ALEXANDER NIAS.

    Steep Hill, Cramlington.

DEAR SIR,—­There is nothing surprising in the story of a halibut devouring a cormorant.  As you will see from consulting Murray, halibut means “holy-butt” (or flat-fish), and holy fishes are possessed of magical powers.  When I lived on the coast of Florida I had a tame tarpon, which could swallow anything—­croquet balls, door scrapers—­and once ate an entire cottage pianoforte in half-an-hour.  Here I may add that in my travels in Turkestan I was attacked by a boa-constrictor, and, though I escaped with my life, it proceeded to swallow the Bactrian camel on which I was riding.  On the following day, however, when the boa was still in a comatose condition, I killed it with a boomerang, rescued the camel and continued my journey without further mishap.

    I am, Sir, Yours veraciously,

    ANDREW MERRIMAN.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Lady Driver (just joined).  “OH, SERGEANT, I HOPE I SHAN’T UPSET MY FIRST PASSENGER!”

Sergeant (A.S.C., M.T.). “PASSENGER, MISS!  DON’T LET THAT WORRY YOU.  PLENTY MORE PASSENGERS!”]

* * * * *

THE SIX-HOUR DAY.

AN ANTICIPATION.

["If the husband’s hours are reduced to six that gives the wife a chance.  The home and the children are as much his as hers.  With his enlarged leisure he will now be able to take a fair share in home duties.”

    Mrs. WILL CROOKS.]

  Jock Mackay was a lusty soul;
  He earned his livelihood winning coal;
  Black with grime, all huddled and bent,
  A third of his life in the pit he spent;
  A third he slept and a third he slacked
  Training the whippet his fancy backed,
  Or talking strikes with a fervent zest
  In the bar of the neighbouring “Miners’ Rest.”

  Jean Mackay was his wife; her day
  Started or ever the dawn was grey;
  She lit the fire, she shook the mats,
  She frizzled the bacon and dressed the brats,
  She darned and mended, she made the beds,
  She combed the tugs in the tousled heads,
  She knitted the socks, she washed and baked
  Till every bone in her body ached;
  She toiled and moiled in a non-stop fight
  From six in the morning till ten at night.

  But there dawned a day when Jock Mackay
  Came home from the mine with a dancing eye
  And a laugh in his heart, and he cried out, “Jean,
  ‘Tis the grandest day that the warl’ has seen! 
  The lads are a’ cheerin’ and rinnin’ fey,
  For the Government’s gien us the sax-hour day.”

  Jean stopped scrubbing.  “Is’t true?” said she;
  “I wish ye luck.  But bide a wee. 
  Noo that the battle is owre an’ done,
  What will ye dae wi’ the hours ye’ve won?”

  “What will I dae wi’ them?  What I like. 
  I’ll tak’ a bit turn wi’ my wee bit tyke,
  Or call for a crack wi’ the lads at the “Rest,”
  And mebbe I micht tak’ a drap, if pressed.”