peak out, mind.
Better go backwards; start at yesterday."

Telson took the precious volume solemnly and began, frequently
interrupted by the protests of the author, and more frequently by the
laughter of his audience.

"`Thursday, the 4th day of the week.'" ("I always thought it was the
fifth," observed Cusack).--"Rose at 6:13. Time forbad to shave down in
the Big. N.B.--The world is big, I am small in the world, I sawest
Riddell who is now in Welch's playing cricket with the little boys.
Pilbury sported too, ugly in the face. (Here all but Pilbury seemed
greatly amused.) Also Cusack, who thinks a great deal,"--("Hear, hear,"
from Cusack)--"about himself. (Laughter.) I attend an election at 10:2
in the Big. Parson taketh the chair. Parson is a f--l and two
between."

"Oh!" broke in the outraged Parson. "I knew he was a Radical cad. All
right, Bosher, my boy; you'll catch it! Steam away, Telson!"

"`It was a gross meeting, Pringle being much stuck-up. He maketh a
speech. Meditations while Pringle is making a speech. The grass is
very green. (Great laughter at Pringle's expense.) I will aspire up
Telson thinketh he is much, but thou ist not oh, Telson, much at all I
spoke boldly and to the point. I am the Radical.'"

"There you are!" exclaimed Parson, triumphantly: "didn't I tell you so?
Bosher! What do you mean by telling such howling crams, Bosher?"

"I only meant--"

"Shut up! Fire away, Telson!"

"`I am the Radical. I desire to smash everything the little Welchers
make noises. Meditations: let me be noble dinner at 3:1 stew. The
turnips are gross. I request leave of Riddell to go to the town to-
morrow but he sayeth no. I am roused'--that's all of yesterday."

"About enough too!" exclaimed the wrathful Parson. "Just read the day
before, before we start hiding him."

"Oh, please don't lick me!" cried the unhappy author: "I'll apologise,
you know, Parson, Telson; please don't!"

"`Wednesday--rose at 8:13. Sang as I shaved the Vicar of Bray. I shall
now describe my fellows which are all ugly and gross. Parson is the
worst.'"

"Eh?" exclaimed the wrathful owner of that name.

"`Parson is the worst,'" read Telson, with evident glee, "`and--and--'
oh, let's see," he added, hurriedly turning over the page.

"No, no; read fair; do you hear?" cried Parson. "No skipping."

"I'll crack your skull, Bosher," said Telson, indignantly, handing the
diary across to Parson and pointing to