They fill their crops, and then away they fly.
Pigeons are sometimes passable in stew,
And always quite delicious in a pie.

Or pluck red-currants on some summer day,
Then take of raspberries an equal part,
Add cream and sugar--can mere words convey
The luscious joys of this delightful tart?

Is Lunch worth lunching? If such cates should fail,
Go out of country bread a solid hunch,
Pile on it cheese, wash down with country ale,
And, faring plainly, yet enjoy thy lunch.

Yea, this is truth, the lunch of knife and fork,
The pic-nic lunch, spread out upon the earth,
Lunches of beef, bread, mutton, veal, or pork,
All, all, without exception all, are worth!

* * * * *

NINETY-NINE OUT OF A HUNDRED CANDIDATES MUST BE "PILLED."--The Living
of "Easington-with-Liverton, Yorkshire, worth £600 per annum," is
vacant. Is it in the gift of the celebrated Dr. COCKLE? or of Dr.
CARTER, of Little-Liverpill-Street fame?

* * * * *

[Illustration: "BACK!"]