wards an acquaintance of mine--a barrister with antiquarian
tastes--was dining with me in my Cornish home, and the talk after dinner
fell upon the weekly papers and reviews. On _The Speaker_ he touched with
a reticence which I set down at first to dislike for his politics.
By and by, however, he let slip the word "untrustworthy."

"Holding your view of its opinions," I suggested, "you might fairly say
'misleading.' 'Untrustworthy' is surely too strong a word."

"I am not talking," said he, "of its opinions, but of its mis-statements
of fact. Some time ago it printed an article on a place which it called
'The Westminster Scutorium,' and described in detail. I happened to pick
the paper up at my club and read the article. It contained a heap of
historical information on the forms and ceremonies which accompany the
granting of titles, and was apparently the work of a specialist.
Being interested (as you know) in these matters, and having an hour to
spare, I took a hansom down to Westminster. At the entrance of Dean's
Yard I found a policeman, and inquired the way to the Scutorium. He eyed
me for a moment, then he said, 'Well, I thought I'd seen the last of 'em.
You're the first to-day, so far; and yesterday there was only five.
But Monday--_and_ Tuesday--_and_ Wednesday! There must have been thirty
came as late as Wednesday; though by that time I'd found out what was the
matter. All Monday they kept me hunting round and round the yard,
following like a pack. Very respectable-looking old gentlemen, too, the
whole of 'em, else I should have guessed they were pulling my leg.
Most of 'em had copies of a paper, _The Speaker_, and read out bits from
it, and insisted on my searching in this direction and that . . . and me
being new to this beat, and seeing it all in print! We called in the
postman to help. By and by they began to compare notes, and found they'd
been kidded, and some of 'em used language. . . . I really think, sir, you
must be the last of 'em.'"

MAY.

I was travelling some weeks ago by a railway line alongside of which ran a
quickset hedge. It climbed to the summit of cuttings, plunged to the base
of embankments, looped itself around stations, flickered on the skyline
above us, raced us along the levels, dipped into pools, shot up again on
their farther banks, chivvied us into tunnels, ran round and waited for us
as we emerged. Its importunity drove me to the other side of the
carriage, onl