He jumped from the sphinx, plump on to the peaked cap of a passing police inspector, and flooded the official with magic. A sergeant came up and saluted. "Good-evening, Baines," said the inspector. "Tell the men to be extra kind to all poor chaps to-night. Tell ’em to have blind eyes for the homeless and hungry. The fairies would wish it. Tell ’em to pass this order on; we must please the fairies." The sergeant stared. This was unprecedented. What was authority coming to? "Right, sir," he answered, and saluted again. "I’ll see to it," and did so. The inspector marched on to Scotland Yard, more than usually pleased with himself. Bim happened then to notice a strange creature sprawling at the end of a seat. Curiosity compelled him to spring. He alighted on a lap. Everyone in Fairyland is naturally partial to poetry and in love with love. One of the purposes of the elves is to help the affected and idealize the sentiments of lovers, making them worthy of their privileges. They fulfil this purpose faithfully. When the courses of Cupid run smoothly the elves have been helpful. Unhappy love-affairs are invariably those unblessed by Oberon’s people. They keep sharp eyes ready for the hindering of the plans of worldly-wise parents. Bim studied a strange-looking beast. It seemed to consist of a large, much-ribboned hat, several arms, and a sprawl. Lovers! The nose of Her was in His neck. There was an occasional move and tremor, followed by a sounding kiss, one of the kisses that hit. Passers-by were many, but Love cared not a jot for anything--but Love! The curious and contemptuous had a hundred opportunities for cynical judgment; which they used, only to be entirely ignored. Throughout the parks and places of London, similar exhibitions of vulgar bathos, flopping and unashamed, were to be witnessed; every pair of some hundred thousand lovers being splendidly indifferent to all else but their own sufficient selves. Meanwhile, the gnome sat on the lap, and wondered, awed and troubled: listening eagerly, waiting impatiently, for honeyed words of love. Silence brooded. Big Ben struck. "Eight o’clock!" said Strephon to Phyllis, and kissed her. The silence brooded again. Bim fled in dismay to the next seat, where another love-bitten couple happened to be sprawling. He witnessed a similar feast of brazen bathos. Stupid silence still gloomed over the rapture. He waited. The great clock chimed again. "Quarter-past," said she, and a kiss flew skywards. From seat to seat Bim went; every move was marked by the chimes of the Parliamentary clock. "Half-past." "Quarter-to." "Nine." Such was love’s dialogue. O time! O manners! Where are our raptures, our sonnets and rhapsodies?