their description of them, all ravishingly beautiful. It is no
wonder they receive many applications of the following nature:

'CLYDE, a rising young doctor, twenty-two, fair, with a nice house and
servants; being tired of bachelor life, wishes to receive the
carte-de-visite of a dark, fascinating young lady, of from seventeen to
twenty years of age; no money essential, but good birth indispensable.
She must be fond of music and children, and very loving and
affectionate.'

Another doctor:

'Twenty-nine, of a loving and amiable disposition, and who has at
present an income of L120 a year, is desirous to make an immediate
engagement with a lady about his own age, who must be possessed of a
little money, so that by their united efforts he may soon become a
member of a lucrative and honourable profession.'

How the 'united efforts' of two young people, however enthusiastic, can
make a man an M.D. or an M.R.C.S. (except that love conquers all things)
is more than one can understand. The last advertisement I shall quote
affects me nearly, for it is from an eminent member of my own
profession:

'ALEXIS, a popular author in the prime of life, of an affectionate
disposition, and fond of home, and the extent and pressing nature of
whose work have prevented him from mixing much in society, would be glad
to correspond with a young lady not above thirty. She must be of a
pleasing appearance, amiable, intelligent, and domestic.'

If it is with the readers of penny fiction that Alexis has established
his popularity, I would like to know how he did it, and who he is. To
discover this last is, however, an impossibility. These novelists all
write anonymously, nor do their works ever appear before the public in
another guise. There is sometimes a melancholy pretence to the contrary
put forth in the 'Answers to Correspondents.' 'PHOENIX,' for example, is
informed that 'The story about which he inquires will not be published
in book form at the time he mentions.' But the fact is it will never be
so published at all. It has been written, like all its congeners, for
the unknown millions and for no one else.

Some years ago, in a certain great literary organ, it was stated of one
of these penny journals (which has not forgotten to advertise the
eulogy) that 'its novels, are equal to the best works of fiction to be
got at the circulating libraries.' The critic who so expressed himself
must have done so in a moment of hilarity which I