* * *

A _Daily Mail_ reader writes to our contemporary to say that he found
forty-two toads in his garden last week. We can only suppose that they
were there in ignorance of the fact that he took in _The Daily Mail_.

* * *

A pike weighing twenty-six pounds, upon being hooked by a Cheshire
fisherman, pulled him into the canal. His escape was much regretted by
the fish, who had decided to have him stuffed.

* * *

It is possible that Mr. TOM MANN, the secretary of the A.S.E., will
shortly retire under the age limit. It is rumoured that members have
started to collect for a souvenir strike as a parting tribute.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Bus Conductor_ (_after passenger's torrents of invective
on the subject of increased fare_). "RIGHT-O, MA. I'LL TELL 'EM
EVERYTHINK YOU'VE SAID WEN I TAKES THE CHAIR AT THE NEXT DIRECTORS'
MEETING."]

* * * * *

THE ETHIOPIAN AGAIN.

"COAL STILL BLACK."

_Heading in "Church Family Newspaper."_

* * * * *

"The output in the first quarter this year was at the rate of
248,000,000 million tons a year. It fell in the second quarter
to 232,000,000. Between and beyond these lines there is an
ample margin for bargaining."

_Evening Paper._

Abundantly ample.

* * * * *

LESSONS FROM NATURE.

TO AN AUTUMN PRIMROSE.

"If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?"
_Wordsworth._

Symbol of innocence, to Tories dear,
Whom I detect beside the silvan path
Doing your second time on earth this year
That I may cull a generous aftermath,
Let me divine your reason
For thus repullulating out of season.

Associated with the vernal prime
And widely known as "rathe," why bloom so late?
Was it the lure of so-called "Summer-time,"
Extended well beyond the usual date?
Our thanks for which reprieve
Are SMILLIE'S, though they didn't ask his leave.

Rather I think you have some lofty plan,
Such as your old friend WORDSWORTH loved to sing;
That for a fair ensample set to Man
You duplicate your output of the Spring;
That in your heart there lodges
Dimly the hope of shaming Mr. HODGES.

Ah! gentle primrose by t