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VOL. 146

JUNE 3rd 1914

CHIVARIA.

"When the KING and QUEEN visit Nottinghamshire as the guests of the Duke and Duchess of PORTLAND at Welbeck, three representative colliery owners and four working miners will," we read, "be presented to their Majesties at Forest Town." A most embarrassing gift, we should say, and one which cannot, without hurting susceptibilities, be passed on to the Zoological Society.

Are the French, we wonder, losing that valuable quality of tact for which they have so long enjoyed a reputation? Amongst the Ministers introduced at Paris to KING CHRISTIAN OF DENMARK, who enjoys his designation of "The tall King," was M. MAGINOL, who is an inch taller than His Majesty. He should surely have been told to stay at home.

In the Bow County Court, last week, a woman litigant carried with her, for luck, an ornamental horse-shoe, measuring at least a foot in length, and won her case. Magistrates trust that this idea, pretty as it is, may not spread to Suffragettes of acknowledged markmanship.

"Do people read as much as they used to?" is a question which is often asked nowadays. There are signs that they are, anyhow, getting more particular as to what they read. Even the House of Commons is becoming fastidious. It refused, the other day, to read the Weekly Rest Day Bill a second time, and the Third Reading of the Home Rule Bill was regarded as a waste of time and intelligence.

The superstitions of great men are always interesting, and we hear that, after his experience at Ipswich and on the Stock Exchange, Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is now firmly convinced that it is unlucky for him to have anything to do with anyone whose name ends in "oni."

Professor METCHNIKOFF, the great authority on the prevention of senile decay, will shortly celebrate his seventieth birthday, and a project is on foot to congratulate him on his good fortune in living so long.

The Central Telephone Exchange is now prepared to wake up subscribers at any hour for threepence a call, and it is forming an "Early Risers' List." So many persons are anxious to take a rise out of the Telephone Service that the success of the innovation is assured.

We see from an advertisement that we now have in our midst an "Institute of Hand Development." This should prove most useful to parents who own troublesome children. No doubt after a short course of instruction the spanking power of the hand may be doubled.

There are now 168 house-boats on the Thames, states the annual report of the Conservators, and it has been suggested that a race between these craft might form an attractive item at Henley.

Shoals of mackerel entered Dover Bay last week, and many of the fish were caught by what is described as a novel form of bait, namely a cigarette paper on a hook drawn through the water in the same way as a "spinner." As a matter of fact we believe that smoked salmon are usually caught this way.

It looks as if even in America the respect for Titles is on the wane. We venture to extract the following item from the catalogue of an American dealer in autographs:--"BRYCE, JAMES, Viscount. Historian. Original MS. 33 pp. 4to of his article 'Equality.' In this he says:--'The evils of hereditary titles exceed their advantage. In Great Britain they produce snobbishness both among those who possess them and those who do not, without any corresponding sense of duty to sustain the credit of the family or the caste. Their abolition would be clear gain....' And now he is a Viscount. Price 30 dollars."

MORE AFRICAN UNREST.

"We have indeed reached the stage known as the last straw on the camel's back, and I, for one, am quite prepared, as one of the least component parts of that camel, to add my iota to the endeavour to kick over the traces. Let us unite and, marching shoulder to shoulder and eye to eye, set sail for that glorious and equally well-known goal--'Who pays the piper calls the tune.'"

No man of spirit could resist so stirring an appeal.

EMBARRASSING SITUATIONS.

From the latest Official Report on anti-aircraft guns:--

"Another arrangement, constructed by Messrs. Lenz, is that in which the layer's seat is attached to the muzzle of the gun."

"The mediators who are to intervene to bring peace in Mexico have begun their sittings at Niagara in a situation which is full of perplexity."

If the spot alluded to is immediately under the Falls we can well understand their lack of confidence.

THE HOLIDAY MOOD.

TO THE LIBERAL PARTY--BRITISH SECTION.

Why was the trombone's music dumb? Why did the tears of joy not splash on The vellum of the big bass drum To indicate your ardent passion For that Green Isle across the way Which you must really visit some fine day?

Was it the three elections That left you for the time prostrated , Concluding with the worst of slips which Occurred between the cup and mouth at Ipswich?

Was it because your Home Rule Bill craves to be amended, And to the Lords you love so ill That you would gladly see 'em ended The delicate task has been referred Of patching up the places where you erred?

Was it that you were pained to find How Ulster took your noble Charter; With what composure she declined To bear it like a Christian martyr; How there she stood, too firm to shake, With no idea of stepping to the stake?

Or did you doubt if all was right With Erin when you heard O'BRIEN Foreboding doom by second sight And roaring like a wounded lion, And saw what venomed hate convulsed her Apart from any little tiff with Ulster?

Or could it be you felt so fain About your imminent vacation That the same breast could not contain The joy of Ireland-as-a-Nation? There wasn't room for both inside, And so the Bill gave way to Whitsuntide?

If that was why you would not hail Your chance of bringing down the ceiling, But let the holiday mood prevail, I understand, and share your feeling; I find my bowl of joy o'er-bubbling Whenever Parliament has ceased from troubling.

O. S.

NEWSPAPER WAR.

CUT-THROAT PARISH MAGAZINE COMPETITION.

The amazing upheaval in provincial journalism consequent on the issue of the Little Titley Parish Magazine at one penny is the sole topic of conversation in Dampshire, to the exclusion of Ulster, Mexico, the scarcity of meat, and even golf. Perhaps the most remarkable and significant outcome of this momentous change is the sudden abandonment by the Nether Wambleton Parish Magazine of its familiar claim that its sale amounted to an average which, if tested, would show an excess of two to one over any other church periodical in Wessex. The Nether Wambleton Parish Magazine in its May number contented itself with asserting that it is the largest religious monthly in North Dampshire, also that its average sale, if tested, would show a circulation calculated to stagger humanity.

The statement is signed by the Rev. Auriel Potts, Vicar of Nether Wambleton, and Andrew Jobling and Septimus Wicks, sidesmen.

The saddest feature about this painful controversy is the personal estrangement which it has brought about between the two Vicars. Only six months ago the Rev. Mr. Bolster presided at a meeting at which the friends and parishioners of the Rev. Mr. Potts presented him with a testimonial and a set of electro-plated fish-knives to commemorate the celebration of his silver wedding. The testimonial, which was composed by Mr. Bolster, was a document couched in terms of the most affectionate admiration, and special reference was made to Mr. Potts's editorial abilities and the extraordinarily high literary standard of his parish magazine. In acknowledging the presentation Mr. Potts said that Mr. Bolster's energy and goodwill in carrying it out had given him more satisfaction than anything else, and when the two eminent divines were photographed in the act of embracing on the platform there was hardly a dry eye in the huge audience, numbering fully forty persons, who attended the proceedings.

TURKEY . "INFIRM OF PURPOSE! GIVE ME BACK THE WHIP."

THE TATTIE-BOGLE.

A farmer once, to scare the birds away, O'er his poor seeds set up, to leer and ogle, A raffish moon-face, stuffed with straw and hay, A Tattie-Bogle;

And rook and daw and stare their pinions spread Incontinent; for, so they judged the matter, Some scowling foe stood there, and off they fled With startled chatter.

A week the portent stood in sun and rain And fluttered rags of dread. A sparrow, nathless, Whose nestlings cried, dashed down and snatched a grain, And got off scathless.

Emboldened, back she flew; to such good end The others followed, craning and alarmful, To find the monster, if perhaps no friend, At least unharmful.

To-day the bogle wags, a thing of jest And open scorn; the very pipits mock it; A jenny wren, I'm told, has built her nest In one torn pocket!

Heart of my heart, and so prove aught of awe That darkens on your path; the buckram rogue'll Stand, when you face him, but a ghost of straw-- A Tattie-Bogle!

THE THREE-CARD TRICK.

Although the last race on the programme had yet to be run the railway station that adjoined the course was already packed to discomfort with the crowd of those who had left early in order to avoid each other. When the train that had been waiting drew alongside the platform there was a considerable bustle; but the individual whom I will call the Complete Sportsman was nimble enough to secure a corner seat in a compartment that was immediately filled. A couple of quiet-looking elderly men, wearing hard hats and field-glasses, took the corners on the far side and began to discuss the day's events in undertones. They were followed by a stout red-faced gentleman in a suit of pronounced check, a curate and a hatchet-nosed individual in gaiters who looked like a vet.

As the train started, Red-face, catching the eye of the Complete Sportsman, smiled genially. "Nice bit o' sport to-day, guv'nor," he observed.

The person thus addressed agreed, a little nervously.

"And why shouldn't we keep it up?" continued the other. He gazed round upon the company at large. "If so be as no gentleman here has any objection to winning a bit more."

Since no one offered any protest it appeared that no such prejudice existed. Red-face, diving into the pocket of his check coat, produced cards and a folding board. "Then here goes!" said he. "Who's the Lady and Find the Woman. Half-a-quid on it every time against any gent as chooses to back his fancy!"

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