looks as if he were settled in his corner of the carriage for the day.

The train stops. There is bustle, noise, confusion. Thomas in some magical way has disappeared. A porter appears at the open window and speaks voluble French to Simpson. Simpson looks round wildly for Thomas. "Thomas!" he cries. "Un moment," he says to the porter. "Thomas! Mon ami, il n'est pas——I say, Thomas, old chap, where are you? Attendez un moment. Mon ami—er—reviendra——"He is very hot. He is wearing, in addition to what one doesn't mention, an ordinary waistcoat, a woolly waist-coat for steamer use, a tweed coat, an aquascutum, an ulster, a camera and a bag of golf clubs. The porter, with many gesticulations, is still hurling French at him.

It is too much for Simpson. He puts his head out of the window and, observing in the distance a figure of such immense dignity that it can only belong to the station-master, utters to him across the hurly-burly a wild call for help.

"Où est Cook's homme?" he cries.

A. A. M.

"THE GREAT CONFLICT.

1886——1914——?

The End is Not Yet.

To-morrow."

Observer.

Well, well! After twenty-eight years we can wait another day.

"Essay club: March 1st. The Poetry of John Masefield, or Vegetarianism—is it more Humane?"—Time and Talents.

Less blood-stained, anyhow.

From a letter in The Natal Mercury headed "Butter through the Post":—

"We send it to Donnybrook by the quickest method, i.e., on the post-card."

We have often found some on our post-cards.

THE GALLANT SONS OF MARS.

"A troop of the Queen's Bays, 2nd Dragoon Guards, while galloping past the Royal Pavilion at Aldershot, observed a woman fall from her bicycle in a faint.

"They instantly drew rein, and, dismounting, assisted her to the 5th Dragoon Guards orderly room, where they vied with each other in giving her every possible attention.

"She speedily recovered and was able to resume her journey to Farnborough."—Daily Paper.

A young lady, while walking by a kiosk in which the band of the Royal Heavies was performing, by a mischance got a fly in her eye. Perceiving her plight, the bandsmen immediately ceased playing and ran to her assistance, each contesting with the other to remove the offending insect.

In a high wind last week on Laffan's Plain an old gentleman lost his umbrella. Some Lancers taking part in a sham fight at once went in pursuit and speedily restored the recalcitrant article to its grateful owner.

Last Saturday, while at play, a small boy had the misfortune to lose his hold of a toy-balloon. A squadron of the Army Flying Corps, witnessing the little fellow's grief, at once rendered assistance and, with the aid of a monoplane, quickly retrieved the bauble.