The figures are more startling when we come from columns to lines. Take all the lines of printed matter in the thousand numbers and extend them in one long line. Then whoever wants to run and read at the same time will have to run over a hundred and forty-five miles before she gets from the first words of Number One which were “Zara, or, My Granddaughter’s Money”—that being the title of the first story—down to the last syllable of the present number. Such is the distance the editorial eye has had to travel over. It is about thirty miles further than from London to Bristol, nearly twice as far as from London to Southampton, about three times as far as from Edinburgh to Glasgow, and a little less than three times the distance from London to Brighton. Taking the whole circulation of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER from the issue of the first number, we arrive at an imposing result. Suppose that instead of distributing the copies to subscribers, they had been hoarded up and made to form a tall pillar, one copy being laid flat on the top of another. And supposing a girl wished to read the topmost number—the present number, that is to say—without using a ladder, she would have to wait till she grew to be a hundred and seventy miles high. It would be a pillar towering into the air to an inconvenient height, so it might be cut into sections, each of about the height, say, of Mont Blanc, and there would be about fifty-six of these. If all the numbers which have been circulated since Number One were laid end to end, they would make a pathway long enough to go round the world at the Equator with a bit over. If one could only contrive to carry it over the sea, girls might in this way ramble round and round the globe treading on their own paper all the way. * * * * * The publication of the thousandth number of a magazine which can refer to such statistics as these is certainly an event worth taking note of. Making, as it does, a red-letter day in the history of the paper, it was resolved, on the kind and thoughtful suggestion of Mrs. Emma Brewer—whom all our readers know—to signalise it by presenting the Editor with the autograph cloth shown in the illustration. This wonderful tea-cloth was presented to him at Christmas, together with a letter containing the following cheering words: “We hoped to have made this little gift quite complete; there are however still some names wanting, not for lack of inclination to write them, but of time to collect them. “Imperfect as it is, it is eloquent in its expression of affection and good-will. As such will you accept it and be cheered by it? It is not only a tribute to you as a born editor, but as a good sterling friend. We do not think any other Editor in England will have a like gift to-day.”