The charge for announcements in the Personal Column is 7/6 for two lines (minimum), and 3/6 for each additional line."--_Times._ Any large outbreak of conscientiousness on this scale will mean ruin for the country. * * * * * "A band of armed ruffians disguised as soldiers held up a train near Parghelia, in Calabria, and carried off the contents of two vons, consisting chiefly of sausages." _Scotch Paper._ This is an abbreviated way of speaking. By "the contents of two vons" the writer evidently means the contents of the baggage of two German noblemen. * * * * * For Prospective Centenarians. "Salary, L50 per annum, rising upon satisfactory service by annual increments of L5 to a maximum of L880."--_Welsh Paper._ * * * * * CONSPIRACY. It all happened so naturally, so inevitably, yet so tragically--like a Greek play, as Willoughby said afterwards. Willoughby is my younger brother, and in his lighter moments is a Don at Oxford or Cambridge; it will be safer not to specify which. In his younger and more serious days he used to play the banjo quite passably, and, when the Hicksons asked us to dine, they insisted that he should bring his instrument and help to make music to which the young people might dance, for it seems that this instrument is peculiarly suited to the kind of dancing now in vogue. Willoughby had not played upon the banjo for fifteen years, but he unearthed it from the attic, restrung it, and in the event did better than might have been expected. Anyhow, he did not succeed in spoiling the evening, which I consider went well, despite the severe trial, to one of my proportions, of having to perform, soon after dinner, a number of scenes "to rhyme with _hat_." Indeed, when I was finally pushed alone on to the stage, any chagrin I might have felt at the ease with which the audience guessed at once that I represented "fat" was swallowed up in the relief at being allowed to rest awhile, for "fat" proved to be correct. It is not of dumb-crambo, however, nor of hunt-the-slipper (a dreadful game), nor of "bump" (a worse game) that I wish to speak, but of that which befell after. It was a very wet night, and when the hour for our departure arrived there arose some uncertainty as to whether we could find a taxi willing to take us home. "I will interview the porter," said Willoughby (the Hicksons live in a flat), and he disappeared, to return in a few minutes with something of the air of a conspirator. "Get your coat on," he said curtly. "Have you a taxi?" "No, I have a car. Get your coat on, and be quick about it." "A car?" I said. "What car? Whose car?" Willoughby turned upon me. "If you prefer to walk, you can," he said; "if not, get your coat on, as I say, and don't ask stupid questions."