Sitting in a large café, one day, I saw the strangest sight. For an old man, a wretched, dusty, unkempt dotard, entered at the far end, and shuffled swiftly along the room. And as he passed the little tables, the crowds of women there smiled on him, threw him flowers, tried to seize his hand, and endeavoured in a hundred ways to attract his attention and win his regard. ‘Now, this is surely the strangest thing that ever happened,’ I said, as the old man approached; ‘is he a famous poet, then, or has he a cellar-full of diamonds, that the women should love him so!’ He must have heard me, or noted the surprise written on my face, for when he came closer, he stayed his feet for a moment, and muttered in my ear:-- ‘I was ever a great lady-killer! My name is Time’; and he chuckled horribly. THE MUTINY There was once a Jew, who lived many years in England and in time became very rich. For this, he was made a lord, and was known henceforth as Lord Roasbif. So he bought a large estate in the country, and lived the life of a good old English country gentleman. Nothing delighted my Lord Roasbif more than to speak to large concourses of simple people, so on an evil night in November he went to the Agricultural Hall in Bosmouth, a small town on the east coast, to speak at a political meeting. A large crowd awaited him in the hall, and the organist played ‘Hearts of Oak’ four times. No one heard, from afar, a murmuring sound that gradually grew louder and louder. There was a great clapping of hands when Lord Roasbif stood up, so that his heart was warmed and he spoke well, touching on matters political and social. A few people at the back of the hall heard a strange sound. My Lord Roasbif was almost inspired, and spoke of the ‘Glorious Embire’ and ‘Our Island Raze’ with wonderful fervour. But now the noise outside had grown very much louder, and all the people looked at each other in wonder and fear. There seemed to be a prodigious high tide. ‘Chentlemen,’ cried Roasbif, ‘gome whad may, our Embire is sdill, and and always vill be as long as de Bridish raze remains--mistress of--’ ‘The Sea!’ shrieked a hundred voices. But it was too late. The grey flood swept through the building with appalling fury and engulfed them all. DEATH AND THE FIDDLER There was once a Fiddler, who possessed a great and powerful secret. For he knew the tune, the only tune, to which Death would dance, and he could play it well. Now the Fiddler, though he had but poor health, had no great reason to fear Death, and he wedded with a girl from a neighbouring village. On the night following the wedding, there was a merry company assembled at the house of the Fiddler, and everyone was talking, laughing or singing, when suddenly there was a tapping at the window. The Fiddler looked out and saw Death beckoning to him. So, not wishing to disturb his guests, he picked up his fiddle and went out of the house.