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._

* * * * *
[Illustration: A POLITICAL MILITARY TOURNAMENT.]

* * * * *

THE BUSMEN'S ALPHABET.

A is the Ache which the Drivers delay.
B is the Bus, which they're chained to all day.
C 's the poor Cad who is sick of his trade.
D is the Dividend that must be paid.
E 's the day's End, which finds him dead-beat.
F is the Food he has no time to eat.
G is his Good, for which nobody cares.