A CYCLE OF CATHAY.--_The Yorkshire Evening Post_, in reporting the case of a motor-cyclist charged with travelling at excessive speed on the highway at Selby, represents a police-sergeant as stating that "he timed defendant over a distance of 633 years, which was covered in 64 secs." The contention of the defendant that he had been "very imperfectly timed" has an air of captiousness. * * * * * "Many roads in the district are unfit for motorists," is the report of the Tadcaster surveyor to his council. We understand the inhabitants have resolved to leave well alone. * * * * * At a meeting of the Four Wheeler's Association, a speaker boasted, with some justification, that a charge which is brought every day against drivers of motor-cars has never been brought against members of their Association, namely, that of driving at an excessive speed. * * * * * Rumour is again busy with the promised appearance of a motor-bus which is to be so quiet that you will not know that there is one on the road until you have been run over. * * * * * Illustration: AN UNPARDONABLE MISTAKE.--_Short-sighted Old Lady._ "Porter!" * * * * * Illustration: NOSCE TEIPSUM.--_Lady Cyclist_ (_touring in North Holland_). "What a ridiculous costume!" * * * * * Illustration: _Sporting Constable_ (_with stop-watch--on "police trap" duty, running excitedly out from his ambush, to motorist just nearing the finish of the measured furlong_). "For 'evin's sake, guv'nor, let 'er rip, and ye'll do the 220 in seven and a 'arf!" * * * * * MY MOTOR CAP [Motor-caps, we are informed, have created such a vogue in the Provinces, that ladies, women and factory girls may be seen wearing them on every occasion, though unconnected, in other respects, with modern methods of locomotion.] A motor car I shall never afford With a gay vermilion bonnet, Of course I _might_ happen to marry a lord, But it's no good counting on it. I have never reclined on the seat behind, And hurtled across the map, But my days are blest with a mind at rest, For I wear a motor cap. I am done with Gainsborough, straw and toque, My dresses are bound with leather, I turn up my collar like auto-folk, And stride through the pitiless weather; With a pound of scrag in an old string bag, In a tram with a child on my lap, Wherever I go, to shop or a show, I wear a motor cap. I don't know a silencer from a clutch, A sparking-plug from a bearing, But no one, I think, is in closer touch With the caps the women are wearing; I'm _au fait_ with the trim of the tailor-made brim, The crown and machine-stitched strap; Though I've neither the motor, the sable-lined coat, nor The goggles--I wear the cap.