[Illustration:  “(STAN)-HOPE TOLD A FLATTERING TALE.”

Mr. Punch (to War Secretary).  “VERY WELL ON ACCOUNT; BUT WHEN IS HE TO HAVE HIS REWARD IN FULL, LIKE HIS BROTHERS OF THE COMBATANT BRANCH?”]

In the Fortnightly, besides an article on the prevailing epidemic, by Sir MORRELL MACKENZIE, M.D., which finishes with much the sort of general advice that was given by Mr. Justice Starleigh to Sam Weller, to the effect that “You had better be careful, Sir,” whoever you are, who read this short, but generally interesting paper.  There is an anonymous paper on an imaginary election at the Royal Academy, noticeable only for an excellent imitation of Mr. GEORGE MEREDITH’S style.  The Novelist is supposed to look in casually, and, finding an election imminent, he offers sage words of counsel, and then begs to be allowed to “float out of their orbit by a bowshot.”  It seems to me that the paper was written for the sake of this one short paragraph, which, as a close parody, is inimitable. A Modern Idyll, by the Editor, Mr. FRANK HARRIS, is, as far as this deponent is concerned, like the Rule of Three in the ancient Nursery Rhyme, for it “bothers me,” and, though written with considerable dramatic power, yet it seems rather the foundation for a novel which the Author felt either disinclined to continue, or unable to finish.  ALTER HEGO (in the Office of the B. de B.-W.)

* * * * *

THE TYRANTS OF THE STRAND!

(FRAGMENT FROM A ROMANCE, FOUNDED UPON A MODERN STRIKE.)

It was a dark and stormy night.  The wind howled, the rain pelted, and the poor travellers were drenched to the skin.  They shaded their eyes, and peered forth into the blackness to see if succour was at hand.  Their strength was exhausted, and they felt they could go no further.  Oh! what would they not have given to be once more on board the tight little craft they had abandoned!  But no! it was not to be.  They must seek for help from another quarter!  Suddenly there emerged from the darkness a strange-looking structure, that with its lights seemed bent upon running them down.  They signalled for help, and the grotesque vessel was hove to.

“What do you want?” asked a gruff voice, to their great delight, in English.  “What are you a haling us for?”

“We are shipwrecked travellers,” explained the spokesman of the party; “and we ask for conveyance to a place of safety.”

“A place of safety—­sounds like a cab-stand,” muttered the other.  “Well, jump in.”  Thus invited, the shipwrecked travellers entered what seemed to them to be a welcome harbour of refuge.  But they had not proceeded far when the man who had already spoken to them again addressed them.

“Come—­all of you—­turn out—­but first pay me,” and then he mentioned a considerable sum of money.

“Have you no mercy?” cried a fair-haired girl, pointing to the white and rain-drenched locks of her ancient parents.