Widnes Examiner. — 1908-11-28 (Widnes, Cheshire, England)

NOTES AND NOTIONS.  Royal ceremonial is generally well stage-managed, and mischances are rare, but the " Manchester Guardian " relates an amusing episode in connection with a visit of the Prince of 'Wales to a certain Yorkshire city. There were some presentations to be made, and at the appointed moment the people to be presented were not ready. The Mayor, a hearty Yorkshireman of plain manners and homely speech, was much distressed. "Oh, my Prince, my Prince," he exclaimed, "there's been a nitch !" * * * Mr. Brighouse, the county coroner, has long ago gained the reputation of being one of the busiest coroners in the country. On Tuesday be started work at half-past eight in the morning, and journeyed to the neighbourhood of Wigan, where he held two inquests in different places. Hastening back to Liverpool, he reached Lime-street Station about quarterpast one, and after snatching a hasty meal he hurried bff to the Exchange Station just in time to catch the ten minutes to two train for Bootle. There he resumed the murder inquest at two o'clock, and did not finish his duties until after five. This is a typical and not an .exceptional instance of Nsf,r4.,P;righouse s working day. Alderman Bennett baying resigned the chairmanship of the Finance Committee the " Observer" suggested last week in its pleasant way that as a -strong man was required the chairmanship would be offered to Councillor Fulton-Smith, notwithstanding that Councillor Wilkinson had been deputy-chairman for a year. We are glad to see that the Committee has a better sense of the fitness of things, and has this week promoted Councillor Wilkinson to the ,chairmanship. A man's strength is often an unknown -quantity until it is tested, but we should be incliiied 'to back Counciilor Wilkinson if it came to a wrestle with his deputy, Councillor Fultou-Sintth. * * * "The Dawn" is broken or about to break! In the • current number of this brig'it and cultured little periodical appears the announcement that the December issue will be the last. Like its predecessor Sunrise," "The Dawn" has only been able to flash tits radiant beams acros§ the community for a brief number of years. For many reasons we regret the failure of Alderman Bennett's little journalistic enter•prises. They have had a distinctive character and considerable literary quality. On other grounds we can find a certain amount of satisfaction in " The Dawn's" approaching eclipse, dissolution, fading away —or what you will! Its brightness, in our view, has for some time been clouded by a high-flown Imperialism bolstered tip by Tariff Reform. The "cartoons for the people" have fortunately had only a small circulation. They misrepresented facts with a shamelessness which ought to have made even "The Dawn " blush. Then there is "Harold Wolfgang" a novel which has 'wandered through the pages almost since the dawn of time. We note that the hero has this month decently died and been cremated, and that the story is " to be concluded" next month. We had feared that the story might have contrived to continue its tiresome trivialities for another year or two. "Harold Wolfgang," a novel, and The Dawn," a monthly magazine of progress, have however decided to die together. With fervour we say : Requiseat in pace ! There is one malady which has defied the skill of of all the physicians in the world. They can alleviate it in some cases, but they cannot claim to cure it or to prevent it. This is the common cold in the head, which afflicts millions of us annually.—" The Weekly Dispatch." There is an awful halady— I've got it dow byself— Which dot a skilful shrewd gb Dee Cad cure for love or pelf. Do batter what the treadbedt is, Do batter what they do, I suffer dreadful aged:es— , Tishee ! Tishee ! Tishoo  I take qui dide from bord till dight To cure by poor old dose, • But all id vain, catarrhal blight Alas ! it dever goes. The doctor cubs, looks at my tog, Ad takes by hard-earned fee, But still I shadt the she old sog— Tisshoo ! Tishoo ! Tishee Dooralgia, chilbaids, buddiods, cords, Or even housebade's dee, The ordinary doctor scords— He cures 'eb easily ; But opbbod cold's dother thig, Frob corig it he's far, So through the Widter I bust Sig : Atchee ! Atehoo ! Atchah !