Nothing is more hopeless than to reason with a placid person who has lapsed into a fit of ill-temper. The two elder girls realised this, and remained perfectly silent while Mellicent continued to wish for death, to lament the general misery of life, and the bad fortune which attended the wearers of black slippers. So incessant was the stream of her repinings, that it seemed as if it might have gone on for ever, had not a servant entered at last with the information that the guests were beginning to arrive, and that Lady Darcy would be glad to see the young ladies without delay. Esther was anxious to wait and help Peggy with her toilette, but that young lady was still on her dignity and by no means anxious to descend to a scene of gaiety for which she had little heart. She refused the offer, therefore, in Mariquita fashion, and the sisters walked dejectedly along the brightly-lit corridors, Mellicent still continuing her melancholy wail, and Esther reflecting sadly that all was vanity, and devoutly wishing herself back in the peaceful atmosphere of the vicarage. (_To be continued._) LOOKING BACK: A RETROSPECT, WITH SOME SURPRISING FIGURES AND A PRESENTATION TO THE EDITOR. BY JAMES MASON. Excuse me if I indulge in a personal reminiscence. It is in every way a pleasant incident to recall:— Between nineteen and twenty years ago, in the Dark Ages, when as yet there was no GIRL’S OWN PAPER, I remember a quite accidental meeting at luncheon in a London restaurant with the present Editor. We had become well acquainted before that, in connection with a magazine of which he was sub-editor and to which I then played the part of contributor. [Illustration: THE AUTOGRAPH TEA-TABLE CLOTH.] I found him full of a scheme he had in view, a paper which he anticipated would be a lasting success, for it was going to appeal to and cater for those sensible girls who are always in fashion and who hitherto had possessed no magazine which they could call their very own. From the restaurant we adjourned to the Editor’s chambers, and there he read to me the proof of the prospectus about to be issued, announcing the publication of the first number of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER. At this distance of time I cannot recollect the terms of that document, but, as it is not every day that editors write prospectuses, we may take it for granted that it was a very moving discourse which no girl could read without wishing at the very least to see Number One. The confidence of the Editor in his project was infectious. Confident he was, and confident he deserved to be, for he had had considerable experience and, it was clear, knew well what he was about. From that day I believed in the fortunes of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER. It is true that we might have paused to consider how it is impossible to tell beforehand what will hit the public taste, but to the enthusiasm of so long ago that fact was only a sort of bogey to frighten enterprising spirits from starting anything new.