me; I learnt the art of threading needles as a boy from an East End
seamstress," and before he had time to protest, I had seized the
offending instruments, and by a stroke of inspiration had passed the
cotton through. Then without waiting to hear what FUSSELL might have
to say, I fled from the room. And here consequently I sit with my
nerves shattered, and an untasted crumpet cooling on the tea-tray.

Am I singular? I think not. There are others whose mannerisms plague
me too. For instance, TRUBERRY, whom I meet occasionally, has a wild
and venomous habit of relating to me his infinitesimal jokelets. That
I could pardon. But when, having related one, he bursts, as he always
does, into a helpless suffocation of purple laughter, the savage
within me awakes and I murder TRUBERRY in fancy to an accompaniment
of refined and protracted tortures. Once, as I helped him on with his
overcoat, he joked and exploded. My fingers were horribly near his
throat. But I mastered the impulse, and TRUBERRY will never know how
near he was to destruction. And to make matters worse, he is one
of the kindest and most considerately helpful of human beings. Oh,
IRRITATION, IRRITATION, you have much to answer for. The fly in the
ointment of the apothecary was a baby to you. Avaunt, avaunt!

DIOGENES ROBINSON.

* * * * *

THE VERY LATEST.--Mrs. RAM had a paragraph read to her from the
_D.T.'s_ "London Day by Day," recounting how the Archbishop of
CANTERBURY when staying at Haddo House, had attended service in the
parish Kirk, which conduct might have provoked High Churchmen to
assail him for "bowing the knee in the House of Rimmon." Thinking