Weep, ye lowering rain-swept skies!
In the dust our hero lies.
Weeping-willow, bow thy head!
Our precocious fowl is dead.
Sigh, thou bitter North Wind, for
Perce the Partridge is no more!
Now, as long as he was ready
Just to sit, sedate and steady,
On the barrel of the gun
Little mischief could be done;
But on that sad morn a whim
Suddenly seized hold of him;
'Twas the lunatic desire
To observe how shot-guns fire;
So he boldly took his stand
Where the barrel ended, and,
All agog to solve the puzzle,
Poked his napper up the muzzle.
Well, the weapon at the minute
Chanced to have a cartridge in it,
And it happened that my friend
Bill was at the other end,
Who with calm unflurried aim
Failed (at last) to miss the game.
With the tragic tale of Percy's
Death I meant to close these verses,
But we see quite clearly there, too,
Other ills that Bird is heir to.
He has also lost, you see,
Individuality;
Perce the Partridge, named and known,
With an ego all his own,
Disappears; and in his place
There remains but "half-a-brace."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _New Landlord._ "GEORGE, BILLIARDS WILL BE
EIGHTEENPENCE A HUNDRED."
_Potman._ "THAT'S MORE'N THEY PAID BEFORE, SIR."
_New Landlord._ "WHAT DID THEY PAY?"
_Potman._ "WELL, IT _WAS_ A BOB, BUT THEY MOSTLY SNEAKED OUT THROUGH
THAT DOOR."]
* * * * *
=Situations to Suit all Ages.=
"Lady-Typist (aged 1920) required for invoicing department of West
End wholesale firm."--_Daily Paper._
"Wanted, capable Person, about 3 years of age, to undertake all
household duties, country residence."--_Scottish Paper._
* * * * *
"DICK WHITTINGTON, 1920.
And, last of all, here is Dick WPhittington, otherwise known as
Alderman Roll, Lord Mayor of London."--_Evening Paper._
But for the headline we should never have recognised him.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Beginner._ "I HOPE TO HEAVEN I'VE GOT THE LABELS
ON THE RIGHT STICKS, OR I'M DONE!"]
* * * * *