Little Mrs. Horne is sitting In the neat back-parlour, knitting. Mr. Horne, who hears the din Which I make in coming in, Leaves the shop and says to her: "Martha, here's a customer. From the sound of clinking metal I should judge he wants a kettle." Mrs. H. shows some surprise At the sight that greets her eyes, And, in answer to her shout, Mr. H. comes running out. * * * * * Now, it's something of a strain On the busy human brain Passing through a window-pane To decide what it will do When at last it's safely through. As I gaze around I find-- Horror! why, I must be blind! Blind or dead, I don't know which-- All about is black as pitch; Thick the atmosphere as well With a dank metallic smell.... Guessing that I am not dead I attempt to loose my head From a kettle's cold embrace; And, meanwhile, to save my face (Finding I can't get it out), Say politely--up the spout-- "Lovely morning, is it not, Horne? Think I'll take this little lot, Horne; It is such a perfect fit, And I'm so attached to it That I find I cannot bring My own head to leave the thing. So you will oblige me greatly If you'll pack them separately." * * * * * The Housing Stringency. "House for Sale 12 ft. by 1 ft., suitable for bed-sitting-room."--_Provincial Paper._ * * * * * Commercial Candour. "We claim that we can do you anything in our line as well, or perhaps a little bit less than you will get it at many other places." _Advt. in Local Paper._ * * * * * "ALLEGED WALLET-SNATCHER TAKES TWO OMNIBUSES." _Evening News._ No wonder there is a shortage in London travelling facilities. * * * * * THE WORD-BUILDERS; A SHORTAGE OF STRAW. Aitchkin has been doing great things in forage, but prosperity has not spoilt him. Although he must be aware that I remember him in pre-war days, when he used to strap-hang to the City with his lunch in a satchel, nevertheless he often invites me round on those rare occasions when he dines quietly at home. The other evening, as he toyed with a modest eight-course dinner, I perceived that his cheerfulness was a trifle forced, and I thought that probably he was worrying over the behaviour of his little son, who, tiring that afternoon of his motor scooter, had done incalculable damage to the orchid-house with a home-made catapult.