th shall be the
opening date for ceasing to notice the cuckoo. Will correspondents
please note?

***

"Things are unsettled in Ireland," says a gossip writer. We think
people should be more careful what they say. Scandal like this might
get about.

***

A certain golf club has petitioned the local Council for permission
to play golf "in a modified form." Members who recently heard the
Club Colonel playing out of the bunker at the seventh declare that no
substantial modification is possible.

***

A new invention for motorists makes a buzzing sound when the petrol
tank is getting low. This is nothing compared with the motor-taxes
invented by the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, which make the motorist
himself whistle.

***

In the opinion of a weekly paper no dog can stand the sound of
bagpipes without setting up a howl. This only goes to prove, what we
have always contended, that dogs are almost human.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Visitor._ "WHY DOES YOUR SERVANT GO ABOUT THE HOUSE
WITH HER HAT ON?"

_MISTRESS._ "OH, SHE'S A NEW GIRL. SHE ONLY CAME THIS MORNING, AND
HASN'T YET MADE UP HER MIND WHETHER SHE'LL STAY."]

* * * * *

THE LIBERAL BREACH.

(_As viewed dispassionately by a looker-on._)

WHEN dog with dog elects to fight
I take no hand in such disputes,
Knowing how hard they both would bite
Should I attempt to part the brutes.

So in the case of man and wife
My rooted habit it has been,
When they engage in privy strife,
Never to go and barge between.

Nor do I join the fighting front
When Liberal sections disagree,
One on the Coalition stunt
And one on that of Freedom (Wee).

Though tempted, when I see them tear
Each other's eyes, to say, "Be good!"
As an outsider I forbear,
Fearing to be misunderstood.

Fain would I use my gift of tact
And take a mediatorial line,
But shrewdly recognise the fact
That this is no affair of mine.

Yet may I venture to deplore
A great tradition cheaply prized,
And yonder, on the Elysian shore,
The ghost of GLADSTONE scandalised.

But most for him I mourn in vain
Whom Fate has dealt so poor a fist
(Recalling SHAKSPEARE'S gloomy Dane,
That solid-fleshed soliloquist)--

O cursed spite that he was born
(ASQUITH, I mean) to close the breach
And save a party all forlorn