I, however, was not to be put off with excuse of that kind.  I insisted, both to the Secretary of the Minister of War, to M. THIERS, that I should not be decorated.  I was only too successful.  When the list came out, all my associates at Marseilles were decorated.  I was not included.  This was all right.  It was what I had requested.  I could say nothing.  All the same, I could not help thinking that my advice had been too literally accepted.

Every morning, for a week after, I called on M. THIERS.  At the end of the sixth day he said, “You must go to Riga.  I do not quite know where it is, but it sounds remote.  You shall be Consul at Riga.”  I was delighted.  Like the President, I was not sure where Riga was; but the salary was certain, and there was fine old Roman flavour about the title Consul.

But it was not to be.  I was predestined to be a great Newspaper Correspondent.  How that came about cannot be told in this chapter.  I will only say that early in my new career I secured the approbation of Mr. DELANE, who, I need scarcely say, was the most competent judge the world ever saw of the merits of a journalist.

At the risk of being dry and bald, I have confined myself to telling accurately what has happened, my greatest ambition being to leave no one the chance of misrepresenting, as his whim, fancy, or passion may dictate, facts in which I am so deeply interested.  Let those note them who, after my time, have to defend my memory should it ever be attacked.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “The Shinner Quartette;” or, Musical Football.]

* * * * *

“MORE HONOURED IN THE BREACH THAN THE OBSERVANCE.”—­Breach of Promise cases—­as a rule.

* * * * *

A GENERAL VIEW OF “PRIVATE INQUIRY.”

[Illustration]

I am sufficiently old-fashioned, when I go to the play, to wish to be amused.  I frankly admit I do not care to be taught a lesson, or to have my mind harrowed by the presentation of some psychological study.  I can remember WRIGHT, and even HARLEY, and the days when a good piece of fun was the last item of the programme at the Adelphi and the Olympic—­the chief attraction of the Pittites, who patronised “half-price.”  This being so, I am glad to find at the Strand—­a theatre recalling memories of JIMMY ROGERS and JOHNNY CLARKE, PATTY OLIVER and CHARLOTTE SAUNDERS, to say nothing of a lady who was not only Queen of Comedy but Empress of Burlesque—­“Private Inquiry,” a thoroughly well acted and rattling farce in three Acts.  It is from the French, but as the task of adaptation has been entrusted to the Author who turned Bebe the Frisky into Betsy the Wholesome, any scruples of conscience that the LORD CHAMBERLAIN may possibly have entertained on reading the original have been successfully removed, and the play, consequently, is not only highly entertaining,