Lastly, if you dream that you have decided to give up gadding about on a bank holiday to remain at home, you will see that it is better to follow your fancy, and avoid the risk of making a mistake by adventuring to strange places and pastures new. * * * * * [Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY. "WELL, GOOD-BYE FOR THE PRESENT, DEAREST! I HOPE YOU'LL BE QUITE WELL AND STRONG WHEN I CAN NEXT COME AND SEE YOU." "OH, I HOPE I SHALL BE WELL AND STRONG ENOUGH TO BE AWAY BEFORE THAT!"] * * * * * IN SHEER DELIGHT. (_A Surrey Rondel._) In sheer delight I sing the country's praise. The town no longer takes me day or night. 'Mid scented roses one should loll and laze In sheer delight. The corn fields unto harvest glisten white, In pastures lowing kine contented graze. _Per_ train (South-Eastern) now to wing his flight No lover of the Surrey side delays. My own case you suggest? Of course you're right. Which p'r'aps explains why I to spend my days In Shere delight! * * * * * "SORTES AQUATICÆ"; OR, MAXIM FOR THE MAIDENHEAD REGATTA.--After a rattling race with KILBY of Staines (who was worn to a standstill), and COHEN of Maidenhead (who pitched overboard), VERITY of Weybridge easily retained the Upper Thames Single Punting Championship. Why, cert'n'ly! What says the old Latin saw? _Magna est Veritas, et prævalebit!_ Which (obviously) means:--Great is VERITY, and he shall prevail! * * * * * LORD ORMONT'S MATE AND MATEY'S AMINTA. BY G***GE M*R*D*TH. VOLUME II. The die was now a-casting. Hurtled though devious windings far from ordered realms where the Syntax Queen holds sway, spinning this way and that like the whipped box-wood beloved of youth but deadly to the gout-ridden toes of the home-faring Alderman, now sinking to a fall, now impetuously whirled on a devil-dance, clamorous as Cocytus, the lost souls filling it to the brink, at last the meaning glimmered to the eye--not that wherein dead time hung just above the underlids, but the common reading eye a-thirst for meanings, baffled again and again and drooping a soporific lid slowly, nose a-snore, and indolent mind lapped in slumber. They discussed it. "Am I a Literary Causerie?" breathed AMINTA. "No, but food for such." "And if I am?" she said. "Turgidity masquerading as depth. Was ever cavalry general so tortured into symbolism?" "I remain," she insisted. "I go to Paris," was his retort. "My aunt stays with me." "Thank Heaven!" he muttered.