He’ll never wake again.
——:o:——
Nursery Rhymes for Cyclists.
Here is a touching little thing to “teach the young idea how to shoot”—down nasty hills:—
“Sing a song of wheeling,
Mind that no one squeals—
Four-and-twenty black boys
Riding on their wheels,
When down hill they ventured,
They ‘braked’ it rather rash,