The scoffer rails at ancient tales Of lake and stream and river; The wise man owns that in his bones The kelpie makes him shiver. Big salmon-flies the scoffer buys, Long rods and wading stockings; Unpicturesque he walks in Esk With unbelief and mockings. "A river-horse! O-ho, of course!" And shouts with ribald laughter; He does not see in his cheap glee The kelpie trotting after. The storm comes chill from off the hill; An eerie wind doth holloa; And near and near by surges drear The water-horse doth follow. A snort, a snuff; enough, enough; Past prayer or human help he Comes never more to mortal door Who meets the water-kelpie. * * * * * "THE KING ARRIVES IN SCOTLAND ASKED TO LEAVE." _Consecutive Headlines in "The Daily Mirror."_ The habit of reading the headlines in our pictorial newspapers without glancing at the pictures beneath them is liable to create false impressions. * * * * * [Illustration: _Mrs. Symons (wishing to draw attention, in the time- honoured manner, to the amount of dust on the drawing-room furniture)._ "LOOK AT THAT, MARTHA; I CAN WRITE MY NAME ON THE PIANO." _Martha._ "FANCY, NOW, YOU SPELLING IT WITH A 'Y.'"] * * * * * TO A MAKER OF PILLS. "The Pill Trade has fallen on evil days; no ex-service men seem to require pills."--_A pill manufacturer summoned for rates at Willesden._ O Benefactor of the British Tommy, So often sick in far unfriendly climes, What tears of sympathy are flowing from me To learn that you have fallen on evil times! Yea, to my mind 'tis little short of tragic That men no longer buy your potent spheres of magic! Scarce less detested than the Bulgar bullet Your bitter pellets of Quin. Sulph. gr. 5 Have often stuck in my long-suffering gullet, Leaving me barely more than half alive, Whilst the accursed drug, whose taste I dread, Hummed like an aeroplane within my throbbing head. And what about Acetyl-Salicylic, And what of Calomels and Soda Sals? Existence had been even less idyllic Without those powerful and faithful pals! Why, midst the fevers of the Struma plain you Furnished the greater part of Tommy's daily menu. Or what of that infallible specific, Your Pil. Cathartic Comp., or No. 9, Whose world-wide influence must have been terrific Since first it found its footing in the Line? The British Tommy took it by the million-- Why should it fail to sell now he has turned civilian? It is not base ingratitude that blinds him To recognition of an ancient debt, But rather that the sight of these reminds him Of painful days which he would fain forget. When life was one long round of guards and drills, Marches, patrols, fatigues and sick parades--and pills.