"Cardinal Dubois, Archbishop of Rouen, has been translated, as most of us expected, to the Archbishopric in Paris. Being a very distinguished man of letters, the Academie Francaise would like to include him among the Immorals, but, alas! they are 'full inside.'" _Evening Paper._ * * * * * HEADLINING. The thrilling incident of the stray cat at "Chez Nous" is never likely to get into the newspapers. On the other hand, lots of incidents which do get in never deserve to. It's all a question of head-lining, which is the bluff by which the public is induced to read matter it would otherwise skip. The affair began while I was in the City. I learnt afterwards that Marjorie (my wife) was crooning to her needles the unmetrical jumper lullaby, "Six purl, eight plain; then the same all over again." Anyhow she was knitting, when she suddenly found herself looking into the wistful eyes of a tortoiseshell cat which had appeared--merely appeared. As she told me, she softly exclaimed, "A cat!" (right first time); then, because it looked so wistful, she directed the maid to set before the creature a saucer of milk. In fact-- HOMELESS BLACK-AND-TAN. LUCKY CHANCE CALL. TOOTING GOOD SAMARITAN. When I arrived home, Marjorie ran into the hall to give me one of her smooth evening kisses. I stepped forward to exchange it for one of my stubbly ones when-- "Oh, Jack," said Marjorie, "you've trodden on her!" "'Her,'" I said. "Who's 'her'?" "The dearest little tortoiseshell stray cat," replied Marjorie. "You really might have been more careful." "I say, that's rather unfair," I said. "I stagger home tired to the teeth after a particularly thin day in the City, followed by a sardine-tin journey, and my own wife turns on me in favour of the first outcast cat that comes along. It's enough to drive a man to dope." Or, as the headlines would have it:-- NEAR BREAKING-POINT. STRAIN OF BUSINESS LIFE. ORIGIN OF THE DRUG HABIT. After a bath and a change I felt better, and came down to dinner humming a sentimental ballad in Marjorie's honour. But the word "love" died on my lips when I saw that in the lap of Marjorie's pretty pink gown reposed the stray cat. The colour-clash and the misapplication of caresses which should have been my monopoly threw me back with a jerk to a state of bearishness. "Surely you're not going to keep that animal?" I asked. "Of course I am, as long as she likes to stay," said Marjorie. "She's very fond of me, aren't you, pussy? Fonder than my husband, I 'spect." "I know these stray cats," I said. "Stiff with microbes. Tribes of mangy lovers prowling round the house. A nest of kittens in my top-hat. I know." "Poor li'l pussy," cooed Marjorie. "Don'tum listen to the big coarse man." "Coarse be----" In other (and more suitable) words-- HUSBAND'S PROFANITY. MASK OFF AFTER TWO YEARS. PEEVISH ABOUT WIFE'S PET.