OWING TO THE INOPPORTUNE BREAKDOWN OF HIS PRIVATE MOTOR-CAR, THE ABOVE UNOBTRUSIVE VEHICLE (THE ONLY KIND AVAILABLE AT THE TIME) CONTAINS, BEHIND CAREFULLY DRAWN BLINDS, AN ACTOR-MANAGER EN ROUTE FOR A TRIUMPHAL TOUR OF THE UNITED STATES. MEMBERS OF THE ILLUSTRATED PRESS AND CINEMATOGRAPH FRATERNITY WHO WERE TO HAVE IMMORTALISED HIM AS HE MOUNTED HIS CAR, HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO PROCEED TO THE STATION AND THERE TAKE HIM IN HIS GOING-AWAY TROUSERS WITH ONE FOOT ON THE STEP OF A RESERVED SALOON.

While sounding threats, extremely free, There, while the world beneath thee

WAS JULIUS CESAR EVER IN
LONDON?

if I remember the title rightly, "Thumbs
Down! or, Ave, Cæsar!" The author
has evidently made the epoch the subject
of close study and much thought, and

DEAR SIR,-Permit me to settle this vexed question once and for all. A few being entirely disinterested I can years ago there was, in the neighbour- warmly recommend the volume (it hood of Herne Hill-and it may still flashes across my mind that it is pubbe there if a criminal disregard for lished at 6/-, with the usual discount) historic monuments has not allowed it to those who are fond of dwelling on to fall into decay-a neat and attractive the times that have passed away for erection bearing the inscription, JULIUS aye. CESAR SUMMER HOUSE, and some reference to rustic work which, being

Yours most sincerely,

V. CRUMMLES.
DEAR SIR, Whether JULIUS CÆSAR

extraneous, I have now forgotten. actually visited London or not, the

GARRICK, we know, had a villa at
Hampton, POPE a grotto at Twicken-
ham, BRUCE a castle at Tottenham,
HADRIAN a villa in Northumbria, and
so on. The interesting relic in South
London not only establishes the fact of
CAESAR'S presence, but indicates that
in the early days of the Roman occu-
pation it was customary to have a
period of summer here in our metro-
polis.
Yours faithfully,
HISTORICUS.

SIR, JULIUS CESAR never visited London. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE lived on the spot 300 years nearer his time, so that he was in a better position to form an accurate judgment. SHAKSPEARE makes no reference to the alleged incident, and he was a writer of great distinction, and generally accurate with regard to historical detail.

Yet

Mr. BERNARD SHAW, who also at one time resided on the spot, has written a play on the same subject. Mr. SHAW is fully capable of making up his history as he goes along, and the fact that he never invented this myth shows that he did not think it worth inventing.

The public and the press have-as usual got the thing wrong. In the present case they have probably confused some hazy recollection of Sir JULIUS CAESAR's tomb in the City with something, inaccurately related, which they have recently misread about the Cato Street conspiracy.

Yours truly,

ADELPHIAN.

MY DEAR SIR,-Possibly the solution of this burning question is to be found, not so much by examining local evidence as in the conscientious study of the conditions which existed in the palmy era of Rome's ascendency. In

BETTY HAS GROWN TIRED OF TEDDY BEARS,
SO NOW HER GOVERNESS IS QUITE IN THE
FASHION.

STUDY FOR A POPULAR
BALLAD.

WON'T you come, my dearest girlie,
At the hour of dawning day,
When the dewdrops bright and pearly
Mirror back the Milky Way!
When the owl is gently hooting

On the oleander tree,
And the nightingale is fluting

Tira lira, tra la lee?
Oh, put on your daintiest kirtle
Ere the turtle dove turns turtle
And the magic of the myrtle

Turns to ashes at our feet;
Come and listen to my pleading,
For 'tis you that I am needing,
And my tender heart is bleeding
For your love that is so sweet.
Wake and hurry with your toilet,
Little bonnie girlie mine,
Ere the petals of the violet*
Wither in the noonday shine.
Lo! the world its best apparel
Has ecstatically donned,
And the song-birds raise their carol
In your honour, Hildegonde;
And the kindly cows are mooing
As the cud they 're gently chewing,
And the cuckoos are cuckooing

And the merry lambkins bleat.
Come and listen to my pleading,
For 'tis you that I am needing,
And my tender heart is bleeding
For your love that is so sweet.
*Pronounce "voilet."

THE NOVEL OF THE SEASON.

It was Jones who began it by saying
excitedly, "Of course you 've read Pink
Poppies, the book of the publishing
season, that everybody's going crazy
over? I said, "No; do tell me about
it," and Jones gave me a résumé of the
plot, which, as he said, was a remark-
ably fine one, and described the cha-
racters, all (it seemed) wonderfully inte-
resting, and yet exactly like the people
one meets in everyday life; but there
weight of evidence is overwhelming
that the Phoenicians landed in Corn- was a something more about the book,
the Riviera of rienced to be believed, which it was
wall (aptly termed the Riviera of an atmosphere which had to be expe-
England) at a much earlier date. The impossible for him to attempt to com-
reason is not far to seek. Here, at St. impossible for him to attempt to com-
municate. I yawned and said I would
Blazes, while the climate is invigora-ma
ting, the mean annual-

You may send the Illustrated the same evening almost immediately
The lady whom I took in to dinner
Booklet if you insist, but this letter opened fire with, "Of course you've
must now cease.-ED.]
read Pink Poppies? What do you
feel about it?" And I (I hope I may
be forgiven) told a pink lie, and
answered, "Isn't it splendid?" adding
hurriedly, "but I would rather know
think of it." So I got
a second account of Pink Poppies, in
which the characters (and even the
plot) seemed rather different but none

this connection there is no more agree-
able way of acquiring the necessary
information than in the perusal of
sound literature, dealing-frequently in
the palatable guise of wholesome fiction "Elegance is, again, a different quality, and
-with the period concerned. Here I a woman may dress with 'chic,' but may not
am reminded of a little work which really attain elegance, while, on the other hand,
yet
was received very favourably by the who lack the very subtle gift of elegance."
press (The Clackfeldy Herald said, I Evening News.
think, "Painstaking. . . and displays
. . signs of . . . ability)." It is called,

there are some women who have 'chic' and

The chances of missing elegance seem
rather numerous.

what you

Now THAT PET DOGS ARE A RECOGNISED PART OF THE NATION'S LIFE, IT IS SURELY HIGH TIME THAT RESTAURANTS SHOULD MAKE SPECIAL PROVISION FOR THIS INFLUENTIAL SECTION OF THE PUBLIC.

the less beautiful and stimulating. authority on Pink Poppies, and was
Human nature, after all, is full of these celebrated as one who knew its hero
inconsistencies, and it was now that it more intimately and appreciated his
began to dawn on me what a wonder- mental struggles better than anybody
ful book Pink Poppies must be. Later else. I began to see the world through
on in the drawing-room I managed to pink spectacles, and whenever I met
obtain a third synopsis from another Jones I would thank him effusively for
lady (some of the characters seemed to being the first to introduce me to the
have altered their names in the mean- book.
time, but that, too, has been known to
occur in real life), and I began to find
myself taking strangely individual
views about the heroine, and differing disillusioned.
from the ordinary opinion about the
great emotional crisis of her life.

After that I read eagerly all the newspaper reviews of Pink Poppies, and they all agreed in praising it, though all for quite different reasons; other people also insisted on discussing Pink Poppies with me and growing enthusiastic about it until gradually out of the mist of warring motives and changing events there grew up in my mind a clear and beautiful memory: Pink Poppies became a part of my life, and I could more readily have borne the death of either of my greatuncles than the loss of the new friends I found in its pages. I became an

I have not yet read Pink Poppies, and I shall never bring myself to do so now, for I feel sure I should be horribly

A LOVE-SONG.
(Out of Season.)

HER name is merely Sarah Cooke;
She's not so bad a wench;

She knits and sews and even knows
A smattering of French;
And, what is more, her father's on
The local petty bench.

Her wit is of the nature which

Not frequently expands,
But, when it rips, produces quips
Which no one understands;
She has, as all her friends admit,
A useful pair of hands.

Her teeth remind observant folk

Rather of gold than pearls;
Her hair is sound and hedged around
With artificial curls;

Her eyes (a greyish-greenish-brown)
Are much as other girls'.

Her singing voice is strong and large,
She has a powerful throat;
Her hats suggest the cheaply dressed,
Her boots suggest the vote;
And she is undefeated by

The longest table d'hôte.

Her waist is of the size that most
Suggests security;

Her competence is not immense;
Her age is forty-three;

I cannot say what makes me think
She is the girl for me.

From the Secretary of the Victoria and Albert Museum:

"Sir, I am directed to acknowledge the receipt of your letter received yesterday which will receive attention."

This is one of those letters which cannot be dictated off-hand, demanding as they do the leisure of the study for their composition.