And, last, there's LAW, our BONAR, Who in a burst of tact Is minded to dishonour The loathed Insurance Act; With opposites agreeing, He faces North by South, And keeps the Act in being And kills it with his mouth. He too might smooth a wrinkle, Although he's stern and grim, And make my eyes to twinkle By seeing fun in him; Cursed be that cheerful vision, And cursed all sense of fun: It is a foul misprision To smile at anyone. * * * * * [Illustration: REVERIE. "NO, DARLING, NOT IN THE STUDY. YOUR FATHER WENT ROUND IN BOGEY TO-DAY AND WANTS TO HAVE A NICE LONG THINK ABOUT IT."] * * * * * HAVE YOU ANYTHING TO SELL? (_With acknowledgments to "The Daily Mail."_) Have you anything you think of burning as useless, but would naturally prefer to sell? Why not try one of our small advertisements? Every day we receive thousands of letters testifying to their power. Here is one, picked up at random:-- "Please discontinue my advertisement of a half-pair of bellows and a stuffed canary, as the first insertion has had such remarkable results. On looking out of my bedroom window this morning I observed a queue of some hundreds of people extending from my doorstep down to the trams in the main road. They included ladies on campstools, messenger boys, a sad-looking young man in an ulster who was reading SWINBURNE'S poems, and others. Only with difficulty could the milkman fight his way through to place the can on the doorstep, and the contents were quickly required to restore a lady who had turned faint for want of a camp-stool. While I was shaving, a motor mail-van dashed up and left seven sacks of postal replies to the advertisement. One by one, eighty-three people were admitted to view the goods, and a satisfactory bargain was made with the last of these. I then telephoned for the police to come and remove the disappointed thousands, who were disposed to be riotous. My garden gate is off its hinges, the garden itself has the lawn inextricably mixed with the flower-beds, my marble step is cracked in three places, and my stair-carpet is caked with mud. I do not know any other paper in this country in which a two-shilling advertisement could produce such encouraging results." * * * * * ORANGES AND LEMONS. I.--THE INVITATION. "DEAR MYRA," wrote Simpson at the beginning of the year,--"I have an important suggestion to make to you both, and I am coming round to-morrow night after dinner about nine o'clock. As time is so short I have asked Dahlia and Archie to meet me there, and if by any chance you have gone out we shall wait till you come back. Yours ever, SAMUEL. P.S.--I have asked Thomas too." "Well?" said Myra eagerly, as I gave her back the letter. In deep thought I buttered a piece of toast.