FRIEND, I DON'T WANT TO
HURT YOUR LITTLE FEELINGS,--BUT, _COME OFF THAT
FLAG!!!_"]

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Jenkinson_ (_to M. F. H., who dislikes being bothered_).
"WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS HORSE?" (_No answer._) "BRED HIM MYSELF, YOU
KNOW!"

_M. F. H._ (_looking at Horse out of corner of his eye_). "UMPH! I THOUGHT
YOU COULDN'T HAVE BEEN SUCH A SILLY IDIOT AS TO HAVE _BOUGHT_ HIM!"]

* * * * *

OLD COLDS FOR NEW.

(_A Fairy Tale of Anglo-Russian Origin._)

ONCE upon a time there was a feeble little Ailment called
"Cold-in-the-head," which was treated in the most contemptuous fashion by
its relations. The nearest of its kith and kin--Measles and
Scarlatina--absolutely laughed when its name was mentioned, and scarcely
recognised it as a connection. So Cold-in-the-head had rather a bad time of
it generally.

One day the feeble little Ailment was wandering aimlessly about in search
of a resting-place, when it came upon an enormous establishment thronged
with thousands of working-men. When the _employes_ are described as
"working-men," it is not, however, quite accurate, for at that moment they
were not working.

"Why are you idle?" sneezed out little Cold-in-the-head in a tone of
compassion.

"Because," replied one of the _employes_, rather gruffly, "there is nothing
to do. If you want further information, you had better inquire at that
office."

And the man pointed to a door bearing the legend, "Editor's Room." The poor
little Ailment entered the apartment, and found a Gentleman seated in front
of a desk covered with papers. The Gentleman was staring before him, and
the ink in his pen had dried up.

"What do you want?" asked the Gentleman. "And why don't you shut the door
behind you?"

"I should cease to exist without draughts," explained the poor little
Ailment, "and please don't speak roughly to me, as I want to help you."

"You help me!" exclaimed the Editor--for the Gentleman was an Editor. "How
can you do that?"

"I think I can give you a subject."

"You are very welcome if you can do that," was the reply, "as in this dead
season of the year ideas are as scarce as coals; nay scarcer. But surely,
didn't you do something for the Press ages ago?"

"That was in the 'forties;' but I am quite different now."

Then the little Ailment related to the Editor stories of Russia, and the
East, and all sorts of wonderful things.