"Why, certainly. But you know all about it. Secret no longer. Dr. MORTIMER GRANVILLE has told the _Times_ how it's done. Consider it great shame. Takes the bread, so t' speak, out of one's mouth." Here the Sage gave a lurch and seated himself accidentally on a stuffed alligator. Seeing that his host was about to indulge in an untimely nap, PETER thought the moment had arrived to urge him to reveal his wonderful secret. "I implore you to tell me how you have managed to live for so many years when all your contemporaries are gone." "Well, sure I don't mind," was the reply. "Won't hurt me--may do you good. Want to know how it's managed?" "That I do, indeed," was the earnest answer, "Why reason I've lived for more than century and quarter is this! I've never been--mind, never been during all that time--see--during all that time--never been sober!" PETER was astounded. "Why, Sir WILFRID LAWSON says--" he began. "Never mind what Sir WILF-LAWSON says, I say if you want, keep your health you must--hic--always--be--in--in--intoxicavated! Now go to public-house. My patients in public-houses yonder." And, urged by a sense of duty, PETER withdrew; and, joining the Sage's cures, found them in various stages of renewed health, and increased intoxication. * * * * * THE BITTER CRY OF THE BRITISH BOOKMAKER. (_AFTER A FAMOUS ORIGINAL._) 'Tis a very good land that we live in To lend, or to lose, or to give in; But to _sell_--at a profit--or keep a man's own, 'Tis the very worst country that ever was known. Men give cash for their wines, wives, weeds, churches and cooks, But your genuine Briton _won't_ pay for his--Books! * * * * * JOURNAL OF A ROLLING STONE. EIGHTH ENTRY. Since my call to the Bar, have been treating myself to rather a long roll abroad. Now, however, the time has come to devote myself to the work of the profession, which seems to mean studying practical law with some discreet and learned Barrister. [Illustration: Dick Fibbins.] Met a few nights ago, at dinner, a very entertaining fellow. Full of legal anecdotes. Told that it was DICK FIBBINS, a Barrister, "and rather a rising one." DICK (why not RICHARD?) talked about County Courts with condescending tolerance; even the High Court Judges seemed (according to his own account) to habitually quail before his forensic acumen. Mentioned to FIBBINS that I had just been "called," and was "thinking of reading in a Barrister's chambers;" and he seemed to take the most friendly and generous interest in me at once--asked me, indeed, to call on him any day I liked at his chambers in Waste Paper Buildings, which I thought extremely kind, as I was a complete stranger.