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SONGS OF INNOCENCE.

GOLF IN SPRINGTIME.

Merry little baa-lambs sporting on the grass,
Playing ring-a-roses, dancing as you pass,
Crying,
“Jones has topped his brassie shot!  What a way to play! 
Now then, all together, boys—­Me-e-eh!”
Pretty little woollies, white as driven snow,
Following your mothers, skipping as you go,
Crying,
“Jones is in the bunker!  What a lot he has to say! 
Give it all together, boys—­Me-e-e-eh!”
Harbingers of Springtime! innocently fair,
Frisking on the greensward, leaping in the air,
Crying,
“Jones is in the whins again!  He’s off his drive to-day;
Once more let him have it, boys—­Me-e-e-e-eh!”
Silly little baa-lambs!  If you only knew,
One day you’ll be fatter and I’ll have the laugh on you,
Crying,
“Every time I foozled they bleated with delight. 
Now they’re lamb-and-mint-sauce.  Serves the beggars right!”

ALGOL.

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[Illustration:  BORROWED THUNDER.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY HANGING ON BEHIND ME LIKE THAT?”

“I’VE BROKEN MY HORN, OLD TOFF, AND I THOUGHT YOU COULD TOOT FOR TWO.”]

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