Nor is this disappointment my only _cross_. The carrion-birds of commerce have marked down the stricken deer from their eyries in Bond Street and Jermyn Street. To know how Solomons has behaved, and the _black_ colours in which Moss (of Wardour Street) has shown himself, is to receive a new light on the character of a People chosen under a very different Dispensation! Detainers flock in, like ravens to a feast. At this moment I have endured the humiliation of meeting a sneering child of this world—Mr. Arthur Pendennis—the emissary of one {151} to whom I gave in other days the sweetest blossom in the garden of my affections—my sister—of one who has, indeed, behaved like a brother—_in law_! My word distrusted, my statements received with a chilling scepticism by this _Nabob_ Newcome, I am urged to make some “composition” with my creditors. The world is very censorious, the ear of a Bishop is easily won; who knows how those who have _envied_ talents not misused may turn my circumstances to my disadvantage? You will see that, far from aiding another, I am rather obliged to seek succour myself. But that saying about the sparrows abides with me to my comfort. Could aught be done, think you, with a bill backed by our joint names? On July 12 my pew-rents will come in. I swear to you that they _have not been anticipated_. Yours afflictedly, CHARLES HONEYMAN. P.S.—Would Jarndyce lend his name to a small bill at three months? You know him well, and I have heard that he is a man of benevolent character, and of substance. But “how hardly shall a rich man”—you remember the text.—C. H. XIX. _From Miss Harriet to M. Guy de Maupassant_. This note, from one of the English damsels whom M. Guy de Maupassant dislikes so much, is written in such French as the lady could muster. It explains that recurrent mystery, _why Englishwomen abroad smell of gutta-percha_. The reason is not discreditable to our countrywomen, but if M. de Maupassant asks, as he often does, why Englishwomen dress like scarecrows when they are on the Continent, Miss Harriet does not provide the answer. Miss Pinkerton’s, Stratford-atte-Bowe, Mars 12. MONSIEUR,—Vous devez me connaître, quoique je ne vous connais pas le moins du monde. Il m’est défendu de lire vos romans, je ne sais trop pourquoi; mais j’ai bien lu la notice que M. Henry James a consacrée, dans le _Fortnightly Review_, à votre aimable talent. Vous n’aimez pas, à ce qu’il paraît, ni ‘la sale Angleterre’ ni les filles de ce pays immonde. Je figure moi-même dans vos romans (ou _moâ_-même, car les Anglais, il est convenu, prononcent ce pronom comme le nom d’un oiseau monstrueux et même préhistorique de New Zealand)—oui, ‘Miss Harriet’ se risque assez souvent dans vos contes assez risqués.