* * * * * Though the titles of all the pictures in a recent Vorticist exhibition were placed by a printer's error opposite to the wrong numbers in the catalogue, none of the visitors discovered the mistake. * * * * * Strike action is threatened in Manchester by the Amalgamated Society of Tyldesleys, several Lancashire wickets having been taken by non-union labour. * * * * * It is reported that Lord FISHER was recently traversing _The Times_ with a belt of Biblical sentences when a cross-feed occurred, causing the action to jam. * * * * * A silver salver is to be presented to the Royal Automobile Club in token of gratitude by octogenarian villagers of Sussex. * * * * * "Experienced Cook-General Wanted; comfortable home; liberal outings; wages £40; policeman handy."--_Welsh Paper._ Would it not have been more tactful to say, "Copper in kitchen"? * * * * * [Illustration: _Disgusted Plutocrat_ (_to partner, who has just missed a fifty-pound putt_). "COULDN'T YOU SEE THAT SLOPE AFTER I POINTED IT OUT TO YOU?" _Partner._ "AFTER YOU'D DONE WAVING THOSE DIAMONDS ABOUT I COULDN'T SEE ANYTHING."] * * * * * FOR REMEMBRANCE. In stone perdurable and bronze austere We have bequeathed the memory of the dead Unto the yet unborn; "'their name,'" we said, "'Liveth for evermore'; each happier year Shall see, we trust, before the unmossed stone Love and Remembrance wed." Though from dim hosts that narrow and recede Dear unforgotten eyes salute us still, Look back a moment, make our pulses thrill With the old music, though the festal weed Of Spring be cypress-girt, oblivion Will come, as Winter will. Ah, not oblivion drowsing love and pain Into dull slumber; still we can retell How young blithe valour broke the powers of hell; We grope for hands that will not stir again In ours, hear still in every carillon The cadence of Farewell. Not these things and not thus do we forget; But the informing spirit, the dream within And the high ardour that was half-akin To ancient faiths and half to hopes not yet Coherent, unperceived are surely gone, Like stars that dawnward set. Though "their name liveth," the dream they died to bring Unto fruition eludes our fumbling hold; The Othman riders gallop to their old Red revels, and the seas are darkening Round all the Asian shores, while one by one Depart the sweets of Spring. O you whom yet we mourn, for whom the song Of victory and sorrow dies not away, Well is it with you if beyond the grey Islands of sleep that you are met among No world-born memories win. May there be none! We have not remembered long.