CHAPTER XXII.

'Twas midnight. Alone in the dismal cell to which her father's cruelty had consigned her, the Lady AGATHA wept unceasingly. Sleep came not to her weary eyes, she paced restlessly up and down, or gazed through the narrow bars of the window over the moonlit landscape.

Suddenly she started! Was it fancy? Nay, 'twas a human voice, manly, resonant, and strong, that sang beneath her window. She could catch some of the words:

"O sweetest blossom of the lea, O daintiest flower of the field! For love, for hopeless love of thee My reason must her kingdom yield" ...

Good heavens! It was ALGERNON FITZCLARENCE!

"Across the land, across the main, A single steed shall bear us twain."

He was ascending by a ladder! His face appeared at the window!

"Ah, darling AGATHA," he said, "news was brought me of thy parlous state! But dry thy tears, my sweet! See"--he snapped the massive bars with the little finger of his left hand--"the cage is broken. Two of the swiftest Singers are saddled for us at the castle gate. Let us fly together!"

***

Noiselessly the gallant steeds flitted along the road.

"Were't not best to light our lamps?" whispered AGATHA. "Methinks that the sage councillors of the parish----"

"Nay, I fear them not," said the intrepid FITZCLARENCE. "Enough for me is the light of thine eyes."

Suddenly their steeds slackened pace simultaneously, and a faint hissing sound was heard. They looked at one another, and groaned.

"We are punctured!" cried Agatha. It was too true. At the foot of a steep hill they dismounted, their tyres flabby, shapeless, useless. FITSCLARENCE passed his hand over the ground.

"As I thought!" he said bitterly, "'tis thy father that hath contrived this! He hath scattered tin-tacks broadcast over the road to foil our attempt to escape! But we will baffle him yet."

For some minutes he worked his air-pump in silence. Suddenly a sound was heard at which AGATHA grew deathly pale. It was the clear resonant note of a bicycle bell!

"We are pursued!" she cried. "Let us fly, ALGERNON."

"We cannot," said her practical lover; "the tyres are almost empty. We can but meet our doom bravely!"

Louder and louder came the noise of whirring wheels. Then--a whirr, and the Baron, breathless, pale with terror, went by them like a flash of lightning! FITZCLARENCE understood in a moment what had happened. The Baron was but an unskilful rider, and had allowed his machine to run away with him down the hill!

To stop him was impossible. He went along the highway for thirty-two and a half miles, and then, with a last despairing yell, he vanished over the cliff, still seated on his steed, and was buried beneath the waves of the English Channel. So FITZCLARENCE and AGATHA returned to the castle, and lived happily ever after.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

In the _Nineteenth Century_ the Baron skimmed an article on "The Gold-mining Madness in the City," by S. F. VAN OSS. There's a deal of method in this madness. Isn't it rather presumptuous in a "Van Oss" to advise Bulls and Bears not to make asses of themselves?

Amusing article in _Macmillan_ for this month on "Moll Cutpurse." Even OLIVER, the Protector, couldn't protect himself from this nimble-handed, light-fingered lady, who entertained very practical notions on the Common-wealth.

Capital chatty book, published by ARROWSMITH (but evidently ought to have been published by "CHATTY AND WINDUS"), is _Platform, Press, Politics and Play_, by our worthy gossip, T. H. S. ESCOTT. "Just the sort of book for a quiet half hour in these chill October evenings," quoth the

BUSY BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

PASTEUR.

[M. PASTEUR, the great French bacteriologist, died at St. Cloud on Saturday, September 28.]

At the great PASTEUR'S passing we must grieve _De tout notre cœur_: May the Good Shepherd's pastures fair receive _Notre Bon PASTEUR_.

* * * * *

A Cruel Jest.

_Householder_ (_to unfamiliar Gas Collector_). I don't seem to know your face. Where's the usual man--JONES?

_Collector._ Laid up in bed.

_Householder_ (_bitterly_). Of course, with the old complaint--gas-trick fever--eh?

[_Exit New Collector, hurriedly._

* * * * *

"ONE OF THE 'UPPER TEN.'"--"Rev. HERBERT BROOKE," we read in the _Daily News_, has been "appointed to the chaplaincy of Les Avants, above Montreaux, Switzerland." Above Montreaux! In such a position the reverend gentleman will be a very high churchman. Likewise ought he to be a very learned one, seeing that he is to be chaplain to _Les Savants_.

* * * * *

The Member for SARK writes from the remote Highlands of Scotland, where he has been driving past an interminable series of lochs, to inquire _where the keys are kept?_ He had better apply to the local authorities in the Isle of Man. They have a whole House of Keys. Possibly those the hon. Member is concerned about may be found among them.

* * * * *

TAKEN FOR GRANTED.--Although members of the London County Council, whose business it is to attend to the "nice conduct" of theatres and music-halls, may be said to have "given up all their wild proceedings" of a year ago, their actions of late have, nevertheless, been characterised by "unbridled license."

* * * * *

* * * * *

MICHAELMAS TERM AT CAMBRIDGE.

According to orders issued September 29, Feast of St. Goose, the Vice-Chancellor has given notice that during Michaelmas Term there will be Congregations, when will be performed by the A. C. C. C. (Amateur Cambridge Concert Club) the well-known Choral, "_Goosey Goosey Gander_." (Music by GOOSENS.) The Volunteers will practice the Goose Step from two to four every afternoon till further orders.

After exams, the ceremony of "Plucking" will take place in public.

Lectures on "_How to get your Goose Cooked_," with receipts for _Making the sauce for the gander_, by M. C. A. (Master of Culinary Art).

Lecture on the right explanation of the treatise "_De Goose-tibus_." [N.B.--_The undergraduate who comes out first in examination on this subject will be entitled to wear a feather in his cap._]

Special Greek Kalendary Lecture on the history of "_Xerxes and the Gandaræ_."

The subject of the Lecture on Horticulture will be "_The Growth of the Great Gooseberry, and its Gradual Extinction_."

_Commercial History._ Subject: "_On Banking, and the Rise of the House of Gosling_."

Lectures on the Stage by Lord ACTON, with inquiry concerning the Hisstrionic occasion when "The Goose" was first heard in a theatre. His Lordship has been specially engaged by the A. D. C. to bring out a new edition of Plays, under the heading of "_The Acton Drama_."

* * * * *

COURT ON AGAIN.--Mr. GODFREY'S _Vanity Fair_ (a misleading title; and the story is more nearly related to _Pendennis_ than to _Vanity Fair_) is still "on" at the Court Theatre. Let Play-Inspector advise those who have not seen Mr. ARTHUR CECIL as the imperturbable _Lord Nugent_, and who have yet to witness the excellent acting of Mr. SUGDEN, wonderfully made up as _The Duke of Berkshire_, who have still to see Mr. WILLIAM WYES as _Brabazon Tegg_, and Mrs. JOHN WOOD as the eccentric _Mrs. Brabazon Tegg_ (once a music-hall artiste), to go to the Court Theatre, and enjoy a thoroughly good all-round performance.

* * * * *

NOTE AT THE RECENT MEDICAL SESSION.--Among the names of the distinguished lecturers during last week's Medical Session, occurred the remarkable one of "Dr. GEORGE DE ATH." It is a pleasant way of putting it. These two syllables cannot say of themselves, "_In Death we are not divided_."

* * * * *

TO A FRIEND OF MINE.

Ah, cherubic little curate, in your surplice spick and span, Who has struck that happy medium 'twixt an angel and a man, Would it bore you much to tell me how you managed to attain To that turret of perfection which in time I hope to gain?

For I see you in the pulpit, and I dote upon your word, And I listen to such eloquence as rarely I have heard; But at times there comes a whisper, like the flutter on the wind, Were you always, little curate, such a pattern of your kind?

When a schoolboy, young and noisy, did you never tell a fib, Or use a KELLY'S literal "key" (ah, call it not a crib!)? Did you never, at a season when your age was hardly ripe, Encircle with your rosy lips a surreptitious pipe?

And when you went to Cambridge was your 'Varsity career As spotless as your surplice, and as uniformly clear From a vestige of a blemish? Oh, you _properest_ of men, Were you never, never proctored--were you _always_ in at ten?

* * * * *

THE NEW LORD MAYOR ELECT.--A congratulatory chorus to the New Lord Mayor elect, Sir WALTER WILKIN, should be at once written, composed, and rehearsed in order to be sung on November 9, to the accompaniment of the "trained bands." The words may be selected from SHAKSPEARE and MILTON; the solos, consisting of a verse apiece, may

"Amaze the Wilkin with their broken staves."

While some military poet could be fitly employed to celebrate the glorious deeds of the New Lord Mayor, Sir WALTER WILKIN, Wictorious Wolunteer, telling how

"With feats o arms From either end of London the Wilkin burns!"

* * * * *

Pardonable Error in Orthography.

DEAR SIR CRŒSUS,--Mamma begs me to tell you that EMILY is to be married on the 20th at Hanover Square, and hopes she may count on your presents.

Yours truly, JEMIMA SMITH.

_To_ Sir CRŒSUS DIVES, Bart., _Goldacre, Mintshire_.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

HAPPY LOTS FOR HAPPY SCOTS.--The _Glasgow Herald_ has been making fun of the Scotch--no, we mean the Scottish--no, we don't, we mean the Scots--Professor. Here is its description of him:--

He, and he alone, can lead a perfectly groomed life. He has an income of between £600 and £2,000 a year. At the outside his work, after he has fairly got settled down to it, means four hours a day for five days a week during six months of the year.... The modern Scotch professor in fact is, or ought to be, that "model man of the world," of whom all of us poor slaves of business and convention stand secretly in awe.

On the St. Andrews golf links he is to be seen on great occasions "living up to his moustaches and knickerbockers." He has his London club, mingles in the highest literary coteries, and is always talking about "charming girls." Evidently the professorial chair in a Norbritish University is a very comfortable kind of arm-chair, and our "Arts Professor" a professor--and practiser, too--of various useful arts.

* * * * *

WAIL FROM THE WEST.--They are trying at Bristol to move the G. W. R. to give better train facilities between Bristol, Salisbury, Southampton, and Portsmouth; and the Chamber of Commerce has sent in a memorial asking for a "complete remodelling of the service between such important centres of commercial activity," and complaining of the "unsatisfactory service of trains on other parts of your system," particularly on the Devizes, Marlborough, and Reading branch. Why, suggests the Chamber, not run three fast trains a day up and down _viâ_ the new Holt Junction, "instead of all trains going into Trowbridge, and waiting nearly an hour." Why, indeed? West-of-Englanders seem to think that "your system" needs strengthening, and so they are supplying a little bark as a tonic, for "local application" only.

To this Chamber of Commerce the fault of the Co. Is running too seldom, and moving too slow.

* * * * *

EVIDENT, AS APPROPRIATE SITE.--"_Eely_ Place" for a _Conger_-regational Chapel.

* * * * *

THE LAST TURNPIKE.

["The last of the old turnpike trusts is to terminate on the 1st of November."--_Daily News._]

Remember, remember the first of November!-- The old turnpike system grew old, ripe, and rotten; But man loves to dream by the Past's waning ember, And turnpikes, though troublesome, won't be forgotten. Like old inns and highwaymen, stocks and stage-coaches, The white turnpike bars have their memories fragrant; But on quaint antiquities Progress encroaches. The knight of the road, and the picturesque vagrant, The "Highflyer" coach and the postchaise have vanished; And now the old turnpike is destined to follow. When from his snug box the last toll-taker's banished, One feels the Romance of the Road will sound hollow. The toll was a nuisance, the toll-keeper grumpy, He turned out to pocket his coppers and tanners With curt elocution which made one feel jumpy; There wasn't much charm in his dress or his manners. His "stand and deliver" made timid folk quiver, And when not despotic he mostly looked drowsy; He'd keep you a-waiting till all of a shiver, Then yawn on you, looking forbidding and frowsy. And yet his snug box and white bars had attractions. The gleam from his fire, the red rose o'er his portal, Would make you forgive his rough ways and exactions, And TURPIN and _Weller_ have made him immortal. His locks, bolts, and bars were extremely obstructive, But then his white apron and mannerless greeting-- In retrospect--take on a something seductive. Sure oft on our highways his spook, slowly fleeting, With glimmering shirt-sleeves and coin-chinking pocket, Will haunt the lone traveller; make him remember The jolly old days of the fast-rattling "Rocket," And heave one sad sigh for this fatal November.

* * * * *

"APPROBATION FROM SIR HUBERT STANLEY IS PRAISE INDEED!"--Sir ARTHUR was highly pleased with the Leeds Festival chorus-folk. "I praise you," he said to them, "from the bottom of my heart." Praise from "the top of a heart" would be nothing, but to pump it up, from the depths, expresses the profundity of admiration. Then added Sir Arthur, "The greatest privilege of my life is"--now just pause; think what could possibly be "the greatest privilege" of Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN'S life? The privilege of musical genius? No. Give it up? Yes. Then read on. "The greatest privilege of my life is that His Royal Highness will, at my request, tell you what he thinks of the chorus." O immortal _Jabberwock!_

"O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled in his joy."

Whereupon H. R. H. observed, most discreetly, "It is not for me to make criticisms; that I leave to your amiable conductor." Bee-ew-tiful!! This chorus will "get a bit above itself." Dangerous precedent, O amiable conductor!

* * * * *

* * * * *

SMORLTORKIANA.

["Count Smorltork--the famous foreigner--gathering materials for his great work on England!... 'Have you been long in England?' asked Mr. Pickwick. 'Long--very long time--fortnight--more.' 'Do you stay here long?' 'One week.' 'You will have enough to do,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'to gather all the materials you want in that time.' 'Eh, they are gathered,' said the Count."--_Pickwick._]

The Smorltork race have multiplied Since DICKENS wrote about them. They prate and rate on every side; Fools read, and wise men doubt them. _To_ every land _from_ every land, Post-haste, the prattlers travel. They take a week to understand, A fortnight to unravel, A month, at most, to write a book That sums up all creation; They fathom England in a look. And France in a sensation. But most of all they seem to love To cross the wide Atlantic. _Then_ Jove and all the gods above Must roar at Smorltork antic. SMORLTORK--a Briton or a Frank, A scribe or a fanatic-- The Yankee race will gauge, grade, rank, In summary emphatic. He, like a cockney sparrow, cocks His eye at all around him, As Pharisee his sense it shocks, As Philistine, confounds him. In seven hours he sums a State, In seven days the lot of them; And his next business is--to "slate" And talk prodigious rot of them. At a huge, motley continent He gives a glance quite cursory, And vows it seethes with discontent, And is corruption's nursery. He finds New York a Tammany den, Chicago just a Hades; The Yankees not quite gentlemen, The Yankee girls scarce ladies. Slave to the sex, the male, he vows, Is but the female's poodle; And when not worshipping his spouse, He bows the knee to "Boodle." The labouring East, the lawless West, He scans in a "split second," And in "two jiffs" of scampering quest The Stars and Stripes are "reckoned." They're "gathered" in his shallow brain, Like pea-nuts in a pannikin. Bah! SMORLTORK is a vapid, vain, Vituperative mannikin. "Potry, poltic, science, art, _All_ tings"--from pigs to pictures-- He bans in criticisms "smart," And sciolistic strictures. Of courtesy the open shame, Of feelings coarse affronter. He's only fit to play the game Of Mrs. LEO HUNTER. For when to other lands he strays, The fool insults their banners, Because _he_ doesn't like their ways, Nor understand their manners. Peripatetic _Podsnap_, he Makes _Punch's_ nerves feel tinglish, Who naught of good abroad can see Because it is not "English." Ah, Brother JONATHAN, old friend, The Smorltork chitter-chatter Some day, like Tammany, will end, Meanwhile it doesn't matter. The SMORLTORKS are a shallow set, Cantankerous and cranky; But _Punch_ takes not from them, "you bet," His notions of things Yankee!

* * * * *

MOTTO OF STALKERS.--"Going for deer life!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

NET PROFITS.--Mr. CUMMING MACDONA, M. P.'s recent letter to the _Times_ about the hundred French boats that he saw starting from Dieppe for a three months' fishing cruise off the west coast of Ireland, has led to a demand by Irish papers for Government help to Irish fisheries. Why, they ask, should money be given to farmers and not to fishers? The _Cork Constitution_, however, goes to the root of things by saying that "want of enterprise and thrift," not want of pence, leads to Irish fish being caught by the anglers of Dieppe. The State has already constructed improved harbours and light railways. It is for the fisher-folk to respond by getting boats and nets, and using them; until which time the early Gaul will get the best haul.

* * * * *

SIMS REEVES AT THE EMPIRE.

My pretty JANE! My pretty JANE! The contract did I sign! So meet me, meet me at the Empire! I sing at half-past nine. It may be earlier, or later, JANE. For time your SIMS sims to defy, But read the posters of the Empire-- The boom will catch your eye!

* * * * *

MUSICAL NOTE.--A "_Mass in B_" has been composed by MASS-EN-ET.

* * * * *

A SHAKSPEARIAN LINE.--The one that takes you to Stratford-on-Avon.

* * * * *

CABBY; OR, REMINISCENCES OF THE RANK AND THE ROAD.

(_By "Hansom Jack."_)

["Gentlemen, the way to see London is from the top of a 'bus--from the top of a 'bus, gentlemen!"--_Mr. Gladstone to American Visitors._]

No. VII.--'BUSSES, BILKS, AND BOOSYS.

Top of a 'bus! Well, I've nothing to say against knifeboards or garden-seats, quite the contrairy. Looked at as look-outs on London itself, _as_ a city, they're easy, commanding, and airy. G. O. M. hit it in once to those Yankees. But still, if you'd view London _life_, as a wholer, Not mere bricks and mortar and lamp-posts, I'll back what cute BENJAMIN D. called the London Gondōler.

_I_'ve drove the Grand Old One, though 'e's such a walker 'e don't give the wheels so much work as did DIZZY. But I'd like to stick 'im some hours on _my_ perch with my 'ed at 'is elber. Ah, _then_ we'd be busy. The 'bus 'as the pull of us one way, you see; _our_ fares can't git mounting the roof; they're insiders! But Cabby looks inside _and_ out, and that way gits the bulge on the rest of the drivers and riders.

Moresomeover the 'busses and trams keep the main, whilst we 'Ansoms can take all the short-cuts and bye-ways; And when you know sububs and slums, you're aware London life don't all run in the big stream of 'ighways. Its creeks and its backwaters, ditches and dykes, they teem, fairly teem, though their dwellers--poor cusses!-- Can only just ketch the tram-bells in the distance, and ain't never bossed from the knifeboards of 'busses.

That's just where swell ink-slingers miss the true London. That wasn't the way though with good CHARLEY DICKENS. _Pickwick_ is one of the books in our Shelter, and _Pickwick_, I 'old, gives the reader rare pickins. When drying my legs over corfee and heggs I git a larf out o' that patter o' _Sammy_. It ain't quite _our_ up-to-date kibosh, o' course, but the way as that _Sam_ chewed the rag was just jammy.

Knowed some queer things about London, _'e_ did, _'is_ London, of course, cabrioleys and such-like. _My_ survey's "extensive," and likeways "pecooliar," in that me and _Sammy_ seem much of a much like. A whip, like old _Weller_, I do not, like 'im, do the same bit o' road, come-day-go-day together. I know, in my line, every inch of the town, at all times o' day, and in all sorts o' weather.

I'd just like a turn "Round the Town" with young _Sam_, or a talk over sossige and mashed in our Shelter; Comparing of notes, with the Growler for chorus, I 'aven't no doubt we should come out a pelter. "Cabby," they sing, "knows 'is fare." I should think so, or else 'e must be a blind mug or a babby. And who, from a dook to a chorister minx, 'asn't, one time or other, _been_ "fare" to a Cabby?

I've driven the dook and the damsel together, as fur as that goes. And the dook was that squiffy 'E wanted to go me "dooks up" for the fare. But that would 'ave brought down the slops in a jiffy. You mustn't 'ave _much_ flesh and blood, as a Cabby, I tell you. At scrapping we're most of us 'andy; But knockin' out nobs, as a rule, doesn't pay, when said nobs 'ave been mixing champagne and neat brandy.

The boosys and bilks try our tempers, I tell you. But tempers are luxuries, like sparrer grass is. If you've seen a helderly, hamorous gent, _on_ the tiddley, you know what a worriting ass is. Argue for hours about sixpence, 'e will, then 'unt all 'is pockets, and find 'e aint got one. Collapse in a corner, and fall fast asleep, with a boiled baby smile on 'is chump. _'E_'s a 'ot one.

Hit 'im? Oh no! 'E may waste you a hour, and then offer a drink, which 'e 'asn't the price of, And maunder and mumble till you are arf mad; but if an old stager you'll take the advice of, You _won't_ knock 'is 'ead off! It's tempting, I know, and sometimes you would give twice the fare for the pleasure; But squiffy old gents are the magistrates' pets, they've got money--at 'ome--and, what's more, lots of leisure!

"TREACLE" now, can't 'old 'is tongue with old Tiddleys. Poor "TREACLE" was once a smart gentleman farmer, And kep 'is own dog-cart. 'E's got one fair daughter, who, even in chocolate cotton's a charmer. Ah! sweet as fresh 'ay, in a manner o' speaking, is young BESSIE FINCH, though she's but a machiner. Its curious 'ow sulky old "TREACLE" lights up when 'is gal BESSIE brings 'im 'is poor bit o' dinner.

'E was just taking up an old Tiddley one time when Miss BESSIE turned up, and the bosky old geeser Made eyes at the maid, and said just arf a word, when poor TREACLE'S fist caught 'im a slap on 'is sneezer As made 'im see stars. 'Twas a trifle too previous, p'r'aps, for a sulky old chip of a Cabby; A 'ero don't _look_ like a 'ero somehow when 'is phiz is wind-blue and 'is billycock shabby.

Old Tiddley was quite a respectable gent, a benevolent buffer, who lived out at Clapham; And when subub saints 'ave been dining a mossel, it won't do for grumpy old Growlers to slap 'em. So "TREACLE," as usual, got toko, you see, likeways missed a good fare, 'long o' bein' too 'asty; Which shows as a Cabby 'is temper must check, and in trifles must not be _too_ ticklish or tasty.

* * * * *

OUR FAMILY EXCHANGE COLUMN.

[The _Review of Reviews_ has started a Baby and Matrimonial Exchange.]

WANTED IMMEDIATELY, a Complete Set of Ancestors, by Advertiser, who is giving up Business and going in for High Finance. Crusaders or Plantagenets Preferred, or County Family of not less than Three Hundred Years Standing, on Approval. Guaranteed Pedigree Required. Will offer in Exchange 100,000 £1 Consolidated Gold Mine Shares.--Address, "South Africa," 507, Boom St.

I WILL GIVE UP All Rights in my Mother-in-Law in return for Second-hand Safety Bicycle, or 10_s._ Cash.--ED., Angelina Villas.

A BOON TO TESTATORS!--What Offers? A Poor Relation is Willing to Adopt Wealthy Old Lady (without encumbrance), having recently had a difference with his Relatives. Will Gladly exchange Views on the subject with any Benevolent and Elderly Gentlewoman.--"Legatee," c/o SMITHERS, Tobacconist, Old Kent Road.

CHANCE FOR PHILANTHROPISTS!--Absolutely Given Away!! After-season Clearance. Professional Man wishes to part with the last of a large assortment of Indigent Relatives. Excellent Opening for Capitalist. Warranted a Steady and Reliable Applicant for Assistance. No Charitable Old Maid should miss this Opportunity.--Address "Ratepayer," care of SMITHERS, Tobacconist. O. K. Road.

TWINS!--TWINS!!--TWINS!!!--Do you Want a Pair of Twins, quite new, with good strong voices and hearty appetites? They would appeal _to_ any Mother's Heart. Must reduce establishment. Would hand over to any young Married Couple with a Vacancy. Will take Fox-terrier or Prize Bantam.--"Pater," Letter Box 8 W.

WILL ANYONE oblige me with a Third Cousin-Twice-Removed, as my collection of specimens is incomplete? Have Half-step-sister-in-law (very rare variety, and very little worn) to spare.--"G.," "Family Tree" Inn, Hanwell.

GEORGE has a Smart and Good-looking Sister, whom he would be glad to swap for some Other Fellow's Sister, of similar appearance. Best Man also wanted.--Address, Bray House, Strand.

TO SELL OR EXCHANGE, a Job Lot of Uncles, mostly Wrong 'Uns. Would do for Sandwich-Men or Supers. No cash offer refused.--"A Dutiful Nephew," 1, Queer Street.

* * * * *

SOMETHING ATTRACTIVE IN A NAME.--Among the directors on the Board of the Mount Torrens Gold Mining Co., Limited, occurs a delightful name which we have not seen in real life since it first appeared in _Strapmore_ many years ago. It is "ALF PINTO"; the surname is "LEITE," and he is "Director of the Miner's Dream Gold Mines, Limited,"--why limit a "dream"? Is it not delightfully attractive? We trust "ALF PINTO" will find plenty of _Whole Quartz O!_ and that the success of the "M. T. G. M." may be the exact opposite of its two first initials, _i.e._, not "M. T." but quite full, up to the brim.

* * * * *

CANADIAN COPYRIGHT.--_The Author_ says "the much-vexed question of Canadian copyright has at length made some steps towards a settlement." Mr. CAINE, who has sailed for Canada, as one of the "settlers," is equal to "two single gentleman rolled into one," being certainly CAINE and, most decidedly, Able.