From a column headed "Crimes and Tragedies" in _The Western Weekly Mercury_:--
"Sir J. W. Spear, M.P., has consented to become patron of the newly-formed Highampton Rifle Club."
MR. JOHN BURNS. "PERFECT! PERFECT! BUT JUST WANTS THE MASTER'S TOUCH."
[Illustration: _Cheery Passenger (in non-stop express)._ "WELL, I MUST SAY IT'S QUITE A RELIEF TO ME TO 'AVE A GENTLEMAN IN THE CARRIAGE. IT'S TWICE NOW I'VE 'AD A FIT IN A TUNNEL."]
Once more the tireless putter-right of men, Our roaring ROOSEVELT, swims into our ken. With clash of cymbals and with roll of drums, Reduced in weight, from far Brazil he comes. What risks were his! The rapids caught his form, Upset his bark and tossed him in the storm. Clutching his trumpet in a fearless hand, The damp explorer struggled to the land; Then set the trumpet to his lips and blew A blast that echoed all the wide world through, And in a tone that made the nations quiver Proclaimed himself the finder of a river. Maps, he declared, were made by doddering fools Who knew no better or defied the rules, While he, the great Progressive, traced the course Of waters mostly flowing to their source. Emerged at last and buoyed up with the sure hope Of geographic fame, he made for Europe; Flew to Madrid, and there awhile he tarried Till KERMIT went (good luck to K!) and married. Next London sees him, and with loud good will Yields to the mighty tamer of Brazil, And hears and cheers the while by his own fiat he Lectures our Geographical Society. Soon to his native land behold him go To take a hand in quelling Mexico. Does WILSON want him? Well, I hardly know.
SIR,--I read with intense satisfaction that at the Peace Ball at the Albert Hall last week the lady representing Britannia carried a palm branch in place of the customary trident. This, I venture to think, is a step in the right direction. For many years, from the pulpits and platforms not only of our own land but of America, I have advocated a substitution of peaceful objects for the weapons of bloodshed with which so many of our allegorical figures are encumbered. I still wait for some artist to depict the patron saint of this fair land of ours, not attacking the dragon with a cruel sword, but offering it in all brotherliness an orange, let us say, or a bath bun.