there were no flies on him.
Did very well for himself, he did, and when he died----"

But it was at this point that the moisture from the margarine cask
against which I had been leaning began to make its presence felt, and,
stampless, I left the shop.

At the edge of the village I met our policeman.

"Go quickly," I implored him; "there's a hold-up at the post-office."

Perhaps "quickly" is not quite the right word, but, at any rate, he
went. I doubt if he will get promotion over the job, but I am sure he
too will like to hear about our George, if there's anything left to
say by the time he gets there.

* * * * *

SOMETIMES.

Some days are fairy days. The minute that you wake
You have a magic feeling that you never could mistake;
You may not see the fairies, but you know they're all about,
And any single minute they might all come popping out;
You want to laugh, you want to sing, you want to dance and run,
Everything is different, everything is fun;
The sky is full of fairy clouds, the streets are fairy ways--
_Anything_ might happen on truly fairy days.

Some nights are fairy nights. Before you go to bed
You hear their darling music go chiming in your head;
You look into the garden and through the misty grey
You see the trees all waiting in a breathless kind of way.
All the stars are smiling; they know that very soon
The fairies will come singing from the land behind the moon.
If only you could keep awake when Nurse puts out the light . . .
_Anything_ might happen on a truly fairy night.

R. F.

* * * * *

"CRICKET.

Little Snoring Ladies _v._ Little Snoring Lads."--_Local Paper._

This match was played in Norfolk and not, as you might have expected,
in Beds.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE BROTHERHOOD OF MUSIC.]

* * * * *

[Illustration: A CAST.

_Ghillie._ "AY, SIR, THE FUSHERS ARE NO WHAT THEY WERE. YE'LL MAYBE NO
BELIEVE ME, BUT THERE WAS A MAN HERE LAST MONTH THAT HAD NAETHING BUT
A SUP O' COLD TEA IN HIS FLASK TO WET A FUSH WHEN HE CAUGHT YIN!"]

* * * * *

THE PARADISE OF BARDS.

(_From an Oxford Correspondent._)

Considerable resentment has been caused in various centres of poetic
activity by the preference recently expressed by the PRIME MINISTER
for the products of Welsh minstrelsy. In a lett