FLOWERS' NAMES. MARIGOLDS. As MARY was a-walking All on a summer day, The flowers all stood curtseying And bowing in her way; The blushing poppies hung their heads And whispered MARY'S name, And all the wood anemones Hung down their heads in shame. The violet hid behind her leaves And veiled her timid face, And all the flowers bowed a-down, For holy was the place. Only a little common flower Looked boldly up and smiled To see the happy mother come A-carrying her Child. The little Child He laughed aloud To see the smiling flower, And as He laughed the Marigold Turned gold in that same hour. For she was gay and innocent-- He loved to see her so-- And from the splendour of His face She caught a golden glow. * * * * * AN OPTIMIST. "I have just completed a fortnight's tour on a tandem, and can recommend this form of a holiday as the best I know of.... One Sunday in June, without exaggeration, I was nearly killed twice, and my wife was overcome with fright."--_C.T.C. Gazette._ * * * * * "In a competition at Claygate, Surrey, three children caught 182 green wasps."--_Daily Paper._ It is believed that they would not have been caught if they had not been green. * * * * * From a recent Admiralty Order:-- "Approval has been given for frocks to be issued to N.C. Officers and men (Royal Marines) during the current year, for walking out purposes only." It is believed that His Majesty's Jollies have received the order without enthusiasm, on the ground that no mention is made of anything being inside the frocks. * * * * * [Illustration: THE ICONOCLAST. SIR ALFRED MOND. "I'M SORRY TO HAVE TO DISTURB YOUR MAJESTY, BUT, OWING TO THE SHORTAGE OF SITES--" GEORGE III. "SHORTAGE OF SIGHTS, INDEED!" [It is understood that a number of London statues, including that of George III. in Cockspur Street, are to be removed by the Office of Works to make room for new ones.]] * * * * * [Illustration: _Heavy Father._ "PUT YOUR 'AT ON THIS MINUTE, SIR. DO YOU WANT TO CATCH YOUR DEATHERCOLD?"] * * * * * THE VISIONARY. 'Twas last week at Pebble Bay That I saw the little goat, Harnessed to a little shay. Old was he and poor in coat, And he lugged his load along Where the barefoot children throng Round the nigger minstrels' song. But his eye, aloof and chill, Said to me as plain as plain, "I am waiting, waiting still, Till the gods come back again; Starved and ugly, mean, unkempt, I have dreams by you undreamt, And--I hold you in contempt!