He arterwards told me as how as he means to pay a wisit, when the season begins, to our new Hotel at Monty Carlo, sumwheres in France, and try his new system at the Tables, and if he suckseeds, as he knows he shall, he will, praps, sum day tell me his secret, and then I shall have to ask my gentlemanly Manager here to let me have a few weeks there, and then I shan’t want to do any more waiting!  What a prospeck!

ROBERT.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  COUNTRY-HOUSE PETS.

The Morning-Room at Glen-Dimity Castle, after Lunch.  Mr. Belamy Tabby is singing “Hi tiddley hi ti, hi, ti, hi!”

The Duchess.  “HOW CLEVER AND AMUSIN’ YOUR FRIEND, MR. WHATSHISNAME IS!—­TABBY, ISN’T IT?  SO GOOD-LOOKIN’ AND GENTLEMANLIKE TOO!  QUITE A GODSEND ON A RAINY DAY LIKE THIS, WHEN ALL THE MEN ARE OUT SHOOTIN’ OR FISHIN’, OR SOMETHING!  IS HE MARRIED?”

Noble Hostess.  “OH YES; BUT WHAT’S SO NICE ABOUT HIM, HE DOESN’T MIND BEIN’ ASKED WITHOUT HIS WIFE.  THOSE SORT OF PERSONS SO OFTEN EXPECT THEIR WIVES TO BE ASKED TOO, AND THAT’S SUCH A BORE, YOU KNOW!”

Her Grace.  “YES; HOW SENSIBLE OF HIM!  I MUST GET HIM TO COME TO US AT BRASENOSE TOWERS!”]

* * * * *

THE CANADIAN “SEARCH-LIGHT.”

(A SONG OF SINCERE SYMPATHY.)

AIR—­“THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP.”

  In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp
    The Search-Light sends its ray! 
  What is that hideous oozy tramp? 
  What creatures crawling ’midst jungle damp
    Scuttle from light away?

  Revealing radiance shine, oh shine,
    Through black bayou and brake,
  Where knotted parasites intertwine,
  And through the tangles of poisonous vine
    Glideth the spotted snake.

  Where hardly a human foot would pass,
    Or an honest heart would dare
  The quaking mud of the foul morass,
  With rank weed choked, and with clotted grass,
    Fit for a reptile’s lair.

  They dread the light, do those dismal things,
    Its gleam they dare not face. 
  Their snaky writhings, their bat-like wings,
  Their quaking menace of fangs and stings
    Make horror of the place.

  All things should be so bright and fair
    In a land so glad and free;
  But the Search-Light layeth dark secrets bare,
  And shows how loathsomeness builds a lair
    In a land of Liberty.

  Push on, brave bearer of piercing Light,
   Through pestilential gloom,
  Where crawls the spawn of Corruption’s night! 
  Deal out, stout searcher, to left and right,
    The cleansing strokes of doom.

  That fair lithe form in that fleet frail bark
    Is a comely Nemesis,
  Before whose menace ’tis good to mark
  The reptile dwellers in dens so dark
    Driven with growl and hiss.