Can any of our readers oblige this eager zoologist?

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    “An incident of an extraordinary nature befell Colonel ——­, C.B.,
    while playing a golf match at Brancaster.  A large grey cow swooped
    down, picked up his ball and flew away with it.”—­Newfoundland Paper.

Probably a descendant of the one who jumped over the moon.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Betty. “MUMMY, HOW DID THESE TWO MARKS GET ON MY ARM?”

Mother. “THE DOCTOR MADE THEM.  THEY’RE VACCINATION MARKS.  THERE OUGHT PROPERLY TO BE FOUR OF THEM.”

Betty (after much deliberation).  “MUMMY, DID YOU PAY FOR FOUR?”]

* * * * *

ON RUNNING DOWN TO BRIGHTON.

When I consulted people about my nasal catarrh, “There is only one thing to do,” they said.  “Run down to Brighton for a day or two.”

So I started running and got as far as Victoria.  There I was informed that it was quite unnecessary to run all the way to Brighton.  People walked to Brighton, yes; or hopped to Kent; but they never ran.  The fastest time to Brighton by foot was about eight hours, but this was done without an overcoat or suit-case.  Even on Saturdays they said it was quicker to take the train than to walk or to hop.

Brighton has sometimes been called London by the Sea or the Queen of Watering Places, but in buying a ticket it is better to say simply Brighton, at the same time stating whether you wish to stay there indefinitely or to be repatriated at an early date.  I once asked a booking-clerk for two sun spots of the Western coast, and he told me that the refreshment-room was further on.  But I digress.

One of the incidental difficulties in running down to Brighton is that the rear end of the train queue often gets mixed up with the rear end of the tram queue for the Surrey cricket ground, so that strangers to the complexities of London traffic who happen to get firmly wedged in sometimes find themselves landed without warning at the “Hoval” instead of at Hove.  To avoid this accident you should keep the right shoulder well down and hold the shrimping-net high in the air with the left hand.  If you do get into the train the best place is one with your back to the window, for, though you miss the view, after all no one else sees it either, and you do get something firm to lean up against.  It was while I was travelling to Brighton in this manner that I discovered how much more warm this summer really is than many writers have made out.

Around Brighton itself a lot of legends have crystallized, some more or less true, others grossly exaggerated.  There is an idea, for instance, that all the inhabitants of this town or, at any rate, all the visitors who frequent it, are exceedingly smart in their dress.  Almost the first man whom I met in Brighton was wearing plus 4 breeches and a bowler hat.  It is possible, of course, that this is the correct costume for walking to Brighton in.  Later on I saw a man wearing a motor mask and goggles and a blue-and-red bathing suit.  Neither of these two styles is smart as the word is understood in the West End.