A TRAGEDY IN BIRDLAND.
I.
Percy is a partridge bold
Who in Autumn, so I'm told,
Dwells among the turnip roots
And assists at frequent shoots,
Really I have seldom heard
Of a more precocious bird;
Possibly his landlord's not
What you'd call a first-rate shot,
And his pals, though jolly chaps,
Are not quite so good perhaps;
Still, he thinks their aim so trashy
That, I fear, he's getting rash. He
Even perches on the end
Of the gun my poor old friend
Bill employs for killing game.
True he's very blind and lame,
And he's well beyond the span
Meted out to mortal man,
And his gout is getting worse
(Meaning Bill, of course, not Perce);
Still, if he won't mend his ways,
One of these fine Autumn days
I'm afraid there's bound to be
Quite an awful tragedy.
He'll be shot—I'm sure he will
(Meaning Percy now, not Bill).
II.
Weep, ye lowering rain-swept skies!
In the dust our hero lies.
Weeping-willow, bow thy head!
Our precocious fowl is dead.
Sigh, thou bitter North Wind, for
Perce the Partridge is no more!
Now, as long as he was ready
Just to sit, sedate and steady,
On the barrel of the gun
Little mischief could be done;
But on that sad morn a whim
Suddenly seized hold of him;
'Twas the lunatic desire
To observe how shot-guns fire;
So he boldly took his stand
Where the barrel ended, and,
All agog to solve the puzzle,
Poked his napper up the muzzle.
Well, the weapon at the minute
Chanced to have a cartridge in it,
And it happened that my friend
Bill was at the other end,
Who with calm unflurried aim
Failed (at last) to miss the game.
With the tragic tale of Percy's
Death I meant to close these verses,
But we see quite clearly there, too,
Other ills that Bird is heir to.
He has also lost, you see,
Individuality;
Perce the Partridge, named and known,
With an ego all his own,
Disappears; and in his place
There remains but "half-a-brace."
New Landlord. "George, billiards will be eighteenpence a hundred."
Potman. "That's more'n they paid before, Sir."
New Landlord. "What did they pay?"
Potman. "Well, it was a bob, but they mostly sneaked out through that door."
Situations to Suit all Ages.
"Lady-Typist (aged 1920) required for invoicing department of West End wholesale firm."
—Daily Paper.
"Wanted, capable Person, about 3 years of age, to undertake all household duties, country residence."
—Scottish Paper.
"Dick Whittington, 1920.
And, last of all, here is Dick WPhittington, otherwise known as Alderman Roll, Lord Mayor of London."
—Evening Paper.
But for the headline we should never have recognised him.
The Beginner. "I hope to heaven I've got the labels on the right sticks, or I'm done!"