A crowing child, who loves to prattle,
    Can easily be kept at rest. 
  You’ve only got to get a rattle,
    Or p’raps a dolly would be best. 
  A bouncing boy will blow a bubble,
    And want no more the livelong day;
  But if a growing girl gives trouble,
    You’ve got to take her to the play!

* * * * *

A PIONEER IN PETTICOATS.

    [An American Lady is about to explore Africa, on humane
    principles.]

Arrive in Africa.—­Convinced that real way of taming the savage heart is by Feminine Tact.  No need of brutal habits of male adventurers.  Two negresses, from “Ole Virginny,” with me, who said they would like to “see Africa again”; a few Arabs, to carry our baggage.  Intend to study home-life of African tribes, and to get them to talk into my phonograph.

[Illustration]

Month Later.—­Have had to exhibit more Feminine Tact than I expected.  Got entangled in swampy forest on Zambesi (I think), and Arabs declined to extricate us unless their pay was doubled!  Also one of negresses—­horrid woman!—­has deserted me—­come to place that she pretended to recognise as her native village, and said she meant to stay!  Tact useless with females!

On Lake Tanganyika—­or if it isn’t Lake Tanganyika, it’s an entirely new lake,—­which I have been the first to discover!  Suffer a good deal from fever and queer diet.  Am studying native home-life.

Later.—­Have left two Arabs and my remaining negress on Lake, and gone myself to look for STANLEY’s Dwarfs.  Told that TIPPOO TIB is somewhere about.  Also advised to be very careful not to fall in with the “man-eating Manyuema.”

Still Later.—­Did fall in with them!  Also fell out with them.  They made all preparations for using me as a side-dish at a cannibal banquet, when TIPPOO TIB arrived and released me.

Tanganyika again!—­Back here safe and sound!  TIPPOO TIB turned out most unsatisfactory.  Wanted to marry me!—­with a hundred other wives already!  Not prepared for this sort of home-life.  Managed to get away by describing to him a Remington typewriter, and promising if he let me go, to bring one back at once.

Find that my “rear-guard”—­the negress and Arabs—­have been up to fearful pranks during my absence.  Negress killed and ate one of Arabs, and then other Arab killed and ate negress!  Tell remaining Arab I shall have him punished when I get to Coast.  Arab says he’ll get there first, and publish a book showing me up!

Latest.—­Left alone in middle of Africa, with a phonograph, several bales of baggage, and a diary.  Question now is—­will Feminine Tact show me road to Zanzibar?

* * * * *

UNIVERSITY HONOURS.—­“SMITH’s Prizeman”—­ARTHUR BALFOUR.  The “Senior Wrangler” (for several years past)—­Mr. GLADSTONE.