[Illustration: _Underground Train Conductor (sulkily to passenger jumping in after train has started)._ "NAH THEN! IF YOU'D HA' FALLEN DAHN AND BROKE YER NECK _I_ SHOULD 'AVE BEEN THE ONE TO SUFFER."] * * * * * "Mr. Hartley is the proud possessor of the English championship belt for running broad jump, having cleared something over 45 feet." _The Morning Albertan._ His pride is very excusable. * * * * * "In our day when many women consider the art of managing a home beneath the dignity of their supposed sex, not everyone knows how to make a pancake." _Liverpool Daily Post and Mercury._ "Supposed" is good. * * * * * [Illustration: MARCH WINDS. _Short-sighted Official (to gentleman pursuing hat)._ "CALL YOUR DOG OFF, SIR, CALL YOUR DOG OFF," ETC., ETC., ETC.] * * * * * MOVING. (_A Suburban Elegy._) WHEN I remember I shall tread no more In such a short time now the well-known street, And never to these ears shall sound the roar Of Perkins' cart-wheels, dangerously fleet, Bringing the boon of Ceres to the door, Nor those of Batson (Batson is the meat);-- When I recall that in the hours to come My eyes may never see the shape of Pott Planting his fish down, then methinks it's rum That mortal men should move and be forgot By those that serve their household daily, some Sending the right delivery, some not. Full often on my homeward way I pause Where Jones is standing at his shop-front trim; We pass remarks about the nation's laws And how it still keeps up, though skies are grim; And Jones is most polite to me, because We've always got our groceries from him. But the old orders soon shall cease to be, And I must pass into an unknown land, And at the corner by The Holly Tree Where now he lifts a ceremonious hand Yon constable shall scarce remember me, Not that he ever----Quite. You understand. And alien lips from mine must move to swear Over the mangled remnants of a shirt Brutally done to death with fiendish care By yon steam laundry. Last I come to Bert; Bert's is the best known face in all the Square, Being the milk, and something more--a flirt. Yes, for not only bleeds this heart of mine; There shall be tenderer spasms when we shift, Such bits of cheek, such observations fine, Such honied whispers have been heard to drift From Susan at the casement of her shrine To Romeo managing the tradesmen's lift. Hers shall be all the loss; he'll soon forget. Others shall ope accounts when we are gone; Movings are all too frequent for regret; Yet one methinks there is shall dream upon Our name with soft remembrance, guard it yet Like some pressed violet. I refer to John.