s of "The Dustheap," a little Club of which we were
both members. JESSAMY opined it was going to the dogs. "Just look,"
he said, "at the men they've got on the Committee; mere nobodies. I've
always wondered why you are not on it. Men like you and me wouldn't
make the ridiculous mistakes the present lot are constantly making.
Fancy their electing MUMPLEY, a regular outsider, without enough
manners for a school-boy. I really don't care about being in the
same room with him." At this very moment, by one of those curious
coincidences which invariably happen, the abused MUMPLEY himself, a
wealthy but otherwise inoffensive stockbroker, hove in sight. "There
comes the brute himself," said JESSAMY; and in another moment his arms
were round MUMPLEY's neck, and he was protesting, with all the fervour
of a heartfelt conviction, that MUMPLEY was the one man of all others
for whom his heart had been yearning. That being so, I left them
together, and departed to my business.

Now does JESSAMY imagine that that kind of thing makes him a
favourite? It must be admitted that he is not very artistic in his
methods; and I fancy he must sometimes perceive, if I may use a
homely phrase, that he doesn't go down. But the poor beggar can't
help himself. He is driven by a force which he finds it impossible
to resist into the cruel snares that are spread for the over-amiable.
You, my dear GUSH, are that force, and to you, therefore, the sugary
JESSAMY owes his failure to win the appreciation which he courts so
ardently.

And now I think I have relieved my mind of a sufficient load for the
time being. If I can remember anything else that might interest you,
you may count upon me to address you again. Permit me in the meantime
to subscribe myself with all proper curtness,

Yours. &c. DIOGENES ROBINSON.

* * * * *

"THE PRODIGY SON."

[Illustration: Much put out.]

Sir,--I have not seen _Pamela's Prodigy_, but I have just read the
criticism in the _Times_, which says of it, "It must be regarded
either as a boyish effusion or a sorry joke." The criticism
then points out how it lacks "wit, humour, literary skill," and
apparently is wanting in everything that goes to make a successful
play,--everything that is, except the actors. Mrs. JOHN WOOD was in
it: she is a host in herself: not only a host, but the Manageress of
the theatre who, with her partner in the business, is responsible for
the selection of pieces.