of the tale, and the portions I object to are scarcely trifles. But pardon me if I prefer to end a discussion that is somewhat unprofitable. (To himself, as he turns on his heel.) A most arrogant, self-satisfied, and conceited young man—a truly lamentable product of this half-educated age!

Spurr. (to himself). Well, he may be a dab at dogmas—he don't know much about dogs. Drummy's got a constitution worth a dozen of his!

Lady Culv. (approaching him). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, Lord Lullington wishes to know you. If you will come with me. (To herself, as she leads him up to Lord L.) I do wish Rohesia wouldn't force me to do this sort of thing!

[She presents him.

[101]

Lord Lullington (to himself). I suppose I ought to know all about his novel, or whatever it is he's done. (Aloud, with courtliness.) Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Spurrell; you've—ah—delighted the world by your Andromeda. When are we to look for your next production? Soon, I hope.

Spurr. (to himself). He's after a pup now! Never met such a doggy lot in my life! (Aloud.) Er—well, my lord, I've promised so many as it is, that I hardly see my way to——

Lord Lull. (paternally). Take my advice, my dear young man, leave yourself as free as possible. Expect you to give us your best, you know.

[He turns to continue a conversation.

Spurr. (to himself). Give it! He won't get it under a five-pound note, I can tell him. (He makes his way to Miss Spelwane.) I say, what do you think the old Bishop's been up to? Pitching into Andromeda like the very dooce—says she's sickly!

Miss Spelwane (to herself). He brings his literary disappointments to me, not Maisie! (Aloud, with the sweetest sympathy.) How dreadfully unjust! Oh, I've dropped my fan—no, pray don't trouble; I can pick it up. My arms are so long, you know—like a kangaroo's—no, what is that animal which has such long arms? You're so clever, you ought to know!

Spurr. I suppose you mean a gorilla?

Miss Spelw. How crushing of you! But you must go away now, or else you'll find nothing to say to me at dinner—you take me in, you know. I hope you feel privileged. I feel——But if I told you, I might make you too conceited!

Spurr. Oh, no, you wouldn't.

[Sir Rupert approaches with Mr. Shorthorn.

Sir Rupert. Vivien, my dear, let me introduce Mr. Shorthorn—Miss Spelwane. (To Spurrell.) Let me see—ha—yes, you take in Mrs. Chatteris. Don't know her? Come this way, and I'll find her for you.

[He marches Spurrell off.

Mr. Shorthorn (to Miss Spelwane). Good thing getting this rain at last; a little more of this dry weather and we should have had no grass to speak of!

Miss Spelw. (who has not quite recovered from her disappointment). And now you will have some grass to speak of? How fortunate!

Spurr. (as dinner is announced, to Lady Maisie). I say, Lady Maisie, I've just been told I've got to take in a married lady. I don't know what to talk to her about. I should feel a lot more at home with you. Couldn't we manage it somehow?

Lady Maisie (to herself). What a fearful suggestion—but I simply daren't snub him! (Aloud.) I'm afraid, Mr. Spurrell, we must both put up with the partners we have; most distressing, isn't it—but!

[She gives a little shrug.

Captain Thicknesse (immediately behind her, to himself). Gad, that's pleasant! I knew I'd better have gone to Aldershot! (Aloud.) I've been told off to take you in, Lady Maisie, not my fault, don't you know.

Lady Maisie. There's no need to be so apologetic about it. (To herself.) Oh, I hope he didn't hear what I said to that wretch.

Capt. Thick. Well, I rather thought there might be, perhaps.

Lady Maisie (to herself). He did hear it. If he's going to be so stupid as to misunderstand, I'm sure I shan't explain.

[They take their place in the procession to the Dining Hall.

"I'd rather a job to get these things on; but they're really a wonderful fit, considering!"

RATIONAL DRESS.

(A Reformer's Note to a Current Controversy.)

QUEER QUERIES.—A Question of Terms.—I am sometimes allowed, by the kindness of a warder, to see a newspaper, and I have just read that some scientific cove says that man's natural life is 105 years. Now is this true? I want to know, because I am in here for what the Judge called "the term of my natural life," and, if it is to last for 105 years, I consider I have been badly swindled. I say it quite respectfully, and I hope the Governor will allow the expression to pass. Please direct answers to Her Majesty's Prison, Princetown, Devon.—No. 67.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

Volume I.—Awakening.

And so the work was done. Belinda, after a year's hard writing, had completed her self-appointed task. Douglas the Doomed One had grown by degrees into its present proportions. First the initial volume