Ye'd gar be takin' me graunfeyther's Bible An' write doun "Gorilla" the sire o' us a'? Na, na! 'Tisna me that's the traitor tae libel The family tree o' the Yellow Macaw. We gang straught awa' through the son o' ta PHAIRSHONS Tae NOAH an' ADAM, and back to the Fa', An' nane but respectable kirk-gangin' pairsons Hae place i' the tree o' the Yellow Macaw. Baboons?--Leave the Sassenach, o'er his Manilla, Tae boast as he will o' his Puggie[*]-Papa! But strike me teetotal if e'er a gorilla Shall sit i' the tree o' the Yellow Macaw! [Footnote *: _Anglice_, Monkey.] * * * * * LIGHT AND HEAT; OR, IN A CONCATENATION ACCORDINGLY.--Speaking of "the invisible parts of the solar spectrum," Dr. HUGGINS tells us the "ultra-red" has been traced to a distance nearly "ten times as long as the whole range of the visible or light-giving region of the spectrum." Nature, indeed, is "all of a piece." In politics, as in optics, the "Ultra-Red" lies beyond the "light-giving region," though, as Science says of its "gamut of invisible rays," they are perceived "by their heating effects." The S. D. F.'s and other wavers of the Red Flag, should study up-to-date optics. * * * * * "SIC ITUR AD ASTRA."--The Balloon Society has presented "W. G." with its gold medal. Therefore has he pardonable cause for inflation. It is to be hoped that this will not have the effect of making him hit "skyers." In spite of the aëronaut medal, may we never see "e'er a naught" tacked on to W. G.'s name. * * * * * [Illustration: "BOUND FOR THE BALTIC SEA!" [Mr. GLADSTONE starts for a trip to the Baltic in the Donald Currie Ship _Tantallon Castle_, Wednesday, June 12.]] * * * * * [Illustration: WHAT A CHARMING SURPRISE IT IS, TO A MAN WHO HAS LOOKED TO HIS BICYCLE FOR TWO HOURS' PEACE AND LIBERTY A DAY, TO COME DOWN ON HIS BIRTHDAY AND FIND THAT HIS WIFE AND HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW HAVE TAKEN LESSONS IN SECRET, AND WILL HENCEFORTH GO WITH HIM ALWAYS AND EVERYWHERE!] * * * * * SUN AND SONG. _Saturday._--Have just been reading in _Temple Bar_ an article on the influence of sunshine on SHELLEY, BYRON, KEATS, MOORE, SOUTHEY, and other poets. Never thought of that before. There is so little sunshine in London, and when there is one never sits out in it. That is why all the magazines reject my sonnets, and why no one will publish my tragedy in blank verse. Sunshine! Right on the top of one's bare head. That is the cure. The reason is obvious--Ph[oe]bus Apollo, the Divine Afflatus, and all that sort of thing. Must go somewhere into the sunshine at once. Brighton is near, Brighton is shadeless, Brighton under the June sunshine is hot. The very place. Shall now at last electrify the world. Go down by an evening train. Somewhat crowded. Whitsuntide, of course.