For candidates not seeking Honours a passable imitation of Mr. GEORGE ROBEY will entitle to one group.

A.E.

* * * * *

TWO VIEWS.

  There was a high priest of illusion
  Who rose by his leader’s extrusion;
        By way of amends
        He invites his old friends
  To extinguish their prospects by Fusion.

  There was a great foe of delusion,
  Who came to the honest conclusion
        That Socialist Labour
        Plays beggar-my-neighbour
  And sought to defeat it by Fusion.

* * * * *

    A LEAP-YEAR RECORD.

    “CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY SPORTS.—­H.M.  Abrahams winning the
    long jump with a distance of 22yds. to his credit.”—­Picture
    Paper.

* * * * *

    “THE PREMIER AND HIS FUTURE.

    WHITHER GOETH THOU?”—­Headings in Daily Paper.

Answer adjudged correct:  “I knowest not.”

* * * * *

    ’Wanted, a Horse for its keep.  Excellent cuisine.”—­The Times
    of Ceylon.

A la cart, we presume.

* * * * *

    “A roof garden for cats is included in the scheme for
    the extension of the premises of Our Dumb Friends’
    League.”—­Evening Paper.

We have heard the nocturnal cat on the tiles called many names, but never a “dumb friend.”

* * * * *

    “The Police announce that dogs without dollars found wandering
    after 10 p.m. are liable to be destroyed.”—­Hong Kong Paper.

We understand, however, that in China dogs are almost invariably provided with taels.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  TRIALS OF THE FISH-TRADE.

“CLOTHES, MY DEAR!  DON’T MENTION CLOTHES.  YOU OUGHT TO BE IN THE FISH LINE, WHY, I RUNS THROUGH A SET O’ FURS IN ABOUT A MONTH!”

* * * * *

A NOTE TO NATURE,

accounting for my previous silence in an unusually temperate March and also presenting an ultimatum.

  Ye great brown hares, grown madder through the Spring! 
    Ye birds that utilise your tiny throttles
  To make the archways of the forest ring
  Or go about your easy house-hunting! 
    Ye toads! ye axolotls!

  Ye happy blighters all, that squeal and squat
    And fly and browse where’er the mood entices,
  Noting in every hedge or woodland grot
  The swelling surge of sap, but noting not
    The rise in current prices!

  But chiefly you, ye birds, whose jocund note
    (Linnets and larks and jays and red-billed ousels)
  Oft in those happier springtides now remote
  Caused me to catch the lyre and clear my throat
    After some coy refusals!