* * * * * [Illustration: IN THE DAYS OF THE CRINOLINE--DINING UNDER DIFFICULTIES] * * * * * [Illustration: REPLETION.--_Robert._ "Pudding or cheese, sir?" _Abstracted Editor._ "Owing to pressure of other matter, 'regret we are unable to find room for it!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Brown_ (_who has been dining at the club with Jones_). "Just come in a minute, old fellow, and have a night-cap." _Jones._ "I'm afraid it's getting a little late. Let's see how's the enemy." _Brown._ "Oh! that's all right. _She's_ in bed."] * * * * * [Illustration: INNOCENTS IN THE CITY _Mrs. Fitznoodle_ (_evidently not well versed in the delicacies of a Guildhall feast_). "Freddy, dear, can you tell me what _is_ the difference between 'calipash' and 'calipee'?" _Colonel Fitznoodle_ (_hesitating, and looking round for an answer_). "Certainly, my dear. Exactly the difference there is between 'Gog' and 'Magog'!"] * * * * * DINNERS AND DINERS (_With apologies to the P-ll M-ll G-z-tte_) It had been my good fortune to give to Mademoiselle Faustine, a charming little actress, a tip for the Welter Plate last spring. What more natural than that I should ask her to give me a dinner as some slight return? She readily accepted, and asked me to name the day. Glancing at the sixth volume of my engagement book, I found my first vacant date was June 18, '97. This was fortunate, as it is hardly possible--except at Voisin's--to get a decent dinner unless you order it a year in advance. "Where shall we dine?" asked Faustine. "There is only one place where people _do_ dine," I answered, a little reproachfully. "The Bon Marché. I will order the dinner." So the place and the date were fixed. * * * * * As Faustine was a quarter of an hour late--I had not seen her since our arrangement--I waited in the alabaster portico of the Bon Marché, chatting amiably to the courteous commissionaire, an old comrade of mine in the Wimbledon days. Jules, the courteous _chef_, was _au désespoir_. Why had I not given him more notice? Madame was fifteen minutes late. If he had only known! In a year and fifteen minutes it is possible to cook a dinner. In a year--no. I tried to calm the worthy fellow--an old ally of mine in the Crimean war. In vain; he complained the sardines were spoiling. So I went into the dining-room, nodding courteously to eight princes of the blood, neither of whom appeared, for the moment, to recognise me.