morning rounds, visit her bedroom, regardless of the twine with which, before entering on her virgin slumbers, she had sedulously fastened the lockless door. Altogether a delightful book, says Passim Pasha, the accredited representative of the Baron De Book-worms.

Those who like "Just a tale by twilight, When the lights are low, And the glittering shadows Softly come and go," will do well to expend the comparatively small sum of one shilling, which, in certain ready-money quarters, is reduced to tenpence, or even ninepence, on Grim Tales, written by E. Nesbit, of which "The Ebony Frame" (which should have been called "The Speaking Likeness,") "The Mystery of the Semi-Detached," "Life-size, in Marble," and "A Mass for the Dead," are the best, the last-mentioned being the only one that ends, as all otherwise purposeless tales should end, happily. The Stories are grim enough, in all conscience, but they are told in a hearty sort of fashion, which, while relieving them of some of their weirdness, is calculated to impress the reader with an idea of the honesty and bona fides of the narrator. Thus far,

The Baron de Book-worms.

THE PENALTY OF FAME.

Small Boy (with shrill voice).

"'Fightin'—with—the Sev'nth—Royal Fusiliers—the

Famous Fusiliers—the

Fightin' Fusiliers,'" &c., &c.

Irritable War-Office Clerk. "Con-found the Seventh Royal Fusiliers! I'm sick of 'em! Blest if I don't pack 'em off to the Channel Islands!" [Does so.]

Mem. For the Next Epsom Meeting,—Why is the Winner of the Derby always like a Table d' hôte?—Because he's so much ahead.

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS FOR A CRIMINAL COLLEGE.

(Suitable for Use at the Prison University, Elmira.)

Question. What is a crime?

Answer. A discovered breach of the law.

Q. And a virtue?

A. Its antithesis—the same thing unsuspected.

Q. What should be the chief occupation of a criminal?

A. A serious study of the law, with a view to its successful evasion.

Q. Is there a law for the rich and a law for the poor?

A. Certainly not; but a well-feed Q.C. is more than a match for a briefless Counsel whose professional sustenance is "soup."

Q. What is now generally considered to be the highest line of crime?

A. The malpractice that is frequently inseparable from holding of important positions on the Boards of bogus public Companies.

Q. What is necessary to secure a livelihood out of burglary?

A. A clear head, a knowledge of chemistry and kindred subjects, and a fair amount of capital.

Q. Why is ready money necessary?

A. Because the calling of a burglar nowadays is attended by various compulsory expenses. A successful burglar should be able to purchase skeleton-keys and "jemmies" of the most exquisite and delicate quality. Moreover, he should be able to entertain largely, and to keep a yacht.

Q. Is swindling ever known to be legal?

A. Scarcely; still it can often be practised with impunity on the Stock Exchange and the Turf.

Q. Is petty larceny lawful?

A. Only when practised on the belongings of your wife, and even in this case it is well to keep her in ignorance of the provisions of the Married Woman's Property Act.

Q. What are the advantages of a sojourn in the newly organised Elmira establishment?

A. An inmate is taught a trade, or even a profession.

Q. And now, in conclusion, considering that a breach of the law is necessary to secure admission to the University, what would you consider the most appropriate motto for the Institution?

A. "Honesty is not (at first) the best policy."

"Back us Up!"—It is stated that, on the new School Board for the Henley-in-Arden district, a Mr. H. Bacchus has been elected. May Bacchus (and the classic "fat venison") never be absent from this Board! Probably, nowadays, Bacchus is a strong supporter of the Temperance Movement, if not himself a Total Abstainer.

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.

No. XVIII.—TO FAILURE.

Sir,—Hitherto, I seem to have been submitting to you examples that cannot properly be described as failures. This was not my purpose. I wished rather to describe one or two characters whose ruin, to a greater or smaller degree, you have compassed by your influence. But some sprite seemed to take possession of my pen; my efforts were unsuccessful, and I was led away from my original purpose. Perhaps that is one of the penalties of addressing you. We shall see! In any case let me proceed with my task as best I may.

It happened to me once—the date is immaterial—that after a considerable absence, I returned to London. You know, perhaps, how it fares with those who, for any length of time, become exiles from their native land. All the institutions, the small no less than the great, that go to make up our varied social life at home, become glorified as it were, and loom larger through the mist of absence. They become part and parcel of a traveller's patriotism, even if in his home-life he took no part in them. I was due to return at the end of May, in time for the Derby-day. I am not a racing-man. I had never seen the Derby run, chiefly, I fancy, because I had never had any desire to see it. But I remember that amongst my brother-exiles, I was being eternally congratulated on the good luck that took me home in time for this great national event. "What, you are going to be back by the end of May," one of them would say; "why you'll be able to go to the Derby?" So that in time, I came to accept this possibility as a specially enviable feature of my home-coming. From that, to making up my mind to go to the Derby was but a step, I took it, and on the great day I made one of the mighty crowd on Epsom Downs. I don't remember much about the race. I met many friends who asked me, as is common in such cases, if I was back already; a question to which it seems difficult to find a suitable reply, if one's bodily presence is not to be accepted as a sufficient evidence of the fact. Many others volunteered to put me on to various absolute certainties, and one man chilled my newly-born racing-patriotism by observing, that he would as soon have thought of seeing Fred Archer at a meeting of the British Association.

I don't mean to describe the scene on the Downs. One crowd is much like another; and, when you have said something of the proverbial good-nature of a British crowd, you have done all that can be justly required of you, after seeing a hunted wretch all but torn in pieces by a mob of blackguards worse than himself. However, I think I enjoyed myself well enough. Others enjoyed themselves more, and amongst these was a party of roystering, jovial fellows, who ate a hearty luncheon, and drank much champagne, on the top of a hired drag. One of them particularly attracted my attention. Somewhere, I knew, I had seen that curious, clean-shaved, bull-frog face before. It was perfectly familiar to me, but, for the life of me, I couldn't recall the