say Jeames's face wore quite a different look when it rose gasping out
of the porter; and I judge of his dispositions from the above trivial
incident.

The last boy in the sketch, 6, need scarcely be particularized. Doctor's
boy; was a charity-boy; stripes evidently added on to a pair of the
doctor's clothes of last year--Miss Clapperclaw pointed this out to me
with a giggle. Nothing escapes that old woman.

As we were walking in Kensington Gardens, she pointed me out Mrs.
Bragg's nursery-maid, who sings so loud at church, engaged with a
Lifeguardsman, whom she was trying to convert probably. My virtuous
friend rose indignant at the sight.

"That's why these minxes like Kensington Gardens," she cried. "Look at
the woman: she leaves the baby on the grass, for the giant to trample
upon; and that little wretch of a Hastings Bragg is riding on the
monster's cane."

Miss C. flew up and seized the infant, waking it out of its sleep, and
causing all the gardens to echo with its squalling. "I'll teach you to
be impudent to me," she said to the nursery-maid, with whom my vivacious
old friend, I suppose, has had a difference; and she would not release
the infant until she had rung the bell of Bungalow Lodge, where she gave
it up to the footman.

The giant in scarlet had slunk down towards Knightsbridge meanwhile. The
big rogues are always crossing the Park and the Gardens, and hankering
about Our Street.