Mr. Fred Burlingham, who recently descended into the heart of Vesuvius, has written a book entitled "How to become an Alpinist." The idea is good. One likes to learn how to cool oneself after a visit to a crater.
A little girl of our acquaintance has given the most vivid description of a cold that we have yet heard. "Well, Phyllis," we said, "how goes it to-day?" "Horrid," came the answer. "Have to make myself breathe."
"For the first time for forty years," The Daily Mail tells us, "a wild swan, supposed to have flown across the North Sea, has been shot in the marshes of the Isle of Sheppey." It does not say much for the marksmanship of the local sportsmen that this poor creature should have been shot at all those years without being hit.
We learn from The Tailor and Cutter that a garment of double fabric, with india-rubber balls inside to absorb the shock, has been designed for motorists by a Budapest tailor. But surely it is rather the pedestrian who needs this armour?
Mr. W. McDougall declared in a lecture at the Royal Institution last week that the cranial capacity of the savage was equal to that of the average Oxford undergraduate. Cambridge has suspected this for years.