While she was below, I secured two umbrellas from the stoker, and improvised a sort of tent with this and a back number of the _Times_. I also procured a few delicacies such as young girls love--a pot of French mustard, two bottles of ginger-beer, some shrimps, and several large buns. I spread them all out in a row. It seemed to make them look more luscious, somehow. We were very warm and cosy, seated over the boiler of the engine. Was I in love? Pshaw! Decidedly not, and yet--well, she looked very pretty as she sat there, chattering freely about herself, and lightly dusting with her handkerchief one of the shrimps which was a trifle soiled. I gathered from her conversation that she was very rich, that she had no parents, and would lose all her money if something happened. "And is that something--er--marriage?" I ventured to ask. "Gar'n!" she replied, in her pretty school-girl slang. "What are yer getting at?" "Suppose the boiler blew up, what then?" "Ah!" she replied, sadly; "Mademoiselle will blow me up if she finds us out. Listen! she's calling." "Then it's all right, because if she calls now she'll find us in." At this moment the steamer reached its destination, and I was compelled to leave Miss SMITH. However, I followed her and the Governess until they entered the gates of Plumfields, a large school for young ladies. Why should I go back to Southampton? I think I will remain at Ryde. (_To be concluded in Four Chapters._) * * * * * THE PRINCE "STARRING" AT POOLE.--His Royal Highness was just as successful last week at Poole in Dorsetshire (everyone who was there will indorse it) as he was at Pyramids in Egypt. * * * * * [Illustration: SOCIAL ECONOMY. "WHAT! GOING TO WEAR THAT FRIGHTFUL GOWN? AND AT YOUR OWN DANCE, TOO?" "THAT'S JUST WHY! TO-NIGHT THEY _HAVE_ TO ASK ME!"] * * * * * [Illustration: "COUNTING THE CHICKS!"] "COUNTING THE CHICKS!" DAME PARTLET broods in reverie beatific Over as nice a "sitting" Of golden eggs as ever fowl prolific Tended, untired, unflitting. Sound eggs and of good stock, there is no doubt of them. What will come out of them? That question interests nor PARTLET only; No; while the speckled beauty Sits in quiescent state, content though lonely, The poultry-yard's prime duty Filling her soul, how many minds are watching That hopeful hatching! Worthy Exchequer Hen! Layer and sitter Of really first-rate quality. Though rival fowls are enviously bitter, That doth not bate her jollity. Her duties CAQUET BONBEC'S game to tackle, Without much cackle. And then, what luck! A "run" unprecedented, Or almost so; and fodder With which the Laureate's Bird had been contented: Fortune has freaks far odder Than e'en a poet's whimsies, any day, Her rivals say.