--" Then they explained to
him that they were Wenham Coal-owners. Mr. J.L. TOOLE was immensely
relieved, and immediately invited his two acquaintances to partake of
refreshment on board the Houseboat now moored off King William Street,
Charing Cross.

* * * * *

"TE DUCE," &c.--Old Pupils who were at "Balston's," are requested by
Lord DUCIE to hurry up with their subscriptions to Memorial in Eton
College Chapel. A Ducie'd good idea.

* * * * *

CLEAR CASE OF SUPERSTITION.--Mr. GLADSTONE trusting to "SHIPTON's"
Prophecies.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "INNINGS CLOSED."

RIGHT HON. ARTHUR B. "DON'T YOU THINK IT'S TIME TO DECLARE THIS
INNINGS _CLOSED_?"]

* * * * *

THE CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.

NO. XI.--THE DUFFER IN LOVE.

Mrs. MCDUFFER never greatly admired the lady with whom this confession
is concerned. She denies that CECILIA BRAND was pretty, and when I
do not answer (for where is the use of argument in such a case?), she
remarks that I am too short-sighted to know whether a woman is pretty
or not. This appears to myself to be an injudicious assertion, and the
flank of my opponent might be turned if it were worth while. But it is
not worth while. A Duffer I may be, but not such a duffer as to reason
with a woman. If you score a point (and how many times one sees an
opening in the fair one's harness), a woman is angry, or cries, or
both, and there is no repartee to that _ultima ratio_.

[Illustration: "It was while thus engaged that I heard a sound of
female voices."]

I maintain, then, that CECILIA was pretty, and very pretty; pleasant,
and very pleasant. No doubt she keeps those qualities yet. I do not
believe in the syllogism by which a man persuades himself that he was
a fool, that he had a lucky escape, that a girl becomes quite another
person, and usually very stout and stupid, because she has preferred
someone else to himself. No, if we met to-morrow--But Fortune forbid
that we should meet to-morrow, or any other day! I have no relics of
CECILIA. I had some,--an old glove, a lash of a riding-switch, and
other trifles. I kept them in the secret drawer of a bureau, and in
my absence that bureau was traded away for a new aesthetic article,
relics and all, of course. Perhaps some minor poet bought the piece
of furniture, and found the things, and wrote a poem on them. That is