on his own native heath, his name O’CHAPPELL, then there’s no reason why he shouldn’t have his first pop on a Tuesday, only it couldn’t be his Monday Pop, could it now?  Or if he drinks Mr. P.’s health in Pommery ’80 (grand vin!), or let’s say Poppery ’80, he could do so on a Tuesday, only it would no longer be the “Monday Pop.”  That’s all.  Sure ’tis mighty confusing and upsets the week entirely.  If Tuesday is to have all the Pop, what’s to become of Monday?  For further particulars inquire at the Pop-shop, Bond Street.

The next great Musical Event is at the Gloucester Festival—­it is Dr. HUBERT PARRY “on the Job.”  This, though the work of a thoroughly English Composer, may yet be considered as an “Article de Parry.”

* * * * *

“MARS IN OPPOSITION.”—­“Mother says I mustn’t.”

* * * * *

THIS PICTURE AND THAT.

(EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF A LOVER OF THE BEAUTIFUL.)

First Extract.—­Really an excellent notion to buy an estate, instead of picking up what Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING calls a “smeared thing.”  Got one, too, pretty cheap.  Twenty miles from a railway station, but so much the better.  RUSKIN hates railway stations, and so do I. Never can make them look picturesque.  The Agent tells me my place is famous for its sunsets; also good moonlight effects on occasions.  Pretty village, too, in the background.  Altogether, most satisfactory.  After all, Nature is much better than Art.

Second Extract.—­Dullerton-on-the-Slush is a charming spot, but it has its drawbacks.  Pretty, but damp.  Fog interferes a good deal with the sunsets, and hides the moon at the wrong moment.  Village deliciously out of repair.  But tenants unreasonable.  Offered to put up some red brick roofs for them, which would have looked charming, but they insist upon having slates.  Wish they would consent to having a few cows in the fields, but they say they prefer pigstyes.  Have consulted a builder and a gardener, and they think that they could “run up” a stye between them, and cover it over with shrubs.  Tenants object.  They say the pigs would not like it, and might eat the shrubs with fatal results.  All this annoying, but still the view from my dining-room window charming.  It reminds me not a little of CONSTABLE, LINNELL, not to say Old CROME.

Third Extract.—­Further troubles.  Tenants are really very disagreeable, and they have no feeling for Art.  They have cut down a lot of ornamental trees, and they won’t grow the right sort of crops,—­I mean from a picturesque point of view.  As agriculturists they may be all right, but that’s not my point.  I did not buy the estate to try how “roots” would thrive.  Then they will burn weeds, and hang out clothes to dry—­clothes without any regard to contrast of colour.  Eyesores meet me everywhere.  I am really not sure whether I acted wisely in trusting to a House-agent instead of a Picture-dealer.  “Pictures by Nature” are not as reliable as they should be.