* * * * *

JIMMY--KILLED IN ACTION.

Horses he loved, and laughter, and the sun,
A song, wide spaces and the open air;
The trust of all dumb living things he won,
And never knew the luck too good to share.

His were the simple heart and open hand,
And honest faults he never strove to hide;
Problems of life he could not understand,
But as a man would wish to die he died.

Now, though he will not ride with us again,
His merry spirit seems our comrade yet,
Freed from the power of weariness or pain,
Forbidding us to mourn--or to forget.

* * * * *

A LITERAL EPOCH.

That there rumpus i' the village laast Saturday night? Aye, it were
summat o' a rumpus, begad! Lor! there aren't bin nothin' like it
not since the time when they wuz a-gwain' to burn th' ould parson's
effigy thirty-fower year ago (but it niver come off, because 'e up an'
offered to contribute to the expenses 'isself, an' that kind o' took
the wind out on't).