THE LADIES' YEAR.

[Miss Margaret Alford (of Girton) Niece of scholarly Dean Alford, is announced in one of the four "Senior Classes" at Cambridge.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"The Gentle Art of making Enemies, as pleasantly exemplified in many instances," &c., &c. (for full title see the book itself) is, whatever "Messieurs les Ennemis" may think of it, a work of rare humour. Of course you must first of all be interested in King James and his subjects,—his principal subject being himself, (and lucky the man who can command himself)—and you must wish to know the story of his rights and wrongs; then this interest and desire being taken for granted, the book of the butterfly is a thing of beauty and a joy for now and ever. The heads are epigrammatic and the tails sprightly, and both eminently characteristic, for the heads tell their own tales, and the tails in tadpolian scheme are the outcome of the heads. Most of the waggery is in these tailpieces, which, one and all of them, represent the real Whistlerian spirit, "the Familiar" of Etcher James, that is the Demoniacal Butterfly "in various aspics," as Mrs. Malaprop might say. Does the Butterfly's Master address "Messieurs les Ennemis," the Familiar Spirit is all politeness, with head down and wings outstretched saluting before coming to "on guard." Does Master "rid himself of the friendship of the many?"—the little Demon shakes a reef out of his tail and flies upwards, to return after a short flight of fancy. On occasions when Master has been reflecting comically and satirically on some of his attackers, or on his detractors, the volatile Imp literally shakes his sides with uncontrollable laughter, and can't stand upright for very mirth. The famous "Ten o'clock" which has been immortalised by Mr. Punch as the "Ten-and-sixpenny o'clock," in consequence of the tickets being half-a-guinea apiece, is here reprinted. Prospero Whistler packs up his bag of tricks, buries his wand, makes his bow with a little speech at a testimonial dinner given to him by his friends, and the Familiar Demon Butterfly, free at last, darts into space, leaves "Finis" below,—then, you turn over the page, all is blank,—Magician and Familiar have vanished!

David Stott, not of Oldham, but of Oxford Street, publishes dainty little pocket volumes, and here is one yclept Essays or Counsels of Francis Bacon. "Put it in the bag!" says the Baron, "and let it be my travelling companion, so that, whenever I want refreshment I may feed on Bacon, that many-sided philosopher." It is a wonderfully handy volume, tastefully and substantially bound, and its type of the very clearest. Much-occupied men, who can only snatch here a moment and there a moment for reading, ought to be grateful to the inventors and the publishers of all handy books, meaning, says the Baron, books which are really handy, and which, without destroying the natural elegance of your figure or the set of your garments, you can carry comfortably and imperceptibly in your tail coat pocket.

Notes from the News. By James Payn. (Chatto and Windus.) Notes on passing events of all sorts, spiced with capital stories, which will indeed be a big capital to be drawn upon by the dining-out raconteur,—the only thing against his present success being that most persons will have read these stories in The Illustrated London News or in this volume. It is a book for the weary work-all-day man to dip into, and to come out of it again refreshed. When in doubt as to what light reading to take up, the Baron advises, "Take Payn's."

Baron de Book-Worms.

P.S.—My faithful "Co." has been revelling in the Summer Holiday Number of All The Year Round, which consists of a complete story entitled, A Mist of Error, by Mary Angela Dickens. The authoress is the granddaughter of the great novelist, and the daughter of his son, the most popular of editors, and the best of good fellows. My "Co." reports, that the novelette is full of promise, and is a proof that literary genius is hereditary. Interesting from the first page to the last, A Mist of Error, in spite of its title, is never suggestive of a fog. My faithful "Co." is also delighted with Men of the Time Birthday Book, compiled by Mr. J. F. Boyes, F.S.A.—a charming little Volume that everyone will be proud to possess. He prophesies that it will be one of the most popular of Birthday Books, and congratulates its compiler on the production of a work of distinct historical value.

A GREAT GUNN.

[Gunn, the great Notts' Batsman, playing for the Players of England against the Australians at Lords, on June 19 and 20, made 228 runs, the highest individual score ever made in this country against the Australians.]

ROBERT AT THE LEATHERSELLERS'.

We had been so preshus busy at "the Grand Hotel" lately, that I hadn't seen werry much of my deer old Citty, but larst week I was arsked for to go and offishyate there at the jolly Leathersellers Company's Grand Dinner, as they was about to have a very distangy Party including one of our most sellybrated Hartist's, who's that poplar that ewerybody calls him 'Arry instead of 'Enery, as must in course have been the name as his godmothers and godfathers gav him when he was quite young and had his fust taste of a cold Bath, and most probberbly didn't like it.

So I went accordingly, and a werry scrumpshus Bankwet they had, includin them trewly Royal luxeries '80 Shampane and '47 Port! Ah! what a thing it must be to be a Royal or a Nobel persson, and to live on all the Fat of the Land, and wash it all down with nothink yunger than '80 shampain and '47 Port! And no matter where you gos, or weather it's to lay down a Fust Stone, or to Hopen a Hexibishun, or to take a Chair at a nobel Charity Dinner, there it is all reddy for you, and a hole crowd of Peeple a watching you a eating and a drinking of 'em, and a thanking you artily for taking the trubble of doing so! Ah! I sumtimes werrily beleeves as that my nateral tastes tells me as I was horiginally hintended for sum such useful life myself!

Well, arter the Bankwet of course we had all the reglar gushing speeches, and werry bewtifool but rather lengthy they was, but presently a sumthink appened as more estonished me praps than anythink as has appened to me for some time past.

The hartistick and poplar Gent as ewerybody calls Arry Furnace was called upon to return thanks for Hart, when to my intense estonishment, and ewerybody else's emusement, he acshally said as how as his frend "Robert," seeing how garstly pale he turned when he was told wot he wood have to do, had writ down for him 6 lines of most bewtifool Poetry, which he at wunce proceeded to recite, and sat down amid enthusiastick cheers and shouts of larfter! Seeing my look of puzzled surprise, he kindly turned round to me and said, "Look here, Robert, as I've rather taken a libberty with your honnerd name, I'll repay you by taking another with your well-known features," and borrowing a bewtifool pencil of me, that I had bort the day before for a penny, he acshally sketched three likenesses of me in his Book of the Songs, and giving it to me, said, with his merry laugh. "There, I hope that will console you for my bit of harmless fun;" and from what I was offered for my three sketches when I showed 'em about, after he was gone, I thinks, that upon the whole, I got a werry good share of the larf on my own side of the mouth.

Robert.

AN IDEAL INTERVIEWER.

Scene—Den of latest Lion.

Latest Lion (perusing card with no visible signs of gratification.) Confound it! don't remember telling the Editor of Park Lane I'd let myself be interviewed. Suppose I must have, though. (Aloud to Servant, who is waiting.) You can show the Gentleman up.

Servant (returning). Mr. Walsingham Jermyn!

[A youthful Gentleman is shown in; he wears a pink-striped shirt-front, an enormous button-hole, and a woolly frock-coat, and is altogether most expensively and fashionably attired, which, however, does not prevent him from appearing somewhat out of countenance after taking a seat.

The L. L. (encouragingly). I presume, Mr. Jermyn, you're here to ask me some questions about the future of the British East African Company, and the duty of the Government in the matter?

Mr. Jermyn (gratefully). Er—yes, that's what I've come about, don't you know—that sort of thing. Fact is (with a burst of confidence), this isn't exactly my line—I've been rather let in for this. You see, I've not been by way of doin' this long—but what's a fellow to do when he's stony-broke? Got to do somethin', don't you know. So I thought I'd go in for journalism—I don't mean the drudgery of it, leader-writin' and that—but the light part of it, Society, you know. But the other day, man who does the interviews for Park Lane (that's the paper I'm on) jacked up all of a sudden, and my Editor said I'd better take on his work for a bit, and see what I made of it. I wasn't particular. You see, I've always been rather a dead hand at drawin' fellows out, leadin' them on, you know, and all that, so I knew it would come easy enough to me, for all you've got to do is to sit tight and let the other chap—I mean to say, the man you're interviewin'—do all the talking, while you—I mean to say, myself—keep, keeps—hullo, I'm getting my grammar a bit mixed; however, it don't signify—I keep quiet and use my eyes and ears like blazes. Talking of grammar, I thought when I first started that I should get in a regular hat over the grammar, and the spellin', and that—you write, don't you, when you're not travellin'? So you know what a grind it is to spell right. But I soon found they kept a Johnny at the office with nothing to do but put all your mistakes right for you, so, soon as I knew that, I went ahead gaily.

The L. L. Exactly, and now, perhaps, you will let me know what particular information you require?

Mr. J. Oh, you know the sort of thing the public likes—they'll want to know what sort of diggings you've got, how you dress when you're at home, and all that, how you write your books, now—you do write books, don't you? Thought so. Well, that's what the public likes. You see, your name's a good deal up just now—no humbug, it is though! Between ourselves, you know, I think the whole business is the balliest kind of rot, but they've got to have it, so there you are, don't you see. I don't pretend to be a well-read sort of fellow, never was particularly fond of readin' and that; no time for it, and besides, I've always said Books don't teach you knowledge of the world. I know the world fairly well—but I didn't learn it from books—ah, you agree with me there—you know what skittles all that talk is about education and that. Well, as I was sayin', I don't read much, I see the Field every week, and a clinkin' good paper it is, tells you everythin' worth knowin', and I read the Pink Un, too. Do you know any of the fellows on it? Man I know is a great friend of one of them, he's going to introduce me some day, I like knowin' literary chaps, don't you? You've been about a good deal, haven't you? I expect you must have seen a lot, travellin' as you do. I've done a little travellin' myself, been to Monte Carlo, you know, and the Channel Islands—you ever been to the Channel Islands? Oh, you ought to go, it's a very cheery place. Talkin' of Monte Carlo, I had a rattlin' good time at the tables there; took out a hundred quid, determined I would have a downright good flutter, and Jove! I made that hundred last me over five days, and came away in nothing but my lawn-tennis flannels. That's what I call a flutter, don't you know! Er—beastly weather we're havin'! You have pretty good weather where you've been? A young brother of mine has been out for a year in Texas—he said he'd very good weather—of course that's some way off where you've come from—Central Africa, isn't it? Talkin' of my brother, what do you think the young ass did?—went out there with a thousand pounds, and paid it all down to some sportsmen who took him to see some stock they said belonged to them—of course he found out after they'd off'd it that they didn't own a white mouse among 'em! But then, Dick's one of those chaps, you know, that think themselves so uncommon knowing, they can't be had. I always told him he'd be taken in someday if he let his tongue wag so much—too fond of hearing himself talk, don't you know, great mistake for a young fellow; sure to say somethin' you'd better have let alone. I suppose you're getting rather sick of all these banquets, receptions, and that? They do you very well, certainly. I went to one of these Company dinners some time ago, and they did me as well as I've ever been done in my life, but when you've got to sit still afterwards and listen to some chap who's been somewhere and done somethin' jawin' about it by the hour together without a check, why, it's not good enough, I'm hanged if it is! Well, I'm afraid I can't stay any longer—my time's valuable now, don't you know. I daresay yours is, too. I'm awfully glad to have had a chat with you, and all that. I expect you could tell me a lot more interesting things, only of course you've got to keep the best of 'em to put in your book—you are writin' a book or somethin', ain't you? Such heaps of fellows are writin' books nowadays, the wonder is how any of 'em get read. I shall try and get a look at yours, though, if I come across it anywhere; hope you'll put some amusin' things in,—nigger stories and that, don't make it too bally scientific, you know. Directly I get back, I shall sit down, slick off, and write out all you've told me. I shan't want any notes, I can carry it all in my head, and of course I shan't put in anything you'd rather I didn't, don't you know.

The L. L. (solemnly). Mr. Jermyn, I place implicit confidence in your discretion. I have no doubt whatever that your head, Sir, is more than capable of containing such remarks as I have found it necessary to make in the course of our interview. I like your system of extracting information, Sir, very much. Good morning.

Mr. Jermyn (outside). Nice pleasant-spoken fellow—trifle long-winded, though! Gad, I was so busy listenin' I forgot to notice what his rooms were like or anythin'! How would it do to go back? No, too much of a grind. Daresay I can manage to fox up somethin'. I shall tell the Chief what he said about my system. Chief don't quite know what I can do yet—this will open his eyes a bit.

[And it does.

The Hare Apparent.—I forgot to record last week that Saturday, the 14th, was the hundredth night of the Pair of Spectacles, and the silver wedding of Mr. Hare's stage career. The occasion was celebrated at the Garrick with a supper given by Mr. Hare to old friends and comrades. It was an illustration of "The Hare and many Friends," only it wasn't a fable—it was a fact. As closely associated with Hare at various dinner-tables, I beg to sign myself,

Currente Jelli Calamo.

     NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

Large Engravings.

Small Engravings.