Sophy?

Sophy. I don't see why it need have been a Nigger!

The S. L. (after a "Humorous Musical Sketch" by a clever and, charming young Lady). Like that, my dear?—a Young Woman giving a description of how she actually went on the Stage, and imitating men in that way! It was as much as I could do to sit still in my seat!

Her Friend. I must say I thought it was very amusing.

The S. L. Amusing? I daresay. But, to my mind, young girls have no business to be amusing, and take off other people. I've no opinion of such ways myself. I don't know what my dear Mother would have done if I'd ever been amusing—she would have broken her heart, I do believe!

The Friend (to herself). She wouldn't have split her sides, that's very certain!

[A Lady Physiognomist appears in cap and gown, and invites a subject to step upon the stage, and have his or her character revealed.

"He blinks and smiles in feeble confusion."

Jack (to his Fiancée). No, I say—but look here, Flossie, really I'd rather not—with all these people looking!

Flossie. Then I shall think you've something to conceal, Jack—you wouldn't like me to feel that already, would you?

[Jack, resignedly, mounts the platform, and occupies a chair, in which he blinks and smiles in feeble confusion, while the Professor studies his features dispassionately.

The Lady Phys. The first thing to notice is the disposition of the ears. Now here we have a Gentleman whose ears stick out in a very remarkable manner. [Delight of Audience.

Flossie (to herself). They do—awfully! I never noticed it before. But it really rather suits him; at least—— [She meditates.

The L. Ph. This denotes an original and inquiring mind; this gentleman takes nothing on trust—likes to see everything for himself; he observes a good deal more than he ever says anything about. His nose is wide at the tip, showing a trustful and confiding disposition; it has a bump in the centre, denoting a moderate amount of combativeness. The nostrils indicate a keen sense of humour. (Here Jack giggles bashfully.) There is a twist in the upper lip, which indicates—well, I won't say that he would actually tell an untruth—but if he had the opportunity for doing so, he has the capacity for taking advantage of it. I think that is all I have to say about this Gentleman.

Flossie (to Jack, after he has returned to her side). Jack, if you can't leave off having an original and inquiring mind, you must at least promise me one thing—it's very little to ask!

Jack. You know I'd do any blessed thing in the world for you Flossie,—what is it?

Flossie. Only to wear an elastic round your ears at night, Jack!

The Unsophisticated Father (at the conclusion of the exhibition, as the Missing Lady disappears with a bang, in full view of the Audience). There, Vivvie; she's vanished clean away. What do you say to that, eh?

Vivien (composedly). Well, I think we may as well vanish too Father. It's all over!

The S. L. (going out). I don't wish to judge others—far from it—but, speaking for myself, Eliza, I cannot feel this has been a profitable method of employing precious moments which can never be recalled.

Her Friend. Oh, it's quite early. You'll have plenty of time to get a cup of tea, and do some shopping before it's dark.

The S. L. (severely). That was not precisely what I meant, Eliza!

[But it is precisely what she does.

ADVERTISEMENT'S ADVERSARIES.

["A Society has been formed to deliver us from hideous advertisements."

The Saturday Review.]

"The Flowers that Bloom in the Spring" may now be seen in all their glory at the Crystal Palace Show. The excellent arrangements there made for their exhibition prove that they have been designed and carried out by a clever "Head"-Gardener.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Seeing that A Wild Wooing (published by F. V. White & Co.) is by Florence Warden, authoress of The House on the Marsh, the Baron anticipated a real treat. But he was somewhat disappointed. The novel is in one volume, which is an attraction, and that volume is of a portable size, which is another note in its favour; also it is not illustrated, which is an undisguised blessing. The story is interesting up to a certain point, which, however, does not take you very far into the book, and, after this point, the murmurings behind walls, the moving and dragging of heavy bodies under the floors, the insecure rope-ladders, the trap-doors, cellars, underground passages, smugglers, murderers, victims, and all sorts of mixed mysteries, become tiresome. There is yet another fault, which is, that the story is not told in so convincing a style as to make the reader feel quite sure that the authoress is not "getting at him" all the time, and just trying to see what quantity of old melodramatic stuff he will patiently stand.

At Easter Time the Baron de B.-W. visits his friend
The Peer of Brighton.

Henceforth Florence Warden will do well to get away from the rusty bars, bolts, chains, trap-doors, and cellars, from ruined castles, as grim as that of Udolpho, "of which," as Sir Walter said in his preface to Waverley, "the Eastern wing had long been uninhabited, and the keys either lost, or consigned to the care of some aged butler or housekeeper, whose