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GARNERED. GLEANINGS. IS -o G BLUE MONDAY. Look a-hore, Mary Ann, You stop your complainin*; 1 irnow it's a-rainin' As hard as it can. tut what are you gaining Is't th' Lord you are trainin'? Well—he ain't explainin' His reasons to Man! Look a-here, Emmy Lou, I know it's a Monday, But m six days comes Sunday, So quit bein' blue! You'd think by the whinin' There warn't no bright linin'. W asn't yesterday shinin'? Ain't Zeb courtin' you? Life's chock full o' Sundays To make up for Mondays! Emmy Lou—Mary Ann, Jes' you smile while you can! -Jean Dwight Franklin, in Harper's. OUR CLEVEREST GIRLS. That the parsonage or the manse is the fcursery of our cleverest girls is the subject of an interesting article by G. A. Wade in The. Girl's Realm" (Cassell and Co., Ltd.). Mr. Wade says :-H It is from the rectory, the parsonage, and the manse that the majority of clever girls do come, if past and present experi- ence, and special investigations made by me for this article, count for anything. I have lately been spending much time in going into the life- stories of most of the women and girls who have made their mark in our country during the past tentury, and I think there can be no doubt that, although the homes of doctors and naval officers have shone in giving birth to girls who have turned out cleverer than most of their rivals, it is to the parsonage, to the manse, to the rectory, to the vicarage, that we must award the palm for standing pre-eminent in this respect." THE MOST DEADLY WEAPON KKOWN, The most deadly piece of ordnance manu factured at present is the 12-inch gun, that i, to say, a weapon with a bore 12 inches in diameter," said Mr. Mark Potter in an article on The Birth of a Battleship in Cassell's Magazine." It is true that large guns are made occasionally, but these are more or less experimental, and cannot be considered yet from a Service point of view. A vast amount of ex- perimental work is now being undertaken in order to construct guns of larger calibre, but at the present time the 12-inch reigns supreme. Including the breech piece it is about 52 feet long, and weighs nearly 70 tons, though a pail with the necessary mountings and equipment weigh over 500 tons. It can fire three rounds a minute, impelling the half'-ton'projectile with a velocity of 25 miles a minute, and imparting a striking energy of over 22,000 tons. This means that it can sink an armoured cruiser at a dis- tance of 12 miles, while at closer ranges it will pierce « wrought-iron plate 20 inches thick as though it were paper." BROWNING AS RHYMER AND SELF- EXPOSITOR. It was at the breakfast-table that some of the less convivial of us saw most of him. He used to come down to breakfast wearing a short blue pilot coat, and with his white hair very damp and quite neat; but very soon all that soft white ihair was rumpled up above his broad forehead and his glowing dark eves. It was at breakfast that he told us of his having been challenged, on the occasion of Lord Rosebery's- marriage, to write four lines which should rhyme both names —that of the bride and that of the bridegroom. Browning was evidently—as is plain to any reader—very proud of his out-of-the-way rhymes, of his unique power of rhyming. He accepted the challenge; and he repeated the lines to us yith good-natured glee in his success: Venus, Sea-forth's clmd. Playing old gooseberry. Married Lord Ro-sebery To Hannah de Rothschild." But, if he was proud of his power of rhyming, he was well aware of his power of being a terrible mental exercise. He mentioned the I/umber of Browning societies in existence— there are probably many more now—and told how he had gone as a guest to a meeting of one. and had sat, unrecognised and unnoticed, in the background an,d listened humbly. A heated dis- cussion had taken place on the meaning of some passage; and at last, as no one seemed satisfied, he had diffidently suggested a possible reading. But he had been unmercifully snubbed, and promptly given to understand he knew nothing about it.—From Robert Browning in Edin- burgh," in the Cornhill Magazine." THE WORLD'S WAREHOUSES. That something of everything from everywhere comes to London is more true, perhaps, than many realise; for not all that finds a way to London is witnessed by Englishmen and English- women in their own market-places. People of every race and tongue, even from among the wild native tribes of Africa and South America, are the customers of English merchants at the Port of London for goods of all sorts—quaint and curious, as well as useful, which, after travelling thousands of miles, only find here a temporary resting-place prior to being again re-shipped to all parts of the world. Such temporary resting- places are the wonderful warehouses of Cutler- st., of Crutched Friars, and of tLe St. Katharine Docks. Cutler-st. warehouses are approached by a turning out of Houndsditch, with its toys and trifles. Though the structures are plain and barrack-like, the precincts, protected by gates and the inevitable policeman, have, with their old-fashioned, cobble-paved courts, a certain character all their own. Scattered about are heavy drays, and, what are rarely seen outside certain areas known best to Excise officers, closely covered vans bearing some resemblance to "Black Marias." A bewildering variety of Eastern treasures is stored in these huge build- ings, which almost exhaust the letters of the alphabet to initial them. First comes tea, which, being dutiable, is jealously guarded by the re- presentatives of His Majesty's Government till the duty has been paid. The covered vans, hav- ing been loaded with chests of tea at the docks, are locked by the Customs officers only to be unlocked by brother officers on arrival at Cutler- fit. But their supervision does not end there. Neither the Dock Company nor its employes have power to enter their own warehouses, where tea or excisable commodities are stored, before eight o'clock in the morning, when the Customs officials unlock the heavy, iron-bound doors, or to remain after four in the afternoon unless by special arrangement, when the same officials takfc away the keys.—" Windsor Magazine."

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