. I value them, for they teach me
self-denial and self-restraint; they rouse me at an hour when I might
otherwise be lost in slothful sleep; and they assure me that there is a
sphere in which taxes and politics really do not matter in the
slightest. Some day, I suppose, they will grow up. What will become of
their talents in the world of men it is beyond me to imagine. But Number
Four seems to have the makings of a politician.

* * * * *

[Illustration: The Browns have taken the advice of the railways and
newspapers to "go early" for their seaside holidays.]

* * * * *

TWO EYES OF GRAY.

"Sprats should be cooked very fresh. Their condition can be
ascertained by their eyes, which should be bright."

_Cookery Book._

How cold the culinary mind
That household care absorbs!
Can the observer really find
Within yon sparkling orbs
No message, nothing further than
A fitness for the frying-pan?

For oh, in that pathetic gaze
What crowded memories dwell!
What wistful dreams of briny days
Beneath the surging swell,
Ere fate had seized this little fish
And plumped him on an earthen dish!

Methinks I see him even now,
As late he sailed along
With smiling and unruffled brow
Amid the finny throng,
No gladder, gayer sprat than he
In all the caverns of the sea.

With what a rapture would he tweak
The casual kipper's tail,
Or nimbly sport at hide-and-seek
Around the whiskered whale!
(Do whales that haunt the ocean wave
Wear whiskers? Some do, others shave.)

And, when by hunger overcome
He felt a trifle limp,
What joy within his vacuum
To stow the passing shrimp,
And afterwards to sink and snooze,
Soft-cradled on the nether ooze!

Ah, yes, as I behold those eyes
So bright, so crystal-clear,
I feel within my own uprise
A sympathetic tear;
But supper's call one must obey,
And so I dash the drops away.

* * * * *

ANOTHER INFORMATION BUREAU.

A Pretty Thought--Tipsters--Our Feathered Friends--A Guide to
Manners--Aiding his Suit.

A Pretty Thought.

_After reading that a number of letters have been written to the King on
his birthday by school children, my wife and I have decided that our
little girl, Clara, who is just six, shall write one for next year--or
possibly for Christmas--and we should b