"No," said the Southern Lion, "we will give her our automatic record
of a Book-Advertisement; it is louder."

Then Diana trembled, indeed. But she bravely continued smiling,
and said: "Thank you a thousand times for doing it once! And now
please tell me what kind of Lions you are."

"Literary Lions," was their prompt and unanimous reply.

"Ah," she cried, clapping her hands with a charming gesture, "how
glad I am to meet you! I have been in New York more than twenty
years and never seen any one like you before! Come and sit beside
me and talk."

The Lions looked at each other rather sheepishly, and glanced up
and down the street, as if fearing the approach of a city ordinance.
But there was no one in sight except Diana, so they shook their
literary locks into a becoming disorder and sat on the steps with
her, purring gently.

"Now tell me," she said, "who you are."

If she had been less beautiful they would have resented this. But,
as it was, they looked sorry, and asked her if she had never read
"Who's Who in America"? She shook her head, and admitted that she
had not read it all through.

"Well," said her neighbor on the south, "this is rather an offhand
_soiree,_ and we may as well cut out proper names. But I will
put you wise to the fact that I am the Magazine Lion. I got away