insensibly superseded the poesy of the peerless Portuguese. Well, Gentlemen, in vain may 'sterner Albion' glory in the profusion of wealth and the pomp of 'glad repast,' unless also she breeds heroes to adventure and poets to celebrate. As you sang, my Camoens—

"For the present, Stanley's arm and Mr. Punch's pen suffice to save the State from such abasement. But let our timid Premiers and our temporising Press remember the glories of Gama and Camoens, and the fate of ungrateful and indolent Lusitania!"

"The Pen of Mr. Punch!" cried Camoens. "Ah, long have the valiant Vasco and myself desired to peruse its sparkling and patriotic outpourings.".

"And you, my Stanley," proceeded Mr. Punch, "said to the banqueting Fishmongers, 'I am an omnivorous reader whenever an opportunity presents itself.' It presents itself here and now. Take, Illustrious Trio, the greatest gift that even Punch can bestow upon you, to wit his

JOURNAL OF A ROLLING STONE.

Fourth Entry.

Have for a considerable time past been "eating dinners," preparatory to being "called" to the Bar. Understand now what people mean when they talk of a "Digest of the Law."

Find myself (on dining for the first time this Term) in a mess with a highly-intelligent native of India, another man up from Oxford, and an African law-student. Latter black and curly, but good-natured. Says there is a great demand for English-made barristers on the Gambia, and he's going to supply the demand.

Have wild and momentary idea of going to the Gambia myself.

"Why," I ask this enterprising negro, "why don't English barristers—white ones, I mean—go and practise there?" Feel that reference to colour is not felicitous; still, difficult to express the idea otherwise.

African doesn't mind. Shows all his teeth in a broad grin, and says, "Inglis men die, die like flies, on the Gambia."

Curious to see the Hindoo law-student looking contemptuously at African ditto. Hindoo a shrewd fellow. Talks English perfectly. Rather given to gesticulate. Waves his arms, and incidentally knocks over a bottle of the claret—at twelve shillings a dozen—which the Inn kindly supplies to wash down the mutton and baked potatoes at our two-shilling meal. Hindoo laughs. Tells me, confidentially, that he has practised as a "Vakeel" (whatever that is) in some small country town in Bengal. Why has he come over here? Oh, to be called. Will get more work and more pay, when a full-fledged barrister. Gather that there are rival "Vakeels" in Bengal whom he wants to cut out. He intends "cutting out"—to India—directly he is called.

Oxford man tells me in a whisper that "he believes he's a Baboo." Indeed! Don't feel much wiser for the information.

African getting jealous of Baboo's fluent talk. Rather a sportive negro, it appears. Says he goes to theatre nearly every night. Has a regular and rather festive programme for each day.

"Lecture, morning," he says; "afternoon, walk in Park, sometimes ride. Night, theatre or music-hall." He grins like an amiable gargoyle. In his own country African law-student must be quite a lady-killer—a sort of Gambia masher.

Incidentally mention to Hindoo difficulty of law of Real Property, especially "Rule in Shelley's Case."

It seems Hindoo understands matter perfectly. Begins to explain the "Rule in Shelley's Case." Does it by aid of two salt-cellars (to represent the parties) and a few knives (to represent collateral relatives).

African masher more jealous. Laughs at Baboo's explanation. He and Baboo exchange glances of hatred. African, who is carving, brandishes knife. Is he going to plunge it into heart of Baboo just as he's got through his explanation? Looks like it, as the shilling claret seems to have got into place where we may suppose African's brain to be. However, dinner ends without a catastrophe.

After attending the usual amount of legal lectures, the "Final" Exam. approaches.

Get through the papers pretty well. Thank goodness, no question asked so far about that "Rule in Shelley's Case," which is my "Pons Asinorum!" It's a "rule" to which I take great exception.

There's a "Vivâ Voce" to come, however. Hate vivâ voce. Two examiners sit at end of Hall—students called up in batches of half-a-dozen at a time. Very nervous work. Find, when my turn comes, that the intelligent Baboo is in the same lot! Appears to like the position. From his manner I should judge that he'd been doing nothing all his life but being examined by fifties in a cave, like this.

Examiner who tackles me has an eye-glass.

"Now, Mr. Joynson," he remarks, putting it up to survey me better, "if you were a trustee, &c., &c., what would you do?"

Flattered at the supposition. Answer in a way which seems to partly satisfy Examiner, who passes on to next man with a new question. In a minute or two my turn comes round again.

"Now, Mr. Joynson," Examiner again observes cheerfully, "let me ask you quite an elementary question in Real Property. Just give me a brief, a very brief, explanation of what you understand by the Rule in Shelley's Case!"

But I don't understand anything by it! It's a piece of hopeless legal gibberish to me. I stammer out some attempt at an answer, and see Baboo looking at me with a pitying, almost reproachful, glance. "Didn't I," he seems to say, "explain it all to you once at dinner? Do you really mean to say that you've forgotten the way in which I arranged the salt-cellars and the table-knives, and how I turned the whole case inside out for your benefit?"

I admit the offence. Examiner seems surprised at my ignorance—informs me that "it's as easy as A.B.C." It may be—to him and the Baboo.

Baboo, being asked the same question, at once explains the whole matter, this time without the aid of the salt-cellars and cutlery.

A few days later go to look at result of examination. Result, for me—a Plough!

Walking away dejectedly—("homeward the Plough-man wends his legal way"—as Gray sympathetically put it)—meet African law-student, who grins insanely. He doesn't sympathise in my defeat. Shows his fine set of ivories and says:—

"Me failed too. Me go back Gambia. You come back with me!"

Tell him I'm not "called" yet: certainly not called to Gambia.

"Then come to Alhambra!" he suggests, as a sort of alternative to a visit to the tropics.

African student evidently still a masher. Decline his invitation with thanks. Wouldn't be seen with him at a theatre for worlds! Depressed. Don't even look in at Gaiety Bar. No Gaiety for me—and no "Bar" either, it seems.