"At the Bimonthly Exhibition of the Royal Horticultural Society ... Mr. W.H. SMITH showed specimens of the same luscious fruit"--strawberries--"for which he received the thanks of the Society."--_Daily Telegraph_, Wednesday, June 10.] * * * * * [Illustration: SHORT-LIVED PLEASURE. PORTRAIT OF A LITERARY FRIEND, WHO, LIVING IN A MAIN THOROUGHFARE, WAS AN ARDENT SUPPORTER OF THE 'BUS STRIKE, SUBSCRIBED TO ITS FUNDS, ADD HOPED IT MIGHT LONG CONTINUE. HE SAYS HE HASN'T HAD SUCH A QUIET TIME WITH HIS BOOKS FOR YEARS. BUT ALAS! SINCE LAST SUNDAY HE HAS NOT SMILED AGAIN.] * * * * * MRS. GINGHAM ON THE GREAT 'BUS QUESTION. "The demand for 'Buses is immensely stimulated by their presence, and when they are no longer there, the people who thought them indispensable get on very well indeed without them.... Under the influence of penny fares, Londoners are rapidly forgetting how to walk."--_The Times_. Ah! it's all very fine, my good Sir, whosomever you are as writes such, But of decent poor folk and their needs it is plain as you do not know much. Which I ain't quite so young as I was, nor as light, nor as smart on my feet, And you may not know quite what it is to be out late o' night and dead beat, Out Islington way, arter ten, with a bundle, a child, and a cage, As canaries is skeery at night, and a seven mile walk, at my age, All along of no 'Bus to be had, love or money, and cabs that there dear, And a stitch in my side and short breath, ain't as nice as you fancy,--no fear! Likeways look at my JOHN every morning, ah! rain, hail or shine, up to town, With no trams running handy, and corns! As I sez to my friend Mrs. BROWN, Bless the 'Buses, I sez, they're a boon to poor souls, as must travel at times, And we can't _all_ keep kerridges neither, wus luck! Penny Fares ain't no crimes, If you arsk me, as did ought to know. Which my feelings I own it does rouge To hear big-wigs a-sneering at 'Buses. There may be a bit of a scrouge, And the smell of damp straw mixed with pep'mint ain't nice to a dalicot nose, Likeways neat "Oh be Joyful's" a thing as with orange and snuff hardly goes. But we ain't all rekerky nor rich, we can't all afford sixpence a mile, And when we are old, late, and tired, or it's wet, we can't think about _style_. The 'Bus is the poor body's kerridge, young feller--and as for your talk About not never missing a lift, or forgetting--dear sakes!--_how_ to walk, And the nice quiet streets and all that; why it's clear _you_ ain't been a poor clerk With a precious small "screw," in wet weather. Ah! you wouldn't find it no lark With thin boots and a 'ard 'acking cough, and three mile every day to and thro', Or a puffy old woman like me, out at Witsuntide wisiting JOE,