* *

The New Rich.

"Working Man (36) requires Lodgings, full or part board; car
ride or convenient Rolls-Royce."--_Provincial Paper._

* * * * *

"Lady requires gentleman Chauffeur, repair and clean car; good
dancer."--_Times._

One who can "reverse," it is hoped.

* * * * *

"Considering the greatness of the provocation, Centralia,
Wash., yesterday showed a calmness worthy of an American
community. There were no farther attempts at lynching after
the hanging of the secretary of the I.W.W. organisation on
Tuesday night." _American Paper._

Oh, my friends, let us strive to emulate the calmness of Centralia,
Wash.

* * * * *

A LETTER TO THE BACK-BLOCKS.

DEAR GINGER,--A Merry Christmas to you! A bit late, you say? On the
contrary, in plenty of time. It is next Christmas I am referring
to. Over there, in your tropical land, when the sun stings your
skin through your shirt and the sand blisters your feet through your
boot-soles, when you butter your bread with a soup-ladle and the
mercury boils merrily in the barometer, then, vainly pawing the air
for mosquitoes with one hand and reaching for the siphon with the
other, you gasp, "Gad! it must be getting on for Christmas-time."

But over here in England, where the seasons wheel round without any
appreciable difference in temperature, where, if it were not for the
gentleman who writes the calendars, nobody would know whether to wear
straw-hats or snow-shoes, Christmas comes sneaking up behind you and
grabs you by the pocket before you have time to dodge. "Christmas Eve
already!" you exclaim. "Christmas Eve! and there's dear old Tom
in Penang and good old Dick in Patagonia and poor old Harry in
Princetown, and I've not written a word of cheer to any of them and
now have no time to do so." That's what happened to me this year,
anyhow; but I'm determined it shall not occur again, so--A Merry
Christmas to you, Ginger.

This my first Yule in the Old Country, after many in foreign climes,
was not an unqualified success. On the morning of Christmas Eve I
went for a walk and lost myself. After wading through bog systems and
bramble entanglements for some hours I came out behind a spinney and
there spied a small urchin with red cheeks and a red woollen muffler
standing beneath a holly-tree. On sighting me he gave vent to a lo