t up there; who rolled 'im hout so long;
whether his mother knew 'e was hout; whether 'e'd sell 'em a bit of 'is
legs; with advice to come down off the ladder, or to go 'ome to bed--
that all these were utterly thrown away and lost upon Giles Scott.

The garb of the London policeman is not, as every one knows, founded on
the principles of aesthetics. Neither has it been devised on
utilitarian principles. Indeed we doubt whether the originator of it,
(and we are happy to profess ignorance of his name), proceeded on any
principle whatever, except the gratification of a wild and degraded
fancy. The colour, of course, is not objectionable, and the helmet
might be worse, but the tunic is such that the idea of grace or elegance
may not consist with it.

We mention these facts because Giles Scott was so well-made that he
forced his tunic to look well, and thus added one more to the already
numerous "exceptions" which are said to "prove the rule."

"Allow me, madam," said Giles, offering his right-hand to an elderly
female, who, having screwed up her courage to make a rush, got into
sudden danger and became mentally hysterical in the midst of a
conglomerate of hoofs, poles, horse-heads, and wheels.

The female allowed him, and the result was sudden safety, a gasp of
relief, and departure of hysteria.

"Not yet, please," said Giles, holding up a warning right-hand to the
crowd on refuge-island, while with his left waving gently to and fro he
gave permission to the mighty stream to flow. "Now," he added, holding
up the left-hand suddenly. The stream was stopped as abruptly as were
the waters of Jordan in days of old, and the storm-staid crew on
refuge-island made a rush for the mainland. It was a trifling matter to
most of them that rush, but of serious moment to the few whose limbs had
lost their elasticity, or whose minds could not shake off the memory of
the fact that between 200 and 300 lives are lost in London streets by
accidents every year, and that between 3000 and 4000 are more or less
severely injured annually.

Before the human stream had got quite across, an impatient hansom made a
push. The eagle eye of Number 666 had observed the intention, and in a
moment his gigantic figure stood calmly in front of the horse, whose
head was raised high above his helmet as the driver tightened the reins
violently.

Just then a small slipshod girl made an anxious dash from refuge-island,
lost courage, and turned to ru