Aspiring Buttons (gasping).  “PLEASE, ’M—­BEG PARD’N—­PLACE WON’T DO FOR ME.  WHY, I SHOULD WANT A NEW SUIT O’ CLOTHES BEFORE YOU’VE FINISHED TELLING ME WHAT I’VE GOT TO DO, AND THEN I SHOULDN’T FIND TIME TO BE MEASURED FOR ’EM!  GOOD MORN’N.”

[Exit Aspirant.]

* * * * *

RATHER VAGUE.—­Sir EDWARD BRADFORD, Commissioner of Police, informs the Public, through a paragraph in the Times, about a meeting at the Marylebone Vestry, that whenever in the Metropolis a street is found to be dangerously slippery, some one (probably a policeman) is to telegraph to the “local authority” (who? what? which? where?) and inform him, her, them (whatever represents the aforesaid “local authority"), of the fact.  Well, and what then?  Who’s to do what, and when is it to be done?  And what is the penalty for not doing whatever it is?

* * * * *

SHORTLY TO APPEAR.—­Amiable Almonds, by the Authoress of Cross Currents.  To be followed by Rum Raisins, Delightful Dates, and Polly Peach.  Also, Dolt Care What Apples to Me! being the Story of “A Mal wil a Cold id is Ed.”

* * * * *

BIGOTED.—­An Anti-Ritualistic old Lady objected to paying her water-rate, when she was informed that she would be patronising “a High Service.”

* * * * *

MEMORANDUM FOR MINOR POETS.—­It is an elegant thing to write ballades and rondeaux, but it is tyrannous to read them to your visitors.

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

No.  XV.

SCENE—­The Table d Hote at Lugano: CULCHARD has not yet caught Miss
PRENDERGAST’S eye.

Culchard (to Mr. BELLERBY).  Have you—­ah—­been up Monte Generoso yet?

Mr. B. No. (After reflecting) No, I haven’t.  But I was greatly struck by its remarkably bold outline from below.  Indeed, I dashed off a rough sketch of it on the back of one of my visiting cards.  I ought to have it somewhere about me now. (Searching himself.) Ah, I thought so! (Handing a vague little scrawl to CULCHARD, who examines it with the deepest interest.) I knock off quite a number of these while I’m abroad like this.  Send ’em in letters to relatives at home—­gives them a notion of the place.  They are—­ar—­kind enough to value them. (CULCHARD makes a complimentary mumble.) Yes, I’m a very rapid sketcher.  Put me with regular artists, and give us half an hour, and I—­ar—­venture to say I should be on terms with them.  Make it three hours, and—­well, I daresay I shouldn’t be in it.

Podbury (who has dropped into the chair next to Miss PRENDERGAST and her brother).  BOB, old chap, I’ll come in the middle, if you don’t mind.  I say, this is ripping—­no idea of coming across you so soon as this. (Lowering his voice, to Miss P.) Still pegging away at my “penance,” you see!