invitation, visitors would limit their stay to five
minutes.

"Dermot O'Leary." The name, as that of a
public man, did not sound familiar. I was
beginning to speculate how in the world our
Cæsar had "grown so great," when a young
gentleman, in a blue frock, suddenly hung out a
second placard, presenting to my startled eyes
the figure of a man of colossal stature, with his
arm extended horizontally, about two feet above
the head of another, presumed to be of ordinary
height, standing at his side.

A GIANT! I felt my blood curdle. I shrank
back instinctively; but, in a moment, the accustomed
counter-feeling urged me forward, and I
perused, from end to end, the condensed
biography of the "Greatest Man of the Age," as
set forth, in type inaptly small, on the bill.
"Age, twenty-seven; height, eight feet, wanting
an inch; weight, nineteen stone; father and
mother, average size; sister, six feet four, shooting
up." Such were some of the particulars. A
very respectable monster indeed.

I tried to move on. Impossible! My feet
seemed rooted to the ground. A strange longing
to see the creature was becoming every
instant more importunate. To enter alone,
however, was a thing not to be thought of. Where
was the expected crowd? Safely ensconced in
their midst, I might have enjoyed my gaze, and
vanished.

As I hesitated, two persons came forth, in
eager conversation. I caught a few words, which
were not uttered in a confidential tone "most
interesting,"— "singular physiological
phenom——,"— " crowd too dense for——"

The last expression sufficed. I paid my franc,
and, ascending a few stairs on the right, arrived
at a heavy crimson curtain, before which was
seated the young gentleman in blue. He took
my check, and demanded my parasol. Why did
he want my parasol? Did he think I might
injure his little giant with that lethal weapon?
On no consideration that could be proposed to
me would I place myself within its length of
the Greatest Man, but part with it I would not.
Seeing me resolved, the boy lifted the curtain,
and admitted me. To my utter astonishment I
was alone!

A sickening horror seized me. I clutched
the curtain.

"Open . . . . let me out," I gasped, trying
madly, but in vain, to find the opening.

"P-p-pardon me," said a very small, nervous
voice, somewhere near the ceiling. "Will you
not t-take a chair?"

I lifted my eyes to the region of the little
voice. There, within a few paces of me, stood
the giant. How he entered I never knew;
probably through another curtained entrance at
the side. He was in complete evening dress,
even to white cravat and gloves; he carried
an opera hat, and bore altogether the appearance
of a highly-magnified waiter with a tea-
tray. His immense countenance conveyed no
ideas of savage passion or inordinate appetite.
It was a perfect sea of vacuous good humour,
chequered with an expression of awkward diffidence,
which, in an individual of his proportions,
struck me as absurd. If such a word as "finikin"
could with any propriety be applied to a
gentleman eight feet high and broad in proportion,
here was that monster.

I could not restrain a faint giggle; then,
angry with myself, coloured to the eyes, and
made a new attempt to get away.

If giants giggle, the sound emitted by the
greatest man partook of that character. Blush
I am sure he did, and the idea that he was at
least as alarmed and embarrassed as myself, was
so far reassuring, that, though annoyed, I was
still sensible of the unkindness of quitting so shy
a monster without the interchange of a word.
But what to say?

The giant shifted from one huge foot to
another, curled his moustache with an effort to
appear at ease, and finally, with another giggle,
inquired:

"Did you ever, madame, see so large a man
as myself?"

I murmured, faintly, that I could not bear
testimony to anything so prodigious.

The giant did not seem gratified. On the
contrary, to my surprise he appeared to wince,
and certainly knit his brows. The thought
flashed across me, "Have I hurt his feelings?
This immoderate structure is, after all, a deformity
—a misfortune. How could I have been
so thoughtless!"

"But" I hastened to add, with desperate
politeness, "you, with your fine proportions—
so—so well——"

Again I stopped, colouring scarlet. Here
was I, an English lady, bred up in all the
delicate restraints of society, coolly paying my
franc for the privilege of a tête-à-tête with a
monstrous stranger, of whose existence I had
never before heard, openly discussing with him
his personal appearance, and unable to advance
any better apology for all this unreserve than
that my friend was twice the ordinary size. I
was resolved to put an end to the interview.
Bowing slightly, as perfectly satisfied, I made
a feint to go. But this movement seemed to
give the giant, courage. He gently interposed
his huge bulk.

"Let me hope, madam," he said, "you will
not confine yourself too rigidly within the terms
of my bill. My arrival is, at present, but little
known in M——. It is rarely, indeed, that I—
that is, I——Forgive me" (he sighed deeply).
"All I mean to say is, that my time, every
second of it, is completely at your service. Ask
me any questions you please."

Questions! What could he mean? What do
little people ask giants? How they are fed?
Who cuts their hair? Where they take exercise
unseen? If they ever find horses big enough to
ride? What weather they have "up there"?
The little voice broke on my meditations.

"Would you like," it asked, with a slight
tremor, "to s-span my chest!"

"Sir!"

"Or p-poke my leg?"