VI.
"I don't think I should be afraid of her," said the Boy.
The Knight chuckled, and without further speech got into bed and was soon wrapped in a deep slumber. Next to a clear conscience and the open road, a good bed at night is something to set store by.
But the Boy could not sleep for the exciting pictures that danced in his head, and he was impatient for the morning light, that he might be on his way to Rainbow's-End. The moon peeped in the window; the breeze made a pleasant sound in the poplar trees; from somewhere came the music of a little brook. To all these gentle influences the Boy finally yielded.
He was awakened by a plucking at his sleeve.
"Time to be moving," said the Knight in a hoarse whisper. "We can put on our shoes after we leave the house."
They crept down the stair, which creaked in terrifying fashion, but a gentle snoring from the Witch's bedroom reassured them. After they had tiptoed out of the house and gained the road they discovered that they had forgotten the bag of doughnuts. The Knight declared that he would not return for a million doughnuts, but the Boy, remembering how delicious they tasted, stole back to the door and lifted the latch softly. Aunt Jo was still snoring, but, just as he laid hold of the doughnuts, Pluto the cat came leaping in from the kitchen, and the Boy had barely time to put the door between its sharp claws and himself. He ran down the path, vaulted the gate, and looked about for the Knight. Away down the road was a rapidly diminishing figure.
The Boy was a good runner, and he was fast overtaking the Knight, when the latter, who had been casting anxious glances over his shoulder as he ran, suddenly plunged into the bushes at one side of the road. The Boy thought it wise to follow his example.
And not a moment too soon. A small whirring sound grew louder and louder, and Aunt Jo went whizzing by on her high power autobroomstick, leaving in her wake a horrible reek of gasoline and brimstone. But not the Aunt Jo of the evening before. Her green eyes flashed behind the goggles, and her face was something dreadful to behold. On her shoulder perched Pluto, every hair erect, and spitting fire.
The Boy gasped, and hoped he had seen the last of the terrible hag, when the whirring noise announced that she was coming back. She stopped her broomstick directly opposite the hiding-place and began cutting small circles in the air, the while peering sharply about.
As the Boy plunged into the thicket, he fell. As he lay there, something cold pressed against his hand.
It was Mowgli's nose. The dog's eyes questioned his master, who had cried out in his sleep.
"Oh, Mowgli!" he exclaimed, taking the spaniel by his shaggy ears, "did you dream _all_ that wonderful dream? Or did you stop at the woodchuck hole? What a shame, Mowgli, if there shouldn't really be a Knight of the Dusty Thoroughfare, and a Princess Aralia and a Witch who makes wonderful doughnuts!"
A LINE-O'-TYPE OR TWO
"_Nous ne trouvons guère de gens de bon sens que ceux qui sont de notre avis._" --_La Rochefoucauld._
"THE FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE."
Old Amicus Pop Is the friend of the Wop, The friend of the Chink and the Harp, The friend of all nations And folk of all stations, The friend of the shark and the carp. He sits in his chair With his feet on the table, And lists to the prayer Of Minerva and Mabel, Veritas, Pro Bono, Taxpayer, and the rest, Who wail on his shoulder and weep on his breast.
Old Amicus Pop Is the solace and prop Of all who are weary of life. He straightens the tangles And jangles and wrangles That breed in this city of strife. Whatever your "beef," You may pour him an earful; Unbottle your grief Be it ever so tearful. Oh, weep all you wish--he is there with the mop. Bring all of your troubles to Amicus Pop.
* * *
When we think of the countless thousands who peruse this Cro'-nest of Criticism, a feeling of responsibility weighs heavily upon us, and almost spoils our day. Frezzample, one writes from St. Paul: "We have twenty confirmed readers of the Line in this 'house.'" The quotation marks disturb us. Can it be a sanitarium?
* * *
Most of the trouble in this world is caused by people who do not know when they are well off. The Germans did not know when they were well off. Your cook, who left last week, as little apprehended her good fortune. Nor will the Filipinos be happy till they get it.
* * *
Those who stand in awe of persons with logical minds will be reassured by Henry Adams' pertinent reflection that the mind resorts to reason for want of training. His definition of philosophy is also reassuring: "Unintelligible answers to insoluble problems."
* * *
Among those who have guessed at the meaning of "the freedom of the seas" was Cowper:
"Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose."
* * *
Maxwell Bodenheim has published a book of poems, and the critics allow that Max Boden's brays are bonnie.
* * *
IF YOU MUST KISS, KISS THE DOCTOR.
[From "How to Avoid Influenza."]
Avoid kissing, as this habit readily transmits influenza. If physician is available, it is best to consult him.
* * *
QUICK, WATSON, THE PLUMBER!
[From the Cedar Rapids Gazette.]
Mrs. T. M. Dripps gave a dinner Friday in honor of Mrs. D. L. Leek of South Dakota.
* * *
"Kind Captain, I've important information." Mr. Honkavaarra runs an automobile livery in Palmer, Mich.
* * *
"The first child, Lord Blandford, was born in 1907; the second was born in 1898."--Chicago American.
This so annoyed the Duke, that a reconciliation was never possible.
* * *
When your friend points with pride to a picture that, in your judgment, leaves something to be desired, or when he exhibits the latest addition to his family, you may be perplexed to voice an opinion that will satisfy both him and your conscience. An artist friend of ours is never at a loss. If it is a picture, he exclaims, "Extraordinary!" If it is an infant, he remarks, "_There +is+ a baby!_"
He might add, with the English wit, "one more easily conceived than described."
* * *
The advantages of a classical education are so obvious that the present-day battle in its behalf seems a waste of energy. Frezzample, without a classical education how could you appreciate the fact that Mr. Odessey is now running a Noah's Ark candy kitchen in St. Peter, Wis.?
* * *
One may believe that the "gift of healing" is nothing more than the application of imaginary balm to non-existent disease, but if one says so he gets into a jolly row with people who consider an open mind synonymous with credulity. Our own state of mind was accurately described by Charles A. Dana: "I don't believe in ghosts," said he, "but I've been afraid of them all my life."
* * *
The congregation will rise and sing:
Bill Bryan's heart is a-mouldering in the grave, But his lungs go marching on.
* * *
The astronomer Hamilton "made an expedition to Dublin to substitute a semi-colon for a colon"; but, reports J. E. R., "my wife's brother's brother-in-law's doctor charged him $600 for removing only part of a colon."
* * *
Few readers realize how much time is expended in making certain that commas are properly distributed. Thomas Campbell walked six miles to a printer's to have a comma in one of his poems changed to a semi-colon.
* * *
Following a bout with the gloves, a Seattle clubman is reported "in a state of comma." A doctor writes us that infection by the colon bacillus can be excluded, but we should say that what the patient needs is not a doctor but a proof reader.
* * *
"She played Liszt's Rhapsodie No. 2 with remarkable speed," relates the Indianapolis News. In disposing of Liszt's Rhapsodies it is all right to step on the accelerator, as the sooner they are finished the better.
* * *
GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY CLIMATE, AND FORGIVE US OUR DROPS IN TEMPERATURE!
[From the Pasadena Star-News.]
To put it in another form of expression, Mother Nature maintains poise and evenness of temper in this state far better than in most regions on this terrestrial ball. If you haven't thanked God to-day that you are privileged to live in California it is not yet too late to do so. Make it a daily habit. The blessing is worth this frequent expression of gratitude to the All High.
* * *
VARIANT OF A MORE OR LESS WELL KNOWN STORY.
[From the Exeter, Neb., News.]
Whoever took the whole pumpkin pie from Mrs. W. H. Taylor's kitchen the night of the party was welcome to it as the cat had stepped in it twice and it could not be used. Many thanks for the pan, she says.
* * *
THE WORLD'S GREATEST WINTER RESORT.
"_Because of high temperatures and chinooks Medicine Hat is menaced with an ice famine._"
They bask in the sunshine and purr like a cat, The fortunate people of Medicine Hat.
Its climate is balmy in spite of the lat.; You have a wrong notion of Medicine Hat.
At Christmas they sit on their porches and chat, For it never gets chilly in Medicine Hat.
The Medicine Hatters all spoil for a spat With any defamer of Medicine Hat;
They're ready and anxious to go to the mat With any one scoffing at Medicine Hat.
The birds never migrate--they know where they're at, For it always is summer in Medicine Hat.
No day that you can't use a heliostat; Sunlight is eternal in Medicine Hat.
They're swatting the fly and the skeeter and gnat, As frost never kills them in Medicine Hat.
His nature is skeptic, he's blind as a bat Who can't see the beauties of Medicine Hat.
All jesting is flatulent, futile, and flat That libels the climate of Medicine Hat.
Away with the knockers who knock it, and drat The jokers who joke about Medicine Hat.
In short, it's the one, the ideal habitat. Boy! buy me a ticket to Medicine Hat!
* * *
According to the Milford Herald a young couple were married "under the strain of Mendelssohn's wedding march."
* * *
THE VILLAGE OMAR LOSES HIS OUTFIT.
[From the Fort Dodge Messenger.]
Lost--Grass rug and ukulele between Shady Oaks and Fort Dodge. Finder notify Messenger.
* * *
"Thelander-Eckblade Wedding Solomonized," reports the Batavia Herald. Interesting and unusual.
* * *
"TWEET! TWEET!" GOES THE ENRAPTURED REPORTER.
[From the Sterling Gazette.]
The wedding party wended its way to the grove south of the river and there, in a lovely spot, where pleasant hours of courtship have been passed, the wedding ceremony was performed. No stately church edifice built by man, no gilded altar, no polished pews nor polished floors were there; no stately organ or trained choir; there was an absence of ushers, bridesmaids and parson heavily gowned. No curious crowd thronged without the portal. In place of this display and grandeur they were surrounded by an edifice of nature's planting--the stately forest tree, while the green sward of the verdant grove furnished a velvety carpet. There, in this beautiful spot, where the Creator ordained such events to occur, the young couple, true lovers of the simple life, took upon themselves the vows which united them until "death itself should part." The rustle of the leaves in the treetop murmured nature's sweet benediction, while the bluebird, the robin, and the thrush sang a glorious doxology.
* * *
Wedded, in Clay county, Illinois, Emma Pickle and Gay Gerking. A wedding gift from Mr. Heinz or Squire Dingee would not be amiss.
* * *
A SPLENDID RECOVERY.
[Waukesha, Wis., item.]
Mr. and Mrs. J. Earl Stallard are the proud parents of an eight pound boy, born at the Municipal hospital this morning. Mr. Stallard will be able to resume his duties as county agricultural agent by to-morrow.
* * *
HOW FAST THE LEAVES ARE FALLING!
[From the Waterloo Courier.]
Frank Fuller, night operator at the Illinois Central telegraph office, has been kept more than busy to-day, all because of a ten pound boy who arrived at his home last evening. Mr. Fuller has decided that he will spend all of his evenings at his home in the future.
* * *
HOW SOON IT GETS DARK THESE DAYS!
[From the Pillager, Minn., Herald.]
That stork is a busy bird. It left a 10-lb baby girl at Ned Mickles last Thursday night. Ned is a neighbor of Cy Deaver.
* * *
_UPON JULIA'S ARCTICS._
_Whenas galoshed my Julia goes, Unbuckled all from top to toes, How swift the poem becometh prose! And when I cast mine eyes and see Those arctics flopping each way free, Oh, how that flopping floppeth me!_
* * *
"We are all in the dark together," says Anatole France; "the only difference is, the savant keeps knocking at the wall, while the ignoramus stays quietly in the middle of the room." We used to be intensely interested in the knocking of the savants, but as nothing ever came of it, we have become satisfied with the middle of the room.
* * *
A GOOD MOTTO.
I was conversing with Mr. Carlton the Librarian, and he quoted from memory a line from Catulle Mendès that seemed to me uncommonly felicitous: "La vie est un jour de Mi-Carême. Quelques-uns se masquent; moi, je ris."
* * *
In his declining years M. France has associated himself with the bunch called "Clarté," a conscious group organized by Barbusse, the object of which is the "union of all partisans of the true right and the true liberty." How wittily the Abbé Coignard would have discussed "Clarté," and how wisely M. Bergeret would have considered it! Alas! it is sad to lose one's hair, but it is a tragedy to lose one's unbeliefs.
* * *
Chicago, as has been intimated, rather broadly, is a jay town; but it is coming on. A department store advertises "cigarette cases and holders for the gay sub-deb and her great-grandmother," also "a diary for 'her' if she leads an exciting life."
* * *
We infer from the reviews of John Burroughs' "Accepting the Universe" that John has decided to accept it. One might as well. With the reservation that acceptance does not imply approval.
* * *
It is possible that Schopenhauer wrote his w. k. essay on woman after a visit to a bathing beach.
* * *
We heard a good definition of a bore. A bore is a man who, when you ask him how he is, tells you.
* * *
The sleeping sickness (not the African variety) is more mysterious than the flu. It will be remembered that two things were discovered about the flu: first, that it was caused by a certain bacillus, and, second, that it was not caused by that bacillus. But all that is known about the sleeping sickness is that it attacks, by preference, carpenters and plumbers.
* * *
Slangy and prophetic Mérimée, who wrote, in "Love Letters of a Genius": "You may take it from me that ... short dresses will be the order of the day, and those who are blessed with natural advantages will be at last distinguished from those whose advantages are artificial only."
* * *
Happy above all other writing mortals we esteem him who, like Barrie, treads with sure feet the borderland 'twixt fact and faery, stepping now on this side, now on that. One must write with moist eyes many pages of such a fantasy as "A Kiss for Cinderella." There are tears that are not laughter's, nor grief's, but beauty's own. A lovely landscape may bring them, or a strain of music, or a written or a spoken line.
* * *
All we can get out of a Shaw play is two hours and a half of mental exhilaration. We are, inscrutably, denied the pleasure of wondering what Shaw means, or whether he is sincere.
* * *
WHY THE MAKE-UP FLED.
[From the Dodge Center Record.]
Mr. and Mrs. Umberhocker returned yesterday from an over Sunday visit with their son and family in Minneapolis.
They are in hopes to soon land them in jail as they did the hog thieves, who were to have a hearing but waved it and trial will be held later.
* * *
"It isn't hard to sit up with a sick friend when he has a charming sister," reports B. B. But if it were a sick horse, Venus herself would be in the way.
* * *
"Saving the penny is all right," writes a vox-popper to the Menominee News, "but saving the dollar is 100 per cent better." At least.
* * *
_MUSIC HATH CHAHMS._
_What opus of Brahms' is your pet?-- A concerto, a trio, duet, Sonate No. 3 (For Viol. and P.), Or the second piano quartette?_
Sardi.
_Our favorite Brahms? We're not sûr, For all are so classique et pur; But we'll mention an opus With which you may dope us-- One Hundred and Sixteen, E dur._
* * *
BRAHMS, OPUS 116.
I care for your pet, One Sixteen (Your choice proves your judgment is keen); But in E, you forget, see, It has two intermezzi; Please, which of these twain do you mean?
Sardi.
Which E? Can you ask? Must we tell? Doth it not every other excel-- The ineffable one, Of gossamer spun, The ultimate spirituelle.
* * *
A candid butcher in Battle Creek advertises "Terrible cuts."
* * *
Another candid merchant in Ottumwa, Ia., advises: "Buy to-day and think to-morrow."
* * *
MUSIC HINT.
Sir: P. A. Scholes, in his "Listener's Guide to Music," revives two good laughs--thus: "A fugue is a piece in which the voices one by one come in and the people one by one go out." Also he quotes from Sam'l Butler's Note Books: "I pleased Jones by saying that the hautbois was a clarinet with a cold in its head, and the bassoon the same with a cold in its chest." The cor anglais suffers slightly from both symptoms. Some ambitious composer, by judicious use of the more diseased instruments, could achieve the most rheumy musical effects, particularly if, à la Scriabin, he should have the atmosphere of the concert hall heavily charged with eucalyptus.
E. Pontifex.
* * *
"I will now sing for you," announced a contralto to a woman's club meeting in the Copley-Plaza, "a composition by one of Boston's noted composers, Mr. Chadwick. 'He loves me.'" And of course everybody thought George wrote it for _her_.
* * *
"Grand opera is, above all others, the highbrow form of entertainment."--Chicago Journal.
Yes. In comparison, a concert of chamber music appears trifling and almost vulgar.
* * *
At a reception in San Francisco, Mrs. Wandazetta Fuller-Biers sang and Mrs. Mabel Boone-Sooey read. Cannot they be signed for an entertainment in the Academy?
* * *
We simply cannot understand why Dorothy Pound, pianist, and Isabelle Bellows, singer, of the American Conservatory, do not hitch up for a concert tour.
* * *
Richard Strauss has been defined as a musician who was once a genius. Now comes another felicitous definition--"Unitarian: a Retired Christian."
* * *
Dr. Hyslop, the psychical research man, says that the spirit world is full of cranks. These, we take it, are not on the spirit level.
* * *
The present physical training instructor in the Waterloo, Ia., Y. W. C. A. is Miss Armstrong. Paradoxically, the position was formerly held by Miss Goodenough. These things appear to interest many readers.
* * *
THE HUNTING OF THE PACIFIST SNARK.
(_With Mr. Ford as the Bellman._)
"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried, "Just the place for a Snark, I declare!" And he anchored the _Flivver_ a mile up the river, And landed his crew with care.
He had bought a large map representing the moon, Which he spread with a runcible hand; And the crew, you could see, were as pleased as could be With a map they could all understand.
"Now, listen, my friends, while I tell you again The five unmistakable marks By which you may know, wherever you go, The warranted pacifist Snarks.
The first is the taste, which is something like guff, Tho' with gammon 'twill also compare; The next is the sound, which is simple enough-- It resembles escaping hot air.
The third is the shape, which is somewhat absurd, And this you will understand When I tell you it looks like the African bird That buries its head in the sand.
The fourth is a want of the humorous sense, Of which it has hardly a hint. And last, but not least, this marvelous beast Is a glutton for getting in print.
Now, Pacifist Snarks do no manner of harm, Yet I deem it my duty to say, Some are Boojums----" The Bellman broke off in alarm, For Jane Addams had fainted away.
* * *
Concerning his reference to "Demosthenes' lantern," the distinguished culprit, Rupert Hughes, writes us that of course he meant Isosceles' lantern. The slip was pardonable, he urges, as he read proof on the line only seven times--in manuscript, in typescript, in proof for the magazine, in the copy for the book, in galley, in page-proof, and finally in the printed book. And heaven only knows how many proofreaders let it through. "Be that as it may," says Rupert, "I am like our famous humorist, Archibald Ward, who refused to be responsible for debts of his own contracting. And, anyway, I thank you for calling my attention to the blunder quietly and confidentially, instead of bawling me out in a public place where a lot of people might learn of it."
* * *
SORRY WE MISSED YOU.
Sir:... There were several things I wanted to say to you, and I proposed also to crack you over the sconce for what you have been saying about us Sinn Feiners. I suppose you're the sort that would laugh at this story:
He was Irish and badly wounded, unconscious when they got him back to the dressing station, in a ruined village. "Bad case," said the docs. "When he comes out of his swoon he'll need cheering up. Say something heartening to him, boys. Tell him he's in Ireland." When the lad came to he looked around (ruined church on one side, busted houses, etc., up stage, and all that): "Where am I?" sez he. "'S all right, Pat; you're in Ireland, boy." "Glory be to God!" sez he, looking around again. "How long have yez had Home Rule?"
Tom Daly.
* * *
OUR BOYS.
[From the Sheridan, Wyo., Enterprise.]
Our boys are off for the borders Awaiting further orders From our president to go Down into old Mexico, Where the Greaser, behind a cactus, Is waiting to attack us.
* * *
The skies they were ashen and sober, and the leaves they were crispèd and sere, as I sat in the porch chair and regarded our neighbor's patch of woodland; and I thought: The skies may be ashen and sober, and the leaves may be crispèd and sere, but in a maple wood we may dispense with the sun, such irradiation is there from the gold of the crispèd leaves. Jack Frost is as clever a wizard as the dwarf Rumpelstiltzkin, who taught the miller's daughter the trick of spinning straw into gold. This young ash, robed all in yellow--what can the sun add to its splendor? And those farther tree-tops, that show against the sky like a tapestry, the slenderer branches and twigs, unstirred by wind, having the similitude of threads in a pattern--can the sun gild their refinèd gold? How delicate is the tinting of that cherry, the green of which is fading into yellow, each leaf between the two colors: this should be described in paint.
No, I said; in a hardwood thicket, in October, though it were the misty mid region of Weir, one would not know the sun was lost in clouds. At that moment the sun adventured forth, in blazing denial. It was as if the woodland had burst into flame.
* * *
As a variation of the story about the merchant who couldn't keep a certain article because so many people asked for it, we submit the following: A lady entered the rural drugstore which we patronize and said, "Mr. Blank, I want a bath spray." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jones," sezze, "but the bath spray is sold."
* * *
_IN A DEPARTMENT STORE._
_Customer--"I want to look at some tunics."_
_Irish Floorwalker--"We don't carry musical instruments."_
* * *
That Tennessee congressman who was arrested charged with operating an automobile while pifflicated, would reply that when he voted for prohibition he was representing his constituents, not his private thirst. Have we not, many times, in the good old days in Vermont, seen representatives rise with difficulty from their seats to cast their vote for prohibition? One can be pretty drunk and still be able to articulate "Ay."
* * *
A new drug, Dihydroxyphenylethylmethylamine, sounds as if all it needed was a raisin.
* * *
The Gluck aria, which Mme. Homer has made famous, was effectively cited by the critic Hanslick to show that in vocal music the subject is determined only by the words. He wrote:
"At a time when thousands (among whom there were men like Jean Jacques Rousseau) were moved to tears by the air from 'Orpheus'--
'J'ai perdu mon Eurydice, Rien n'égale mon malheur,'
Boyé, a contemporary of Gluck, observed that precisely the same melody would accord equally well, if not better, with words conveying exactly the reverse, thus--
'J'ai trouvé mon Eurydice, Rien n'égale mon bonheur.'
"We, for our part, are not of the opinion that in this case the composer is quite free from blame, inasmuch as music most assuredly possesses accents which more truly express a feeling of profound sorrow. If however, from among innumerable instances, we selected the one quoted, we have done so because, in the first place, it affects the composer who is credited with the greatest dramatic accuracy; and, secondly, because several generations hailed this very melody as most correctly rendering the supreme grief which the words express."
* * *
Arthur Shattuck sued for appreciation in Fond du Lac the other evening, playing, according to the Reporter, "a plaintiff melody with great tenderness." The jury returned a verdict in his favor without leaving their seats.
* * *
Reports of famine in China have recalled a remark about its excessive population. If the Chinese people were to file one by one past a given point the procession would never come to an end. Before the last man of those living to-day had gone by another generation would have grown up.
* * *
"Say it with handkerchiefs," advertises a merchant in Goshen, Ind. That is, if the idea you wish to convey is that you have a cold in your head.
* * *
THE SOIL OF KANSAS.
[From the Kansas Farmer.]
Formed by the polyps of a shallow, summer sea; fixed by the subtile chemistry of the air, and comminuted by the Æolian geology of the Great Plains, the soil of Kansas has been one of man's richest possessions.
Why prose? The soil of Kansas, the Creator's masterpiece, invites to song. Frinstance--
Formed by the polyps of a summer sea, Fixed by the subtile chemistry of air, Ground by Æolian geology, The soil of Kansas is beyond compare!
* * *
THE GOOD OLD DAYS.
Sir: An old stage hand at the Eau Claire opry house was talking. "No, sir, you don't see the actors to-day like we used to. Why, when Booth and Barrett played here you could hear them breathe way up in the fly gallery."
E. C. M.
* * *
"WHAT THE LA HELLE!"
[From the Kankakee Republican.]
He helped tramp the old Hindenburg line, but this time, beating it on the strains of "Allons enfant de la Patrie le Jour de Gloire est de Triomphe et Arrivee!"
* * *
Here is a characteristic bit of Vermontese that we picked up. A native was besought to saw some wood, but he declined. The owner of the wood offered double price for the sawing, and still the native declined. He was pressed for a reason, and this was it: "Damned if I'll humor a man."
* * *
"It is not moral. It is immoral," declared an editorial colleague; and a reader is reminded of Lex Iconles, the old Greek baker of Grammer's Gap, Ark., who used to display in his window the enticing sign: "Doughnuts. Different and yet not the same."
* * *
The mind of man is subject to many strange delusions, and one of these is that the stock market has a bottom.
* * *
The manufacturer of a certain automobile advertises that his vehicle "will hold five ordinary people." And, as a matter of fact, it usually does.
* * *
The Westminster Gazette headlines "The Intolerable Dullness of Country Life in Ireland." And Irene wonders what they would call excitement.
* * *
An advertisement of dolls mentions, superfluously, that "some may not last the day." One does not expect them to.
* * *
The London Mendicity Society estimates that £100,000 is given away haphazard every year to street beggars, and that the average beggar probably earns more than the average working man. There is talk of the beggars forming a union. A beggars' strike would be a fearsome thing.
* * *
I want to be a diplomat And with the envoys stand, A-wetting of my whistle in A desiccated land.
The London Busman Story.
_I.--As George Meredith might have related it._
"Stop!" she signalled.
The appeal was comprehensible, and the charioteer, assiduously obliging, fell to posture of checking none too volant steeds.
You are to suppose her past meridian, nearer the twilight of years, noteworthy rather for matter than manner; and her visage, comparable to the beef of England's glory, well you wot. This one's descent was mincing, hesitant, adumbrating dread of disclosures--these expectedly ample, columnar, massive. The day was gusty, the breeze prankant; petticoats, bandbox, umbrella were to be conciliated, managed if possible; no light task, you are to believe.
"'Urry, marm!"
The busman's tone was patiently admonitory, dispassionate. A veteran in his calling, who had observed the ascending and descending of a myriad matrons, in playful gales.
"'Urry, marm!"
The fellow was without illusions; he had reviewed more twinkling columns than a sergeant of drill. Indifference his note, leaning to ennui. He said so, bluntly, piquantly, in half a dozen memorable words, fetching yawn for period.
The lady jerked an indignant exclamation, and completed, rosily precipitate, her passage to the pave.
_II.--As Henry James might have written it._
We, let me ask, what are we, the choicer of spirits as well as the more frugal if not the undeservedly impoverished, what, I ask, are we to do now that the hansom has disappeared, as they say, from the London streets and the taxicab so wonderfully yet extravagantly taken its place? Is there, indeed, else left for us than the homely but hallowed 'bus, as we abbreviatedly yet all so affectionately term it--the 'bus of one's earlier days, when London was new to the unjaded sensorium and "Europe" was so wonderfully, so beautifully dawning on one's so avid and sensitive consciousness?
And fate, which has left us the 'bus--but oh, in what scant and shabby measure!--has left us, too, the weather that so densely yet so congruously "goes with it"--the weather adequately enough denoted by the thick atmosphere, the slimy pavements, the omnipresent unfurled umbrella and the stout, elderly woman intent upon gaining, at cost of whatever risk or struggle, her place and portion among the moist miscellany to whom the dear old 'bus-- But perhaps I have lost the thread of my sentence.
Ah, yes--that "stout, elderly woman"; so superabundant whether as a type or as an individual; so prone--or "liable"--to impinge tyrannously upon the consciousness of her fellow-traveller, and in no less a degree upon that of the public servant, who, from his place aloft, guides, as it is phrased, the destinies of the conveyance. It was, indeed, one of the most notable of these--a humble friend of my own--who had the fortune to make the acute, recorded, historic observation which, with the hearty, pungent, cursory brevity and point of his class and _métier_--the envy of the painstaking, voluminous analyst and artist of our period-- But again I stray.
She was climbing up, or climbing down, perplexed equally, as I gather, by the management of her _parapluie_ and of her--_enfin_, her petticoats. The candid anxiety of her round, underdone face, as she so wonderfully writhed to maintain the standard of pudicity dear--even vital--to the matron of the British Isles appealed--vividly, though mutely--to the forbearance that, seeing, would still seem _not_ to see, her foot, her ankle, her _mollet_--as I early learned to say in Paris, where, however, so exigent a modesty is scarcely ... well, scarcely.
"Madam," the gracious fellow said in effect, "_ne vous gênez pas_." Then he went on to assure her briefly that he was an elderly man; that he had "held the ribbons," as they phrase it, for several years; that many were the rainy days in London; that each of these placed numerous women--elderly or younger--in the same involuntary predicament as that from which she herself had suffered; and that so far as he personally was concerned he had long since ceased to take any extreme delight in the-- _Bref_, he was charming; he renewed my fading belief--fading, as I had thought, disastrously but immitigably--in the capacity of the Anglo-Saxon for _esprit_; and I am glad indeed to have taken a line or so to record his _mot_.
_III.--As finally elucidated by Arnold Bennett._
Maria Wickwyre, of the Five Towns, emerged from muddy Bombazine Lane and stood in the rain and wind at Pie Corner, eighty-four yards from the door of St. Jude's chapel, in the Strand. She was in London! Yes, she was on that spot, she and none other. It might have been somewhere else; it might have been somebody else. But it wasn't. Wonderful! The miracle of Life overcame her.
She had arms. Two of them. They were big and round, like herself. One held a large parcel ("package" for the American edition); the other, an umbrella. She also had two legs. She stood on them. If they had been absent, or if they had weakened, she would have collapsed. But they held her up. Ah, the mysteries of existence! More than ever was she conscious of her firm, strong underpinning. Maria waved her umbrella and her parcel and stopped a 'bus. The driver was elderly, wrinkled, weatherbeaten. Maria got in and rode six furlongs and some yards to Mooge Road, and then she stopped the 'bus to get out.
If she was conscious of her upper members and their charges, she was still more conscious of her lower ones. If she had her parcel and her umbrella to think about, she also had her stockings and petticoats to consider. The wind blew, the rain drizzled, the driver looked around, wondering why Maria didn't get out and have done with it.
"If he should see them!" she gasped. (You know what she meant by "them.") Her round, broad face mutely implored the 'busman to look the other way.
He wearily closed his eyes. He had been rumbling through the Strand for thirty years. "Lor', mum," he said, "legs ain't no treat to me!"
Maria collapsed, after all, and took the 4:29 for home that same afternoon.
A LINE-O'-TYPE OR TWO
_Hew to the Line, let the quips fall where they may._
APRILLY.
Whan that Aprillè with hise shourès soote The droghte of March had percèd to the roote, I druv a motor thro' Aprillè's bliz Somme forty mile, and dam neere lyke to friz.
* * *
Harriet reports the first trustworthy sign of spring: friend husband on the back porch Sunday morning removing last year's mud from his golf shoes.
* * *
Old Doc Oldfield of London prescribes dandelion leaves, eggs, lettuce, milk, and a few other things for people who would live long, and a Massachusetts centenarian offers, as her formula, "Don't worry and don't over-eat." But we, whose mission is to enlighten the world, rather than to ornament it, are more influenced by the experiment of Herbert Spencer. Persuaded to a vegetarian diet, he stuck at it for six months. Then reading over what he had written during that time, he thrust the manuscript into the fire and ordered a large steak with fried potatoes and mushrooms.
* * *
"SPRING HAS COME..."
The trees were rocked by April's blast; A frozen robin fell, And twittered, as he breathed his last, "Lykelle, lykelle, lykelle."
* * *
BYRON WROTE MOST OF THIS.
[From the Monticello Times.]
Julf Husman, who has been busy for the past several months, building a fine new house and barn, celebrated their completion with a barn dance Wednesday night. "The beauty and chivalry" of Wayne and adjoining townships attended, and did "chase the glowing hours with flying feet," with as much enthusiasm and pleasure as did the guests "When Belgium's capital had gathered then and bright the lamps shone over fair women and brave men."
* * *
A CANNERY DANCE.
[From the Iowa City Press.]
"Fair women and brave men" circled hither and thither in the maze of the stately waltz and the festal two-step, and the dainty slippers kept graceful time with the strains of the exceptionally fine music of the hour. Lovely young women, with roses in their cheeks and their hair, caught the reflection of the radiant electric lights and the glory of the superb decorations, and their natural pulchritude was enhanced in impressiveness thereby. The "frou frou" of silks and satins; the enchanting orchestral offerings; the brilliant illuminations; the alluring decorations, and the intoxication of the dance made the event one of the most markedly successful in the history of the university.
* * *
FOR THE LAST DAY OF MARCH.
Just before you go to bed, Push the clock an hour ahead.
Little Mary.
* * *
Don't forget to set the time locks on your safes ahead an hour. Otherwise you'll be all mixed up.
* * *
At Ye Olde Colonial Inn, according to the Aurora Beacon-News, a special "Table de Haute" dinner was served last Sunday. And the Gem restaurant in St. Louis tells the world: "Our famous steaks tripled our seating capacity."
* * *
CHANCES, 2; ERRORS, 2.
Sir: While in the Hotel Dyckman I noted a sign recommending the 85c dinner in the "Elizabethian Room." After a search I found the place, duly labeled "Elizabethean Room."
D. K. M.
* * *
Just what does the trade jargon mean, "Experience essential but not necessary"? We see it frequently in the advertising columns.
* * *
A variant of the form, "experience essential but not necessary," is used by the Racine Times-Call, as follows:
"Wanted, secretary-treasurer for a local music corporation; must also have a knowledge of music, but not essential."
* * *
As curious as the advertising form, "experience essential but not necessary," is the form used by the Daily News: "Responsible for no debts contracted by no other than myself."
* * *
The provincialism indicated by the title of the pop song, "Good bye, Broadway! Hello, France!" reminds us of the headline in a New York paper some years ago: "Halley's Comet Rushing on New York."
* * *
"The love, the worship of truth is the most essential thing in journalism," says the editor of Le Matin. Or, as the ads read, "love of truth essential but not necessary."
* * *
The Hopkinsville, Ky., News is a Negro paper, and its motto is: "Man is made of clay, and like a meerschaum pipe is more valuable when highly colored."
* * *
From the letter of a colored gentleman of leisure, apropos of his wife's suit for divorce: "P. S.: Also, honey, i hope while others have your company i may have your heart." Here is a refrain for a sentimental song.
* * *
SMACK! SMACK!
Sir: May I suggest that the matrimonial bureau of the Academy take steps to introduce Miss Irene V. Smackem of Washington, D.C., and Mr. Kissinger of Fergus Falls, Minn.? They would make a perfect pair.
Kaye.
* * *
_MARCH._
_With heart of gold and yellow frill, Arcturus, like a daffodil, Now dances in the field of gray Upon the East at close of day; A joyous harbinger to bring The many promises of spring!_
W.
* * *
If no one else cares, the compositor and proof reader will be interested to know that Ignacy Seczupakiewicz brought suit in Racine against Praxida Seczupakiewicz.
* * *
Referring to Beethoven's anniversary, Ernest Newman remarks that "a truly civilized community would probably celebrate a centenary by prohibiting all performances of the master's works for three or five years, so that the public's deadening familiarity with them might wear off. That would be the greatest service it could do him."
* * *
Newman, by the way, is a piano-player fan, contending that when the principles of beautiful tone production are understood, mechanical means will probably come nearer to perfection than the human hand. Mr. Arthur Whiting, considering the horseless pianoforte some time ago, was also enthusiastic. The h. p. is entirely self-possessed, and has even more platform imperturbability than the applauded virtuoso. "After a few introductory sounds, which have nothing to do with the music, and without relaxing the lines of its inscrutable face, the insensate artist proceeds to show its power. Its security puts all hand playing to shame; it never hesitates, it surmounts the highest difficulties without changing a clutch."
* * *
Dixon's Elks were entertained t'other evening by the Artists Trio, and the Telegraph observes that "one of the remarkable facts concerning this company is that while they are finished artists they nevertheless are delightful entertainers."
* * *
We seldom listen to a canned-music machine, but when we do we realize the great educational value of the discs. They advise us (especially the records of singing comedians) what to avoid.
* * *
The prejudices against German music will deprive many gluttons for punishment of the opportunity to hear "Parsifal." We remember one lady who was concerned because Dalmorés stood for a long time with his back to the audience. "Why does he have to do that?" she asked her companion. "Because," was the answer, "he shot the Holy Grail."
* * *
At a concert in Elmira, N. Y., according to the Telegram, William Kincade sang "Tolstoi's Good Bye." Some one sings it every now and then.
* * *
Among the forty-six professors removed from the universities of Greece were, we understand, all those holding the chair of Greek. Another blow at the classics.
* * *
LITERATURE.
A great deal of very good writing has been done by invalids, but it is not likely that anybody ever produced a line worth remembering while suffering with a plain cold.
* * *
We were saying to our friend Dr. Empedocles that we kept our enthusiasms green by never taking anything very seriously. "That's interesting," said he: "I, too, have kept my enthusiasm fresh, and I have always taken everything seriously." The two notions seemed irreconcilable, but we presently agreed that by having a great number and variety of enthusiasms one is not likely to ride any of them to death. We all know persons who wear out an enthusiasm by taking it as solemnly as they would a religious rite.
* * *
We were sure that the headline, "Mint at Chicago Greatly Needed, Houston Says," would inspire more than one reader to remark that the mint is the least important part of the combination.
* * *
We are reminded of the experience of a friend who has a summer place in Connecticut. At church the pastor announced a fund for some war charity, and asked for contributions. Our friend sent in fifty dollars, and a few days later inquired of the pastor how much money had been raised, "Fifty-five dollars and seventy-five cents," was the answer. The pastor had contributed five dollars.
* * *
SONG.
[In the manner of Laura Blackburn.]
_I quested Love with timid feet, And many qualms and perturbations-- Hoping yet fearing we should meet, Because I knew my limitations._
_When Love I spied I fetched a sigh-- A sigh a Tristan might expire on: "I must apologize," said I, "For not resembling Georgie Byron."_
_Love laughed and said, "You know I'm blind," And pinched my ear, the little cutie! "Her heart and yours shall be entwined, Tho' you were twice as shy on beauty."_
* * *
Throwing self-interest to the winds, a Chicago sweetshop advertises: "That we may have a part in the effort to bring back normal conditions and reduce the high cost of living, our prices on chocolates and bon-bons are now one dollar and fifty cents per pound."
* * *
Persons who are so o. f. as to like rhyme with their poetry may discover another reason for their preference in the following passage, which Edith Wyatt quotes from Oscar Wilde:
"Rime, that exquisite echo which in the Muse's hollow hill creates and answers its own voice; rime, which in the hands of the real artist becomes not merely a material element of material beauty, but a spiritual element of thought and passion also, waking a new mood, it may be, or stirring a fresh train of ideas, or opening by mere sweetness and suggestion of sound some golden door at which the Imagination itself had knocked in vain; rime which can turn man's utterance to the speech of gods"--
* * *
We promised Miss Wyatt that the next time we happened on the parody of Housman's "Lad," we would reprint it; and yesterday we stumbled on it. Voila!--
THE BELLS OF FROGNAL LANE.
They sound for early Service The bells of Frognal Lane; And I am thinking of the day I shot my cousin Jane.
At Frognal Lane the Service Begins at half-past eight, And some folk get there early While others turn up late.
But, come they late or early, I ne'er shall be again The careless chap of days gone by Before I murdered Jane.
* * *
We have been looking over "Forms Suggested for Telegraph Messages," issued by the Western Union. While more humorous than perhaps was intended, they fall short of the forms suggested by Max Beerbohm, in "How Shall I Word It?" As for example:
LETTER IN ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF WEDDING PRESENT.
Dear Lady Amblesham,
Who gives quickly, says the old proverb, gives twice. For this reason I have purposely delayed writing to you, lest I should appear to thank you more than once for the small, cheap, hideous present you sent me on the occasion of my recent wedding. Were you a poor woman, that little bowl of ill-imitated Dresden china would convict you of tastelessness merely; were you a blind woman, of nothing but an odious parsimony. As you have normal eyesight and more than normal wealth, your gift to me proclaims you at once a Philistine and a miser (or rather did so proclaim you until, less than ten seconds after I had unpacked it from its wrappings of tissue paper, I took it to the open window and had the satisfaction of seeing it shattered to atoms on the pavement). But stay! I perceive a flaw in my argument. Perhaps you were guided in your choice by a definite wish to insult me. I am sure, on reflection, that this is so. _I shall not forget._
Yours, etc. Cynthia Beaumarsh.
PS. My husband asks me to tell you to warn Lord Amblesham to keep out of his way or to assume some disguise so complete that he will not be recognized by him and horsewhipped.
PPS. I am sending copies of this letter to the principal London and provincial newspapers.
* * *
We hope that Max Beerbohm read far enough in Bergson to appreciate what Mr. Santayana says of that philosopher. He seems to feel, wrote G. S. (we quote from memory), that all systems of philosophy existed in order to pour into him, which is hardly true, and that all future systems would flow out of him, which is hardly necessary.
* * *
To a great number of people all reasoning and comment is superficial that is not expressed in the jargon of sociology and political economy. Expand a three-line paragraph in that manner and it becomes profound.
* * *
SING A SONG OF SPRINGTIME.
Sing a song of springtime, things begin to grow; Four and twenty bluebirds darting to and fro; When the morning opened the birds began to sing. Wasn't that a pretty day to set before a king!
The King was on the golf links, chopping up the ground; The Queen was in the garden, planting seeds around. When the King returned, after many wasted hours, "Don't ever say," the Queen exclaimed, "that you are fond of flowers."
* * *
Mike Neckyoke drives a taxi in Rhinelander, Wis., and you have only one guess at what he used to drive.
* * *
From Philadelphia comes word of the nuptials of Mr. Tunis and Miss Fisch. Tunis, we leapingly conclude, is the masculine form!
* * *
We have the card of another chimney sweep, who is "sole agent for wind in chimneys and furnaces." His name is MacDraft, which may be another nom de flume.
* * *
The anti-fat brigade may be intrigued to learn that Mr. George Squibb of Wareham, Eng., sought death in the sea at Swanage, but was unable to stay under the water because of his corpulence.
* * *
Not long ago a mule broke a leg by kicking a man in the head, and this week a horse broke a leg in the same way; in each case the man was not seriously injured. Is this merely luck, or is evolution modifying the human coco?
* * *
More building is the solution of the unemployment problem. The unemployed are never so occupied and contented as when watching the construction of a sky-scraper.
* * *
Her publishers having announced that Ellen Glasgow has "gone into leather," Keith Preston explains that going into leather is "like receiving the accolade, taking the veil, or joining the American Academy of Arts and Letters." And we suppose that when one goes into ooze leather, or is padded, one may be said to be fini.
* * *
A FEW MORE "BEST BAD LINES."
Why leapest thou, Why leapest thou So high within my breast? Oh, stay thee now, Oh, stay thee now, Thou little bounder, rest!
--Ruskin (at 12).
Something had happened wrong about a bill, Which was not drawn with true mercantile skill, So to amend it I was told to go To seek the firm of Clutterbuck & Co.
--George Crabbe.
But let me not entirely overlook The pleasure gathered from the rudiments Of geometric science.
--Wordsworth.
Israel in ancient days Not only had a view Of Sinai in a blaze, But heard the Gospel too.
--Cowper.
Flashed from his bed the electric message came; He is no better; he is much the same.
--A Cambridge prize poem.
* * *
A household hinter advises that "if the thin white curtains blow into the gas and catch fire sew small lead weights into the seams." Before doing this, however, it would be wise to turn in an alarm.
* * *
The orchestra was playing too loud to suit the manager, so he complained to the leader. "The passage is written in forte," said the latter. "Well, make it about thirty-five."
* * *
SEIZE HIM, SCOUTS!
Sir: I submit for the consideration of the new school of journalism the following, recently perpetrated by an aspiring young journalist: "Information has been received that Mrs. Blank, who was spending a vacation of several weeks in Colorado, was killed in an automobile accident over long distance telephone by her husband."
Calcitrosus.
* * *
"THAT'S GOOD."
Sir: A man and three girls were waiting for the bus. The driver slowed up long enough to call, "Full house!" "Three queens!" responded the waiting cit, and turned disgustedly away.
X. T. C.
* * *
WHY BANK CLERKS ARE TIRED.
Sir: Voice over the telephone: "Please send me two check books."
B. C.: "Large or small?"
V. o. t. t.: "Well, I don't write such very large checks, but sometimes they amount to a hundred dollars."
Jane.
* * *
"Why not make room for daddy?" queries the editor of the Emporia Gazette, with a break in his voice. Daddy, we hardly need say, is the silently suffering member of the household who hasn't a large closet all to himself, with rows of, shiny hooks on which to hang his duds.
Ah, yes, why not make room for daddy? It is impossible to contemplate daddy's pathetic condition without bursting into tears. Votes for women? Huh! Hooks for men!
* * *
"NATION-WIDE."
How anybody can abide That punk expression, "nation-wide"--
How one can view unhorrified That vile locution, nation-wide,
I cannot see. I almost died When first I spotted nation-wide.
On every hand, on every side, On every page, is nation-wide.
To everything it is applied; No matter what, it's nation-wide.
The daily paper's pet and pride: They simply dote on nation-wide.
It seems if each with t'other vied To make the most of nation-wide.
No doubt the proof-room Argus-eyed Approves the "style" of nation-wide.
My colleagues fall for it, but I'd Be damned if I'd use nation-wide.
It gets my goat, and more beside, That phrase atrocious, nation-wide.
Abomination double-dyed, Away, outrageous "nation-wide"!
* * *
Speaking of local color, B. Humphries Brown and Bonnie Blue were wedded in Indianapolis.
* * *
Married, in Evansville, Ind., Ellis Shears and Golden Lamb. Something might be added about wool-gathering.
* * *
Embarrassed by the riches of modern literature at our elbow, we took refuge in Jane Austen, and re-read "Mansfield Park," marvelling again at its freshness. They who hold that Mark Twain was not a humorist, or that he was at best an incomplete humorist, have an argument in his lack of appreciation of Jane Austen.
* * *
One of the most delightful things about the author of "Mansfield Park" that we have seen lately is an extract from "Personal Aspects of Jane Austen," by Miss Austen-Leigh. "Each of the novels," she says, "gives a description, closely interwoven with the story and concerned with its principal characters, of error committed, conviction following, and improvement effected, all of which may be summed up in the word 'Repentance.'"
* * *
Almost as good is Miss Austen-Leigh's contradiction of the statement that sermons wearied Jane. She quotes the author's own words: "I am very fond of Sherlock's Sermons, and prefer them to almost any." What a lot of amusement she must have had, shooting relatives and friends through the hat!
* * *
Was there ever a character more delightfully detestable than Mrs. Norris? Was there ever another character presented, so alive and breathing, in so few pen strokes? Jane Austen had no need of psychoanalysis.
* * *
As for William Lyons Phelps' remark, which a contrib has quoted, that "too much modern fiction is concerned with unpleasant characters whom one would not care to have as friends," how would you like to spend a week-end with the characters in "The Mayor of Casterbridge"? With the exception of the lady in "Two on a Tower," and one or two others, Mr. Hardy's characters are not the sort that one would care to be cast away with; yet will we sit the night out, book in hand, to follow their sordid fortunes.
* * *
"What I want to know is," writes Fritillaria, "whether you think Jane Austen drew Edmund and Fanny for models, or knew them for the unconscionable prigs they are. I am collecting votes." Well, we think that Jane knew they were prigs, but nevertheless had, like ourself, a warm affection for Fanny. Fanny Price, Elizabeth Bennet, and Anne (we forget her last name) are three of the dearest girls in fiction.
* * *
We are reminded by F. B. T. that the last name of the heroine of "Persuasion" was Elliott. Anne is our favorite heroine--except when we think of Clara Middleton.
* * *
Space has been reserved for us in the archæological department of the Field Museum for Pre-Dry wheezes, which should be preserved for a curious posterity. We have filed No. 1, which runs:
"First Comedian: 'Well, what made you get drunk in the first place?' Second Comedian: 'I didn't get drunk in the first place. I got drunk in the last place.'"
* * *
Our budding colyumist (who, by the way, has not thanked us for our efforts in his behalf) will want that popular restaurant gag: "Use one lump of sugar and stir like hell. We don't mind the noise."
* * *
"What," queries R. W. C., "has become of the little yellow crabs that floated in the o. f. oyster stew?" Junsaypa. We never found out what became of the little gold safety pins that used to come with neckties.
* * *
An innovation at the Murdock House in Shawano, Wis., is "Bouillon in cups," instead of the conventional tin dipper.
* * *
By the way, has any candid merchant ever advertised a Good Riddance Sale?
* * *
Much has been written about Mr. Balfour in the last twelvemonth; and Mr. Balfour himself has published a book, a copy of which we are awaiting with more or less impatience. Mr. Balfour is not considered a success as a statesman, because he has always looked upon politics merely as a game; and Frank Harris once wrote that if A. B. had had to work for a living he might have risen to original thought--whatever that may imply.
* * *
What we have always marveled at is Balfour's capacity for mental detachment. In the first year of the war he found time to deliver, extempore, the Gifford lectures, and in the next year he published "Theism and Humanism." It is said, of course, that he had a great gift for getting or allowing other people to do his work in the war council and the admiralty; but that does not entirely explain his brimming mind.
* * *
"There is a fine old man," as one of our readers reported his Irish gardener as saying of A. B. "Did you know Mr. Balfour?" he was asked. "Did I know him?" was the reply. "Didn't I help rotten-egg him in Manchester twinty-five years ago!"
* * *
Col. Fanny Butcher relates that the average reader who patronizes the New York public library prefers Conan Doyle's detective stories to any others. Quite naturally. There is more artistry in Poe, and the tales about the Frenchman, Arsène Lupin, are ten times more ingenious than Doyle's; but Doyle has infused the adventures of Sherlock Holmes with the undefinable something known as romance, and that has preserved them. The great majority of detective stories are merely ingenious.
* * *
Col. Butcher says she uses "The Crock of Gold" to test the minds of people. A friend of ours employs "Zuleika Dobson" for the same purpose. What literary acid do _you_ apply?
* * *
Our compliments to Mrs. Borah, who possesses a needed sense of humor. "If," she is reported as saying to her husband, "if it were not for the pleasures of life you might enjoy it."
* * *
A librarian confides to us that she was visited by a young lady who wished to see a _large_ map of France. She was writing a paper on the battlefields of France for a culture club, and she just couldn't find Flanders' Fields and No Man's Land on any of the maps in her books.
* * *
A sign, reported by B. R. J., in a Cedar Rapids bank announces: "We loan money on Liberty bonds. No other security required." Showing that here and there you will find a banker who is willing to take a chance.
* * *
The first object of the National Parks association is "to fearlessly defend the national parks and monuments against assaults of private interests." May we not hope that the w. k. infinitive also may be preserved intact?
* * *
A missionary from the Chicago Woman's Club lectured in Ottawa on better English and less slang, and the local paper headed its story: "Bum Jabber Binged on Beezer by Jane With Trick Lingo."
* * *
Young Grimes tells us that he would like to share in the advantages of Better Speech weeks, but does not know where to begin. We have started him off with the word "February." If at the end of the week he can pronounce it Feb-ru-ary we shall give him the word "address."
* * *
"This, being Better English week, everyone is doing their best to improve their English."--Quincy, Mich., Herald.
Still, Jane Austen did it.
* * *
BETTER ENGLISH IN THE BEANERY.
Waiter: "Small on two--well!"
Chef: "Small well on two!"
Tip.
* * *
HAPPY THOUGHT.
This world is so full of a number of singers, We need not be bluffed any longer by ringers.
The Magic Kit.
A FAIRY TALE FOR SYMPATHETIC ELDERS.