BROWNING ON THE ROAD.

"Let's get down, Sammy, let's get down at once," groaned Mr. Weller the elder. "I can't stand it, Samivel, I really can't. Think o' the poor 'osses, Sammy, think o' the poor 'osses as ain't there, and vot they must feel to find theirselves sooperseeded by a hugly vheel and a pennorth o' peteroleum, &c.!"

"Hold on, old Nobs!" cried the son, with frank filial sympathy. "Think of the guv'nor, father, and vait for the first stoppage. Never again vith the Muggleton Motor! Vhy, it vorse than a hortomatic vheelbarrow, ain't it, Mr. Pickwick?"

"Ah, Sammy," assented Mr. Weller, Senior, hugging his whip, affectionately. "Vorse even than vidders, Sammy, the red-nosed shepherd, or the Mulberry One hisself!"

A bear in a motor-car attracted much attention in the City last week. It had four legs this time.

TheMotor Cardeclares, on high medical authority, that motoring is a cure for insanity. We would therefore recommend several motorists we know to persevere.

Gentle SatireGentle Satire—"I say, Bill, look 'ere! 'Ere's a old cove out record-breaking!"

Gentle Satire—"I say, Bill, look 'ere! 'Ere's a old cove out record-breaking!"

Motor Mania.Motor Mania.—The Poet(deprecatingly). "They say she gives more attention to her motor-cars than to her children."The Butterfly."Of course. How absurd you are! Motor-cars require more attention than children."

Motor Mania.—

The Poet(deprecatingly). "They say she gives more attention to her motor-cars than to her children."

The Butterfly."Of course. How absurd you are! Motor-cars require more attention than children."

SOUR GRAPESSOUR GRAPESFirst Scorcher."Callthatexercise?"Second Scorcher."No.Icall it sitting in a draught!"

First Scorcher."Callthatexercise?"

Second Scorcher."No.Icall it sitting in a draught!"

Not to be Caught.Not to be Caught.—Motorist(whose motor has thrown elderly villager into horse-pond). "Come along, my man, I'll take you home to get dry."Elderly Villager."No, yer don't. I've got yer number, and 'ere I stays till a hindependent witness comes along!"

Not to be Caught.—

Motorist(whose motor has thrown elderly villager into horse-pond). "Come along, my man, I'll take you home to get dry."

Elderly Villager."No, yer don't. I've got yer number, and 'ere I stays till a hindependent witness comes along!"

Pedestrian. I hear Brown has taken to cyclingPedestrian."I hear Brown has taken to cycling, and is very enthusiastic about it!"Cyclist."Enthusiastic! Not a bit of it. Why, he never rides before breakfast!"

Pedestrian."I hear Brown has taken to cycling, and is very enthusiastic about it!"

Cyclist."Enthusiastic! Not a bit of it. Why, he never rides before breakfast!"

GROTESQUERIESGROTESQUERIESWords wanted to express feelingsWhen your motor refuses to move, twenty miles from the nearest town.

Words wanted to express feelings

When your motor refuses to move, twenty miles from the nearest town.

SO INCONSIDERATESO INCONSIDERATE"Jove! Might have killed us! I must have a wire screen fixed up."

"Jove! Might have killed us! I must have a wire screen fixed up."

Round the bend of a sudden came Z 1 3,And I shot into his front wheel's rim;And straight was a fine of gold for him,And the need of a brand-new bike for me.

Round the bend of a sudden came Z 1 3,

And I shot into his front wheel's rim;

And straight was a fine of gold for him,

And the need of a brand-new bike for me.

IF DOUGHTY DEEDS MY LADY PLEASE"IF DOUGHTY DEEDS MY LADY PLEASE""Mamma! Mr. White says he is longing to give you your first bicycle lesson!"

"Mamma! Mr. White says he is longing to give you your first bicycle lesson!"

(By a Wild Wheelman. A long way after Rogers)

Mine be a "scorch" without a spill,A loud "bike" bell to please mine ear;A chance to maim, if not to kill,Pedestrian parties pottering near.My holloa, e'er my prey I catch,Shall raise wild terror in each breast;If luck or skill that prey shall snatchFrom my wild wheel, the shock will test.On to the bike beside my porchI'll spring, like falcon on its prey,And Lucy, onherwheel shall "scorch,"And "coast" with me the livelong day.To make old women's marrow freezeIs the best sport the bike has given.To chase them as they puff and wheeze,On rubber tyre—by Jove, 'tis heaven!

Mine be a "scorch" without a spill,A loud "bike" bell to please mine ear;A chance to maim, if not to kill,Pedestrian parties pottering near.

Mine be a "scorch" without a spill,

A loud "bike" bell to please mine ear;

A chance to maim, if not to kill,

Pedestrian parties pottering near.

My holloa, e'er my prey I catch,Shall raise wild terror in each breast;If luck or skill that prey shall snatchFrom my wild wheel, the shock will test.

My holloa, e'er my prey I catch,

Shall raise wild terror in each breast;

If luck or skill that prey shall snatch

From my wild wheel, the shock will test.

On to the bike beside my porchI'll spring, like falcon on its prey,And Lucy, onherwheel shall "scorch,"And "coast" with me the livelong day.

On to the bike beside my porch

I'll spring, like falcon on its prey,

And Lucy, onherwheel shall "scorch,"

And "coast" with me the livelong day.

To make old women's marrow freezeIs the best sport the bike has given.To chase them as they puff and wheeze,On rubber tyre—by Jove, 'tis heaven!

To make old women's marrow freeze

Is the best sport the bike has given.

To chase them as they puff and wheeze,

On rubber tyre—by Jove, 'tis heaven!

Henpeck'd he was. He learnt to bike."Now I can go just where I like,"He chuckled to himself. But sheHad learnt to bike as well as he,And, what was more, had bought a newMachine to sweetly carry two.Ever together now they go,He sighing, "This is wheelandwoe."

Henpeck'd he was. He learnt to bike.

"Now I can go just where I like,"

He chuckled to himself. But she

Had learnt to bike as well as he,

And, what was more, had bought a new

Machine to sweetly carry two.

Ever together now they go,

He sighing, "This is wheelandwoe."

WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS,"WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS," &c.He(alarmed by the erratic steering). "Er—and have you driven much?"She(quite pleased with herself). "Oh, no—this is only my second attempt. But then, you see, I have been used to abicyclefor years!"

He(alarmed by the erratic steering). "Er—and have you driven much?"

She(quite pleased with herself). "Oh, no—this is only my second attempt. But then, you see, I have been used to abicyclefor years!"

MISUNDERSTOODMISUNDERSTOODDonald(who has picked up fair cyclist's handkerchief). "Hi! Woman! Woman!"Fair Cyclist(indignantly). "'Woman'! Howdareyou——"Donald(out of breath). "I beg your pardon, sir! I thought you was a woman. I didna see yourtrews."

Donald(who has picked up fair cyclist's handkerchief). "Hi! Woman! Woman!"

Fair Cyclist(indignantly). "'Woman'! Howdareyou——"

Donald(out of breath). "I beg your pardon, sir! I thought you was a woman. I didna see yourtrews."

Automobile dust-carts, says theMatin, are to be used in Paris henceforth. We had thought every motor-car was this.

English Dictionary IllustratedEnglish Dictionary Illustrated.—"Coincidence." The falling or meeting of two or more lines or bodies at the same point.

English Dictionary Illustrated.—"Coincidence." The falling or meeting of two or more lines or bodies at the same point.

TwoA.M.! Time to get up, if I'm to be ready for the great Paris-Berlin race at 3.30. Feel very cold and sleepy. Pitch dark morning, of course. Moon been down hours. Must get into clothes, I suppose. Oilskins feel very clammy and heavy at this hour in the morning. Button up tunic and tuck trousers into top boots. Put on peaked cap and fasten veil tightly over face, after covering eyes with iron goggles and protecting mouth with respirator. Wind woollen muffler round neck and case hands in thick dogskin gloves with gauntlets. Look like Nansen going to discover North Pole. Or Tweedledum about to join battle with Tweedledee. Effect on the whole unpleasing.

Great crowds to see us off. Nearly ran over several in effort to reach starting post. Very careless. People ought not to get in the way on these occasions. Noise appalling. Cheers, snatches ofMarseillaise, snorts of motors, curses of competitors, cries of bystanders knocked down byenthusiasticchauffeurs, shouts ofgendarmesclearing the course. Spectators seem to find glare of acetylene lamps very confusing. Several more or less injured through not getting out of the way sufficiently quickly. At last the flag drops. We are off.

Pull lever, and car leaps forward. Wonder if wiser to start full speed or begin gently? Decide on latter. Result, nearly blinded by dust of competitors in front, and suffocated by stench of petroleum. Fellow just ahead particularly objectionable in both respects. Decide to quicken up and pass him. Can't see a foot before me on account of his dust. Suddenly run into the stern of his car. Apologise. Can't I look where I'm going? Of course I can. Not my fault at all. Surly fellow! Proceed to go slower. Fellow behind runs intome. Confound him, can't he be more careful? Says he couldn't see me. Idiot!

Put on speed again. Car in front just visible through haze of dust. Hear distant crash. Confound the man, he's run into a dray! Just time to swerve to the right, and miss wreck of his car by an inch. Clumsy fellow, blocking my road in that way. At last clear space before me. Go up witha rush. Wind whistles past my ears. Glorious! What's that? Run over an old woman? Very annoying. Almost upset my car. Awkward for next chap. Body right across the road. Spill him to a certainty.

Morning growing light, but dust thicker than ever. Scarcely see a yard in front of me. Must trust to luck. Fortunately road pretty straight here. Just missed big tree. Collided with small one. Knocked it over like a ninepin. Lucky I was going so fast. Car uninjured, but tree done for. Man in car just ahead very much in my way. Shout to him to get out of the light. Turns round and grins malevolently. Movement fatal. He forgets to steer and goes crash into ditch. What's that he says? Help? Silly fellow, does he think I can stop at this pace? Curious how ignorant people seem to be of simplest mechanical laws.

Magnificent piece of road here. Nothing in sight but a dog. Run over it. Put on full speed. Seventy miles an hour at least. Can no longer see or hear anything. Trees, villages, fields rush by in lightning succession. Fancy a child is knocked down. Am vaguely conscious of upsetting oldgentleman in gig. Seem to notice a bump on part of car, indicating that it has passed over prostrate fellow citizen, but not sure. Sensation most exhilarating. Immolate another child. Really most careless of parents leaving children loose like this in the country. Some day there will be an accident. Might have punctured my tyre.

Chap in front of me comes in sight. Catching him up fast. He puts on full speed. Still gaining on him. Pace terrific. Sudden flash just ahead, followed by loud explosion. Fellow's benzine reservoir blown up apparently. Pass over smoking ruins of car. Driver nowhere to be seen. Probably lying in neighbouring field. That putshimout of the race.

Eh? What's that? Aix in sight? Gallop, says Browning. Better not, perhaps. Road ahead crowded with spectators. Great temptation to charge through them in style. Mightn't be popular, though. Slow down to fifteen miles an hour, and enter town amid frantic cheering. Most interesting. Wonderfully few casualties. Dismount at door of hotel dusty but triumphant.

First CyclistFirst Cyclist(cross-eyed). "Why the dickens don't you look where you're going?"Second Cyclist(cross-eyed). "Why don't you go where you're looking?"

First Cyclist(cross-eyed). "Why the dickens don't you look where you're going?"

Second Cyclist(cross-eyed). "Why don't you go where you're looking?"

Quite ImpossibleQuite Impossible.—Motorist."What! Exceeding the legal limit?Dowe look as if we would do such a thing?"

Quite Impossible.—Motorist."What! Exceeding the legal limit?Dowe look as if we would do such a thing?"

THE INTERPRETATION OF SIGNSTHE INTERPRETATION OF SIGNSCustodian."This 'ere's a private road, miss! Didn't yer see the notice-board at the gate, sayin' 'No thoroughfare'?"Placida."Oh yes, of course. Why, that's how I knew there was a way through!"

Custodian."This 'ere's a private road, miss! Didn't yer see the notice-board at the gate, sayin' 'No thoroughfare'?"

Placida."Oh yes, of course. Why, that's how I knew there was a way through!"

AFTER THE ACCIDENTAFTER THE ACCIDENT"Toujours la politesse."

"Toujours la politesse."

QUITE A LITTLE HOLIDAYQUITE A LITTLE HOLIDAYCottager."What's wrong, Biker? Have you had a spill?"Biker."Oh, no. I'm having a rest!"

Cottager."What's wrong, Biker? Have you had a spill?"

Biker."Oh, no. I'm having a rest!"

WHATS IN A NAMEWHATS IN A NAME?Old Gent(lately bitten with the craze). "And that confounded man sold me the thing for a safety!"

Old Gent(lately bitten with the craze). "And that confounded man sold me the thing for a safety!"

Motoring Illustratedsuggests the institution of a Motor Museum. If we were sure that most of the motor omnibuses at present in our streets would find their way there, we would gladly subscribe.

Sir,—I recently read with interest a letter in theTimesfrom "A Cyclist since 1868." In it he announced his intention of carrying a tail-light in order to avoid being run into from behind. The idea is admirable, and my wife and I, as Pedestrians since 1826 and 1823 respectively, propose to wear two lamps each in future, a white and a red.

We are, however, a little exercised to know whether we should carry the white in front and the red behind, orvice versâ. For in walking along the right side of a road we shall appear on the wrong side to an approaching motor-car. Would it not therefore be better for us to have the tail-light in front. Your most humble and obedient servant,

Lux Præpostera.

P.S.—Would such an arrangement make us "carriages" in the eye of the law? At present we appear to be merely a sub-division of the class "unlighted objects."

Cure for Motor-Scorchers(suggested as being even more humane than the proposal ofSir R. Payne-Gallwey).—Give them Automobile Beans!

SLOW AND SURESLOW AND SUREJohn."I've noticed, miss, as when you 'as a motor, you catches a train, notthetrain!"

John."I've noticed, miss, as when you 'as a motor, you catches a train, notthetrain!"

A Harmony on Wheels

(Miss Angelica has challenged Mr. Wotherspoon to a race on the Queen's highway.)

Fytte 1.Mr. W.Fine start!(Faint heart!)Miss A.Horrid hill!(Feeling ill!)Fytte 2.Mr. W.Going strong!Come along!Fytte 3.Miss A.Road quite even!Perfect heaven!Fytte 4.Mr. W.Goal in view!Running true!Miss A.Make it faster!Spur your caster!Fytte 5.Mr. W.Fairly done!Miss A.Match is won![They dismount. Pause.Mr. W.What! Confess!Miss A.Well then—yes!

Fytte 1.Mr. W.Fine start!(Faint heart!)Miss A.Horrid hill!(Feeling ill!)

Fytte 1.

Mr. W.Fine start!

(Faint heart!)

Miss A.Horrid hill!

(Feeling ill!)

Fytte 2.Mr. W.Going strong!Come along!

Fytte 2.

Mr. W.Going strong!

Come along!

Fytte 3.Miss A.Road quite even!Perfect heaven!

Fytte 3.

Miss A.Road quite even!

Perfect heaven!

Fytte 4.Mr. W.Goal in view!Running true!Miss A.Make it faster!Spur your caster!

Fytte 4.

Mr. W.Goal in view!

Running true!

Miss A.Make it faster!

Spur your caster!

Fytte 5.

Mr. W.Fairly done!Miss A.Match is won![They dismount. Pause.Mr. W.What! Confess!Miss A.Well then—yes!

Mr. W.Fairly done!

Miss A.Match is won!

[They dismount. Pause.

Mr. W.What! Confess!

Miss A.Well then—yes!

Motor Fiend.Motor Fiend."Why don't you get out of the way?"Victim."What!Are you coming back?"

Motor Fiend."Why don't you get out of the way?"

Victim."What!Are you coming back?"

(A Forecast)

In the spring of 1913 St. John Skinner came back from Africa, after spending nine or ten years somewhere near the Zambesi. He travelled up to Waterloo by the electric train, and the three very stout men who were in the same first-class compartment seemed to look at him with surprise. On arriving at his hotel he pushed his way through a crowd of fat persons in the hall. Then he changed his clothes, and went round to his Club to dine.

The dining-room was filled with members of extraordinary obesity, all eating heartily. In the fat features of one of them he thought he recognised a once familiar face. "Round," said he, "how are you?"

The stout man stopped eating, and gazed at him anxiously. "Why," he murmured, after a while, in the soft voice that comes from folds of fat, "it must be Skinner. My dear fellow, what is the matter with you? Have you had a fever?"

"I'm all right," answered the other; "what makes you think I've been ill?"

"Ill, man!" said Round, "why you've wasted away to nothing. You're a perfect skeleton."

"If it's a question of bulk," remarked Skinner, "I'm much more surprised. You've grown so stout, every fellow in the Club seems so stout, everyone I've seen is as fat as—as—as you are."

"Heavens!" exclaimed Round, "you don't mean to say I've been putting on more flesh? I'm the light weight of the Club. I only weigh sixteen stone. No, no, you're chaffing, or you judge by your own figure."

"Not a bit," said the other; "you and I used to weigh about the same. What on earth has happened to you all?"

"Well," said Round, "perhaps you're right. It's very much what the doctors say. It's the fashionable complaint, motorobesity. Sit down, and dine with me, and I'll tell you what the idea is. You see, it's like this. For ten years or so everybody who could afford a motor of some sort has had one. We've all had one. Not to have a motor has been simply ridiculous, if not disreputable. Soeverybody has ridden about all day in the fresh air, never had any exercise, and got an enormous appetite. Besides, in the summer we've always been drinking beer to wash down the dust, and in the winter soup, or spirits, or something to warm us. My dear fellow, you can't think what an appetite motoring gives you. I had an enormous steak for my lunch at Winchester to-day, and a great lump of plum cake with my tea at Aldershot, and my aunt, the General's wife, made me bring a bag of biscuits to eat on the way up, and yet I'm so hungry now that I should feel quite uncomfortable if the thirst those biscuits, and the dust, gave me didn't make me almost forget it. I suppose everyone is really getting fat. One notices it when one does happen to see a thin fellow like you. Why, in all the Clubs they've had to have new arm-chairs, because the old ones were too narrow. However, I've talked enough about motoring. So glad to see you again, old chap. Of course you'll get a motor as soon as possible."

"Well," said Skinner, "I rather think I shall buy a horse."

"My dear fellow," cried Round, "what an idea!Horse-riding is such awfully bad form. Besides, you can't go any pace. Look at me. I wouldn't get on a horse, and be shaken to pieces."

"I should think not," said Skinner, "but I think I should prefer that to motorobesity."

An advertisement inThe Motorquotes the testimony of a gentleman from Moreton-in-the-Marsh, who states that he has run a certain car "nearly 412,500 miles in four months, and is more than pleased with it." As this works out (on a basis of twenty-four hours' runningper diem) at about 143 miles per hour, we have pleasure in asking what the police are doing in Moreton-in-the-Marsh and its vicinity.

Noticing an advertisement of a book entitled "The Complete Motorist," an angry opponent of the new method of locomotion writes to suggest that the companion volume, "The Complete Pedestrian," had better be written at once before it becomes impossible to find an entire specimen.

Maxim for Cyclists.—"Try-cycle before youBuy-cycle."

MotoristMotorist (a novice) has been giving chairman of local urban council a practical demonstration of the ease with which a motor-car can be controlled when travelling at a high speed.

Motorist (a novice) has been giving chairman of local urban council a practical demonstration of the ease with which a motor-car can be controlled when travelling at a high speed.

LOVE'S ENDURANCELOVE'S ENDURANCEMiss Dolly(to her fiancé). "Oh, Jack, thisisdelightful! If you'll only keep up the pace, I'm sure I shall soon gain confidence!"[Poor Jack has already run a mile or more, and is very short of condition.]

Miss Dolly(to her fiancé). "Oh, Jack, thisisdelightful! If you'll only keep up the pace, I'm sure I shall soon gain confidence!"

[Poor Jack has already run a mile or more, and is very short of condition.]

Tu Quoque.Tu Quoque.—Cyclist(a beginner who has just collided with freshly-painted fence). "Confound your filthy paint! Now, just look at my coat!"Painter. "'Ang yer bloomin' coat!'Ow about my paint?"

Tu Quoque.—Cyclist(a beginner who has just collided with freshly-painted fence). "Confound your filthy paint! Now, just look at my coat!"Painter. "'Ang yer bloomin' coat!'Ow about my paint?"

NOTE TO THE SUPERSTITIOUSNOTE TO THE SUPERSTITIOUSIt is considered lucky for a black cat to cross your path.

It is considered lucky for a black cat to cross your path.

A Study of Rural

WAITING FOR"W'y, I remembers the time w'en I'd 'ave stoppedthatfor furious drivin', an' I reckon it's only goin' about a paltry fifteen mile an hour!"

"W'y, I remembers the time w'en I'd 'ave stoppedthatfor furious drivin', an' I reckon it's only goin' about a paltry fifteen mile an hour!"

Police Methods

BIGGER GAME"Ar!Now them cyclists is puttin' on a fairish pace! Summat about twenty mile an hour, I s'pose. But 'tain't no business o' mine.I'm'ere to stopmotor-caws. Wot ho!"

"Ar!Now them cyclists is puttin' on a fairish pace! Summat about twenty mile an hour, I s'pose. But 'tain't no business o' mine.I'm'ere to stopmotor-caws. Wot ho!"

["I have personal knowledge of marriages resulting from motor-car courtships."—TheHon. C. S. Rolls.—Daily Express.]

When Reginald asked me to drive in his carI knew what it meant for us both,For peril to love-making offers no bar,But fosters the plighting of troth.To the tender occasion I hastened to rise,So bought a new frock on the strength of it,Some china-blue chiffon—to go with my eyes—And wrapped up my head with a length of it."Get in," said my lover, "as quick as you can!"He wore a black smear on his face,And held out the hand of a rough artisanTo pilot me into my place.Like the engine my frock somehow seemed to mis-fire,For Reginald's manner was querulous,But after some fuss with the near hind-wheel tyreWe were off at a pace that was perilous."There's Brown just behind, on his second-hand brute,He thinks it can move, silly ass!"Said Reggie with venom, "Ha! Ha! let him hoot,I'll give him some trouble to pass."My service thenceforth was by Reggie confined(He showed small compunction in suing it)To turning to see how far Brown was behind,But not to let Brown see me doing it.Brown passed us. We dined off his dust for a league—It really was very poor fun—Till, our car showed symptoms of heat and fatigue,Reggie had to admit he was done.To my soft consolation scant heed did he pay,But with taps was continually juggling,And his words, "Will you keep your dress further away?"Put a stop to this incipient smuggling."He'd never have passed me alone," Reggie sighed,"The car's extra heavy with you.""Why ask me to come?" I remarked. He replied,"I thought she'd go better with two."When I touched other topics, forbearingly meek,From his goggles the lightnings came scattering,"What chance do you give me of placing this squeak,"He hissed, "when you keep up that chattering?"At that, I insisted on being set downAnd returning to London by train,And I vowed fifty times on my way back to townThat I never would see him again.Next week he appeared and implored me to wed,With a fondly adoring humility."The car stands between us," I rigidly said."I've sold it!" he cried with agility.His temples were sunken, enfeebled his frame,There was white in the curls on his crest;When he spoke of our ride in a whisper of shameI flew to my home on his breast.By running sedately I'm certain that LoveTo such passion would never have carried us,Which settles the truth of the legend above—It was really the motor-car married us.

When Reginald asked me to drive in his car

I knew what it meant for us both,

For peril to love-making offers no bar,

But fosters the plighting of troth.

To the tender occasion I hastened to rise,

So bought a new frock on the strength of it,

Some china-blue chiffon—to go with my eyes—

And wrapped up my head with a length of it.

"Get in," said my lover, "as quick as you can!"He wore a black smear on his face,And held out the hand of a rough artisanTo pilot me into my place.Like the engine my frock somehow seemed to mis-fire,For Reginald's manner was querulous,But after some fuss with the near hind-wheel tyreWe were off at a pace that was perilous.

"Get in," said my lover, "as quick as you can!"

He wore a black smear on his face,

And held out the hand of a rough artisan

To pilot me into my place.

Like the engine my frock somehow seemed to mis-fire,

For Reginald's manner was querulous,

But after some fuss with the near hind-wheel tyre

We were off at a pace that was perilous.

"There's Brown just behind, on his second-hand brute,He thinks it can move, silly ass!"Said Reggie with venom, "Ha! Ha! let him hoot,I'll give him some trouble to pass."My service thenceforth was by Reggie confined(He showed small compunction in suing it)To turning to see how far Brown was behind,But not to let Brown see me doing it.

"There's Brown just behind, on his second-hand brute,

He thinks it can move, silly ass!"

Said Reggie with venom, "Ha! Ha! let him hoot,

I'll give him some trouble to pass."

My service thenceforth was by Reggie confined

(He showed small compunction in suing it)

To turning to see how far Brown was behind,

But not to let Brown see me doing it.

Brown passed us. We dined off his dust for a league—It really was very poor fun—Till, our car showed symptoms of heat and fatigue,Reggie had to admit he was done.To my soft consolation scant heed did he pay,But with taps was continually juggling,And his words, "Will you keep your dress further away?"Put a stop to this incipient smuggling.

Brown passed us. We dined off his dust for a league—

It really was very poor fun—

Till, our car showed symptoms of heat and fatigue,

Reggie had to admit he was done.

To my soft consolation scant heed did he pay,

But with taps was continually juggling,

And his words, "Will you keep your dress further away?"

Put a stop to this incipient smuggling.

"He'd never have passed me alone," Reggie sighed,"The car's extra heavy with you.""Why ask me to come?" I remarked. He replied,"I thought she'd go better with two."When I touched other topics, forbearingly meek,From his goggles the lightnings came scattering,"What chance do you give me of placing this squeak,"He hissed, "when you keep up that chattering?"

"He'd never have passed me alone," Reggie sighed,

"The car's extra heavy with you."

"Why ask me to come?" I remarked. He replied,

"I thought she'd go better with two."

When I touched other topics, forbearingly meek,

From his goggles the lightnings came scattering,

"What chance do you give me of placing this squeak,"

He hissed, "when you keep up that chattering?"

At that, I insisted on being set downAnd returning to London by train,And I vowed fifty times on my way back to townThat I never would see him again.Next week he appeared and implored me to wed,With a fondly adoring humility."The car stands between us," I rigidly said."I've sold it!" he cried with agility.

At that, I insisted on being set down

And returning to London by train,

And I vowed fifty times on my way back to town

That I never would see him again.

Next week he appeared and implored me to wed,

With a fondly adoring humility.

"The car stands between us," I rigidly said.

"I've sold it!" he cried with agility.

His temples were sunken, enfeebled his frame,There was white in the curls on his crest;When he spoke of our ride in a whisper of shameI flew to my home on his breast.By running sedately I'm certain that LoveTo such passion would never have carried us,Which settles the truth of the legend above—It was really the motor-car married us.

His temples were sunken, enfeebled his frame,

There was white in the curls on his crest;

When he spoke of our ride in a whisper of shame

I flew to my home on his breast.

By running sedately I'm certain that Love

To such passion would never have carried us,

Which settles the truth of the legend above—

It was really the motor-car married us.

MillerMiller(looking after cyclist, who has a slight touch of motor mania). "Well, to be sure! There do be some main ignorant chaps out o' London. 'E comes 'ere askin' me 'ow many 'orse power the old mill ad got."

Miller(looking after cyclist, who has a slight touch of motor mania). "Well, to be sure! There do be some main ignorant chaps out o' London. 'E comes 'ere askin' me 'ow many 'orse power the old mill ad got."

Cyclist whose tyre has become deflatedCyclist(whose tyre has become deflated). "Have you such a thing as a pump?"Yokel. "'Ees, miss, there's one i' the yard."Cyclist."I should be much obliged if you would let me use it."Yokel."That depends 'ow much you want. Watter be main scarce wi' us this year! Oi'll ask feyther."

Cyclist(whose tyre has become deflated). "Have you such a thing as a pump?"

Yokel. "'Ees, miss, there's one i' the yard."

Cyclist."I should be much obliged if you would let me use it."

Yokel."That depends 'ow much you want. Watter be main scarce wi' us this year! Oi'll ask feyther."

Smart Girl to keen motoristSmart Girl(to keen motorist). "My sister has bought a beautiful motor-car."Keen Motorist."Really! What kind?"Smart Girl."Oh, a lovely sage green, to go with her frocks."

Smart Girl(to keen motorist). "My sister has bought a beautiful motor-car."Keen Motorist."Really! What kind?"Smart Girl."Oh, a lovely sage green, to go with her frocks."

Mrs. Binks who has lost control of her machineMrs. Binks(who has lost control of her machine). "Oh, oh, Harry! Please get into a bank soon. I must have something soft to fall on!"

Mrs. Binks(who has lost control of her machine). "Oh, oh, Harry! Please get into a bank soon. I must have something soft to fall on!"

Miss Heavytopp.Miss Heavytopp."I'm afraid I'm giving you a lot of bother, but then, it's only myfirstlesson!"Exhausted Instructor(sotto voce). "I only hope it won't be mylast!"

Miss Heavytopp."I'm afraid I'm giving you a lot of bother, but then, it's only myfirstlesson!"

Exhausted Instructor(sotto voce). "I only hope it won't be mylast!"

SORROWS OF A "CHAUFFEUR"SORROWS OF A "CHAUFFEUR"Ancient Dame."What d'ye say? They call he a 'shuvver,' do they? I see. They put he to walk behind and shove 'em up the hills, I reckon."

Ancient Dame."What d'ye say? They call he a 'shuvver,' do they? I see. They put he to walk behind and shove 'em up the hills, I reckon."

A Cycle of Cathay.—The Yorkshire Evening Post, in reporting the case of a motor-cyclist charged with travelling at excessive speed on the highway at Selby, represents a police-sergeant as stating that "he timed defendant over a distance of 633 years, which was covered in 64 secs. The contention of the defendant that he had been "very imperfectly timed" has an air of captiousness.

"Many roads in the district are unfit for motorists," is the report of the Tadcaster surveyor to his council. We understand the inhabitants have resolved to leave well alone.

At a meeting of the Four Wheeler's Association, a speaker boasted, with some justification, that a charge which is brought every day against drivers of motor-cars has never been brought against members of their Association, namely, that of driving at an excessive speed.

Rumour is again busy with the promised appearance of a motor-bus which is to be so quiet that you will not know that there is one on the road until you have been run over.

An Unpardonable MistakeAn Unpardonable Mistake.—Short-sighted Old Lady."Porter!"

An Unpardonable Mistake.—Short-sighted Old Lady."Porter!"

Nosce Teipsum.Nosce Teipsum.—Lady Cyclist(touring in North Holland). "What a ridiculous costume!"

Nosce Teipsum.—Lady Cyclist(touring in North Holland). "What a ridiculous costume!"

Sporting ConstableSporting Constable(with stop-watch—on "police trap" duty, running excitedly out from his ambush, to motorist just nearing the finish of the measured furlong). "For 'evin's sake, guv'nor, let 'er rip, and ye'll do the 220 in seven and a 'arf!"

Sporting Constable(with stop-watch—on "police trap" duty, running excitedly out from his ambush, to motorist just nearing the finish of the measured furlong). "For 'evin's sake, guv'nor, let 'er rip, and ye'll do the 220 in seven and a 'arf!"

[Motor-caps, we are informed, have created such a vogue in the Provinces, that ladies, women and factory girls may be seen wearing them on every occasion, though unconnected, in other respects, with modern methods of locomotion.]

A motor car I shall never affordWith a gay vermilion bonnet,Of course Imighthappen to marry a lord,But it's no good counting on it.I have never reclined on the seat behind,And hurtled across the map,But my days are blest with a mind at rest,For I wear a motor cap.I am done with Gainsborough, straw and toque,My dresses are bound with leather,I turn up my collar like auto-folk,And stride through the pitiless weather;With a pound of scrag in an old string bag,In a tram with a child on my lap,Wherever I go, to shop or a show,I wear a motor cap.I don't know a silencer from a clutch,A sparking-plug from a bearing,But no one, I think, is in closer touchWith the caps the women are wearing;I'mau faitwith the trim of the tailor-made brim,The crown and machine-stitched strap;Though I've neither the motor, the sable-lined coat, norThe goggles—I wear the cap.

A motor car I shall never afford

With a gay vermilion bonnet,

Of course Imighthappen to marry a lord,

But it's no good counting on it.

I have never reclined on the seat behind,

And hurtled across the map,

But my days are blest with a mind at rest,

For I wear a motor cap.

I am done with Gainsborough, straw and toque,My dresses are bound with leather,I turn up my collar like auto-folk,And stride through the pitiless weather;With a pound of scrag in an old string bag,In a tram with a child on my lap,Wherever I go, to shop or a show,I wear a motor cap.

I am done with Gainsborough, straw and toque,

My dresses are bound with leather,

I turn up my collar like auto-folk,

And stride through the pitiless weather;

With a pound of scrag in an old string bag,

In a tram with a child on my lap,

Wherever I go, to shop or a show,

I wear a motor cap.

I don't know a silencer from a clutch,A sparking-plug from a bearing,But no one, I think, is in closer touchWith the caps the women are wearing;I'mau faitwith the trim of the tailor-made brim,The crown and machine-stitched strap;Though I've neither the motor, the sable-lined coat, norThe goggles—I wear the cap.

I don't know a silencer from a clutch,

A sparking-plug from a bearing,

But no one, I think, is in closer touch

With the caps the women are wearing;

I'mau faitwith the trim of the tailor-made brim,

The crown and machine-stitched strap;

Though I've neither the motor, the sable-lined coat, nor

The goggles—I wear the cap.

No, this isn't a collection of tubercular microbesNo, this isn't a collection of tubercular microbes escaping from the congress; but merely the Montgomery-Smiths in their motor-car, enjoying the beauties of the country.

No, this isn't a collection of tubercular microbes escaping from the congress; but merely the Montgomery-Smiths in their motor-car, enjoying the beauties of the country.

You do not at this junctureFeel, as I, the dreadful smart,And you scorn the cruel punctureOf the tyre of my heart!But mayhap, at some Life-turning,When the wheel has run untrue,You will know why I was burning,And was scorched alone, by you!

You do not at this juncture

Feel, as I, the dreadful smart,

And you scorn the cruel puncture

Of the tyre of my heart!

But mayhap, at some Life-turning,

When the wheel has run untrue,

You will know why I was burning,

And was scorched alone, by you!

Finis

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE

Back to Index Next