Insurance may be all serene,
    But the insurance JOHN must measure
  Is safety on all roads marine
    For him, his men, his food, his treasure. 
  And if our ships don’t give us this
    On Neptune s high-road wild and wavy,
  JOHN BULL his chief straight tip will miss,
    And likewise soon may miss—­his Navy!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  PROFESSOR MARSH’S PRIMEVAL TROUPE.

HE SHOWS HIS PERFECT MASTERY OVER THE CERATOPSIDAE.

(See Proceedings of the British Association at Leeds.)]

* * * * *

CUPID AND MINERVA.

(FRAGMENT FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY THAT IT IS HOPED WILL NEVER BE WRITTEN.)

I was most anxious that my past should be concealed from him, as I felt that once revealed, it would come between us as a barrier for ever!  So I dissembled.  I adapted my conversation to his capabilities.  I learned to talk of lawn tennis, cricket, politics, even cookery.  Only on one occasion did I betray myself.  With self-abasement I was asking for an explanation of the electric telegraph.  He gave me a somewhat faulty definition.

“Dear me!” I cried.  “How did they ever come to think of such a clever thing?”

“Omne ign[)o]tum pro magnifico,” he replied, with condescension.

I could not bear the false quantity even from his lips, and I asked, “Would not ign[=o]tum be better, darling?”

I could have bitten out my tongue for such an indiscretion.  He looked at me sharply, with a glance of covert distrust.

“What do you know about it?” he asked, somewhat brusquely.

“Nothing, nothing!” I said, confusedly.  “I happened to be looking through an Explanatory Pronouncing Dictionary of Latin Quotations, and found the passage.”

“Beware of consulting text-books,” he returned, sententiously.  “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

For the moment I was safe, but I knew that the confidence that hitherto had existed between us was shaken and lessened.  When he left me that day, he referred once more to the incident.

“Forgive me, SCHOLASTICA, I know I have been disagreeable.  But I confess I am upset—­the fact is a man doesn’t care to be picked up sharp in his Latin.”

“Forgive me!” I pleaded, “and you will love me?”

“Ad f[)i]nem!” he returned, making the first vowel short.  I set my teeth and was silent.  He looked at me with a keen glance, as if he would read my very soul, murmuring under his breath, “if she will stand that, she will stand anything,” and we parted!  Once alone, I gave vent to my feelings in a burst of passionate weeping. “Ad finem!” Oh, it was hard to bear!

At length the day arrived for our marriage.  Just as I was starting for the Church a letter was handed to me.  I recognised in the shaky superscription (which seemed to tremble in every stroke) his handwriting.  The envelope contained a printed paper!  It was the Oxford Class List!  Then the truth in all its hideousness dawned upon me.  He knew at last that I had taken a Double First!