1. Did Abram S. Hewitt? Did he use an axe?

2. In your aquatic exercises did you ever try to Roanoke?

3. Was it the Sheriff or the Senator who wrote the poem, beginning, "Now I Lamy down to Sleep?"

4. Can Frederick A. Vogt without registering?

5. Is it indicative of an abnormal appetite to try to get a job on the Gorge Route?

6. How much water does it take to Philadelphia? Who?

7. When did you first become aware of the fact that Sydney, New South Wales? Why not?

8. The Captain said: "There is a list to starboard." Who compiled the list? 9. Explain in one word what happened when Robert K. Smither. Did it hurt?

10. Which rivers are Seine? Which insane? When?

11. What is the difference between an Alderney and a Moscow? 12. Who

colour?

Painted Post? What

13. What did the Senator Mark Hanna for? What did he do it with? Did she want to be marked?

14. We read in the Bible, "I heard the voice of Harpers harping with their harps." Does this refer to the Weekly or the Bazar?

15. "The fossil is from the Tertiary age." What was the ante?

16. In the game of golf does the tea caddy stay at the first tee or does he go over all the links?

17. What sort of men are J. A. Fellows?

18. In a literary review we read "An entertaining article entitled 'Let Us Have Peace in Europe' appears in the Atlantic this month." In view of this

could it be properly said that the Atlantic is Pacific?

19. What was it that Pendleton Centre?

20. Whom did London Punch? When? What for?

21. In the bicycling news appears this headline: "Bald on Top." Does this refer to a loss of hair?

22. How does Long Island Sound? What makes it? Was this what Harvey J. Hurd?

But some people just eat up this sort of thing.

RURAL BLISS

The poet is, or ought to be, a hater of the city,

And so, when happiness is mine, and Maud becomes my wife,

We'll look on town inhabitants with sympathetic pity,

For we shall lead a peaceful and serene Arcadian life.

Then shall I sing in eloquent and most effective phrases,

The grandeur of geraniums and the beauty of the rose;

Immortalise in deathless strains the buttercups and daisies

For even I can hardly be mistaken as to those.

The music of the nightingale will ring from leafy hollow,

And fill us with a rapture indescribable in words;

And we shall also listen to the robin and the swallow

(I wonder if a swallow sings?) and well, the other birds.

...

Too long I dwelt in ignorance of all the countless treasures

Which stab me, Rip me most outrageously; (Without a semblance, mind you, of respect for the Hague Convention's rules governing soul-slitting.)

Aye, as with the poniard of the Finite pricking the rainbow-bubble of the Infinite!

(Some figure, that!) (Some little rush of syllables, that!) And make me (are you still whirling at my coat-tails, reader?) Make me-ahem, where was I?-oh, yes-make me,

In a sudden, overwhelming gust of soul-shattering rebellion,

Fall flat on my face!

I never roved by Cynthia's beam,
To gaze upon the starry sky,
But some old stiff-backed beetle came,
And charged into my pensive eye.

And oh! I never did the swell

In Regent Street, amongst the beaux, But smuts the most prodigious fell And always settled on my nose!

H. CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL.

These swagger Britishers!

THE HAPPY MAN

La Galisse now I wish to touch;
Droll air! if I can strike it,

I'm sure the song will please you much;
That is, if you should like it.

La Galisse was, indeed, I grant,

Not used to any dainty, When he was born; but could not want As long as he had plenty.

Instructed with the greatest care,

He always was well bred, And never used a hat to wear But when 'twas on his head.

His temper was exceeding good,
Just of his father's fashion;
And never quarrels broiled his blood
Except when in a passion.

His mind was on devotion bent;
He kept with care each high day,
And Holy Thursday always spent
The day before Good Friday.

He liked good claret very well,
I just presume to think it;
For ere its flavour he could tell
He thought it best to drink it.

Than doctors more he loved the cook,
Though food would make him gross,

And never any physic took But when he took a dose.

Oh, happy, happy is the swain
The ladies so adore;
For many followed in his train
Whene'er he walked before.

Bright as the sun his flowing hair
In golden ringlets shone;
And no one could with him compare,
If he had been alone.

His talents I cannot rehearse,
But every one allows

That whatsoe'er he wrote in verse,
No one could call it prose.

He argued with precision nice,
The learned all declare;
And it was his decision wise,

No horse could be a mare.

His powerful logic would surprise,
Amaze, and much delight:
He proved that dimness of the eyes
Was hurtful to the sight.

They liked him much-so it appears
Most plainly-who preferred him;
And those did never want their ears
Who any time had heard him.

He was not always right, 'tis true,
And then he must be wrong;
But none had found it out, he knew,
If he had held his tongue.

Whene'er a tender tear he shed,
'Twas certain that he wept;
And he would lie awake in bed,
Unless, indeed, he slept.

In tilting everybody knew
His very high renown;
Yet no o ponents he o'erthrew

But those that he knocked down,

The Pope he leads a happy life,
He fears not married care nor strife.
He drinks the best of Rhenish wine,-
I would the Pope's gay lot were mine.
But yet all happy's not his life,
He has no maid, nor blooming wife;
No child has he to raise his hope,-
I would not wish to be the Pope.

The Sultan better pleases me,
His is a life of jollity;
He's wives as many as he will,-
I would the Sultan's throne then fill.

But even he's a wretched man,
He must obey the Alcoran;
He dare not drink one drop of wine-
I would not change his lot for mine.

So here I'll take my lowly stand,
I'll drink my own, my native land;
I'll kiss my maiden fair and fine,
And drink the best of Rhenish wine.

And when my maiden kisses me
I'll think that I the Sultan be;
And when my cheery glass I tope,
I'll fancy then I am the Pope.

CHARLES LEVER.

I think he meant to be funny.