To some readers interested in theatrical life, Polly Mountemple must prove an interesting work of fiction, if a story can be so styled which, as its author assures his readers with his latest breath, I should say in his last paragraph (p. 291), “Is a true tale.”  It is the story of a “ballet lady” who rises in “the profession” to the dignity of a speaking part, and is on the point of being raised still higher in the social scale, and becoming the wife of a real live young nobleman, when she sensibly accepts a considerable sum of money, consents to forego her action for breach of promise, and finally marries a highly respectable acrobat, and becomes the landlady of the “Man of Kent.”  The earlier portion is entertaining, especially to those who are not altogether ignorant of some of the personages, sketches of whom are drawn by the author, Mr. CHARLES HOLLIS, with, it is not improbable, considerable fidelity.  They are rough sketches, not by any means highly finished, but then such was the character of the original models.  Before, however, it can be accepted by the general public as giving an unexaggerated picture of a certain sort of stage-life, it ought to have the imprimatur or the nihil obstat of some generally acknowledged head of the profession; for “the profession” is Hydra-like in this respect—­a republican creation, with many heads.  THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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[Illustration:  ENCOURAGEMENT.

Professional Golfer (in answer to anxious question).  “WEEL, NO, SIR, AT YOUR TIME O’ LIFE, YE CAN NEVER HOPE TO BECOME A PLAYER; BUT IF YE PRACTISE HARD FOR THREE YEARS, YE MAY BE ABLE TO TELL GOOD PLAY FROM BAD WHEN YE SEE IT!”]

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THE “PAPER-CHASE.”

The Hare (with many financial friends) loquitur:—­

  Here goes!  ’Tis a rather new line—­
    But that is no very great matter. 
  If they’ve faith in a lead, ’tis in mine,
    So a tentative trail let me scatter,
  The old track of country this time I’ll forsake;
  I trust they’ll not think I have made a mistake?

  That old line of country they know,
    Across it for years they’ve been rangers,
  All right, when the going is slow,
    When ’tis fast, are they fly to its dangers? 
  For Hares to raise scares ’midst the Hounds were improper,
  But how if the pack come a general cropper?

  Remarkably near it last time,
    Though some of ’em didn’t suspect it;
  But I spy the peril!  ’Twere crime
    If I did not help them to detect it. 
  If they don’t like my trail they must give me the sack;
  I’d rather be bullied than break up the pack.

  They fancy I’ll keep the old course,
    There or thereabout.  But I’ve a notion! 
  They’ll grumble perhaps, with some force,
    But they’re not going to flurry G. GOSCHEN. 
  Of this havresack there have been some smart carriers—­
  I’ll make ’em sit up, though, the L.S.D.  Harriers!