MONSIEUR JOSEPH. On the day that I left hospital, with a month's sick leave in hand, I went to dine at my favourite Soho restaurant, the Mazarin, which I always liked because it provided an excellent meal for an extremely modest sum. But this evening my steps turned towards the old place because I wanted a word with Monsieur Joseph, the head-waiter. I found him the same genial soul as ever, though... more...

THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD. AN ADAPTATION. BY ORPHEUS C. KERR. CHAPTER XXIV. MR. CLEWS AT HIS NOVEL. Thrown into Rembrandtish relief by the light of a garish kerosene lamp upon the table: with one discouraged lock of hair hanging over his nose, and straw hat pushed so far back from his phrenological brow that its vast rim had the fine artistic effect of a huge saintly nimbus: Mr. BUMSTEAD sat... more...

THE GAME OF THE LITTLE HORSES. (A Sketch at the Casino, Dinard.) On either side of the circular Race-course, with its revolving metal horses, is a Green Table, divided into numbered squares, around which the Players, who are mostly English, are sitting or standing. A Croupier with his rake presides at each table. In an obscure corner of the balcony outside, Miss DAINTREE and her Married Sister have... more...

HOW TO THROW OFF AN ARTICLE. "Do you really write?" said Sylvia, gazing at me large-eyed with wonder. I admitted as much. "And do they print it just as you write it?" "Well, their hired grammarians make a few trifling alterations to justify their existence." "And do they pay you quite a lot?" "Sixpence a word." "Oo! How wonderful!" "But not for every... more...

"Great Scot!" [Extorted, by circumstances beyond his control, from a stolid but unsuccessful Saxon Shootist at Bisley and Wimbledon, after the match at the latter place between picked twenties of the London Scottish and the London Rifle Brigade, won easily by the former team.] Oh! the Scot lot are all cracks at a shot, And extremely successful at Hunting the Pot. This particular "Saxon"... more...

WRESTLING WITH WHISTLERS. (A Reminiscence of a Recent Exhibition.) SCENE—The Goupil Gallery. Groups of more or less puzzled Britons discovered, conscientiously endeavouring to do justice to the Collection, having realised that Mr. WHISTLER's work is now considered entitled to serious consideration, but feeling themselves unable to get beyond a timid tolerance. In addition to these, there are... more...

The Elysian Fields, a flower-gemmed bank, by a flowing stream, beneath the sylvan shade of unfading foliage. Mr. Punch—who is free of all places, from Fleet Street to Parnassus—discovered, in Arcadian attire, attempting "numerous verse" on a subject of National importance—to wit, the approaching Royal Marriage. Mr. Punch. Propt on this "bank of amaranth and moly,"Beneath the shade... more...

25 MARCH 1914. The attention of the American Ambassador has been called to the danger of after-dinner speaking. There is many a true word said in digestion—and the truth is apt to hurt sensitive nations. Art circles continue to seethe with indignation over the National Gallery outrage. Even the Post-Impressionists have now no sympathy with the Suffragettes, for they realise that, while in this... more...

TO-DAY'S AMUSEMENTS. (As they will probably be advertised in the Press of the day after to-morrow.) EXECUTION OF THE LITTLE PEDLINGTON MURDERER.—Reserved gallows seats, immediately behind the drop, commanding a clear view of the dying struggles, with chance of hearing the criminal's last confession; Lady's ticket Two Guineas. Lady and Gentleman's, ditto, three guineas. (8.30 A.M.)... more...

WITH THE AUXILIARY PATROL. I do not think there was a single man of the ship's company who bore the loss of poor Mnemosyne dry-eyed. From the lieutenant down to the trimmer we had become sincerely attached to this affectionate little creature, and when unhappily, during the temporary absence of the steward, she ventured to circumvent the rim of an open condensed milk-tin, missed her footing and... more...