Volume 153 — TO SANTA CLAUS.
Reading edition
Historic Santa! Seasonable Claus! Whose bulging sack is pregnant with delight; Who comest in the middle of the night To stuff distracting playthings in the maws Of stockings never built for infant shins, Suspended from the mantelpiece by pins. Thou who on earth wast named Nicholas— There be dull clods who doubt thy magic power To tour the sleeping world in half-an-hour, And pop down all the chimneys as you pass With woolly lambs and dolls of frabjous size For grubby hands and wonder-laden eyes. Not so thy singer, who believes in thee Because he has a young and foolish spirit; Because the simple faith that bards inherit Of happiness is still the master key, Opening life's treasure-house to whoso clings To the dim beauty of imagined things. Wherefore, good Kringle, do not pass me by, Who am too old, alas! for trains and blocks, But stuff the Love of Beauty in my socks And Childlike Faith to last me till I die; And there'll be room, I doubt not, in the toes For Magic Cap and Spectacles of Rose. And not a song of beauty, sung of old, Or saga of the dead heroic days, And not a blossom laughing by the ways, Or wind of April blowing on the wold But in my heart shall have the power to stir The shy communion of the worshipper. Hark! On the star-bright highways of the sky Light hoofs beat and the far-off sleigh-bell sounds! Is it old Santa on his gracious rounds Or one dead legend drifting sadly by? Not mine to say. And, though I long to peep, Santa shall always find me fast asleep. ALGOL.
"A clerk was at London Mansion House yesterday charged with stealing a blouse the property of the governor and directors of the Bank of England.
"She said she could not understand what made her take it, and, believing she acted from sudden temptation, the Lord Mayor bound her over."—Daily Mail.
We do not think the "Old Lady of Threadneedle Street" ought to wear such tempting garments in these times.
"WITH THE ITALIAN ARMY.—The battle, which continues with unabated fury, is gradually extending along the front from the Brenta to the Piave, a line of over 11 miles, with its wings on the Col della Berretta and Monte Spinoncia, north-east of Grappa.
"I learn that for 24 hours the fighting was marked by a determination in counter-attacks which has never yet been exceeded. No fewer than four times Colonel della Berretta changed hands."—Scots Paper.
We hope the gallant officer is none the worse for his game of Hunt-the-Skipper.
AN INEXPENSIVE LUXURY.
FIRST KAISER (WILHELM). "I AM THINKING OF SENDING THIS BIRD OF PEACE FORTH AGAIN. WE CAN AFFORD TO BE MAGNANIMOUS."
SECOND KAISER (KARL). "WELL, WE CERTAINLY CAN'T AFFORD ANYTHING ELSE."