THREE TRAGEDIES AND A MORAL.
There was an imperious old Sage
Who upheld the dominion of Age,
But his son, a grim youth,
Red in claw and in tooth,
Shut him up in a chloroformed cage.
There was also a Child full of beans
Who bombarded nine great magazines,
But not one of the nine
Ever published a line,
For the Child was not yet in its teens.
There was thirdly, to round off these rhymes,
A Matron who railed at the crimes
Of designers of frocks
Who in smart fashion "blocks"
Left middle-age out of The Times.
The moral—if morals one seeks
In an age of sensation and shrieks—
Is this: Even still
Things are apt to go ill
With old, young and middle-aged freaks.
Our Erudite Contemporaries.
"The Grecian women were forbidden entrance to the stadium where the [Olympic] games were being held, and any woman found therein was thrown from the Tarpeian rock."
Canadian Paper.
"The French are thinking of building straw houses to remedy the present housing crisis. The first straw house has already been built at Montargis."
—Evening Paper.
Where, presumably, they are trying it on the well-known local Dog.
"Negotiating the intricate traffic of the City was quite easy, the engine being responsive to the slightest touch of the steering wheel. It is just the car for the owner-driver."
Financial Paper.
Our chauffeur agrees. He says he wouldn't undertake to drive it down the village street, let alone the City.
"Is Singing on the Decline?
A Great Tenor's Advice.
'Never Fight Against the Brass.'"
Morning Paper.
It is, we believe, the experience of most impresarios that great tenors almost invariably fight for the brass.
"Quick, Mummie! Come and help Bobbie—he's fallen into the Lucky Dip."