At the office I was so busy all day, arranging about the shipment of a steam-crane to Siam (I am a commission-agent), that it was not until I was seated in the train, going home in the evening, that I vaguely remembered that I had forgotten something. I grew more and more uneasy, and, with the idea of distracting my thoughts from an unpleasant channel, I picked up an evening paper from underneath the opposite seat. At some quite recent period it had obviously contained nourishment of an oleaginous nature, but, though soiled, it was still legible. The very first paragraph which I read served to remind me of Joan's forgotten orders; but it brought me, nevertheless, an unholy joy, for it ran: "The funeral of the late Mr. Jeremiah Moggridge, founder and managing director of the mammoth stores which bear his name, took place this afternoon. As a mark of respect the premises were closed for business throughout the day." So it would have been futile to ring them up in any case. I was saved! On reaching home the first thing Joan said to me was-- "Did you order those things from Moggridge's?" I didn't say anything. I merely handed her the evening paper and indicated the saving clause. Joan read it through. Then she said-- "Yes, I _thought_ you'd mess it all up in spite of your ichneumonics, or whatever you call them; and so after lunch I went to the call-office and ordered the things myself." "But Moggridge's was closed--didn't you read?" "Yes," replied Joan; "but, next time you forget, don't try to establish an _alibi_ with yesterday's evening paper." * * * * * Our private telephone will be fixed by next week. I forget how much Joan reckons we shall save by it. * * * * * Illustration: _Rev. Brown._ "I'M AFRAID, MY DEAR YOUNG LADY, I KNOW VERY LITTLE OF AGRICULTURAL MATTERS; IN FACT I DON'T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A MANGEL AND A WURZEL." * * * * * THE PASSING OF THE COW. [_The Soya bean, grown in Japan, Korea and Manchuria, is said to provide a perfect substitute for milk._] _Tout lasse, tout casse, tout passe_: All mortal flesh is grass, Mown down by Time at the appointed hour; And in the world of speed The noblest Arab steed Yields, O Combustion, to thy pent-up power. On Youth of ardent aim No more _Mazeppa's_ fame Or TURPIN'S feats exert their ancient spell; NAPIER and WOLSELEY stand No more for war's command, But only steel and rubber, oil and smell. Where once men safely strode Along the open road, A sinister and stertorous machine Exhales its acrid breath And deals impartial death To all the dwellers on the village green. And now, O gentle cow, Man's foster-mother, thou, Must tread the fatal path the horse hath trod, Since scientists have found That milk and cream abound Within the compass of an Eastern pod.