leagues. We are five to one, so I
suggest that you come quietly."

To the curate he added, as they entered a waiting taxi, "You were quite
right, George; the chance of that little score was a soft thing."

The comments of the Complete Sportsman are best omitted. We are not the
author of _Pygmalion_.

* * * * *

Illustration: _Mistress._ "WHY, MARY, ISN'T THIS YOUR SUNDAY
AFTERNOON OUT? AREN'T YOU GOING FOR A WALK THIS LOVELY DAY?"

_Mary._ "PLEASE, 'M, I'D RATHER STAY IN. YOU SEE, MOST OF THE PEOPLE OUT
ON A SUNDAY IS COUPLES, AND I DON'T LIKE TO BE CONSPICUOUS."

* * * * *

From the Great North of Scotland Railway's advertisement in _The
Aberdeen Daily Journal_:--

"A train will leave Aberdeen at 7.30 p.m. for Aberdeen."

Thus enabling the cautious Aberdonian to improve his mind by travel at a
minimum of expense.

* * * * *

THE COMPLETE DRAMATIST.

_Introductory._

I take it that every able-bodied man and woman in this country wants to
write a play. Since the news first got about that Orlando
What's-his-name made L50,000 out of _The Crimson Sponge_, there has been
a feeling that only through the medium of the stage can literary art
find its true expression. The successful playwright is indeed a man to
be envied. Leaving aside for the moment the question of super-tax, the
prizes which fall to his lot are worth striving for. He sees his name
(correctly spelt) on 'buses which go to such different spots as
Hammersmith and West Norwood, and his name (spelt incorrectly) beneath
the photograph of somebody else in _The Illustrated Butler_. He is a
welcome figure at the garden-parties of the elect, who are always ready
to encourage him by accepting free seats for his play; actor-managers
nod to him; editors allow him to contribute without charge to a
symposium on the price of golf balls. In short he becomes a "prominent
figure in London Society"--and, if he is not careful, somebody will say
so.

But even the unsuccessful dramatist has his moments. I knew a young man
who married somebody else's mother, and was allowed by her fourteen
gardeners to amuse himself sometimes by rolling the tennis-court. It was
an unsatisfying life; and when rash acquaintances asked him what he did
he used to say that he was reading for the Bar. Now he says he is
writing a play--and we look round the spacious lawns and terraces and
marv