!

Lord Strath. I can't, indeed. I must make you all understand that this well-meaning lady with the highly-developed sense of duty has done our host and hostess a grave injustice, besides paying me a compliment I don't deserve. I'm sorry to say I can't claim to be half as useful a member of the community as any of the very obliging and attentive gentlemen in Mr. Blankley's employment. If I'm anything, I'm a—an Egyptologist, in an amateur sort of way, you know. A—in fact, I'm writing a book on Ancient Egypt.

The Others. A literary man! As if that made it any better!

Lord Strath. I merely mention it because it led me to write to Mr. Cartouche—whom I happened to hear of as a famous collector—and ask to be allowed to call and inspect his collection. Mr. Cartouche (who lives, I believe, at No. 92, next door) very kindly wrote, giving me leave, and inviting me to dine at the same time, and—I know it was unpardonably careless of me—but somehow I came here instead, and, Mr. and Mrs. Tidmarsh being both too—er—hospitable to undeceive me, I never found my mistake out till too late to put it right, without inconveniencing everybody. That's really all.

[Uneasy reaction in the company.

Uncle Gab. (pompously). Ha—hum—no doubt that puts a somewhat different complexion on the case, but it doesn't explain your conduct in calling yourself Lord Strathfoozleum, or whatever it was.

Lord Strath. I think you mean Strathsporran. I did call myself that, because it happens to be my name.

Mrs. Tid. (passionately). I don't believe it.... I can't. If it is, why did Miss Seaton call you "Mr. Claypole"?

Lord Strath. I beg your pardon—Claymore. Because, when we last met, I was Douglas Claymore, with no prospect whatever, as it seemed then, of being anything else.

Mrs. Tid. (faintly). Then he really is—Oh!

[She sinks on the couch, crushed.

Uncle Gab. Ha, well, my Lord, I'm glad this little misunderstanding is so satisfactorily cleared up, and if I may venture to hope for the honour of your company,—shall we say Friday wee——(Lord S. looks at him steadily.) Oh, if your Lordship has some better engagement, well and good.