Yet sometimes still, when on the rack
    And past all due forbearance tried,
  The ancient fierce desire comes back,
    I seem to boil inside;
  And then I take a hefty sack,
    I place my head within, and thus
  Loose off, in some secluded niche,
  A deep, whole-hearted, grateful, rich,
    Sustained, delirious cuss.

* * * * *

THE SLUMP IN MONARCHY.

From a publisher’s advertisement:—­

  THE PRICE OF
    A THRONE
     -----
    1/6 NETT

* * * * *

    “The scratching of the hydroplane Sutnrise for the Atlantic
    Flight Stakes must tempt her captain to change his name from
    Sunstedt to Sunsttd.”—­Provincial Paper.

We fear the printer did not appreciate the sub-editor’s humour.

* * * * *

“Until they get a barber the Islington Board of Guardians are employing a gardener to do hair-cutting and shaving work in his spare time at a remuneration of 1s. 3d. per hour.”—­Daily Express.

But we understand that he is expected to provide his own scythe.

* * * * *

THE OLD SHIPS.

  They called ’em from the breakers’ yards, the shores of Dead Men’s Bay,
  From coaling wharves the wide world round, red-rusty where they lay,
  And chipped and caulked and scoured and tarred and sent ’em on their way.

  It didn’t matter what they were nor what they once had been,
  They cleared the decks of harbour-junk and scraped the stringers clean
  And turned ’em out to try their luck with the mine and submarine ...

  With a scatter o’ pitch and a plate or two,
    And she’s fit for the risks o’ war—–­
  Fit for to carry a freight or two,
    The same as she used before;
  To carry a cargo here and there,
  And what she carries she don’t much care,
  Boxes or barrels or baulks or bales,
  Coal or cotton or nuts or nails,
  Pork or pepper or Spanish beans,
  Mules or millet or sewing-machines,
  Or a trifle o’ lumber from Hastings Mill ... 
  She’s carried ’em all and she’ll carry ’em still,
    The same as she’s done before.

  And some were waiting for a freight, and some were laid away,
  And some were liners that had broke all records in their day,
  And some were common eight-knot tramps that couldn’t make it pay.

  And some were has-been sailing cracks of famous old renown,
  Had logged their eighteen easy when they ran their easting down
  With cargo, mails and passengers bound South from London Town ...

  With a handful or two o’ ratline stuff,
    And she’s fit for to sail once more;
  She’s rigged and she’s ready and right enough,
    The same as she was before;
  The same old ship on the same old road