And yet
The end—­whatever you may say
Is wet! 
’Twas wet in June, and in July
Wet too;
In August it is wetter.  Why,
Trust you? 
Barometer, you false old chap,
You bore! 
I’m no Woodpecker, and I’ll tap
No more!

* * * * *

“NOTHING IN THE PAPERS!”

OR, VOLUNTARY CONTRIBUTIONS UN-GRATEFULLY RECEIVED.

SCENE—­A Railway Compartment.  BROWN and SMITH looking up
from their Daily Papers._

Brown.  Now that Parliament stands prorogued, I suppose there is nothing to read?

Smith.  Nothing.  Except this article upon Australia.  Tells one all about Capital and Labour in that part of the world.  Most interesting.  Wonder how they found room for it!  Have you seen it?

Brown.  Well, no.  Fact is I have been reading about Argentina.  Very exhaustive article this, and on a matter of serious moment.  I hold some shares as a trustee.  Seems that they will all come right in the end.  Would you like to see it?

Smith.  When I have time to read it.  But, to tell the truth, it takes me a good hour to get through the City Intelligence.  And the racing, too, that always interests me; but I don’t think it is so exciting as the Stock Exchange.

Brown.  No more do I. By the way, is there anything good in the correspondence line in your paper?

Smith.  The usual sensational recess subjects.  Some of the letters are too good for the general public; they must have been written in the office.

Brown.  I daresay.  And perhaps these sketches of places away from Town are also written in London?

Smith.  Not a bit of it!  I happen to know that the papers spend thousands and thousands upon obtaining information in every quarter of the globe.  Bogus articles are things of the past.

Brown.  Only fancy!  And all this expense for nothing in the recess!  When no one reads the papers!

Smith.  Yes, and when there’s nothing in them!

    [They resume perusal of their papers until interrupted by a
    tunnel.  Curtain.

* * * * *

THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.

[Illustration]

      Oh, Sir, I read the papers every day,
      To amuse myself and pass the time away;
  But they’ve got so hard to follow that they simply beat me hollow
      With the learning and the culture they display;
  And they wouldn’t be so hard if those good people down at Cardiff
    Would but be a shade more careful what they say.

    The President’s address, I think, will tax
    My intellectual organ till it cracks;
  The Association British isn’t wanted to be skittish,
    Wear the motley, nor to run a race in sacks;
  But ’twas getting awkward rather when my youngest asked his father
    What the President implied by parallax.