The centipede is not quite nice; He lives in idleness and vice; He has a hundred legs; He also has a hundred wives, And each of these, if she survives, Has just a hundred eggs; And that's the reason if you pick Up any boulder, stone or brick You nearly always find A swarm of centipedes concealed; They scatter far across the field, But _one_ remains behind. And you may reckon then, my son, That not alone that luckless one Lies pitiful and torn, But millions more of either sex-- 100 multiplied by x-- Will never now be born. I daresay it will make you sick, But so does all Arithmetic. The gardener says, I ought to add, The centipede is not so bad; He rather _likes_ the brutes. The millipede is what he loathes; He uses fierce bucolic oaths Because it eats his roots; And every gardener is agreed That, if you see a centipede Conversing with a milli--, On one of them you drop a stone, The other one you leave alone-- I think that's rather silly. They may be right, but what I say Is, "Can one stand about all day And _count_ the creature's legs?" It has too many, any way, And any moment it may lay Another hundred eggs; So if I see a thing like this (1) I murmur, "Without prejudice," And knock it on the head; And if I see a thing like that (2) I take a brick and squash it flat; In either case it's dead. A.P.H. (1) and (2). There ought to be two pictures here, one with a hundred legs and the other with about a thousand. I have tried several artists, but most of them couldn't even get a hundred on to the page, and those who did always had more legs on one side than the other, which is quite wrong. So I have had to dispense with the pictures. * * * * * ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY. "Ainsi parla l'editeur du _Daily Herald_. Lord Lansbury a toujours ete l'enfant cheri et terrible du parti travailliste anglais."--_Gazette de Lausanne._ * * * * * "WANTED. Small nicely furnished house, nice locality, for nearly married couple, from August 1st."--_Johannesburg Star._ We trust that no one encouraged them with accommodation. * * * * * [Illustration: THE MAKING OF A REFORMER. SHOWING THE INFECTIOUS INFLUENCE OF ORATORY.] * * * * * THE MUDFORD BLIGHT. Mary settled her shoulders against the mantel-piece, slid her hands into her pockets and looked down at her mother with faint apprehension in her eyes. "I want," she remarked, "to go to London." Mrs. Martin rustled the newspaper uneasily to an accompanying glitter of diamond rings. Mary's direct action slightly discomposed her, but she replied amiably. "Well, dear, your Aunt Laura has just asked you to Wimbledon for a fortnight in the Autumn."