But they, the Zepp-birds, flopped and barged
From Lunéville to Valescure
(Where we of old have often charged
The bunkers of the Côte d'Azur);
And half a brace--so strange and far a
Course to the South it had to shape--
Is still expected in Sahara
Or possibly the Cape.

In happier autumns you and I
(You by your art and I by luck)
Have pulled the pheasant off the sky
Or flogged to death the flighting duck;
But never yet--how few the chances
Of pouching so superb a swag--
Have we achieved a feat like France's
Immortal gas-bag bag.

O.S.

* * * * *

PURPLE PATCHES FROM LORD YORICK'S GREAT BOOK.

(_SPECIAL REVIEW_.)

Lord Yorick's _Reminiscences_, just published by the house of Hussell,
abound in genial anecdote, in which the "personal note" is lightly and
gracefully struck, in welcome contrast to the stodgy political memoirs
with which we have been surfeited of late. We append some extracts,