write! 
  That wrung from gloom itself a fleeting smile;
  Rippled with laughter but refrained from guile;
  Led you to prick some bladder of conceit
  Or trip intrusive folly’s blundering feet,
  While wisdom at your call came down to earth,
  Unbent awhile and gave a hand to mirth!

  You too had pondered mid your jesting strife
  The deeper issues of our mortal life;
  Guided to God by faith no doubt could dim
  You fought your fight and left the rest to Him,
  Content to set your heart on things above
  And rule your days by laughter and by love. 
  Rest in our memories!  You are guarded there
  By those who knew you as you lived and were. 
  There mid our Happy Thoughts you take your stand,
  A sun-girt shade, and light that shadow-land.

R.C.L.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Captain (newly attached).  “ER—­IS THERE ANYTHING YOU’D LIKE ME TO GET ON TO, SIR?”

Major (regimental economist).  “AH, YES!  I WISH YOU’D JUST LOOK AFTER THE BONES AND DRIPPING.”]

* * * * *

CHILDREN’S TALES FOR GROWN-UPS.

VIII.

SOUR GRAPES.

“I have no doubt,” said the fox, after a last futile attempt to reach them, “that the grapes are sour;” and he went off slowly down the hill.

At the bottom of the hill a barrel was lying, and the philosopher was filled with new hope.  “The very thing,” he said to himself.

He put his shoulder to the barrel and pushed and panted and panted and pushed till he got it nearly to the top.  But it broke away at the last moment and rolled down the hill.

He rolled it up again and again perseveringly.  He tried as often as Sisyphus.  He tried indeed just once more, because at last he succeeded and the barrel was placed on end under the vine.

Joyfully he climbed on the barrel and bit at the fruit.

Then he jumped down with a bark of disgust.

The grapes were sour.

* * * * *

“Mutiny aboard a German U-boat, aided by the demolarizing effects of a submarine bomb, made the diver a prize of the British Admiralty and her crew the willing prisoners of a patrol boat.”—­Ottawa Evening Journal.

This kind of bomb—­the demolariser—­is just what we want to draw the enemy’s teeth.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE END OF THE THOUSAND-AND-ONE NIGHTS.

THE OFFICIAL STORY-TELLER (to Wilhelm-al-Raschid).  “I CAN’T THINK OF ANY
FRESH FAIRY TALES.  WOULD YOU LIKE A TRUE ONE NOW?”

[April 30th was the thousand-and-first day of the War.]]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

Monday, April 23rd.—­Any intelligent foreigner who obtained admission to the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery in the expectation that on the feast-day of our national saint and the birthday of our national poet he would be privileged to listen to a series of eloquent speeches upon patriotism, delivered by our most accomplished orators, must have been deeply disappointed.  The one subject that the House of Commons seems to care about is food.