"_The Carnival_" is announced, as "MOLLOY'S last hit." We hope not. We trust that it is only Misther JAMES MOLLOY's _latest_ hit. "Never say die!"
As a companion to "_Come Dance the Romaika_," will be published, "_Come Read the Romeike_," set up and composed by the Press Cutting Agency.
RATHER STARTLING.--A Correspondent sends us a cutting from a paper:--
"Mr. MOODY, the Evangelist, who was a passenger on the _Spree_, ... preached an able discourse."
She says, "I can read no more to-day. Mr. MOODY, as 'a passenger on the _Spree_,' is too much for my feelings." As _Joe_ said to _Pip_, "What larks!" Yours truly, SHOCKED!
["The Agricultural Conference unhappily seems to have made up its mind to defy the recognised laws of economic science, instead of endeavouring to adapt their farming methods to them. The first of the two operative resolutions passed yesterday was an undisguised proposal for the re-adoption of Protection."--_The Times._]]
ST. BARBE, as a literary man and critic, always professed a desire to live in a quiet neighbourhood. Therefore, as I approached his house, on the almost inaccessible slopes of Campden Hill, I was amazed to see a large and increasing crowd assembled in the vicinity. Pushing my way through, I saw that St. BARBE'S windows were broken, glass was in a weak minority in the panes, and, what was more singular, the breakage seemed to be done _from within_! Objects were flying out into the garden, and those objects were books. I had the curiosity and agility to catch a few as they fell, and to pick others up. They were mostly volumes of Poetry, and, in every case, they bore ST. BARBE'S name on the fly-leaf, with a flattering manuscript inscription by the author. Some of the authors' names were unknown to me; in others I recognised ladies of title whom I had read about in the Society Journals. Urging my way through a hot fire of octavos, I rang the bell. The maid who opened the door said, "You're not an Interviewer, Sir?"
"It is lucky for you, Sir; he's got an air-gun, and winged two Interviewers to-day, and shot one in the hat."
"I am a friend of Mr. ST. BARBE'S." I explained, scarcely audible amidst the yells of that man of letters.
"He's awful bad to-day, Sir, assaulted a parcels-delivery man, who was too heavy for him."