before the window falls with a tremendous crash.

Sir P. Bleshugh! What have you done?

Lord Blesh. (sternly). Saved him from an untimely end—and you from—crime.

[Collapse of Sir P. Enter Verbena, terrified.

Verb. Papa, Papa, hide me! The night-air and the cold stone steps have restored Mr. Spiker to life and consciousness! He is coming to denounce me—you—both of us! He is awfully annoyed!

Sir P. (recklessly). It is useless to appeal to me, child. I have enough to do to look after myself—now!

[Enter Spiker, indignant.

Spiker. Pretty treatment for a gentleman, this! Look here, Poshbury, this young lady has choked me with a cushion, and then pitched me down the front steps—I might have broken my neck!

Sir P. It was an oversight which I lament, but for which I must decline to be answerable. You must settle your differences with her.

Spiker. And you, too, old horse! You had a hand in this, I know, and I'll pay you out for it now. My life ain't safe if I marry a girl like that, so I've made up my mind to split, and be done with it!

Sir P. (contemptuously). If you don't, Blethers will. So do your worst, you hound!

Spiker. Very well, then; I will. (To the rest.) I denounce this man for travelling with a half-ticket from Edgware Road to Baker Street on his thirteenth birthday, the 31st of March, twenty-seven years ago this very day.   [Sensation.

Blethers. Hear me; it was not his thirteenth birthday! Sir Poshbury's birthday falls on the 1st of April—to-morrow! I was sent to register the birth, and, by a blunder, which I have repented bitterly ever since, unfortunately gave the wrong date. Till this moment I have never had the manliness or sincerity to confess my error, for fear of losing my situation.

Sir P. (to Spiker). Do you hear, you paltry knave? I was not thirteen. Consequently, I was under age, and the Bye-laws are still unbroken. Your hold over me is gone—gone for ever!

Spiker. H'm—Spiker spiked this time!

[Retires up disconcerted.

Lord Bl. And you did not really love him, after all, Verbena?

Verb. (with arch pride). Have I not proved my indifference?

Lord Bl. But I forget—you admitted that you were but trifling with my affection—take back your pin-cushion.

Verb. Keep it. All that I did was done to spare my father!

Sir Posh. Who, as a matter of fact, was innocent—but I forgive you, child, for your unworthy suspicions. Bleshugh, my boy, you have saved me from unnecessarily depriving myself of the services of an old retainer. Blethers, I condone a dissimulation for which you have done much to atone. Spiker, you vile and miserable rascal, be off, and be thankful that I have sufficient magnanimity to refrain from giving you in charge. (Spiker sneaks off, crushed.) And now, my children, and my faithful old servant, congratulate me that I am no longer——

Verbena and Lord Bleshugh (together). Under the Harrow!

[Affecting Family Tableau and quick Curtain.

BLANK REFUSAL.

B-lf-r. "Quite easy to get the Money, if you'll Back the Bill."
P-rn-ll. "No, thank you!"

The Royal Society of Painters in Water-Colours.—Sir John Gilbert leads off with an excellent landscape "Autumn," which is full of his best quality. The presidential key-note thus struck, seems to have been taken up by the rest of the exhibitors, for in the present show there is certainly a preponderance of landscapes. Among the most notable contributions may be named those by Messrs. Birket Foster, A. D. Fripp, T. Lloyd, C. B. Phillip, Hemy, Smallfield, Marshall, Goodwin, Waterlow, E. K. Johnson, Stacy Marks, Henshall, J. D. Watson, T. J. Watson, Henry Moore, Carl Haag, Miss Clara Montalba, Mrs. Allingham and Miss C. Phillott. The exhibition, though it appears to be not so large as usual, is a very interesting one.

"An Unconsidered Trifle."—One of the clever young men who assist in that excellent Daily Telegraph salad, "London Day by Day," without which, served fresh and fresh every morning, life would not be worth living, said, last Tuesday, that "the latest on 'Change is that Stanley declares he never saw Emin Pasha. Why? Because there's no M in Pasha." Mr. Punch, December 21, 1889, originated it in this form:—

A Mythical Person: Emin Pasha.—Why this fuss about a man who does not exist? There's no M in "Pasha."

"It's of no consequence;" only, given as the latest quotation on 'Change, was not quite up to date for "London Day by Day."

AN UNKNOWN QUANTITY.