SHERLOCK HOLMES AS A
JEALOUS LOVER.

      Sherlock Holmes opce made a visit to America and fell in love. He sat on the railing of the piazza at the summer hotel, his head bowed upon his chest. He was deep in thought, but his eyes wandered now and then in the direction of the beautiful Miss Snugger, the object of his affections.

      "Is she true to me?" he muttered under his breath. "Does she really care for me? Or is it another case of jolly ? I like not overwell the glances she casts at that vile Charles Hugger."

      Suddenly Sherlock started. His eyes rested upon the fair hands of his adored. Then he beat his brow with his clenched fist.

      "False!" he cried. "She is indeed stringing me."

      With a single stride he reached Miss Snugger's side.

      "Woman," he hissed, totally regardless of the fact that "woman," is a word which it is impossible to hiss, and strong in the fact that other people in stories had done it before him — "Woman! Tell me this. Why is it that you have mosquito bites on but one of your hands? That Hugger has them on both of his, and but one of yours is so marked."

      With a sharp cry his false love glanced at her hands, and then sank fainting from her seat.