do you want?" asked a gruff voice, to their great delight, in English. "What are you a haling us for?"

"We are shipwrecked travellers," explained the spokesman of the party; "and we ask for conveyance to a place of safety."

"A place of safety—sounds like a cab-stand," muttered the other. "Well, jump in." Thus invited, the shipwrecked travellers entered what seemed to them to be a welcome harbour of refuge. But they had not proceeded far when the man who had already spoken to them again addressed them.

"Come—all of you—turn out—but first pay me," and then he mentioned a considerable sum of money.

"Have you no mercy?" cried a fair-haired girl, pointing to the white and rain-drenched locks of her ancient parents.

"Not a bit, Miss," returned the semi-savage, with a hideous grin.

"And who are you, rude man?" she asked, plucking up in her very despair some spirit. "Are you the Captain?"

"Much the same thing—I am called the Conductor."

"And what is the name of this dreadful conveyance?" again questioned the damsel, with a shuddering glance at what seemed to be a straw-strewn cabin.

"It is called," replied the man, defiantly, "the Pirate Bus!" On hearing this, the entire party uttered a despairing cry, and fainted!

THE TRAVELLER'S FRIEND.

(A Hint for the coming Holidays.)

DEAR MR. PUNCH,—As we are within measurable distance of the time when everyone will be thinking of going abroad, perhaps you will allow me to make a practical suggestion. No doubt you will have observed that, according to the Correspondent of the Times, recounting the "recent railway outrage in Turkey," the Brigands "chose five of the most opulent-looking of their victims, and told them that they meant to hold them to ransom." I am not surprised at this occurrence, for something of the same sort once happened to me. I am very well to do, and I am fond of what I believe is vulgarly called "globe-trotting." I do not care to be encumbered with too much luggage, and if there is a thorn to the rose of my sweet content it is the objection that my wife makes to my personal appearance. She will have it that a suit of thoroughly comfortable dittos is not the proper garb for a stroll on the Boulevards des Italiens, or a lounge on the Piazza San Marco. As for my wide-awake, she declares (and I can assure you that I have not had it for more than ten years) it is absolutely disgraceful!

But to my story. I have said that I myself was once attacked by Brigands. Our train was stopped in strictly regulation fashion. I believe the customary number of engine-drivers, stokers, and guards were shot, or otherwise accounted for. Then the passengers were inspected. I was rather nervous, for, truth to tell, my pockets were lined with untold gold and notes. The Chief of the Brigands—a most gentlemanly person—glanced at my coat with a slight shudder of pain, and then raised his eyes to my head-gear. That seemed to satisfy him. "Set him free!" he cried to the two ruffians who guarded me, "and never let him see me again!" I never did!

Yours sincerely,

ONE WHO WAS SAVED BY HIS HAT,

The Retreat, Old Closeborough.