* * *

What is now wanted, says a contemporary, is a good spell of fine weather.  We feel that no good can be done by rubbing it in like this. The Daily Mail is doing its best.

* * *

We understand, by the way, that The Daily Mail has definitely decided not to offer a prize of a hundred pounds for a new world, but to leave the matter entirely in the hands of Mr. Lloyd George.

* * *

The Astronomical Correspondent of The Times suggests that the new star may have been produced through a sun being struck by a comet.  This raises the question as to whether suns ought not to carry rear lights.

* * *

There is some talk of a series of week-end summers being arranged for next year.

* * *

“If necessary I will walk from John-o’-Groats to Land’s End, distributing propaganda literature all the way,” announced a well-known strike agitator at a recent conference.  Personally we do not mind if he does, provided that when he reaches Land’s End he continues to walk in the same direction.

* * *

According to a weekly journal the art of camouflage played a most important part in recent naval warfare.  It is, of course, quite an open secret that the Naval authorities are aware that one of our largest Dreadnoughts is somewhere in a certain English harbour, but, owing to the excellence of its camouflage, they have not yet been able to locate it.

* * *

We now learn that it was merely through an oversight that the pit ponies did not record their votes at the strike ballot.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “Who’s Bill ‘IGGINS PLAYIN’ for this season?”

“Oh, ’E ain’t signed on yet, but we’ve offered him first suck at the Lemon.”]

* * * * *

=The Journalistic Touch.=

    “Shamming death, he moaned loudly.”

Irish Paper.

* * * * *

=Our Critics.=

    “‘The Seven Deadly Sins.’  Frederick Rogers.

    This is a subject that Mr. Rogers is eminently fitted to
    explore.”—­Review of Reviews.

* * * * *

    “Tenor wanted, to join bass; must have voice.”—­Scotch Paper.

Some people are so exacting.

* * * * *

    “Bride in apricot.”—­Daily Paper.

A new significance is added to the calculation of one’s fruit stones—­“This year, next year, some time, never.”

* * * * *

THE ASHES.

    [A final salutation to the M.C.C. team, from one who is destined
    to perish in the event of a coal strike.]