"Families supplied in 18, 12 or 6 gallon casks."--_Hertford brewer's notice_. Where's your DIOGENES now? * * * * * "The dinner was in the House of Commons, and I sat next to Henry. I was tremendously impressed by his conversation and his clean Cromwellian face." _From a famous autobiography._ It was, we trust, the CROMWELL touch rather than the cleanness that was so impressive. * * * * * [Illustration: _Ancient Gardener_ (_who has just been paid_). "OI SAY, MAISTER, THERE'S SUMMAT WRONG WI' MA BRASS." _Employer._ "WHAT'S THAT, JOHN?" _A.G._ "WHA, SITHEE, THA'S GI'EN MA ONE TA MONY." _Employer._ "YOU'RE VERY HONEST, JOHN." _A.G._ "WEEL, THA SEES I THOAT IT MID 'A' BIN A TRAP."] * * * * * NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN. THE EARWIG. How odd it is that our Papas Keep taking us to cinemas, But still expect the same old scares, The tiger-cats, the woolly bears, The lions on the nursery stairs To frighten as of old! Considering everybody knows A girl can throttle one of those While choking with the other hand The captain of a robber band, They leave one pretty cold. The lion has no status now; One has one's terrors, I'll allow, The centipede, perhaps the cow, But nothing in the Zoo; The things that wriggle, jump or crawl, The things that climb about the wall, And I know what is worst of all-- It is the earwig--_ugh_! The earwig's face is far from kind; He must have got a spiteful mind; The pincers which he wears behind Are poisonous, of course; And Nanny knew a dreadful one Which bit a gentleman for fun And terrified a horse. He is extremely swift and slim, And if you try to tread on him He scuttles up the path; He goes and burrows in your sponge And takes one wild terrific plunge When you are in the bath; Or else--and this is simply foul-- He gets into a nice hot towel And waits till you are dried, And then, when Nanny does your ears, He _wrrriggles_ in and disappears: He stays in there for years and years And _crrrawls_ about inside. At last, if you are still alive, A lot of baby ones arrive; But probably you've died. How inconvenient it must be! There isn't any way, you see, To get him out again; So, when you want to frighten me Or really give me pain, Please don't go on about that bear And all those burglars on the stair; I shouldn't turn a tiny hair At such Victorian stuff; You only have to say instead, "THERE IS AN EARWIG IN YOUR BED" And that will be enough. A.P.H. * * * * * MY RIGHT-HAND MAN.