_He_ (_breathlessly_). Ah! There's the rank. There's just one cab there. How awful if it were to be taken before he saw us. Run like Heaven. _I_ (_running like Heaven_). I think I'll leave you here. _He_ (_running still more like Heaven, a little ahead_). Oh no, come on. I want to hear about those tailors. Hi! Hi! Wave your stick like Heaven! [_We both wave our sticks like Heaven._ _He_ (_subsiding into a walk_). Ah! it's all right. He's seen us. (_Taking out his watch_) I've got four minutes. We shall just do it. Good-bye. [_He leaps into the cab and I turn away wondering where I shall get lunch._ _He_ (_shouting from window_). Let me know about those tailors some day; if they're any good, you know. * * * * * [Illustration: "ARE YE WOUNDED, TERENCE?" "I AM THAT, MICHAEL; 'TIS IN THE FUT." "BAD CESS TO THIM BODY-SHIELDS! I NIVER HAD MUCH FAITH IN THIM!"] * * * * * "'The best people are still wearing their own clothes,' said Mr. Williams."--_Star_. With all respect, Mr. WILLIAMS, the best people are wearing the KING'S. * * * * * "DONKEYS.--Wanted to purchase 100 reasonable. Apply M.S." _Advt. in Colonial Paper_. We have never met this kind of donkey ourselves, but we wish M.S. the best of luck. * * * * * AT THE PLAY. "ANTHONY IN WONDERLAND." It was not till about the middle of the play, and after a narcotic had been administered to him, that _Anthony_ got there; but we were in Wonderland almost from the start, without the aid of drugs. For we were asked to believe that Mr. CHARLES HAWTREY was a visionary, amorous of an ideal which no earthly woman could realise for him. Occasionally he had caught a glimpse of it in the creations of Art--at the Tate Gallery or Madame TUSSAUD'S or the cinema; but in Bond Street never. And the pity of it was that he had come in for a fortune of seven hundred thousand pounds odd, which would pass elsewhere unless he married by a given date. It was therefore the clear duty of his relatives--a couple of sisters and their husbands--to find a wife for him. After vainly trying him with every pretty woman of their acquaintance they had resort, in desperation, to the black art of a certain _Mr. Mortimer John_ (U.S.A.), an infallible inventor of stunts, who made a rapid diagnosis of the case and at once pronounced himself confident of success.