A dark little creature a Life-guardsman could hold-up on his outstretched hand for the fifteen minutes of the performance; but he fills the hall and thrills the heart, wafts you to heaven; and does it as though he were conversing with his Andalusian lady-love in easy whispers about their mutual passion for Spanish chocolate all the while: so the musical critic of the Tirra-Lirra says.

Express trains every half hour from London; all the big people of the city.

Mr.Radnor commands them, like Royalty.

Totally different from that old figure of the wealthy City merchant; young, vigorous, elegant, a man of taste, highest culture, speaks the languages of Europe, patron of the Arts, a perfect gentleman.

His mother was one of the Montgomerys, Mr.Taplow says.
And it was General Radnor, a most distinguished officer, dying knighted.
But Mr.Victor Radnor would not take less than a Barony--and then only with descent of title to his daughter, in her own right.
Mr.Taplow had said as much as Victor Radnor chose that he should say.
Carriages were in flow for an hour: pedestrians formed a wavy coil.
Judgeing by numbers, the entertainment was a success; would the hall contain them?
Marvels were told of the hall.