Part 9 (1/2)

_The Owner._ ”L-let's l-leave it a-and _walk_, s-shall we?”

Ill.u.s.tration: SUNDAY MORNING.--

_Cyclist_ (_to rural policeman_). ”Nice crowd out this morning!”

_Rural Policeman_ (_who has received a tip_). ”Yes, an' yer can't do with 'em! If yer 'ollers at 'em, they honly turns round and says, 'Pip, pip'!”

Ill.u.s.tration: _Rustic_ (_to beginner, who has charged the hedge_).

”It's no good, sir. They things won't jump!”

THE UNIVERSAL JUGGERNAUT.--”Anyone,” says the _Daily Telegraph_, ”who has driven an automobile will know that it is quite impossible to run over a child and remain unconscious of the fact.” _Any one who has driven an automobile!_ Heavens! what a sweeping charge! Is there none innocent?

Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Tain't no use tellin' me you've broke down! Stands to reason a motor-caw goin' down 'ill's _bound_ to be goin' too fast. So we'll put it down at about thirty mile an hour! Your name and address, sir, _hif_ you please.”

URBS IN RURE

[”When every one has a bicycle and flies to the suburban roads, the suburban dwellers will desert their houses and come back to crowded London to find quiet and freedom from dust.”--_Daily Paper._]

Time was desire for peace would still My footsteps lure to Richmond Hill, Or to the groves of Burnham I, Much craving solitude, would fly; Thence, through the Summer afternoon, 'Mid fragrant meads, knee-deep in June, Lulled by the song of birds and bees, I'd saunter idly at mine ease To that still churchyard where, with Gray, I'd dream a golden hour away, Forgetful all of aught but this-- That peace was mine, and mine was bliss.

But now should my all-eager feet Seek out some whilom calm retreat, ”Pip, pip!” resounds in every lane, ”Pip, pip!” the hedges ring again, ”Pip, pip!” the corn, ”Pip, pip!” the rye, ”Pip, pip!” the woods and meadows cry, As through the thirsty, fever'd day, The red-hot scorchers scorch their way.

Peace is no longer, Rest is dead, And sweetest Solitude hath fled; And over all, the cycling l.u.s.t Hath spread its trail of noise and dust.

So, would I woo the joys of Quiet, I see no more the country's riot, But the comparatively still Environment of Ludgate Hill.

There, 'mongst the pigeons of St. Paul's, I muse melodious madrigals, Or loiter where the waters sport 'Mid the cool joys of Fountain Court, Where, undisturbed by sharp ”Pip, pip!”

My nimble numbers lightly trip, And country peace I find again In Chancery and Fetter Lane.

VEHICULAR PROGRESSION.--_Mr. Ikey Motor_ (_to customer_). Want a machine, sir? Certainly, we've all sorts to suit your build.

_Customer._ It isn't for me, but for my mother-in-law.

_Mr. Ikey Motor._ For your mother-in-law! How would a steam roller suit her?

[Mr. I. M. _is immediately made aware that the lady in question has overheard his ill-timed jest, while the customer vanishes in blue fire._