A legacy of L10,000 has been left to a clerk in the Ashton-under-Lyme Waterworks Office by a gentleman who had intimated that he "would remember him in his will." We are so glad that this pretty old custom is not dying out. *** It is rumoured that a daring attempt to rob the Zoological Gardens has been foiled. Plans, it is said, have been disclosed whereby burglars after dark were to scale the loftiest peaks of the new Mappin terraces and to fish for animals by means of highly-spiced joints attached to ropes. It was hoped to secure a number of valuable bears, to be disposed of to furriers. *** We have been favoured with the sight of a circular issued by a Dutch bulb grower and printed in English. The fatherly interest which he takes in his creations does credit to his heart. "All bulbs who are not satisfied," he says, "we take back and pay the carriage ourselves, even if cheque has accompanied order." * * * * * THE BEES. The brown bee sings among the heather A little song and small-- A song of hills and summer weather And all things musical; An ancient song, an ancient story For days as gold as when The gods came down in noontide's glory And walked with sons of men. A merry song, since skies are sunny-- How in a Dorian dell Was borne the bland, the charmed honey To young Comatas' cell; Thrice-happy boy the Nine to pleasure That they for hours of ill Did send, in love, the golden measure, The honey of their hill. Gone are the gods? Nay, he who chooses This morn may lie at ease And on a hill-side woo the Muses And hear their honey-bees; And haply mid the heath-bell's savour Some rose-winged chance decoy, To win the old Pierian favour That fed the shepherd-boy. * * * * * THE LOGIC OF ENTENTES. [_Lines composed on what looks like the eve of a general European war; and, designed to represent the views of an average British patriot._] _To Servia._ You have won whatever of fame it brings To have murdered a King and the heir of Kings; And it well may be that your sovereign pride Chafes at a touch of its tender hide; But why should I follow your fighting-line For a matter that's no concern of mine? _To Austria._ You may, if you like, elect to curb The dark designs of the dubious Serb, And to close your Emperor's days in strife-- A tragic end to a tragic life; But why in the world should I stand to lose By your bellicose taste for Balkan coups? _To Russia._ No doubt the natural course for you Is to bid the Austrian bird "Go to!" He can't be suffered to spoil your dream Of a beautiful Pan-Slavonic scheme; But Britons can never be Slavs, you see, So what has your case to do with me?