force me to speak out, I will!

Mr. Tid. (alarmed). No, no, I—I meant no offence—you won't go and let everything out now! It was a mistake, that's all—and there's no harm done. You got your dinner all right, didn't you? By the way, talking of that, can you give me any idea what they'll charge me for this, eh? What's the regular thing now?

Lord Strath. (to himself). Extraordinary little bounder—wants me to price his dinner for him! (Aloud.) Couldn't give a guess!

Mr. Tid. Well, considering I sent round and all that, I think they ought to make some reduction—y'know. But you've nothing to do with that, eh? I'm to settle up with Blankley's?

Lord Strath. I should say he would prefer your doing so—but it's really no business of mine, and—er—it's getting rather late——

Mr. Tid. (opening the door). There, we'll go up. And look here, do try and be a bit stiffer with my Uncle. It's too bad the way he goes on my-lording you, y'know. You shouldn't encourage him!

Lord Strath. I wasn't aware I did. (To himself.) Trying, this. But never mind, I shall see Marjory in another minute!

Mr. Tid. (to himself). The airs these chaps give themselves! Oh, lor, there's Uncle Gabriel hooking on to him again. If he only knew! [He follows them upstairs uneasily.

Scene X.—In the Drawing-room; Gwendolen is still whispering in Mrs. Gilwattle's ear.

Mrs. Gilw. Eh? You're tickling my ear, child—don't come so close. Louder. Yes, go on. "Sat next to him at dinner?" Well, what about him?... What?... What's the child talking about now?... "A gentleman out of Blankley's shop"!! "Hired for the evening"!!! Let her alone, Maria, I know who's telling the truth! So this is your precious Nobleman, is it? Oh, the deceit of it all!

[The door opens, and Uncle Gabriel enters, clinging affectionately to Lord Strathsporran's arm.

Uncle Gab. And when I take a fancy to a young fellow, my Lord, I don't allow any social prejudices to stand in the way. I should say just the same if you were a mere nobody. We ought to see more of one another. I should esteem it a distinguished favour if you'd honour me and my wife by dropping in to a little dinner some evening; no ceremony; just a few quiet pleasant people like ourselves. We'll see if we can't fix a day with my wife.

[He steers him across to Mrs. Gilwattle.

Lord Strath. (to himself). Now, how the deuce am I going to get out of this? And what have they done with Marjory?

Uncle Gab. Joanna, my love, I've been telling his Lordship here how delighted and honoured we should be to see him at dinner some——

[Mrs. Gilwattle rises slowly, bristling with indignation, and glares speechlessly at the unconscious Lord Strathsporran, while Mrs. Tidmarsh vainly attempts to appease her, as her husband and the other men enter. Tableau.

End of Scene X.

"At the Window."

"The French," says Mrs. R., "have been shown up in a very queer light by all these Panama candles."

THE HOUSE THAT BILL (SYKES) BURGLED.

(Namely, that of Messrs. Walter Cross & Co., Jewellers, 8, Holywell Street, Strand, as narrated in the Times of the 16th inst.)

This is the House that Bill burgled.

This is the window, plastered with brown-paper and treacle, and then broken, belonging to the House that Bill burgled.

This is the rope-ladder, attached to the window, plastered with brown-paper and treacle, &c.

This is the show-case, reached by way of the rope-ladder attached to the window, plastered with brown-paper and treacle, &c.

This is the "burglar-alarm," lately connected with the show-case, reached by way of the rope-ladder, attached to the window, &c.

This is the bell that belonged to the "burglar-alarm," lately connected with the show-case, &c.

This is the wire that rang the bell, that belonged to the "burglar-alarm," lately connected with the show-case, &c.

This is the telephone that communicated with Bloomsbury, set in motion by the bell, rung by the wire, &c.

This is the dog who barked at the bell, agitated by the telephone that communicated with Bloomsbury, &c.

This is the man unshaven, unshorn, aroused from his sleep in the early morn by the dog who barked at the bell, &c.

These are the "Bobbies," all forlorn, called on by the man unshaven, unshorn, aroused from his sleep in the early morn, by the dog who barked at the bell, &c.

And this is the burglar, smiling in scorn, who escaped by the rope-ladder, window-sill-borne, and evaded the Bobbies all forlorn, called on by the man, unshaven, unshorn, aroused from his sleep in the early morn, by the dog who barked at the bell, agitated by the telephone, set in motion by the wire, attached to the burglar-alarm, connected with the show-case, reached by way of the rope-ladder, hooked to the window, plastered with brown-paper and treacle, belonging to the House that Bill burgled.

SUGGESTIONS FOR RIDE PARK.

"Many improvements," the Daily News writes, "in the arrangement of the Parks in the West End" have been made. Have they? Perhaps visible to the eye assisted by Mr. Weller's "pair o' patent double million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power." But why, for the hundredth time we ask, and every equestrian asks as well, why aren't rides made across Kensington Gardens from Princes' Gate to Bayswater? Beautiful rides they would be under the trees, and thus varying the wearisome monotony of the round and round squirrel-in-a-cage sort of routine exercise, to which the Rotten-Row Riders are purgatorially bound. Also, why not a ride right across Hyde Park from the Achilles Statue to an exit facing about Albion Street, Bayswater? What difficulties can there be which a First Commissioner of Works representing an actively Liberal and Progressive policy could not carry out for the benefit of the Mounted Liver