-

_Cyclist_ (_to rural policeman_). "Nice crowd out this morning!"

_Rural Policeman_ (_who has received a tip_). "Yes, an' yer can't do
with 'em! If yer 'ollers at 'em, they honly turns round and says, 'Pip,
pip'!"

* * * * *

Illustration: _Rustic_ (_to beginner, who has charged the hedge_).
"It's no good, sir. They things won't jump!"

* * * * *

THE UNIVERSAL JUGGERNAUT.--"Anyone," says the _Daily Telegraph_, "who
has driven an automobile will know that it is quite impossible to run
over a child and remain unconscious of the fact." _Any one who has
driven an automobile!_ Heavens! what a sweeping charge! Is there none
innocent?

* * * * *

Illustration: "'Tain't no use tellin' me you've broke down! Stands to
reason a motor-caw goin' down 'ill's _bound_ to be goin' too fast. So
we'll put it down at about thirty mile an hour! Your name and address,
sir, _hif_ you please."

* * * * *

URBS IN RURE

["When every one has a bicycle and flies to the suburban roads, the
suburban dwellers will desert their houses and come back to crowded
London to find quiet and freedom from dust."--_Daily Paper._]

Time was desire for peace would still
My footsteps lure to Richmond Hill,
Or to the groves of Burnham I,
Much craving solitude, would fly;
Thence, through the Summer afternoon,
'Mid fragrant meads, knee-deep in June,
Lulled by the song of birds and bees,
I'd saunter idly at mine ease
To that still churchyard where, with Gray,
I'd dream a golden hour away,
Forgetful all of aught but this--
That peace was mine, and mine was bliss.

But now should my all-eager feet
Seek out some whilom calm retreat,
"Pip, pip!" resounds in every lane,
"Pip, pip!" the hedges ring again,
"Pip, pip!" the corn, "Pip, pip!" the rye,
"Pip, pip!" the woods and meadows cry,
As through the thirsty, fever'd day,
The red-hot scorchers scorch their way.
Peace is no longer, Rest is dead,
And sweetest Solitude hath fled;
And over all, the cycling lust
Hath spread its trail of noise and dust.

So, would I woo the joys of Quiet,
I see no more the country's riot,
But the comparatively still
Environment of Ludgate Hill.
There, 'mongst the pigeons of St. Paul's,
I muse melodious madrigals,
Or loiter where the waters sport
'Mid the cool joys of Fountain