cannot write an ode,

Not even a ten-syllabic blank-verse ode,

In second persons singular of verbs,

In "snifflest" and in "wheezest" and the rest,

For I am sure to trip and spoil the thing,

And bring grammatic censure on my head.

Be, therefore, plural—"you" instead of "thou"—

Which makes things simpler. Now we can get on.

O fain-avoided and most loathsome Cold,

You with the sneezing, teasing, wheezing airs,

What make you here at such a time as this,

Melting my snowy store of handkerchiefs,

Rasping my throat and bringing aches to range

At large within the measure of my head?

Platoon-Commanders of the Volunteers,

Who now are recognised (three cheers!) at last,

And of whose number I who write am one,

Should be immune from colds; they sound absurd

When bidding men to "boove to th' right id Fours,"

Or "order arbs" (or slope) or "stad at ease,"

Or "od the left" (or right) to "forb platood."

Even the most submissive men begin

To lose respect when such commands ring out.

Wherefore, my cold—atchoo, atchoo—be off,

Lest I report you and your deeds aright

To Mr. Tennant at the War Office.

In the cast of The Real Thing at Last:—

"Nearly murdered ... Mr. Godfrey Tearle (by permission of the Adelphi Theatre Co.)."—Daily Telegraph.

A sorry return for Mr. Tearle's excellent work.

"The Floods in Holland.

General Goethals states that he cannot predict a date for reopening the Panama Canal on account of the uncertainty of the movement of the slides."—North China Daily News.

It looks like an infringement of the Monroe doctrine.

Artistic Lady (who has just had her drawing-room redecorated). "Well, cook, what do you think of it?"

Cook. "It's a bit bare-like, isn't it, Mum? I dessay I'm old-fashioned, but I never reely feel an 'ome's an 'ome without a Haspidisterer."

RECIPROCITY IN FICTION.

Forthcoming Masterpieces.

"It is not often," says a writer of what is called "Literary Intelligence," "that a novelist adopts a living fellow-worker as the central figure of his story. This is, however, the case with My Lady of the Moor, which Messrs. Longmans will shortly publish for Mr. John Oxenham. While wandering on Dartmoor he stumbled into a living actual romance, of which Miss Beatrice Chase, author of several popular books about Dartmoor, was the centre. This book tells the tale, which is named after Miss Chase, My Lady of the Moor, and it has of course been written with her full consent and approval."

But the "Literary Intelligencer" did not know that Mr. Oxenham is not the dazzling innovator that he might be thought. Why, even at the moment that Mr. Oxenham was serving up Miss Chase on toast, but always, of course, with perfect taste, Miss Chase was performing the same culinary business for him. For her next novel, to be entitled with great charm My Gentleman of the Cheek, will present a faithful picture of the gifted John and the figure he cut on Dartymoor all among the thikkies and down-alongs and tors.

Mr. Hall Caine, having just been pleading in public for more War realism from literary artists, has in preparation a fascinating new romance entitled Marie of Stratford, which depicts, with all this master's restraint, power and genius, various phases in the life of a sister-novelist of whose existence he has recently heard. Nothing at once so charming and so arresting has been published for days.

It is announced that Miss Marie Corelli, who for too long has vouchsafed nothing fresh to her countless admirers, has just completed the (Isle of) Manuscript of a story which, like all her works, is epoch-making. Connoisseurs of literature, always eager for a new frisson, will be fascinated to learn that this novel has for its subject a fellow-novelist of whose retired existence she has but lately become aware. It takes the form of a saga and is entitled Hall of the Three Legs. Editions of a size commensurate with the scarcity of paper are being prepared.

Meanwhile we are informed that Mr. Tasker Jevons is at work upon a trilogy of vast dimensions and meticulous detail, of which the heroine is Miss May Sinclair.

"The General Manager, in reply, said: Seeing that the privilege of addressing you in annual meeting comes to me once only in every forty-four years of service, and having regard to the vast interests included in this vote of thanks, there might be found some excuse for elaboration of acknowledgment were it not that discursiveness is entirely at variance with the habits of the staff."

Pall Mall Gazette.

After another forty-four years' silence we hope he will really let himself go.

An Exchange of Ivories.

"Wanted, piano; dentist willing to make artificial teeth for same, or part."

Edinburgh Evening Despatch.

A Hint to the Censor.

"To cool hot journals apply a dressing made of 11 lb. blacklead, 23 lb. Epsom salts, 9 lb. sulphur, 2 lb. lampblack and 5 lb. oxalic acid, mixed and ground together."—Ironmonger.

HIS BARK IS ON THE SEA.

Mr. Punch. "AND WHAT DID YOU THINK OF COLONEL CHURCHILL'S SPEECH, SIR?"

Admiral Jellicoe. "I'M AFRAID I DON'T UNDERSTAND THESE THINGS. I'M NOT A POLITICIAN."

Mr. Punch. "THANK GOD FOR THAT, SIR!"

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

Tuesday, March 7th.—The House of Commons to-day devoted itself to the process curiously known as "getting the Speaker out of the Chair." The phrase suggests reluctance on the part of the occupant to leave his seat; though I cannot recall any occasion when the employment of force has been necessary to persuade Mr. Lowther to resign to the Chairman of Committees the duty of listening to dull speeches. But this afternoon I can imagine that the Speaker would have been well content to remain. For there was fun brewing. Mr. Balfour was to introduce the Naval Estimates, and his dear friend and ex-colleague, Colonel Winston Churchill, was announced to follow him. The conjunction of these highly-electrified bodies is always apt to produce sparks. The House was well filled, and over the clock could be seen Lord Fisher, like "a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft