"I wish I could have understood it," said one.
"It would have been a triumph of ingenuity to have comprehended it," observed another.
"The queries of the Egyptian Sphinx were the easiest of conundrums in comparison," added a third.
And others chimed in to the same effect. But to the very last the delegates tried their best to solve the problem. At length the company departed. The hall in which the great assembly had been held was empty. There was one striking object in the deserted apartment. It was a book—a yellow-covered book. Evidently it had been much read. But, in spite of the fingering, there was no distinct evidence that the full meaning of its contents had been grasped by anyone.
In the quiet of the night the moonbeams illuminated the title-page.
The volume that rested so securely with its knowledge carefully concealed between its paper covers was Bradshaw's Railway Guide.
Who Wouldn't be an Alderman?—I have often wished to be an Alderman, and, after reading the following extract from the Birmingham Daily Gazette, I have fixed upon West Bromwich as the scene of my aldermanic labours. It must be glorious to joke with such ease:—
"A West Bromwich Alderman's Joke.—Yesterday morning when the West Bromwich guardians entered the Board Room at the West Bromwich Workhouse, the blinds were all drawn, and as a consequence the room presented a very gloomy appearance. The business was about to be commenced, when Alderman R. Williams objected to the blinds being lowered. He inquired whether their lowering had a political significance, and whether the house was in mourning for the death of the Radical Government. If his assumption was true he considered they should not commence the business until the blinds were raised (Laughter.) Two of the largest blinds were then raised, but six others were allowed to remain down."