I am proud of being the “selection” referred to above, though, as a matter of fact it was I who “selected” GAY from the numerous sweet young things submitted for my approval during the Season when I was considered “the parti"!—­but on this point I maintain a noble silence!  In spite of the old Welsh proverb, “Oh, wad some Gay the giftie gie us,” &c. &c., I was a bit puzzled on reading GAY’s letters, at the similarity of names, but thought it only a coincidence, until she was so upset by the one she read when abroad, that she confessed everything, and asked my advice!—­It’s very strange how all these clever women, when they get into a fix, apply for assistance to weak “man!” eh?  Now that flat-racing is over, we are “resting on our oars” for a time—­(that is literally true, for the country has been mostly under water lately!)—­but we shall shortly have a cut-in at steeplechasing, when GAY will doubtless have some new experiences to relate; meanwhile, allow me to subscribe myself—­(I like to subscribe to everything good)—­Yours explanatorily,

(Lord) ARTHUR FLEETWOOD.

* * * * *

ALL ROUND THE FAIR.

NO.  III.

IN THE “FINE ART” EXHIBITION.

Rustic Art Patrons discovered applying their eyes to peepholes, through which a motley collection of coloured lithographs of the Crimean Campaign, faded stereoscopic-views, Scriptural engravings, and daubed woodcuts from the “Illustrated Police News,” is arranged for their inspection.

First Art Patron (waiting for his turn at the first peephole).  Look alive theer, GE-ARGE, ain’t ye done squintin’ at ’un yet?

Ge-arge (a local humorist).  ‘Tis a rare old novelty, BEN, th’ latest from London, and naw mistake ’bout it!

Ben (with disappointment, as he succeeds to the peephole).  Why, ‘tain’t on’y ADAM an’ EVE afoor th’ Fall! that ain’t so partickler noo, as I can see—­Lar dear, they’re a settin’ nekked on a live lion, and a nursin’ o’ rabbits! (At the next hole ADAM and EVE are represented “After the Fall,” overwhelmed with confusion, while the lion is stalking off scandalised, with a fine expression of lofty moral indignation.) ’Ere they are agen! that theer lion thinks he’s played sofy to ’en long ’nough, seemin’ly!

Ge-arge (from a further peephole).  I say, BEN, ’ere’s Mrs. PEARCEY a murderin’ Mrs.  ’OGG down this ‘un—­we’re a-gittin’ along!

Ben (puzzled).  They must ha’ skipped out a deal.  I’m on’y at “CAIN killin’ ABEL!”

Female Patron (to Proprietor).  ‘Ere, Master, I can’t see nothen’ down ’ere—­’tis all dark like!

Proprietor. Let me ’ave a look!  You shud put your ’ands so, each side o’ your eyes, and—­(He looks.) ’Um, it is rayther—­but what else do yer expeck?  It’s a “View o’ Paris by Night,” ain’t it—­that’s all right!