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Curph. She might, of course. So long as you satisfy yourself, then. And—what night will suit you best?

Mr. Toov. You're in such a hurry, young man. I—I never said I should go. I'm not at all sure that I can go; but if I did allow myself to venture, it would have to be some evening when my wife—let me see, on Saturday she's going out to some special meeting of her Zenana Mission Committee, I know. It had better be Saturday, if at all—if at all.

Curph. (making a note). Very well. I will see you have a box for that evening, and I hope you will manage to go. But there's a train coming in—I must really be off. Good-bye, Sir, and very many thanks for the kind and generous way in which you have treated me. I am very glad we have had this explanation, and thoroughly understand one another. Good-bye—good-bye!

[He shakes Mr. Toovey's hand with cordial gratitude, and rushes out.

Mr. Toov. (looking after him in some mystification). A most high-minded young man, but a little too officious. And I don't understand why he makes such a point of my going to this Eldorado now. But, if I do go, I mayn't see anything to disapprove of; and, if I don't, I shall keep the shares—whether he likes it or not. He may be a very worthy young man, but I doubt whether he's quite a man of the world!

End of Scene V.

A STUDY IN PRESS-LAND.

(An Actuality, in one short Scene, at the service of the Institute of Journalists.)

Scene—An Editor's Room. Editor discovered in conversation with Would-be Reporter.

Editor (preparing to resume his work). Well, from all you tell me, I imagine you must be a most accomplished person.

Would-be Reporter (smiling). Well, I believe I am up to the standard required by the Institute of Journalists. My classics are fairly good, but I do not know as much as I should of mixed mathematics. However, I took a double first at Oxford; but then I had a particularly easy year. All the men against me were practically duffers.

Ed. (slightly interested). Do you know anything of modern languages?

W.-be Rep. Well, yes. I can speak and write European in all its branches, including Swedish and Norwegian patois, and the argot used on the borders of Turkey and Greece. I am fairly well up in Chinese, but have only a general idea of the grammar of Afghanistan. But I may add that I am spending four hours a day in completing this part of my training.

Ed. I think you said that you have passed in engineering, orchestra-playing, astronomy, naval and military tactics, and the history of the world, and the other components of the planetary system?

W.-be Rep. Certainly; I have in every way (save that I have still to pass in Roman Law) satisfied the requirements of the Institute of Journalists. I am all but qualified for the reception of an Associate's degree.

Ed. (with a view to closing the interview). Very well, then; we shall be glad to use anything you may be good enough to send us—of course, at the customary rate.

W.-be Rep. (gratefully). A thousand thanks. I know; three-half-pence a line, with a minimum of three shillings.

Ed. Precisely. (Taking up his pen.) And now, as my Sub-editor told me that there was a fire somewhere in the neighbourhood, you had better look after it.

W.-be Rep. Thank you so much. But as I have forgotten to bring my reporter's-book, perhaps you will kindly lend me some copy-paper?

Ed. Certainly; you will find some in that corner. (He approaches speaking-tube, to which he has been summoned by a whistle.) Ah! You need not trouble after the fire, for I find we have already received a report from someone on the spot.

W.-be Rep. (in a tone of disappointment). What a bore! just as I was going to report it myself! However, better luck next time.

Ed. (courteously). I hope so; good morning. (Exit Would-be Reporter.) What a nuisance these fellows are! Highly educated, of course, and all that sort of thing; but I am not sure that the rough-and-ready school was not the better.

W.-be Rep. (re-entering hurriedly). My good Sir! Fancy! the man who has sent you the report of the local fire was educated at a small grammar-school, and never even entered a university!

Ed. Well, what of that?

W.-be Rep. (surprised). You surely won't use his copy?

Ed. (decisively). I surely shall. First come, first served. And now you must allow me. (Returns to his work, to the surprise and disgust of Would-be Reporter. Curtain.)

"PIECE AND WAR!" AT DRURY LANE.

"Victory sits on our helms!" cries Sir Druriolanus Auctor to Henricus Parvus etiam Auctor, as they drive back to "The Helms, Regent's Park," after the curtain has descended on the last scene of the last act of A Life of Pleasure at Drury Lane. Twice has Sir Druriolanus appeared before the footlights at the end of the Fourth Act, when some battle in Burmah is gallantly won by the united dramatic forces under the heroic but comic Captain Harry Nicholls, Colonel Lord Frank Fenton Avondale, Sergeant Clarence Holt, and a handful of the bravest soldiers that ever marched to glory over the boards of old Drury Lane. What the story is, and how these heroes got into the jungle and out again, and how the right man married the right woman, and how the wronged woman would have saved the villain from the vengeance of Henry Desmond O'Neville,—who, alas, had to stay in the green-room while the others were distinguishing themselves in Burmah,—is known to the clever collaborators and a few of their trusted confidants. Of that strange history I, a mere civilian, had every detail blown clean out of my head by the din of the great battle. In fact, never have I heard of any "theatrical engagement" equal to this.

"The Action of the Piece."

That Miss Lily Hanbury looked lovely, and touched my heart; that Mrs. Bernard-Beere suddenly developed a brogue that, on occasion, betrayed her nationality; that Miss Le Thière was a villainous matron; that Miss Laura Linden was sprightly and pretty; that Mr. Arthur Dacre was the best representative of lop-sided villainy ever seen on the stage; and that Mr. Robert Soutar reappeared as an elderly masher about town; all this, I am ready to admit, would have been good enough for me, without any attempt on my part at stringing them together in a consecutive story. Didn't I know from the very moment she appeared in deep black, and with a very pale face, that Miss Le Thière was a villain of the deepest dye in petticoats? Could I have trusted Mr. Arthur Dacre, in his neat grey suit, with a sixpence, much less with my life? As for Mr. Elton, representing the Hebraic money-lender—indispensable of late years to all Drury Lane dramas—wasn't I well aware that he was to be the comic villain, only set up to be knocked down again, and to be