When Ernest asked me to take a run in his car I took advantage of the invitation because there are times when I think that life is less joyful without a car and that one day I shall slip out and buy one. I should love to grip the wheel and sweep the countryside and listen to the soft purr of the engine. So we started sweeping the countryside, Ernest and I; but we had not swept very much of it before the soft purr developed a kind of cough and the car stopped. Ernest coaxed and petted her. He tried kindness, while I helped him with sarcasm. He tried hauteur and then a little bad temper. Eventually he decided to send for the local motor engineer, and it was when this gentleman arrived with his mate that I decided that motoring was not for me and that I should have to fall back on fretwork or tame mice for my recreation. "Here, Bill," said Overalls-in-Chief, "just hold up the Ding-dong." His mate did as instructed and up went the Ding-dong. "Now hand me the Doo-dal," he went on; "and while I tune up the old Jig-jig you get the Pipety-pip and clean it out. "Now get the Tick-tick and just give me a tap here with the Ooh-jah, while I give the Thing-a-me-tight a couple for his nob. "See that?" he shouted at me. "Would you believe it? Easy as winking. See, it was like this. The What's-a-name here, as kept the Tiddley-um-tum in place, was sort of riding on the Squeak-box, so as the Tiddley-om-pom and the other Jigger sort of gave the half-seas-over to the Thing-a-me-bob and missed the Rum-ti-tum. Simple, ain't it, Guv'nor?" "Yes," I answered, "quite simple." But I have decided to give up all idea of buying a car. I should never learn the language. * * * * * LITTLE GREY WATER. Little Grey Water, my heart is with you In the loop of the hills where the lone heron feeds, Where your cloak is a cloud with a lining of blue, And your lover a wind riding over the reeds. Little Grey Water, I know that you know What the teal and the black duck are dreaming at noon, And the way of the wistful wild geese as they go Through the haze of the hills to keep tryst with the moon. Little Grey Water, folk say and they say That the homing hill-shepherd, benighted, has heard A song in the reeds, 'twixt the dawn and the day, That was never the song of a breeze or a bird. But I know you so silent, so silent and still, And so proud of your trust that you'll never betray What the fairies that gather from Grundiston Hill Tell the stars before morning to witch them away. W.H.O. * * * * * [Illustration: FAITH RESTORED. MR. PUNCH. "STANDS ROBERT WHERE HE DID? GOOD! I WAS AFRAID FOR A MOMENT THAT MY IDOL HAD FEET OF CLAY."] * * * * * ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.