"A-hoy!"--A chance for any person desirous of escaping from the
[Greek: hoi polloi], and making his home upon an island "all to
himself." Hoy, one of the celebrated Orkney group of islands, is for
sale. This is a healthy spot, in fact it may now be said to be most
saleubrious. Information gleaned from the _Liverpool Courier_ shows
that "the island comprises 40,000 acres, rises abruptly"--like the
angry hero of a novelette--"from the sea, consists of a mountain
having different eminences or peaks"--this piques one's curiosity--"is
very steep, and has a noble and picturesque effect from all points of
view." We trust it may also have a beautifying and ennobling effect
upon the purchaser. Besides all these advantages, it possesses a large
pillar of rock, 300 feet high, known as "The Old Man of Hoy." The
legend attached to this promontory is as follows:--
There was an old party of Hoy,
Who in life couldn't find any joy,
So he sold all his stock,
Got transformed into rock,
Did this marvellous "broth of a bhoy."
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[Illustration: WHAT'S IN A NAME?
_Old Gent_ (_lately bitten with the Craze_). "AND THAT CONFOUNDED MAN
SOLD ME THE THING FOR A SAFETY!"]
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Best congratulations to the First Lord of the Treasury on his happy
idea of promoting a scheme for the presentation of a testimonial to
old TOM MORRIS, doyen of golf professionals, and keeper of the Green
of the Royal and Ancient Club, at St. Andrews. An undeviating devotion
of sixty years to the interests of the Scotch sport has won for Tom
the thankful admiration of all lovers of the game, and it is sincerely
to be hoped that Mr. BALFOUR'S appeal will result in a bunker--we
mean a bumper--testimonial to the Grand Old Golfic Gladiator. For the
edification of a future generation of golf devotees there should also
be constructed a statuette of the veteran,
To stand in the Club smoking-room
Plain for all folk to see;
TOM MORRIS just about to "putt"
A ball across the Dee;
And underneath be written,
In letters all of gold,
How gloriously he kept the green
In the brave days of old.
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FOOD FOR REFLECTION.--Readers of the _Daily Telegraph_ have become
vegetarians. They are subsisting on a diet of lov(e)age.
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