ave been addressed to the
reporters. I am glad I can control my thoughts, because I would not
for worlds let you know the truth. It is my ambition to figure as a
philanthropist, and on my word, I think this is the cheapest and most
effective mode of carrying out my intention."

Then the gentleman resumed his seat with a smile that suggested that
he was under the impression that he had just delivered himself of
sentiments bound to extort universal admiration.

"That is not exactly my case," observed a second speaker, "because I
do not care two pins for anything save the entertainments which are
invariably associated with scientific research, or philanthropical
inquiry. I pay my guinea, after considerable delay, and then expect
to take out five times that amount in grudgingly bestowed, but
competitionally provoked (if I may be pardoned the expression)
hospitality. I attend a portion--a small portion--of a lecture, and
then hurry off to the nearest free luncheon, or gratuitous dinner, in
the neighbourhood. I should be a tax upon my friends if I dropped in
at half-past one, or at a quarter to eight, punctually, and my motives
would be too wisely interpreted to a desire on my part to reduce the
sum total of my butcher's book. So I merely drop in upon a place where
a Congress is being held, and make the most of my membership."

"These startling statements are decidedly unconventional," said _Mr.
Punch_, turning towards his fair companion, "and that your influence
should cause them to be made, astounds me. I trust you will not
consider me indiscreet if I ask for--"

"My name and address," returned the fair maiden, smilingly, completing
the sentence; "Learn, then, that I live at the bottom of a well, to
which rather damp resting-place I am about to return; and that in
England I am called Truth."

And as the lady disappeared, _Mr. Punch_ fell from his chair, and
awoke!

"Dear me, I have been dreaming!" exclaimed the Sage, as he left
the meeting. "Well, as everyone knows, dreams are not in the least
like reality! But the strangest thing of all was to find Truth in a
Congress!"

And it was strange, indeed.

* * * * *

AT THE THEATRE!

_THE LYCEUM AGAIN. THE HAYMARKET ONCE MORE._

"Great Scott!" we exclaim,--not Critical CLEMENT of that ilk, but Sir
WALTER,--on again seeing _Ravenswood_. Since then an alteration in
the _modus shootendi_ has been made, and _Edgar_ no longer takes a
pot-