* * * * *

“A large section of the city will find its water supply rather intermittent in consequence of a burst of the Rivington water main at Twig-lane, Huyton, near Prescot.  The main has an internal diameter of forty-four miles.”—­Liverpool Paper.

What an awful bore!

* * * * *

    “Seventeen-year locusts to appear Next summer.

State Collee, Pa, Dec. 11.—­The 17-yearg lgocgugsgt is due to appear agagingg gnext summer, according to C.H.  Hadley, Jr., an entomo-legeggggbmn TTMMggggob rr . . j Eas logist at the Pennsylvania State College.”—­Erie Daily Times.

The news has had a decidedly discomposing effect already.

* * * * *

“A gamble with death in the Strand—­seeing that the stake is precisely the same—­should be quite as enthralling as a hairbreadth ’scape on the plains of Texas, even though the gambler wears a top-hat instead of sheepskin trousers.”—­Manchester Guardian.

The writer understates the case.  The substitution of a top-hat for trousers would add a piquancy of its own to the situation.

* * * * *

FAITH AND DOUBT IN THE FATHERLAND.

      News of triumph, very cheering,
        Fills our marrows full of sap,
      News of FALKENHAYN careering
        Right across Roumania’s map,
  Tales of corn to swell our tummies, tales of golden oil to tap.

      Everywhere we go victorious
        Over earth and on the blue;
      More and more superbly glorious
        Ring the deeds we dare and do,
  Till they sound almost too splendid to be absolutely true.

      Here and there, indeed, a sceptic
        Mutters language rather rude;
      Here and there a wan dyspeptic,
        Yielding to a peevish mood,
  Wonders why a winning nation finds itself so short of food.

      When carillons rock the steeple
        And the bunting’s ordered out,
      I have noticed several people
        Ask themselves in honest doubt
  Why the War-Lord’s lifted finger fails to bring a peace about.

      Yet, though England, crushed and quailing,
        Kicks his dove-bird down the stair,
      I shall trust, with faith unfailing,
        In my KAISER’S conquering air
  (Still I blame no man for thinking there must be a catch somewhere).

O.S.

* * * * *

RECOGNITION.

“Francesca,” I said, “have you seen it?”

“It?  What?”

“The announcement.”

“What announcement?”

“I have been gazetted,” I said.

“Did it hurt much?” she said.  “Or were you able to bear it without a murmur?”