rchase was made find G.F.F.F.S. walked
towards her palatial paternal mansion. She felt slightly timid, for, as
she looked at the heavens, she saw that ARCTURUS, who had been playing
tag with CASTOR and POLLUX all the evening, had reached hunk, the Great
Bear. From the astronomical knowledge which she had acquired at the
Vavasour Female Academy, she knew that the paternal turnip now pointed
to the witching hour of 11-1/2.

Suddenly she found herself surrounded by a party of bandits, (she
thought she was in Greece, but she was only in the 19th Ward.)

They seized her.

"Not a word," said the leader. "Your money or your life."

Now G.F.F.F.S. had lots of life and very little money, so she could
hardly determine whether to give up some of her life or all of her
money.

"Illustrious banditti," said she, "the auriferous contents of my
reticulated depository are notable for minuteness. Be conservators of my
pullulating existence."

"I say, TOM," said the leader, "what's her little game?"

"It sounds like Irish," said TOM.

"Hand over your stamps," said the leader.

G.F.F.F.S. slowly drew out her net purse, when suddenly the robbers
fled. G.F.F.F.S. felt that her hero had come, and, like all the
ARAMINTAS in the novels, she fainted and was caught in the arms of--

CHAPTER III.

The author tried to persuade the editor to allow him to write "to be
continued" after the last thrilling chapter, but the editor was
inexorable, hence this chapter, "in the arms of"--a little red-headed
policeman.

G.F.F.F.S. smiled gently, but, as soon as she had opened her eyes, and
had cast them on the red head, freckled face, pug-nose, and little eyes
of MIKE MCFLYNN, she sprang to her feet. It was better than forty
gallons of hartshorn. She had wasted a faint.

"_Perdidi animi deliquium_," said she.

"Mother of MOSES, but you was heavy!" said MCFLYNN.

But she did not wait, and a pair of number eight shoes might have been
seen by an inquisitive reporter, cutting around the corners and stamping
up seven flights of stairs.

MORAL.

When the paternal turnip solemnly points to 10-1/2, G.F.F.F.S. puts her
number eights on the mantel, looks reflectively at a sore-eyed kitten,
and falls into polysyllables.

* * * * *

HOMODEIFICATION.

Late advices from China convey the intelligence that the
American-Chinese General WARD, who died in the service of the Celestial
empire, has been postmortuarily brev