"Come, come, my dear fellow!" he said; "try not to be too much overcome. Of course, I know it is not everybody who could track the mazes of a mystery so promptly; but, after all, by this time you of all people in the world ought to have grown accustomed to my ways. However, we must not linger here any longer. It is time for us to restore Lady HILDA to her parents." As HOLES uttered these words a remarkable thing happened. Round the corner of the crag on which we were standing came a little native Bokharan telegraph boy. He approached HOLES, salaamed deferentially, and handed him a telegram. HOLES opened it, and read it without moving a muscle, and then handed it to me. This is what I read:-- "_To HOLES, Bokhara._ "_HILDA returned five minutes after you left. Her watch had stopped. Deeply grateful to you for all your trouble. SASSAFRAS._" There was a moment's silence, broken by HOLES. "No," he said, "we must not blame the Lady HILDA for being at Sassafras Court and not in Bokhara. After all, she is young and necessarily thoughtless." "Still, HOLES," I retorted, with some natural indignation, "I cannot understand how, after your convincing induction, a girl of any delicacy of feeling can have remained away from Bokhara." "I knew she would do so," said my friend, calmly. "HOLES, you are more wonderful than ever," was all that I could murmur. So that is the true story of Lady HILDA CARDAMUMS' return to her family. * * * * * DANGER! In our London streets, for native or stranger, We ought to have notice-boards warning of "Danger!" Like those on the Thames near the weirs and locks. When Premiers collide, and when Princes get shocks, In cabs or in carriages, King Street way driving, 'Tis time that street warnings the wise were contriving. For now it is clear that you might as well try To steer a balloon through a thundery sky, Or take a stroll near the setting of sun In a suburb where cads upon bicycles run; Or command--or serve in--an ironclad fleet, As--take a drive down St. James's Street! * * * * * THE LITTLE OLD (PARLIAMENTARY) WOMAN, HER (NEWCASTLE PROGRAMME) SHOE, AND HER IMPORTUNATE CHILDREN. (_An old Nursery Rhyme Re-adapted._) [Illustration: THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN HER SHOE, SHE HAD SO MANY CHILDREN SHE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO; SO SHE GAVE THEM SOME BROTH WITHOUT ANY BREAD, THEN "WHIPPED" THEM ALL UP, AND--SENT THEM TO BED! ["Inspired, as it may be presumed, by the more or less remote prospect of the termination of the Home-Rule debate, the political creditors of the Government are vieing with one another in urging their respective claims to priority of payment."--_Morning Post._ "Their bills are the promises of the Newcastle Programme."--_Times._] ] * * * * * LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.