Of the lime, does Miss DOROTHY GISH.

None the less with the wildest surmise
Do I muse on the bountiful dish
Of sensation purveyed for the wise
And the foolish by DOROTHY GISH.

* * * * *

Will you strengthen the hands of LLOYD GEORGE
Or frown on the poor Coalit.?
Will you force profiteers to disgorge,
Beneficent DOROTHY GISH?

Do you hold by self-governing schools?
Do you think that headmasters should swish
Or adopt Montessorian rules,
Benevolent DOROTHY GISH?

Will they give you an Oxford degree?
Will you learn to call marmalade "squish"?
Will KENWORTHY ask you to tea
On the Terrace, great DOROTHY GISH?

Do you favour the Russ or the Pole?
Will you visit the Servians at Nish?
Are you sound on the subject of coal?
Are you Pussyfoot, DOROTHY GISH?

Are you going to be terribly mobbed
When attending the concerts of KRISH?
Are your tresses luxuriant or "bobbed"?
Do tell us, kind DOROTHY GISH!

Meanwhile we are moody and mad,
Like SAUL the descendant of KISH,
Oh, arrive and make everyone glad,
Delectable DOROTHY GISH!

* * * * *

"Wanted, Lady Clerk; one accustomed to milk ledgers preferred."--_New
Zealand Paper._

But how does one milk a ledger?

* * * * *

THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.

A SOUTH INDIAN LOVESONG.

When the long trick's wearing over and a spell of leave comes due
The most'll go back to Blighty to see if their dreams are true;
There's some that'll make for the Athol glens and some for the Sussex
downs,
There's some that'll cling to the country and some that'll turn to towns;
But _I_ know what _I_'ll do, and I'll do it right or wrong,
I'll just get back to the Blue Mountains, for that's where I belong.

Athol's a bonny country and Sussex is good to see,
But it's long since I left Blighty and I'm not what I used to be;
And May in Devon's a marvel and June on Tummel's fine,
And that may be most folk's fancy, but it somehow isn't mine;
For _I_ know what _I_ like, and the Land of Heart's Delight
For me is just on the Blue Mountains, for that's where I feel right.

So I'll pack my box and bedding in the old South Indian mail
And wake to a dawn in Salem ghostly and grey and pale,
And over by Avanashi and the levels of Coimbatore
I'll see them hung in the tinted sky and I w