... By Arthur Matthison, Author of The Little Hero, &c., I HEARD a wild story once, out in the West, Of a trial, where law was derided; Where the Jury were just the first men round about, And Lynch was the Judge that presided. The Court was a rood of green turf, hot and dry, For the fierce summer sun parch'd the valley Near the river a tree stood for gallows, if need, For Lynch law, out there, ...

... . I tuned my harp in a spring tide sweet, For a song, and I strove to sing it, A melody pure and passionate, meet For the voice of the years to ring it But the notes that I sounded were false and fleet, And the soul of the music was incomplete, So I trusted that Time would bring it. I tuned my harp in the joy of June, For I thought the glad world was crying Come sing us a song this summer noon ...

... . I'M a hero of comedy yes, sir,-- Tom Robertson gave me my cue His mantle's my comedy dress, sir. Does it lit me I'll leave that to you. Just think how I handle his style, sir; See how I develop his tricks If in Parian he wrought. By the mile, sir, run up my farcical bricks. Let me smoke on the stage aye, and drink, sir, Amd munch at my property cram, And don't a bit worse of me think, sir, ...

... LOVE AND WAR. A VALENTINE OF THE PERIOD Love, like war, Has many fears War sheds blood, Love sheds tears War has arrows, Love has darts War takes towns, Love takes hearts. Louie Rogers, ...

... OUR CAPTIOUS CR1TI C-- T HE CORONATION. They come, they come, l!y road, by rail, They come, they come, Fells clanging, Guns banging, Drums hammering, Brass clamouring, Flags fluttering. Lights spluttering, Men crushing, Maids rushing, Boys pushing, Horses rearing, Tolice forbearing They come, they come, (The mayors reels' Stammering-) They come, tlieUC{^.e' /rom near and far with sword ana ...

... She that comes like a queen to quiet in Plymouth Sound, Set to her royals, knew the gale by night, Wrath of the sea, wind like a tearing hound, Unbitted fury raging in The Bight. Only we that have wandered, we that have felt the wind Can know the happiness of making home Only the storm -swept have the joy to find To what deep peace a wandered ship may come. A. M. HARBORD ...

... Earth, there's none that can enslave thee, JT.ot thy lords it is that have thee Nor for gold art thou sold, But thy lovers at their pleasure, Take thy beauty and thy treasure. From Gaudeamus Igitur by Margaret Woods HUNTINGDONSHIRE PEACE THE CHURCH AND RIVER OUSE AT HEMINGFORD DERWENTWATER, LOOKING TOWARDS BORROWDALE, FROM CASTLE HEAD Photos. J. Dixon-Scott, F.R.P.S. ...

... THE COLOURED PICTURE, A CHRISTMAS P, COCKADE. By One op tiie Giuls. 'Tis ChristmaB at last As we struggled witli Czerny, And toiled through those wearisome Dates once again, The prospect of this at the end of onr journey Has softened our troubles, and lightened the chain. The schoolroom is vacant, Ma'mselle has de parted. At tea yesternight with our Kato in the chair, We poured a cup round to ...

... THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER. AETEE UHLAUD. Her eyes have not the heaven's blue Her lips have not the rose's hue Nor has her brow the lily's white. But joyous were the Springtide when O'er every hill and every glen Such lilies and such roses spread, And the blue canopy o'erhead Were half as bright Arthur Clements. ...

... A R H Y M E OF T H E T I M E S. BY DUNCAN TOVELV 'jpHIS is the Zep that Bill built. These are the bombs that lay in the Zep that Bill built. This is the Captain, who took command Of the expedition to strafe England With his valorous crew, &c. This is the baby that slumbered in bed, And dreamed not at all of the Zep overhead, Or the noble Captain, &c. This is the last (though the Germans ...

... AN ODE TO CHRISTMAS. WRITTEN IN ADVANCE. IN this one month when all the wise world slumbers, In soft siesta resting, comes commanding The Printer's call to press for Christmas Numbers-- Last copy, please.-- The devil's on the landing. Alas, to write of Christmas here in August On such a day 'Tis sweltering, for a wonder Where is the frost of June, where July's raw gust The air is close I'm ...

... . You have heard I was bond to the Spaniard, When wrecked off his coast of Peru; And he kept me long years as a captive-- We had no great right there, 'tis true. I thought ne'er again to see England. Nor had I. But love set me free, For the haughty Don Jose saw danger When Nita's bright eyes glanced at me. And then 'twas his fears, not his pity, That made me a rover once more, And left me with ...