When Douglas Jerrold was recovering from a severe illness, Browning’s “Sordello” was put into his hands. Line after line, page after page, he read; but no consecutive idea could he get from the mystic production. Mrs. Jerrold was out, and he had no one to whom to appeal. The thought struck him that he had lost his reason during his illness, and that he was so imbecile that he did not know it. A perspiration burst from his brow, and he sat silent and thoughtful. As soon as his wife returned he thrust the mysterious volume into her hands, crying out: “Read this, my dear.” After several attempts to make any sense out of the first page or so, she gave back the book, saying: “Bother the gibberish! I don’t understand a word of it!” “Thank heaven!” cried Jerrold, “then I am not an idiot!” ―――― THE BROWNING SOCIETY. A BITTER ERROR. A long haired man, with a look of unutterable yearning in his deep set eyes, stole into the well filled auditorium, and took a seat in the rear pew. He listened to the speaker with the closest attention, and seemed to derive the most intense enjoyment from words which were incomprehensible to the majority of the audience. “Magnificent! sublime!” he was heard to murmur. “You understand him, sir?” inquired the man next the long haired stranger. “Perfectly, perfectly. Did you ever hear anything more”―――― “But I can’t understand a word he says.” “Indeed! You are to be pitied. Ah, this seems like home. You see, I arrived from New York only an hour ago, and happening to hear of this meeting came here at once.” “It is not possible that you are a Chinaman?” “A Chinaman! What do you mean, Sir? I am from Boston.” “From Boston, eh? How is it that you understand Chinese?” “I don’t understand Chinese, sir. What do you mean?” “Why, the man who is speaking is a missionary who has just returned from Hong Kong, and he is exhibiting his proficiency in the Chinese language by reading a chapter in the Bible in that tongue.” The Bostonian’s face paled. “Why,” he gasped, “isn’t this a Browning Club?” “Certainly not.” “And isn’t he reading one of the great master’s”―――― “Great Scott, no! The Browning club is on the next floor.” Then the sad eyed man arose and staggered thence, a hopeless, despairing look in his fathomless orbs. ――――:o:―――― ONE WORD MORE. (_Written in a Gift-copy of “Parodies,” by a Contributor to its pages._) Take them, Chum, the book and me together; Where the heart goes, let the art go also.