We defend the beauty of the Quarter with equal zeal. We do what we can to preserve the superannuated look which to us is a large part of its charm, and we cry out against every new house that threatens discord in our ancient harmony. Excitement never raged so high among us as when the opposite river banks were desecrated by the advertiser, and from shores hitherto but a shadow in the shadowy night, there flamed forth a horrid tout for Tea. We had endured much from a sign of Whiskey further down the river,--Whiskey and Tea are Britain's bulwarks,--but this was worse, for it flared and glared right into our faces, and the vile letters which were red and green one second and yellow the next ran in a long line from top to bottom of the high shot-tower. In this crude light, our breweries ceased to be palaces in the night, our _campanili_ again became chimneys. Gone was our Fairyland, gone our River of Dreams. The falling twilight gave a hideous jog to our memory, and would not let us forget that we lived in a nation of shopkeepers. The Socialist, part of whose stock-in-trade is perversity, liked it, or said he did,--and I really believe he did,--but the other tenants were outraged, and an indignation meeting was called. Four attended, together with the Solicitor and the Agent of the estate, and the Publisher, who took the chair. It was of no use. We learned that our joy in the miracle of night might be destroyed forever, but if we could prove no physical harm, legal redress would be denied to us, and our defiance of the Vandal must be in vain. And so there the disgraceful advertisement remains, flaring and glaring defiance at us across the river. When the Socialist gets tired of it, he goes off to his country place in his forty-horse-power motor-car, but we, in our weariness, can escape only to bed. The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS U. S. A.