They perform the commission with alacrity, which gives me the opportunity of slipping out at back-door, and taking quiet ramble by myself. When will Paterfamilias himself turn up?  I have not seen or heard from Mr. BRISTOL MERCHANT yet.

I am fated, however, to hear from him pretty soon; and, when I do, his communication is surprising.  It comes in the form of a telegram, addressed to me.  It runs thus:—­

“Just heard President asked you to take tutorship.  Misunderstanding.  Very sorry, but have myself engaged another tutor.  He will arrive this evening.  Shall I tell him not to come?  Awkward!  Wire reply.”

Awkward!  On the contrary, I feel it to be almost providential.  Mamma doesn’t apologise, but says, frankly—­“Why, if he comes, there’ll be two tutors—­and one is quite enough!”

I telegraph briefly to the effect, that, under the circumstances, I will go at once.

Bid good-bye (after lunch) to ERNIE, in hall.  He says—­“I knew you would never do for the place,” and ought to have his ears boxed by his fond Mamma, but hasn’t.  As I go down front walk, see him and HERBIE and JACK all putting out what I think I may appropriately call their “mother tongues” at me from a top window!

Moral—­for my own consumption:  Never go to an uncultivated family again.

So ends my Tutorship!  And I’ve never once set eyes on my employer all through!

After this fiasco, the President certainly ought to do something handsome for me.

He does!  Writes and says how sorry he is to hear of the stupid mistake that has been made.  He knows of another very nice family, in Cheshire, who want a Private Tutor.  Shall he mention my name to them?  Not for worlds!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  WHO WOULD NOT BE A TENOR?

The Fair Bohemian Girl:—­

  “I HAD RICHES TOO GREAT TO COUNT, COULD BOAST
    OF A HIGH ANCESTRAL NAME;... 
  BUT I ALSO DREAMT, WHICH CHARMED ME MOST,
    THAT YOU LOVED ME STILL THE SAME—­
    THAT YOU LOVED ME, YOU LOVED ME STI-ILL THE SAME!”

(Sketched from a Provincial Pit.)]

* * * * *

TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS.

  What means Train de Luxe?  Peppery “PUNJAB” replies,
  Two dirty sleeping-oars wherein one lies
  Awaiting a breakfast; to feel disgust utter
  At coffee, two boiled eggs, and plain roll and butter,
  (Miscalled “Grub de Luxe,” in the bitterest chaff,)
  At the humorous price of four francs and a-half! 
  Item:  Thirty-five francs for a bottle of brandy! 
  (A thing that—­at breakfast—­of course comes in handy). 
  A horrible dinner; no wine, and no beer,
  Not even a soda your spirits to cheer;
  No water to wash in at Turin—­just think! 
  On arrival in France, not a drop e’en to drink!