BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.

P.S. I have it on the best authority that Mrs. SUTHERLAND EDWARDS, Author of The Secret of the Princess; a Tale of Country, Camp, Court, Convict, and Cloister Life in Russia, is about to produce a highly sensational work, entitled The Bargain of the Barmaid; a Story of Claret, Cheese, Coffee, Cognac, and Cigar Life in London.

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CINDERELLA; FIN DE SIECLE.

(A FAIRY TALE FOR CHRISTMAS.)

The Lady Help was busy at her domestic duties when her Godmother knocked at the kitchen-door, and entered.

“Alas, poor CINDERELLA!” said the Fairy, in a compassionate tone, “and so your stepmother and sisters have gone to the Prince’s ball, and left you to cleanse the pots and pans?”

“Thank you,” returned her God-daughter; “I am perfectly well satisfied to be left with my books.  As a matter of fact, dances bore me.”

And she carelessly glanced at some mathematical works that she had used when cramming for the Senior Wranglership.

“Nonsense, my dear,” responded the well-intentioned Fairy, “Get me a pumpkin, some mice—­”

“Quite out of date,” interrupted CINDERELLA.  “I presume you intend to turn the pumpkin into a great coach, and so forth.  Eh?”

“Well,” admitted the Fairy, taken aback, “ye-es.”

“Quite so.  Believe me, the idea is distinctly old-fashioned.  Pray understand, I don’t say you can’t do it.  Nowadays, with EDISON and KOCH, it would be dangerous to suggest that anything was impossible.  No, I merely object to travel in a conveyance that will naturally be redolent of the odours of the kitchen garden, and to be driven by a coachman derived from a rodent.”

“But this objection is contrary to precedent,” urged the Fairy.  “You ought to express unbounded delight, and then depart in your carriage with the greatest eclat possible.”

“You are most kind, but, if I am to do anything of that sort, I would prefer leaving the matter in the hands of Mr. Sheriff AUGUSTUS HARRIS who thoroughly understands the entire business.”

“It seems to me,” said the Fairy, “you are very ungrateful.  But surely you want a magnificent costume?”

“Thanks, no; I get everything from Paris.”

“And you think of the feelings of your modiste, and ignore those of your poor old (but well-preserved) Godmother!” And the Fairy was nearly moved to tears.

“Oh, I did not mean to pain you!” exclaimed CINDERELLA.  “Stay, my dear Lady, do you believe in hypnotism?  No?  Well, I do, and exercise it.  Pardon me!”

And as she made a few passes, the Fairy sank into a mesmeric trance.  Then, CINDERELLA desired that her Godmother should imagine that she had been the heroine of a Fairy Story.

“Dear me,” cried the now-satisfied dame, as she regained consciousness; “and so you went to the ball, lost your slipper, and married the Prince?”