herical,
Or find it near the pin with lumps of mire on,
Your language is not otherwise than clerical.
Once only, when your toe received the niblick,
The word I saw your lips frame was not biblic.

Upon the links as perfect in address
As in the pulpit, just as you are seen
In life to play according to the Book,
So too, mid all the hazards of the green,
You teach us by example not to press
And how to shun the faults of slice and hook.

Treating the ball as if it had a soul,
Imparting safe direction, you determine
How best it may keep up its given _role_;
Indeed your daily round's a model sermon.

So, till life's course is traversed, I'll await
Your well-timed counsel. If I have you by me
I'll laugh at all the baffling strokes of Fate
And lay the bogie of Despair a stymie.

* * * * *

TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGONE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--You are fond, in "Charivaria," of poking some of
your gentle fun at the leisurely bricklayer, and indeed at all the
"ca-canny" brigade; but the bricklayer has come in for the thickest of
your fire. I hope, however, that you don't think you have discovered
his and his fellow-workers' deliberate processes yourself. If so,
permit me to draw your attention to NED WARD'S _London Spy_, which was
published as long ago as 1699. In that work is the description of a
visit to St. Paul's Cathedral when it was building. A passage in this
description runs thus:

"We went a little further, where we observed ten men in a corner
very busie about two men's work, taking so much care that everyone
should have his due proportion of the labours as so many thieves
in making an exact division of their booty. The wonderful piece
of difficulty the whole number had to perform was to drag along a
stone of about three hundredweight in a carriage, in order to be
hoisted upon the moldings of the cupola, but they were so fearful
of despatching this facile undertaking with too much expedition
that they were longer in hauling about half the length of the
church than a couple of lusty porters, I am certain, would have
been carrying it to Paddington without resting of their burthen."

Shall I refrain from remarking that there is nothing new under the
sun? I will.

Yours, etc., L. V. E.

* * * * *

NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.

THE BARNACLE.

(_A Sort of Sea