Then he that made the little songs
For ARTHUR--deftly could he make the same--
Budged not; but ARTHUR rose and silently,
Whether by malice of the mind prepense,
Or by the merest inadvertency,
(As he alleged that felt it,) drew his fist
And smote him on the digit heavily,
And ceased,
* * * * *
But lo!
ARTHUR was 'ware of one that winked on him,
Clothed all in sable, stout, constabular:
Then murmured ARTHUR, "Place me in the dock!"
So to the dock they came eventually.
And there the pressmen came and sampled him;
And later came the Bar and pleaded for him;
And last the Bench observed, "More things are wrought
By misadventure than you might suppose,
And such the case before us; yea, a tort
Committed in a temporary state
Of sheer oblivion. We dismiss the suit."
So from the Court serenely ARTHUR passed,
And passing held communion with himself
How he should work it up for future gag.
* * * * *
FRIENDLY FRENCH FEELING AND FISHING.--Oh, of course, nothing could be
nicer. They _are_ so fond of us English in France! Can't possibly do
without us. The latest development of it, in a small way, being the
seizure of a Ramsgate fishing-smack, called the _Bonnie Bell_, by a
French fishing-boat, which hauled the _B. B._ into Gravelines. "Hard
lines" this. Anyway it is a nasty fishing "smack" in the eye, given and
taken. And where's the friendly feeling?
* * * * *
[Illustration: STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE.