better, as our friend Mr. Cockcroft here proposes, make it something of daily use—a good serviceable silk umberella now—that's always appropriate.

Mr. Sibb. To make up for the one he broke over the collector's head, eh? that's appropriate enough!

Mr. Cocker. No, no; you mean well, Filkins, but you must see yourself, on reflection, that there would be a certain want of—ah—good taste in giving him a thing like that under the circumstances. I should suggest something like a hatstand—a handsome one, of course. I happen to know that he has nothing in the passage at present but a row of pegs.

Mr. Sibb. I should have thought he'd been taken down enough pegs already.

Mr. Filk. (who resents the imputation upon his taste). I can't say what the width of Mr. Porpentine's passage may be, never having been privileged with an invitation to pass the threshold, but unless it's wider than ours is, he couldn't get a hatstand in if he tried, and if my friend Cockcroft will excuse the remark, I see no sense—to say nothing of good taste, about which perhaps I mayn't be qualified to pass an opinion—in giving him an article he's got no room for.

Mr. Cocker. (with warmth). There's room enough in Porpentine's passage for a whole host of hatstands, if that's all, and I know what I'm speaking about. I've been in and out there often enough. I'm—ah—a regular tame cat in that house. But if you're against the 'atstand, I say no more—we'll waive it. How would it do if we gave him a nice comfortable easy-chair—something he could sit in of an evening, y' know?

Mr. Sibb. A touchy chap like Porpentine would be sure to fancy we thought he wanted something soft after a hard bench and a plank bed—you can't go and give him furniture!

Mr. Cocker. (with dignity). There's a way of doing all things. I wasn't proposing to go and chuck the chair at him—he's a sensitive feller in many respects, and he'd feel that, I grant you. He can't object to a little present of that sort just from four friends like ourselves.

Mr. Balch. (with a falling countenance). Oh! I thought it was to be a general affair, limited to a small sum, so that all who liked could join in. I'd no notion you meant to keep it such a private matter as all that.

Mr. Filk. Nor I. And, knowing Mr. Porpentine so slightly as I do, he might consider it presumption in me, making myself so prominent in the matter—or else I'm sure——

Mr. Cocker. There's no occasion for anyone to be prominent, except myself. You leave it entirely in my 'ands. I'll have the chair taken up some evening to Porpentine's house on a 'andcart, and drop in, and just lead up to it carelessly, if you understand me, then go out and wheel the chair in, make him try it—and there you are.

Mr. Balch. There you are, right enough; but I don't see where we come in, exactly.

Mr. Filk. If it's to be confined to just us four, I certingly think we ought all to be present at the presentation.

Mr. Cocker. That would be just the very thing to put a man like Porpentine out—a crowd dropping in on him like that! I know his ways, and, seeing I'm providing the chair——

Mr. Balch. (relieved). You are? That's different, of course; but I thought you said that we four——

Mr. Cocker. I'm coming to that. As the prime mover, and a particular friend of Porpentine's, it's only right and fair I should bear the chief burden. There's an easy-chair I have at home that only wants re-covering to be as good as new, and all you fellers need do is to pay for 'aving it nicely done up in velvet, or what not, and we'll call it quits.

Mr. Balch. I daresay; but I like to know what I'm letting myself in for; and there's upholsterers who'll charge as much for doing up a chair as would furnish a room.

Mr. Filk. I—I shouldn't feel justified, with my family, and, as, comparatively speaking, a recent resident, in going beyond a certain limit, and unless the estimate could be kep' down to a moderate sum, I really——

Mr. Sibb. (unmasking). After all, you know, I don't see why we should go to any expense over a stuck-up, cross-grained chap like Porpentine. It's well-known he hasn't a good word to say for us Jerrymere folks, and considers himself above the lot of us!

Mr. Balch and Mr. Filk. I'm bound to say there's a good deal in what Sibbering says. Porpentine's never shown himself what I should call sociable.

Mr. Cocker. I've never found him anything but pleasant myself, whatever he may be to others. I'm not denying he's an exclusive man, and a fastidious man, but he's been 'arshly treated, and I should have thought this was an occasion—if ever there was one—for putting any private feelings aside, and rallying round him to show our respect and sympathy. But of course if you're going to let petty jealousies of this sort get the better of you, and leave me to do the 'ole thing myself, I've no objection. I daresay he'll value it all the more coming from me.

Mr. Sibb. Well, he ought to, after the shameful way he's spoken of you to a friend of mine in the City, who shall be nameless. You mayn't know, and if not, it's only right I should mention it, that he complained bitterly of having to change his regular train on your account, and said (I'm only repeating his words, mind you) that Jerrymere was entirely populated by bores, but you were the worst of the lot, and your jabber twice a day was more than he could stand. He mayn't have meant anything by it, but it was decidedly uncalled for.

Mr. Cockcr. (reddening). I 'ope I'm above being affected by the opinion any man may express of my conversation—especially a cantankerous feller, who can't keep his temper under decent control. A feller who goes and breaks his umbrella over an unoffending official's 'ead like that, and gets, very properly, locked up for it! Jerrymere society isn't good enough for him, it seems. He won't be troubled with much of it in future—I can assure him! Upon my word, now I come to think of it, I'm not sure he shouldn't be called upon for an explanation of how he came to be travelling without a ticket; it looks very much to me as if he'd been systematically defrauding the Company!

Mr. Filk. Well, I didn't like to say so before; but that's been my view all along!

Mr. Balch. And mine.

Mr. Sibb. Now perhaps you understand why we'd rather leave it to you to give him the arm-chair.

Mr. Cockcr. I give a man an arm-chair for bringing disgrace on the 'ole of Jerrymere! I'd sooner break it up for firewood! Whoever it was that first started all this tomfoolery about a testimonial, I'm not going to 'ave my name associated with it, and if you'll take my advice, you'll drop it once and for all, for it's only making yourselves ridiculous! [His companions, observing that he is in a somewhat excited condition, consider it advisable to change the subject.

OPERATIC NOTES.

"O my prophetic sole, my ankle!"

Tuesday, June 27.—Faust, in French. Jean de Reszke was to have been