_Figurez-vous!_ Jenny Bounceley, who considers herself quite a _Parisienne_ now she's got her official _carte d'alimentation_, appeared the other day in a skirt that resembled the _jupe_ of a _gamine_. I think it's disgraceful in one of her age and proportions. If she were simply knock-kneed; but, as Bertie says, she's knock-ankled as well.
To judge from the rumours of revolution, this false concord is only too apt.
"Music was supplied and enjoyed by a local orchestra."--_Provincial Paper_.
This phenomenon has frequently been observed; the audience meanwhile continuing its conversation.
"Colonel Sir Rhys Williams, who wore his khaki uniform, moved the Address in reply to the Speech from the Throne....
It was not the glamour of war, Mr. Rhys Williams continued...."--_Evening Standard_.
It is refreshing to come across a case of really rapid demobilisation.
"A message from Vienna states that the Emperor Carl intends to be a candidate in the forthcoming elections for the Australian National Assembly."--_Australian Paper_.
But there is no truth in the rumour that, by way of reprisal, Mr. HUGHES intends to put in for CARL's vacant throne.
Last night about the country-side The nimble fairies flew, And forests on the latticed pane In quaint devices drew, The grasses standing straight and tall, The ferns with curious frond, And just a peephole left to show The misty world beyond.
The voices of the murmuring streams They silenced one by one, And bound their feet with gleaming chains So they no more could run; They hung the icicles about, And you would laugh to see Just how they flung the diamonds down Upon the whole bare tree; And every little blade of grass A thing of beauty stood, And when they'd finished it was just Like an enchanted wood.
They paused beside the old barn door; A spider's web hung there As fragile as a little dream, As delicate and fair; They decked it with a thousand gems Of oh! such dazzling sheen, It was the very loveliest thing That you have ever seen!
The sun from his soft bed of cloud Came pale and timidly; He knew if he let loose his rays The mischief there would be; He woke the sleeping world to life With finger-tips of gold, And up from meadow, wood and stream The shimmering mists unrolled; He lit the candles of the dawn On every bush and tree; The fairies on their homing wings Looked back and laughed with glee, "We've made a Fairyland for you, O Mortals, wake and see."