A week crammed with more wonders in the way of sight-seeing, and then late on Monday afternoon we stepped into the Oriental Express and were whirled homewards, and on Thursday afternoon we were in dear smoky London once more, after an absence of nearly four months. It may interest my readers to know that our joint expenses for this trip were £170, including £39 for railway tickets from Constantinople to London. This sum took in every item of expenditure except the presents which we bought for our home friends. Of course we could not possibly have seen so much, nor travelled so comfortably and economically if it had not been for the kindness and hospitality of our many missionary friends, who had looked forward to our visit, and who made everything easy and delightful for us. If any of the girl readers of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER set out on such a tour, I hope they will return with as many pleasant recollections as we did. And now farewell. S. E. BELL. FOOTNOTES: [3] Stanley, _Lectures on the Jewish Church_. VARIETIES. LASTING A LIFETIME. _Mrs. Crabshaw:_ “What do you mean by cheating me like this? You said this chain I bought here would last a lifetime, and here is all the plating worn off in a month.” _Goldskin:_ “Madam, I said dot shain vould last you a lifetime pecause when you puy it you look so sick I didn’t t’ink you vould live der veek oudt.” LIFE IS SHORT. As shadows cast by cloud and sun Flit o’er the summer grass, So in Thy sight, Almighty One, Earth’s generations pass; And as the years, an endless host, Come swiftly pressing on, The brightest names that earth can boast Just glisten and are gone.—_Bryant._ ABSURD NAMES. Amongst absurd names which have been recorded at Somerset House within recent years, we have the following, of which few people would like to be the bearers:— “That’s it, who’d have thought it?” “Is it Maria?” “Bovril,” “Sardine,” “Ananias,” “Judas Iscariot,” and “Man Friday.” THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH. BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc. CHAPTER XXIII. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. Tom hurried wildly through his boyish toilet and rushed into the dining-room, expecting to find the breakfast party round the table. He pulled himself up with an astonished whistle, for the room stood empty, the table unspread, the fire unlit, while everything wore that indescribable air of desertion and neglect which rooms seem to bear each morning till human life has again passed through them with the new day. “Something must have gone wrong with my ticker,” was Tom’s natural conclusion. But no, the watch was honestly at work, having now advanced to a quarter to nine. Besides, the daylight of the February morning assured him that it could not be much earlier. “Clementina has ‘slept in’ herself,” he decided, “and everything will go wrong together.”