already: youth, health, good fortune, love of course; and I can't go giving them motor-cars and grandfather clocks and unimportant things of that kind. Now can I?"

I agreed. As it happened I was in a somewhat similar predicament myself, though from rather different causes.

"Can't you think of anything?" she asked a little petulantly, evidently annoyed at my inadequacy. I shook my head.

"I can't," I said. "But why not find out from them? It's often done. You might ask Margery what Max would like and then sound him about her."

The Queen brightened up. "What a good idea!" she said. "I'll go at once." She's very impulsive.

She was back again in half-an-hour, looking pleased and excited. Her cheeks were like pink rose-leaves.

"It's all right about Max," she said breathlessly. "Margery says the only thing he wants frightfully badly is a really smashing service. He's rather bothered about his. So I shall order one for him at once. I'm very pleased; it seems such a suitable thing for a wedding present. People often give services, don't they? And now I'll go and find Max." And she was off before I could utter a sound.

But this time when she returned it was evident that she had been less successful.

"It's absurd," she said, "perfectly absurd!" She stamped her foot, and yet she was smiling a little. "I told him I would bestow upon Margery anything he could possibly think of that she lacked. That any quality of mind or heart, any beauty, any charm that a girl could desire, should be hers as a gift. I assured him that there was nothing I could not and would not do for her. And what do you think? He listened quite attentively and politely—oh, Max has nice manners—and then he looked me straight in the eyes and 'Thank you very much,' he said; 'it's most awfully kind of you. I hope you won't think me ungrateful, but I'm afraid I can't help you at all. There's nothing—nothing. Margery—well, you see, Margery's perfect.' I was so annoyed with him that I came away without saying another word. And now I'm no further than I was before as regards Margery. Mortals really are very stupid. It's most vexing."

She paused a minute, then suddenly she looked up and flashed a smile at me. "All the same it was rather darling of him, wasn't it?" she said.

I nodded. "I wonder ...," I began.

"Yes?" interjected the Queen eagerly.

"... I wonder whether you could give her that, just that for always?"

"What do you mean?" said the Queen.

"I mean," I said slowly, "the gift of remaining perfect for ever in his eyes."

The Queen looked at me thoughtfully. "He'll think I'm not giving her anything," she objected.

"Never mind," I said, "she'll know."

The Queen nodded. "Yes," she said meditatively, "rather nice—rather nice. Thank you very much. I'll think about it. Good-bye." She was gone.

R.F.

"On Monday evening an employee of the —— Railway Loco. Department dislocated his jaw while yawning."—Local Paper.

It is expected that the company will disclaim liability for the accident, on the ground that he was yawning in his own time.

NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.

(¹) and (²). There ought to be two pictures here, one with a hundred legs and the other with about a thousand. I have tried several artists, but most of them couldn't even get a hundred on to the page, and those who did always had more legs on one side than the other, which is quite wrong. So I have had to dispense with the pictures.

Another Impending Apology.

"Ainsi parla l'éditeur du Daily Herald. Lord Lansbury a toujours été l'enfant chéri et terrible du parti travailliste anglais."—Gazette de Lausanne.

"Wanted.

Small nicely furnished house, nice locality, for nearly married couple, from August 1st."—Johannesburg Star.

We trust that no one encouraged them with accommodation.

THE MAKING OF A REFORMER.

SHOWING THE INFECTIOUS INFLUENCE OF ORATORY.

THE MUDFORD BLIGHT

.

Mary settled her shoulders against the mantel-piece, slid her hands into her pockets and looked down at her mother with faint apprehension in her eyes.

"I want," she remarked, "to go to London."

Mrs. Martin rustled the newspaper uneasily to an accompanying glitter of diamond rings. Mary's direct action slightly discomposed her, but she replied amiably. "Well, dear, your Aunt Laura has just asked you to Wimbledon for a fortnight in the Autumn."

Mary did not move. "I want," she continued abstractedly, "to live in London."

Mrs. Martin glanced up at her daughter as if discrediting the authorship of this remark. "I don't know what you are thinking of, child," she said tartly, "but you appear to me to be talking nonsense. Your father and I have no idea of leaving Mudford at present."

"I want," Mary went on in the even tone of one hypnotised by a foregone conclusion, "to go and live with Jennifer and write—things."

Mrs. Martin's gesture as she rose expressed as much horror as was consistent with majesty.

"My dear Mary," she said coldly, "let me dispose of your outrageous suggestion before it goes any further. You appear to imagine that because you have been earning a couple of hundred a year in the Air Force during the War you are still