ROUNDABOUT READINGS.
Reading edition
There is only one Parish Council in England which is presided over by a lady. Her name is Jane Shakespeare, and she rules the parochial deliberations of Netherseal in Leicestershire. No doubt it will be found by her councillors that Jane hath a way with her, and thus she will be brought into line with her illustrious namesake.
[At Gamlingay, in Cambridgeshire, Mr. Dew declined to undertake the duties of cemetery superintendent for a salary of £5, and Mr. Howe was consequently appointed to the post.]
Mr. Dew, when he heard of the offer, looked blue; He considered a fiver was less than his due. How do it? The question gave rise to no row, For Miss Echo replied, and her answer was Howe.
Congratulations to Mr. F. Mitchell, of Cambridge University, on his innings of 191 runs against Somerset.
The men of the county had studied their pitch ill; They did what they could, but they couldn't bowl Mitchell. His masterly cutting the bowlers appals, For the grass being short, he makes hay of their balls.
A writer in The Manchester Guardian declares that the main road between Bolton and Bury is in a shocking condition. What is the road between Bolton and Bury? Bolton suggests that he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day, but Bury seems to indicate a path of glory leading to the grave—which things are a paradox. In any case, I endorse the writer's suggestion—
That Alderman Hulton should harness his colt on, And drive o'er the road between Bury and Bolton. The chock-holes and paving are terrible—very, And he may find his tomb e'er he comes back to Bury.
There was a gas explosion the other day in Dublin at the house of a Mr. Atock. The report states that Mr. Atock's injuries were dressed and he and his family afterwards left for the house of Mr. Atock senior, at Phibsborough. Phœbus, what a name! As the capital city of the regions of, shall we say, perverted veracity, nothing could be fitter. In any case, condolences to Mr. Atock. Is the Blarney stone in Phibsborough?
What is "dockisation"? Whatever it is, they have been debating upon it at Bristol, and the proceedings are described as "decidedly lively." The protagonists were Mr. de Ridder and Alderman Proctor Baker.
Dockisation, I think, is a question of docks, And at Bristol it lately gave rise to hard knocks. "Let's be rid of a scheme which is bad for the town," Said de Ridder, whose statements excited a frown. But they smiled on beholding this argument-maker By a Proctor well caught and done brown by a Baker.
LEEDS LEADS!
Or, Welcome News from the North.
["The tenor of market reports concerning all the main industries out of which the citizens of Leeds make their living ... suggests the advent of a turn for the better, commercially, that may almost claim to rank as an industrial revolt."—The Yorkshire Post.]
Hooray! Food for hope the Tyke Town surely yields. The "Sun of York" shines on the Cardigan Fields (Which now should be called the Elysian). The Capitalist and the Builder unite To throw light upon Leeds. Let's sing, "Leeds! kindly light!" (Which we hope will not shock the precisian.) Oh! Bradford and Huddersfield, Dewsbury, Batley!— (These Yorkshire names fall into rhythm most patly)— Your returns and reports Trade is heeding, In hope that the storm, like the North, we may weather, With Walker and Sons (there is nothing like leather!), Those great "Men of (Leeds) Light and Leading!"
Appropriate.—Fixed service for "Tied Houses" should be the bounden duty of Tide-waiters.
AN EMBARRASSING QUESTION.
"Why have you got such a Bare Neck, Mummie?"
"I'm going to a Dance, Darling. One has to dress like this for a Dance!"
"Do the Ladies dance in one Room, and the Gentlemen in another, Mummie?"