st, but I
was reddy with my anser, and boldly said, jest exaoly a quarter of a
million.

He told me that, in his own grand country, he was ginerally regarded
as a werry truthful man, which, of course, I was pleased to hear, for
sum of his statements was that staggering as wood have made me dowt
it in a feller-countryman. For hinstance, he acshally tried to make
me bleeve that his Country is about 20 times as big as ours! Well, in
course, common politeness made me pretend to bleeve him, speshally
as he's remarkable liberal to me, as most of his countrymen is, but
I coudn't help thinking as it woud have been wiser of him if he had
made his werry long Bow jest a leetle shorter. He's a remarkabel
fine-looking gennelman, and his manners quite comes up to my
description. ROBERT.

* * * * *

A LYRIC FOR LOWESTOFT.

[Mr. HENRY IRVING is studying for his new piece at Lowestoft.]

[Illustration]

Henry Irving, will the Master feel the fierce and bracing breeze,
As you wander by the margin of the restless Eastern seas?

Save the seagull slowly swirling none shall hear the tale of woe,
Learn how dark the life that ended in the fatal "Kelpie's Flow."

'Mid the murmur of the ocean you will tell how _Edgar_ felt
When his _Lucy_ broke her troth-plight, and he flung down _Craigengelt_,

Fitting place for actor's study, all that long and lonely shore;
Yonder point methinks as Wolf's Crag should be known for evermore.

Henceforth will the place be haunted when the midnight hour draws nigh:
Men shall see the Master standing stern against the stormy sky.

Faint, impalpable as shadow from the cloudland, _Lucy_ there
Shall keep tryst; the moon's effulgence not more golden than her hair.

And, in coming nights of Autumn, when the vast Lyceum rings
With reverberating plaudits, and the town thy praises sings,

Memories of the sands at Lowestoft shall be with you ere you sleep;
In your ears once more shall echo diapason of the deep.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A DREAM OF UNFAIRLY-TREATED WOMEN.

(_A Long Way After the Laureate._)]

I read, before my eyelids dropt their shade,
A leader on weak women and their woe,
In toil and industry, in art and trade,
In this hard world below.

And for awhile the thought of the sad part
Played by them and of Fate's ill-balanced scales,
Moistened mine eyelids, and made ache