was THOMAS TATTERS. BONDUCA cowered;
the noble dames fled shrieking down the valley.

"Bo," said he, "my own sweet Bo, behold the blood-red ray in the
spectrum of your young life."

"Say those words quickly," she retorted.

"Certainly," said TATTERS. "Blood-red ray, Broo-red ray, Broo-re-ray,
Brooray! Tush!" he broke off, vexed with BONDUCA and his own imperfect
tongue-power, "you are fooling me. Beware!"

"I know you, I know you!" was all she could gasp, as she bowed herself
submissive before him. "I detest you, and shall therefore marry you.
Trample upon me!" And he trampled upon her.

CHAPTER V.

Thus BO PEEP lost her sheep, leaving these fleecy tail-bearers to
come home solitary to the accustomed fold. She did but humble herself
before the manifestation of a Wessex necessity.

And Fate, sitting aloft in the careless expanse of ether rolled
her destined chariots thundering along the pre-ordained highways
of heaven, crushing a soul here and a life there with the tragic
completeness of a steam-roller, granite-smashing, steam-fed,
irresistible. And butter was churned with a twang in it, and rustics
danced, and sheep that had fed in clover were "blasted," like poor
BONDUCA's budding prospects. And, from the calm nonchalance of a
Wessex hamlet, another novel was launched into a world of reviews,
where the multitude of readers is not as to their external
displacements, but as to their subjective experiences.

[THE END.

* * * * *

THE NEW GALLERY.

This is the place to see the "female form divine" of all shapes and
sizes. Walk up, walk up, and look at a few of the young Ladies:--

No. 13. "_White Roses._" E.J. POYNTER, R.A. Thorns here, evidently,
judging by the young woman's look of anguish. And this is the moral
POYNTER points.

No. 66. "_A War Cloud._" A Music-HALLE singing "_Rule Britannia!_"
with proper dressings.

No. 18. "_Paderewski._" Surely it ought to be PATTY REWSKY, with
"Miss" before the name. _Moral_, "Get your hair cut!"

No. 284. "_Nightfall in the Dauphinee._" "_Might_ fall," it ought to
be, and no wonder if she walked about on so dark a night with such a
load in her arms!

No. 165. "_Che sara sara._" A pedestrian match in the Metropolis. In
fact, _Walker, London_. A portrait of _Sarah_, after she has been
let down into the punt, the shock having dislocated her shoulder. She
might have kept _Col. Neal's_ clothes round her neck to hide her back.

No.