* * * * *

NIMROD.

  Nimrod he was a hunter in the days of long ago,
  Caring little for things of state, little for things of show;
  When the unenlightened around him squabbled for wealth or fame
  NIMROD fled to the forests and gave himself up to Game.

  I’ve never been told what jungles old NIMROD called his own,
  Or studied the “Sportsman’s Record” he scratched on a shoulder-bone;
  I haven’t heard what he shot with nor even what game he slew,
  But I know he was fore-forefather to fellows like me and you.

  He stood to the roaring tiger, he stood to the charging gaur;
  His was the love of the hunting which is more than the lust of war;
  He knew the troubles of tracking, the business of camps and kits,
  And the pleasure that pays for the pain of all—­the ultimate shot that
      hits.

  Now I’ve nowhere seen it stated, but I’m certain the thing occurred,
  That when NIMROD came to his death-bed he sent his relatives word,
  And said to his sons and his people ere his spirit obtained release,
  “You follow the trails I taught you and your ways will bring you peace.”

  Wherefore—­as now and to-morrow—­when the souls of men were sick,
  When wives were fickle or fretful or the bills were falling thick,
  When the youth was minded to marry and the maiden withheld consent,
  Heeding the words of NIMROD, they packed their spears and went—­

  Went to the scented mornings, to the nights of the satin moon
  That can lap the heart in solace, that can settle the soul in tune;
  So they continued the remedy NIMROD of old began—­
  The healing hand of the jungle on the fevered brow of man.

  Then—­as now and to-morrow—­mended and sound and sane,
  Flushed by the noonday sunshine, freshed by the twilight rain,
  Trailing their trophies behind them, armed with the strength of ten,
  Back they came from the jungle ready to start again.

* * * * *

  Ye who have travelled the wilderness, ye who have followed the chase,
  Whom the voice of the forest comforts and the touch of the lonely place;
  Ye who are sib to the jungle and know it and hold it good—­
  Praise ye the name of NIMROD, a Fellow Who Understood.

  H.B.

* * * * *

THE HOUSE-AGENT’S FORLORN HOPE.

“TWO-AND-A-HALF MILES FROM STATION WITH NON-STOP TRAINS.”—­Weekly Paper.

* * * * *

A TRAGIC COINCIDENCE.

“TEN PROFESSORSHIPS VACANT

IN SYDNEY UNIVERSITY.

    Lausanne, Monday.

    The giant British aeroplane G.E.A.T.L., from Cricklewood aerodrome,
    London, landed at Blecherette, Lausanne, at 6-5 this evening.”—­Irish
    Paper.

Did all the ten Sydney Professors fall out of it together?