_Polly_. I wish he'd come. P'raps I might fall in love with him,--who knows?--or else FLO might. _Mr. H._ Ah! he's a reg'lar devil, I can tell you, my cousin is. Why, I'm a saint to _'im!_ _Polly_. Oh, I daresay! "Self-praise," you know! _Mr. H._ (_with a feeling that he is doing himself an injustice_). Not but what I taught him one or two things he didn't know, when he was with me at Wandsworth. (_Thinks he won't go until he has dropped one more hint about Australia._) As to Ostralia, you know, I've quite made up my mind to go out there as soon as I can. I ain't _said_ nothing, but I've been meaning it all along. They won't mind my going at home, like they did ARTHUR's, eh? _Flo_ (_in a tone of cordial assent_). Oh no, of _course_ not. It isn't as if you were 'im, _is_ it? _Mr. H._ (_disappointed, but still bent on asserting his own value_). You see, I'm independent. I can always find a berth, _I_ can. I don't believe in keeping on anywhere longer than I'm comfortable. Not but what I shall stick to where I am a bit longer, because I've a chance of a rise soon. The Guv'nor don't like the man in the Manchester department, so I expect I shall get his berth. I get on well with the Guv'nor, you know, and he treats us very fair;--we've a setting-room to ourselves, and we can come and set in the droring-room of a Sunday afternoon, like the family; and I often have to go into the City, and, when I get up there, I can tell yer, I-- _Flo_ (_suddenly_). Oh! there's Mother! I must go and speak to her a minute. Come, POLLY! [_Both girls rise, and rush after a stout lady who is disappearing in the crowd._ _Alfred_ (_speaking for the first time_). I say, we'll 'ook it now, eh? _Mr. H._ (_gloomily accepting the situation_). Yes, we'd better 'ook it. [_They "'ook it" accordingly, and Miss FLO and Miss POLLY, returning later, find, rather to their surprise, that their victim has departed, and their chairs are filled by blandly unconscious strangers. However, both young ladies declare that it is "a good riddance," and they thought "that ERNIE 'ORKINS never meant to go,"-- which seems amply to console them for having slightly overrated their powers of fascination._ * * * * * THE GROAN OF THE "GROWLER." [_The British "Cabby," hearing of the new Parisian plan of regulating Cab-fares by distance, which is to be shown by an automatic apparatus, venteth his feelings of dismay and disgust in anticipation of the application of the new-fangled System nearer home._]