one of them contused his scalp
Or lost his feathers in collision
Bumping against an Alp.

But they, the Zepp-birds, flopped and barged
From Luneville to Valescure
(Where we of old have often charged
The bunkers of the Cote d'Azur);
And half a brace--so strange and far a
Course to the South it had to shape--
Is still expected in Sahara
Or possibly the Cape.

In happier autumns you and I
(You by your art and I by luck)
Have pulled the pheasant off the sky
Or flogged to death the flighting duck;
But never yet--how few the chances
Of pouching so superb a swag--
Have we achieved a feat like France's
Immortal gas-bag bag.

O.S.

* * * * *

PURPLE PATCHES FROM LORD YORICK'S GREAT BOOK.

(_SPECIAL REVIEW_.)

Lord Yorick's _Reminiscences_, just published by the house of Hussell,
abound in genial anecdote, in which the "personal note" is lightly and
gracefully struck, in welcome contrast to the stodgy political memoirs
with which we have been surfeited of late. We append some extracts,
culled at random from these jocund pages:--

THE SHAH'S ROMANCE.

"I don't suppose it is a State secret--but if it is there can be no
harm in divulging the fact--that there was some thought of a marriage
in the 'eighties' between the Shah of PERSIA and the lovely Miss
Malory, the lineal descendant of the famous author of the Arthurian
epic. Mr. GLADSTONE, Mme. DE NOVIKOFF and the Archbishop of CANTERBURY
were prime movers in the negotiations. But the SHAH'S table manners
and his obstinate refusal to be converted to the doctrines of
the Anglican Church, on which Miss Malory insisted, proved an
insurmountable obstacle, and the arrangement, which might have been
fraught with inestimable advantages to Persia, came to nought. Miss
Malory afterwards became Lady Yorick."

PRACTICAL JOKING AT OXFORD IN THE "SIXTIES."

"Jimmy Greene, afterwards Lord Havering, whose rooms were just below
mine, suffered a good deal from practical jokers. One day I was
chatting with Reggie Wragge when we heard loud cries for help just
below us. We rushed down and found Jimmy in the bath, struggling with
a large conger-eel which had been introduced by some of his friends.
I held on to the monster's tail, while Wragge severed its head with
a carving-knife. Poor Jimmy, who was always nervous and not very
'strong in his intellects,' was much upset, and was shor