"Distance lends enchantment"--kindly Distance! Wiping out all troubles and disgraces, How we seem to cast, with your assistance, All our boyish lines in pleasant places! Greek and Latin, struggles mathematic, These were worries leaving slender traces; Now we tell the boys (we wax emphatic) How our lines fell all in pleasant places. How we used to draw (immortal _Wackford_!) EUCLID's figures, more resembling faces, Surreptitiously upon the black-board, Crude yet telling lines in pleasant places. Pleasant places! That was no misnomer. Impositions?--little heed scape-graces; Writing out a book or so of HOMER, Even those were lines in pleasant places! How we scampered o'er the country, leading Apoplectic farmers pretty chases, Over crops, through fences all unheeding, Stiff cross-country lines in pleasant places. Yes, and how--too soon youth's early day flies-- In the purling brook which seaward races _How_ we used to poach with luscious May-flies, Casting furtive lines in pleasant places. Then the lickings! How we took them, scorning Girlish outcry, though we made grimaces; Only smiled to find ourselves next morning Somewhat marked with lines in pleasant places! Alma Mater, whether young or olden, Thanks to you for hosts of friendly faces, Treasured memories, days of boyhood golden, Lines that fell in none but pleasant places! * * * * * LONDON BICYCLISTS. ["Mr. ASQUITH said that he was informed by the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police that undoubtedly numerous accidents were caused by bicycles and tricycles, though he was not prepared to say from the cause of the machines passing on the near instead of the off side of the road. Bicycles and tricycles were carriages, and should conform to the rules of the road, and the police, as far as possible, enforced the law as to riding to the common danger."--_Daily Graphic, July 25._] Round the omnibus, past the van, Rushing on with a reckless reel, Darts that horrible nuisance, an Ardent cyclist resolved that he'll Ride past everything he can, Heed not woman, or child, or man, Beat some record, some ride from Dan To Beersheba; that seems his plan. Why does not the Home Office ban London fiends of the whirling wheel? Let them ride in the country so, Dart from Duncansbay Head to Deal, Shoot as straight as the flight of crow, Sweep as swallow that seeks a meal, We don't care how the deuce they go, But in thoroughfares where we know Cyclists, hurrying to and fro, Make each peaceable man their foe, Riders, walkers alike cry "Whoa! Stop these fiends of the whirling wheel!" * * * * * ODE ON SACRIFICE.