Her mother pointed to the paternal turnip, which hung over the mantel, and showed her that old Time was "doing stunts" at 10-1/2. But G.F.F.F.S. was obstinate. She put on her chignon, her curls, her breast elevator, her bustle, her high-heeled shoes, a little rouge, a little whiting and a bit of court-plaster, and sallied forth, down the dumb-waiter to the cellar, and thence, through the ash-hole, to the street. CHAPTER II. The deed was done!!! The purchase was made find G.F.F.F.S. walked towards her palatial paternal mansion. She felt slightly timid, for, as she looked at the heavens, she saw that ARCTURUS, who had been playing tag with CASTOR and POLLUX all the evening, had reached hunk, the Great Bear. From the astronomical knowledge which she had acquired at the Vavasour Female Academy, she knew that the paternal turnip now pointed to the witching hour of 11-1/2. Suddenly she found herself surrounded by a party of bandits, (she thought she was in Greece, but she was only in the 19th Ward.) They seized her. "Not a word," said the leader. "Your money or your life." Now G.F.F.F.S. had lots of life and very little money, so she could hardly determine whether to give up some of her life or all of her money. "Illustrious banditti," said she, "the auriferous contents of my reticulated depository are notable for minuteness. Be conservators of my pullulating existence." "I say, TOM," said the leader, "what's her little game?" "It sounds like Irish," said TOM. "Hand over your stamps," said the leader. G.F.F.F.S. slowly drew out her net purse, when suddenly the robbers fled. G.F.F.F.S. felt that her hero had come, and, like all the ARAMINTAS in the novels, she fainted and was caught in the arms of-- CHAPTER III. The author tried to persuade the editor to allow him to write "to be continued" after the last thrilling chapter, but the editor was inexorable, hence this chapter, "in the arms of"--a little red-headed policeman. G.F.F.F.S. smiled gently, but, as soon as she had opened her eyes, and had cast them on the red head, freckled face, pug-nose, and little eyes of MIKE MCFLYNN, she sprang to her feet. It was better than forty gallons of hartshorn. She had wasted a faint. "_Perdidi animi deliquium_," said she. "Mother of MOSES, but you was heavy!" said MCFLYNN. But she did not wait, and a pair of number eight shoes might have been seen by an inquisitive reporter, cutting around the corners and stamping up seven flights of stairs. MORAL. When the paternal turnip solemnly points to 10-1/2, G.F.F.F.S. puts her number eights on the mantel, looks reflectively at a sore-eyed kitten, and falls into polysyllables. * * * * * HOMODEIFICATION. Late advices from China convey the intelligence that the American-Chinese General WARD, who died in the service of the Celestial empire, has been postmortuarily brevetted to the rank of a "major god," and is now regularly worshipped as such by JOHN PIGTAIL.