5.35.--_At last!_ May choicest blessings light upon the head of PLAPPER!--or rather of Mrs. PLAPPER, as her husband is out. She has taken me in! Charming rooms--not actually facing the sea, but with capital view of it round corner from bow-window. PLAPPER is an optician--wonder whether it is weak eyes, or wifely duty, that makes Mrs. P. wear blue spectacles? Everything arranged--terms most reasonable--now to recover luggage. Stop; better ask address--or I might never be able to find my optician again--like _Mrs. Barrett Browning_ and her lost Bower! "You've only got to use PLAPPER'S name, Sir, anywhere, and it will be all right," says Mrs. P. with natural pride. Very convenient. For instance: _Stern Constable_ (to me). "Can't come in here, Sir." _Myself._ "Can't I, though? _PLAPPER!_" And in I go! Or I am in a scrape of some sort: "Have you anything to say?" asks the Inspector. I whisper in his ear, "PLAPPER!" And they grovel and release me. 5.45.--Odd--but now I find myself wondering ungratefully, whether I mightn't have done better than PLAPPER, after all. This is human nature, I suppose--but discreditable. I _am_ overjoyed--really. I no longer hate people. _I_ too am an initiate! But I can pity poor devils who are houseless, I hope.... I order sundry things: "Send them in to PLAPPER'S." Luggage regained and sent back--to PLAPPER'S. I feel self-respect once more. 6 P.M.--Returning to PLAPPER'S. And in this secure retreat my Nautical drama is destined to see the light--if PLAPPER only knew! I feel an affection already for this humble temporary home. Mrs. P. meets me at the door. "So sorry, Sir--but _you can't have the rooms, after all_! PLAPPER had let 'em quite unbeknown to me!" And this is Saturday! _I am under a curse!_ * * * * * THE BALLET. _Lament by the Rev. S. D. Headlam._ What was it first my fancy fed, My steps to the Alhambra led, And finally quite turned my head? The Ballet! What, when I studied it apart, Struck me with force that made me start, As being a noble form of Art? The Ballet! And what, when seen night after night, Inspired me with supreme delight, And made me to the _Pall-Mall_ write? The Ballet! But what, when kindled with its fire, I hoped my Bishop to inspire, Alas! excited but his ire? The Ballet! And what, although the orthodox Two places in an upper box I offered him,--but gave him shocks? The Ballet! Ah! what, though every nerve I've strained To see the dancers' battle gained, Leaves me episcopally chained? The Ballet! * * * * * LAST FRUITS OF THE SESSION.--Pairs. * * * * * [Illustration: VENICE UNPRESERVED.]