Chinese imagination has run riot in doing honour to ink. As there are divinities to preside over almost every object, the instruments of literature do not lack their supernatural guardians, and their place and precedence are settled by strict rules of etiquette. The ‘Prefect of the Black Perfume’ is the official style of the ink-deity, and he ranks higher than the ‘Guardian Spirit of the Pencil;’ whilst on a still lower level stands the ‘Genius of Paper.’ One day when the Emperor Hiuan-tsong, of the Tang dynasty, was at work in his study, suddenly there popped out from a stick of ink that lay upon his table a quaint figure no larger than a fly, but having all the appearance of a Taoist priest. The startled monarch was soon reassured by the words of the apparition. ‘Behold,’ it said, ‘the Genius of the Ink. My title is the Envoy of the Black Fir, and I have to announce to you that henceforth, when a man of true learning or genius writes, the Twelve Deities of Ink shall make their appearance to testify to the reality of his powers.’ Alas for literature! From that day to this, the Twelve Deities of Ink have remained invisible, although many centuries have passed away. THE GREAT JEWEL ROBBERY. The little world of fashionable London society was startled a few years ago by reports of a series of daring jewel robberies. The most costly gems seemed to disappear as if by magic under the very eyes of their owners. These robberies defied detection. A clue in one case was upset by the facts in another. When my aid as private detective was called in, I resolved to confine my attention to three distinct cases, though, of course, if useful information came in my way concerning other matters, I should know how to take advantage of it. The first of the three on my list was the case of the Dowager Lady A., a somewhat eccentric old lady, who found her chief delight in arraying herself in her most valuable jewels and visiting in regular rotation all the West-end theatres. One night, when returning from one of these expeditions, her carriage had been overturned by colliding with an omnibus. The dowager was seriously injured, and within a few days she was dead. Then, apparently for the first time, it was discovered that the whole of the jewels worn by Lady A. on the night of the carriage accident had mysteriously disappeared. Her maid was so overcome by the sight of her injured mistress, that she failed altogether to remember what was done with these jewels at the moment when her ladyship was undressed. It was even a question whether they might not have been actually lost in the street during the confusion of the accident. At all events, no trace of them could be found, and it soon became evident that in the excitement of summoning relatives, fetching doctors, and, very soon, nurses and undertakers, half-a-dozen persons might have entered the house and walked off with the jewels without any chance of detection.