Lady CHARLOTTE was ever on the crest-wave of the moment's humour. He snicked a back-stroke to the limits, shaking the sparse hair of repentance to the wind of her jest. But the unabashed one continued. "I'll not call on her." "You shall," said he. "Shan't," was her lightning-parry. "You shall," he persisted. "Never. Her head is a water-flower that speaks at ease in the open sea. How call on a woman with a head like that?" The shock struck him fair and square. "We wait," he said, and the conflict closed with advantage to the petticoat. A footman bore a letter. His step was of the footman order, calves stuffed to a longed-for bulbousness, food for donkeys if any such should chance: he presented it. "I wait," he murmured. "Whence and whither comes it?" "Postmark may tell." "Best open it," said the cavalry general, ever on the dash for open country where squadrons may deploy right shoulders up, serre-files in rear, and a hideous clatter of serjeant-majors spread over all. He opened it. It was AMINTA's letter. She announced a French leave-taking. The footman still stood. Lord ORMONT broke the silence. "Go and be----" the words quivered into completion, supply the blank who will. But her punishment was certain. For it must be thus. Never a lady left her wedded husband, but she must needs find herself weighted with charge of his grand-nephew. Cuckoo-tutor sits in General's nest, General's wife to bear him company, and lo! the General brings a grand-nephew to the supplanter, convinced of nobility beyond petty conventions of divorce-court rigmarole. So the world wags wilful to the offshoot, lawn-mowers grating, grass flying, and perspiring gardener slow in his shirt-sleeves primed with hope of beer that shall line his lean ribs at supper-time, nine o'clock is it, or eight--parishes vary, and a wife at home has rules. A year later he wrote-- "SIR,--Another novel is on hand. Likely you will purchase. Readers gape for it. Better than acrostics, they say, fit for fifty puzzle-pages. What price? "G***GE M*R*D*TH." THE END. * * * * * [Illustration: NO END TO HIS INIQUITIES. (_From a Yorkshire Moor._) _Sportsman (awaiting the morrow, and meeting Keeper as he strolls round)._ "WELL, RODGERS, THINGS LOOK FAIRLY HOPEFUL FOR TOMORROW, EH?" _Rodgers (strong Tory)._ "WELL, SIR, MIDLIN', PRETTY MIDLIN'. BUT, OH DEAR, IT'S AWK'ARD THIS 'ERE TWELFTH BEIN' FIXED OF A SUNDAY!" (_With much wisdom._) "NOW, MIGHT MR. GLADSTONE HA' HAD HANYTHING TO DO WI' THAT ARRANGEMENT, SIR?" ] * * * * * THE MARCH OF CIVILISATION. (_From a Record in the Far East._) _Step One._--The nation takes to learning the English language. _Step Two._--Having learned the English language, the nation begins to read British newspapers. _Step Three._--Having mastered the meaning of the leaders, the nation start a Parliament.