country highway, you fly at a terrific speed. Up the mountain passes you race, down precipitous slopes with every-increasing momentum. Every moment, it seems, will be your last. But you come safely through."

"Certainly," said Percy.

"That is to say—almost. Unfortunately, in turning a sharp corner, the car plunges into the waters of a rapid mountain torrent!"

"Dear, dear!" said Percy.

"But you come safely through—"

Percy heaved a sigh of relief.

"YOU FOLLOW HIM."

"You are seen falling, falling, falling, still in your car, with the descending cataract. Over and over you are turned in the seething waters, dashed against rocks, hurled through ravines, and finally you are given a sheer drop down a perpendicular waterfall of three hundred feet. Out of the white foam formed in the bed of the waters you emerge swimming strongly hand over hand, until at last you reach the broad waters of the placid river, and finally the shore. Here you notice a train passing some little distance away, and in it, gazing out of one of the windows, you observe—Bill, the murderer! You at once start in pursuit; by a superb effort you catch up the train, and just succeed in swinging yourself safely on board. You can do a little sprinting, I suppose?"

"I could give an ordinary train a bit of a start, no doubt," said Percy with confidence.

"Just so," pursued the producer. "And now you find yourself confronting the miscreant, Bill. The train is passing through a city. It is on the elevated railway. Bill makes a dash for the door, springs out, and lands on the roof of a house. You follow him—your leap being considerably greater, because between his jump and yours the train has proceeded a certain distance."

"Precisely," said Percy.

"Now there is a scramble over the roof-tops. You climb up pipes, slide down slates, leap across spaces between separate houses, cling to coping stones, and all that sort of thing."

"I grasp the idea," said Percy.

"HE CUTS THE WIRES ON WHICH YOU ARE CROSSING."

"At last Bill is seized with a notion. He throws himself on to the telephone wires, and, hanging by his hands, manages to convey himself across to the houses on the opposite side of the road. You imitate him. As Bill arrives on the other side, he turns and cuts the wires on which you are crossing. Before the ends of the wires fall, however, you turn a quick somersault and land beside Bill. Once more there is a race over the roofs until Bill reaches a factory chimney. Down the shaft he dives. So do you. Into the furnace below, then out of it, the chase continues—it doesn't pause for a moment."

"Not a moment," echoed Percy as in a trance.

"THE LAST SCENE OF ALL WILL BE YOUR WEDDING."

"Yes, it does, for you and Bill have dragged out of the furnace some of the burning coal; this has caught some inflammable material, and soon the whole factory is alight. Now you rush round to alarm the workers. And what do you find? Mignon! She had gone out into the world to earn her own bread, and had found employment in this factory. The manager of the factory, an arch villain, had noted Mignon's beauty, and just as you arrive he is dragging her away. You snatch Mignon from his grasp. At that moment Bill comes up, takes in the situation, seizes the treacherous manager, and flings him into the devouring flames. Then Bill assists you to carry Mignon through the suffocating smoke out to safety, but as you disappear the now dying manager draws his revolver and fires after you. You are struck by the bullet, but bear up until, with Bill's help, you have brought Mignon out of danger. Then you faint away."

"Not till then?" said Percy.

"No, not till then. The last scene of all will be your wedding at the church. Mignon, of course, is the bride, and Bill is your best man. You see, he retrieved his character by the aid given at the factory fire, and you have forgiven him the murder of his uncle. Oh, and, by the way, you wouldn't have to be really shot at the rehearsals, you know."

"That's fine!" said Percy. "When would you like me to start?"

"A week from now."

"Good. That will give me a nice opportunity to get fit, and to have one last good time in case any unforeseen mishap should occur in the course of rehearsal. Of course I see no reason whatever to anticipate any accident, but they have been known to happen under circumstances even more commonplace, if that were possible."

THE EVICTION OF AN ENEMY IN OUR MIDST.

BRITISH MATRON, IN A SPASM OF PATRIOTISM, DECIDES TO GET RID OF HER GERMAN PIANO. MESSRS. DUGOUT AND CO. UNDERTAKE TO REMOVE IT.

"NOW, THEN, WHEN I SES, 'TO ME!'"

"TO ME!"

THE EVICTION OF AN ENEMY IN OUR MIDST.

"TO YOU! FROM ME!"

THE SPIRIT OF FRIGHTFULNESS ACTIVE TO THE VERY END.

PEACE—AT A PRICE.

MESOPOTAMIA.

Tommy (to Padre, who has been telling him about the Scriptural associations connected with the country). "SUPPOSED TO BE THE GARDEN OF EDEN, IS IT, SIR? WELL, IT WOULDN'T TAKE NO FLAMIN' SWORD TO KEEP ME OUT OF IT."

THE TRUCE—AND AFTER.

[Lines alleged to have been recently found on the back of a miniature target (of which only the bull's-eye was perforated), and believed to be the work of a private in the County of