could have crushed him, but I was ignorant. Was that result right?"
He reflected awhile mournfully, but he could bring it out in no other
way. "I must go through with it to the bitter end," he concluded, "and
CATHERINE must be told." But the thought of CATHERINE knitting quietly
at home, while she read Fox's _Book of Martyrs_, with a tender smile
on her thin lips, unmanned him. He sobbed bitterly. The front-door
of the Rectory was open. He walked in.--The rest is soon told.
He resigned the Rectory, and made a brand-new religion. CATHERINE
frowned, but it was useless. Thereupon she gave him cold bacon for
lunch during a whole fortnight, and the brave young soul which had
endured so much withered under this blight. And thus, acknowledging
the novelist's artistic necessity, ROBERT died.--[THE END.]

* * * * *

WINTER SEASON AT COVENT GARDEN.--Opening of Italian Opera last
Saturday, with _Aida_. Very well done. "Wait" between Second and Third
Act too long: "Waiters" in Gallery whistling. Wind whistling, too, in
Stalls. Operatic and rheumatic. Rugs and fur capes might be kept on
hire by Stall-keepers. Airs in _Aida_ delightful: draughts in Stalls
awful. Signor LAGO called before Curtain to receive First Night
congratulations. Signor LAGO ought to do good business "in front,"
as there's evidently no difficulty in "raising the wind."

* * * * *

[Illustration: "L'ONION FAIT LA FORCE."

_John Bull_. "NOW, MY DEAR LITTLE PORTUGAL, AS YOU ARE STRONG BE WISE,
OR YOU'LL GET YOURSELF INTO A PRETTY PICKLE!"]