Tap! Tap! Yes there _is_ a perceptible tumble. One can't "square" the weather or "get at" the glass. A storm? Oh! 'twas merely the least little rumble,-- 'Twill probably pass. Yes. Up in the North there 'tis always unsettled; I fancy we shan't be so shifty down South. No, really there's not the least call to be nettled, Or down in the mouth. I'll take my umbrella,--a useful possession, Yes, even in summer with wind in the east. But this--oh! it's merely a "local depression";-- I _hope_ so, at least! * * * * * THE HAZARD OF A--DYE. Supposing that when our soldiers and sailors were armed with worthless bayonets and useless cutlasses, a war had broken out. And supposing that our Army had been defeated on account of those worthless bayonets. And supposing our sailors had been slaughtered by hundreds on account of those useless cutlasses. And supposing the country had been successfully invaded because the nation had improper arms of defence. And supposing, wild with ruin, revenge, and misery, the remains of the Army and Navy had met Sir JOHN ADYE. Supposing they had. Well, what then? * * * * * PRIZE PARLIAMENTARY PUZZLE.--"The End of the Session." * * * * * [Illustration: "GLASS FALLING!" "HM!--GOING BACK! AH!--ONLY A _LOCAL DEPRESSION_!!"] * * * * * A SOOTHING SONG FOR AUGUST. [Illustration: Taking a Pull on the Watery Main.] Far from placid pleasure Fashion's nomads roam; Wisdom finds the treasure In its fullest measure Peacefully at home. Free from by-the-way bores Of hotel and train, Rest we from our labours, With our fair young neighbours Round us once again. Bees in drowsy fettle Lazy lilies rob; Slumbrously they settle, Thrumming like a kettle On the Summer's hob. Flies their mystic mazes Intricately thread, Where the sunshine blazes Through the cedarn hazes, Just above my head. Pussy, with her fur feet Curled beneath her breast, Drowzes where the turf-heat Soothes her with a surfeit Of delicious rest. Now a laughing quarrel Stirs the stilly air, Where, beyond the laurel, With their white apparel Glistening in the glare, Boys and girls together Make a gallant crew, Boys in highest feather, Girls like summer weather, Bright and sweet and true. * * * * * OUR EXCHANGE AND MART. SOME MORE HOLIDAY INQUIRIES.