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Ever since that time he has been a protégé of Lady Wastdale's, and she has vowed to him that, at the next election, he shall be returned as member of Parliament for Cotton-cum-Barley, in which borough her husband possesses great interest. It is for this reason that Mr. Page feels that he must go to Lady Wastdale's house to-night, and he therefore, though with much groaning, slowly proceeds to attire himself in evening dress.

'Haven't I read somewhere,' he moodily mutters to himself as he is dressing, 'of a King who, not wanting to go somewhere, sent his boots instead? How I should like,' he remarks, 'to send mine to Lady Wastdale's to-night! only as I'm not a Crowned Head, her ladyship would probably fail to see the point of the joke.' Thus soliloquising, Mr. Page continues to dress, till, as he wriggles into his shirt, his thoughts take another turn. 'What a blessing studs are!' he suddenly exclaims, as he contemplates with satisfaction his shirt front; 'they make mankind independent of buttons, and so have removed one of the ills of life. Women now-a-days,' continues Mr. Page, say that their duty is not to sew on buttons, or to provide cold-mutton for the family dinner. They object (the women say) to "the buttons and cold-mutton" theory of their existence.

Well, thank goodness!' remarks Mr. Page, 'the extensive use of studs will soon enable men not to trouble the women any longer upon the subject of buttons; and I am not without hope,' Mr. Page proceeds grimly, that a judicious use of Australian mutton (which is imported, I believe, ready cooked) may shortly prevent us men having to trouble the women to provide cold mutton for our dinners. The women will then ' (Mr. Page turns down the lamp as he speaks, and feels rapidly in his pockets to see whether he has got his purse, his door-key, and his pocket handkerchief) be enabled to cultivate their intellects to the full. And don't I wish,' concludes Mr. Page as he bangs the outer door of his chambers after him, 'that I had a wife who could argue that insurance case in banc for me to-morrow!' With which benevolent aspiration Mr. Page walks forth into the Strand, hails a hansom, and drives off rapidly to Lady Wastdale's house.

'It will be two o'clock A.M.,' he goes on with a groan as he sinks back into the hansom, 'before I get back to chambers. Suppose,' he continues,' that Lady Wastdale does get me in for Cotton-cumBarley; suppose that I do get silk (which of course I shall do whenever I choose to apply for it); sup

pose even that some day I become Page C.B.,' or Page C.J., is the sport worth the candle? Is not the life of an English judge one of the most millhorse character-one eternal round of sittings in banc, sittings at nisi prius, sittings at chambers, sittings at assizes? Shouldn't I get far more pleasure out of my life if I were to give up the Bar, and go and live in some other country than this wretched foggy England? But pshaw! What folly am I talking! Our lots in life are appointed for us, and I must follow out mine-to the end!'

So musing, Mr. Page arrives at Lady Wastdale's house, descends from his cab, and speedily mingles with the crowd which is thronging her ladyship's brilliantly-lighted rooms. Whether Mr. Page will eventually become Lord Chief Justice of England, or Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer, who shall tell? This much, however, is certain-that at present he is neither a happy nor a contented man, though he is 'a rising junior.'

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COUNTRY SESSIONS.

I 'GO' Stoneyshire and Greenpool sessions. I have 'gone' them regularly for the last fifteen years, and, to all appearance, I seem likely to continue to 'go' them for the next fifteen. I wish I could say that my professional success at sessions had been at all commensurate with the perseverance with which I have 'gone' them, but unhappily I can't. Of course every barrister who 'goes' sessions steadily is sure sometimes to get an odd brief or two, and hence it comes to pass that my voice is not absolutely unknown at Stoneyshire Quarter Sessions.

On the last occasion on which I had the honour of addressing a Stoneyshire jury, I replied upon the whole case for the prosecution at such length that I have since been credibly assured-for in the excitement of making my speech I did not, somehow, observe the fact myself that I succeeded in sending no fewer than five of the jurymen to sleep. My old friend, Rusticus (who is a J.P. for Stoney

shire, and as such was seated upon the magisterial bench whilst I was addressing the jury upon this memorable occasion), was afterwards kind enough to inform me, when I met him outside of the court, that the address which I had just delivered was the dullest and the most confused oration to which he had ever listened. He was also good enough to observe to me that I appeared to him towards the close of my speech to have so completely lost myself in its labyrinths, that he (Rusticus) whispered to the chairman at Quarter Sessions to beg him to begin to sum up the case to the jury-so as to induce me to think that I had brought my speech to an end!

'My dear Rusticus,' I responded, keeping my temper under this stupid joke at my expense in the most admirable way, my dear Rusticus, seeing that at no period of your life could you ever manage to utter three consecutive sentences in public,. without floundering about in them in the most helpless way, and that upon the solitary occasion on which you contested Stoneyshire, and were not returned' (Rusticus winced), 'you were obliged to bring down a man from London to make your speeches for you' (Rusticus winced again), 'you are no doubt admirably qualified to express an opinion upon the speech which I have just had the honour of delivering in court.

The

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