No more "Old Friend" or "Negrohead" 'twill be our lot to sniff, We shall walk abroad unfearful of the "penny morning whiff," Never more--oh, joy to think it!--shall be stricken from afar By the penetrating odour of the "Saturday cigar"! The Golden Age will then be here, no evil shall be rife, E'en the smoker will be forced to live a just and Christian life. One warning more. Let all beware the wretched obvious joke, Nor dare to hint our great crusade is like to end--in smoke. * * * * * SCRAPS FROM CHAPS. FESTIVE FARMERS.--There was a meeting lately of the North Somerset Agricultural Society, whereat--according to the _Bristol Mercury_-- Mr. S. HARDING proposed "The health of Mr. E. H. LLEWELLYN, their president and member." Mr. LLEWELLYN, he said, was the idol of North Somerset. The toast was drank amidst the singing of "_For he's a Jolly Good Fellow_." Mr. LLEWELLYN thanked all present for their kindness in paying him the greatest compliment they could pay to an Englishman, namely, by calling him a jolly good fellow. Yes, Mr. LLEWELLYN, there's sense in your attitude! When by other folks' virtues or wits we're opprest, We feel 'tis no paradox, almost a platitude, That "jolly good fellows" are after all best! We can't all be famous in art or in 'ologies: To the rank of Field Marshal 'tis vain to aspire; But--offering to Don-dom a thousand apologies-- A "jolly good fellowship" all can acquire. * * * * * THE HOPE-CROP IN SCOTLAND.--In another agricultural body--the Scottish Chamber to wit--they seem to be rather sanguine souls. One speaker remarked that "Mr. LONG and the other members of the Government were pledged up to the hilt to dispel agricultural depression." He did not mention when the Government are supposed to have "taken the pledge," or how anybody can contrive to be pledged "up to the hilt," instead of--as it ought to be--"down to the dregs," about any thing. "Dispel" is a little too strong. Didn't Lord SALISBURY at Watford say he had "no panacea"? The farmer's friends must go slow--plenty of patience and "pluck," or they'll be "ploughed"! * * * * * [Illustration: CACOËTHES SCRIBENDI. FANCY PORTRAIT OF THE GENTLEMAN WHO WRITES EVERY YEAR TO THE _TIMES_, TO CHRONICLE THE FIRST PRIMROSE HE PICKS IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN, AND THE SONG OF THAT PRECOCIOUS CUCKOO THAT HIS LITTLE GRANDSON HEARD IN THE WOODS ON THE FIRST OF APRIL. HE IS NOW WRITING TO DESCRIBE A METEOR WHICH FLEW OVER THE VICARAGE WITH A LOUD REPORT AT 9.37-1/4 P.M. ON NOVEMBER 5, 1895, JUST AS HE WAS ABOUT TO RETIRE FOR THE NIGHT.] * * * * * COMA OR CONVALESCENCE?--Listen to the _Cork Daily Herald_:-- "Something must be done to bring about the return of the old healthy conditions in the Irish Party."