After harmony had been restored, Mr. W-LT-R B-S-NT asked leave to say a few words. His remarks, in which he was understood to advocate the compulsory expropriation of publishers, were at first listened to with favour. Happening incautiously to say a word or two in praise of a Mr. DICKENS and a Mr. THACKERAY he was groaned down after a sturdy struggle. Mr. DICKENS and Mr. THACKERAY were not, we understand, present in the room at the time. Mr. H-B-RT CR-CK-NTH-RPE rose and denounced the previous speaker. Literature, he declared, must be vague. What was the use of knowing what you were driving at? What was the use of anyone knowing anything? Personally he didn't mean to know more than he could help, and he could assure the meeting that he could help a great deal; yes, he could help his fellow-creatures to a right understanding of the value of patchwork and jerks. That was the religion of humanity. Mr. N-RM-N G-LE said he wasn't much good speaking, but he could do something in the dairy and orchard style. He then gave the following example:-- Enter CELIA, robed in white, CELIA'S been a-milking. CELIA daily doth indite Praises to the Pill-king. CELIA'S flocks and CELIA'S herds (Only she can teach 'em) All produce their cream and curds, Helped by Mr. B-CH-M. A loud cheer greeted the recital of this charming pastoral, and one editor, who is not often a victim to mere sentiment, said it reminded him of his happy childhood, when he used to take Dr. GREGORY'S powders after a day spent in the neighbouring farmer's orchard. The next speaker was G-ORGE EG-RT-N. All women, she said, must be GEORGES. GEORGE SAND and GEORGE ELIOT were women she believed. GEORGE MEREDITH was an exception, but that only proved her rule. Women were a miserable lot: it was their own fault. Why marry? ("Hear, hear," from Mrs. MONA CAIRD.) Why be born at all? She paused for a reply. At this point Mr. W. T. ST-AD entered the room and offered to talk about "JULIA in Chicago," but the meeting broke up in confusion, without the customary vote of thanks to the Chair. * * * * * HOW IT WILL BE DONE HEREAFTER. (_A Serene Ducal Romance of the Future._) His Highness was smoking a pipe at the close of the day in the fair realm of Utopia. He had finished dinner, and was discussing his _lager_ beer, which had quite taken the place of coffee. "Dear me," said the Duke, rather anxiously, as he noticed the Premier was seating himself in a chair in his near neighbourhood; "I am afraid I am in disgrace." "Not at all, Sir," replied the Minister, graciously. "On the contrary, in the name of the people of Utopia, I beg to offer you my sincere thanks." "For what?" queried the Duke. [Illustration] "For doing your duty, my liege. Not that that is a novelty, for, as a matter of fact, you are always doing it."