* * * * *

LONDON PRIDE.

  Upon a lily-laden tide,
  Where galleons rocked with sails blown wide
    And white swans gleamed, there was a city
  Whose citizens called “London Pride”
    The flower that some call “None-so-Pretty.”

  It grew beside the frowning tower,
  By RALEGH’S walk and BOLEYN’S bower,
    As frail as joy, as sweet as pity;
  And “London Pride” they called that flower
    Which country folk call “None-so-Pretty.”

  When London lads made holiday
  In dewy hours o’ th’ month o’ May,
    And footed it with Moll and Kitty,
  Among the maypole garlands gay
    Be sure they plaited “None-so-Pretty.”

  When London lads in battle bent
  Their bows beside the bows of Kent
    (’Tis told in many a gallant ditty)
  Their caps were tufted as they went
    With “London Pride” or “None-so-Pretty.”

  Oh, London is what London was,
  And mighty food for pride she has;
    Her saints are wise, her sinners witty,
  And Picard clay and Flemish grass
    Are sweet with stars of “None-so-Pretty.”

* * * * *

“SAMMIES.”

A propos of the note in our issue of August 1st, a Correspondent suggests that the Americans might go into action to the tune of “Tommy make room for your Uncle.”

* * * * *

    “A Leghorn pullet, belonging to Mrs. G.R.  Bell, of Coxhoe,
    Durham, has laid an egg 3-1/4 oz. in weight, 7-1/2 in. in
    diameter, and 6-1/4 in. in circumference.”—­Scotch Paper.

Most interesting and novel, but very disconcerting to the mathematicians.

* * * * *

    “The procession was headed by the choristers and songmen, and
    included the surplus clergy and the Very Rev. the Dean.”

    Yorkshire Herald.

No support here, you will note, for the recent suggestion that Deans are superfluous.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE FAILURE OF THE FILM-THRILL.

PATIENTS FROM THE LATEST PUSH AT THE PICTURES.]

* * * * *

DUELLING EXTRAORDINARY.

The contemplated single-stick encounter between Colonel ARCHER-SHEE and Mr. PEMBERTON-BILLING recalls to mind a ludicrous affair which actually happened some years ago in a foreign city which I will here call Killemalivo.

Mr. Alec McTavish, a Briton many years resident in that fair capital and editor of the only English newspaper, had taken up stout verbal cudgels on behalf of the Americans, who had been viciously attacked in the columns of a local “daily.”  The United States of the North, in its capacity of “special” to the entire American continent, comes in for plenty of abuse when a new revolution is about to be perpetrated.