The speech has put courage into the heart of a young literary man known to us. "I have long yearned to break away from the weaklings who can do no more than call a spade a spade," he said the other day. "I feel that I now have a master's authority for doing so. In gratitude I can do no less than send Mr. Kipling a copy of my new book, _The Seven D's_, when it is ready." "I cannot be too grateful for your impressive speech," wrote a lady from Balham. "For many weeks now I consider that my butcher has been sending joints that are perfectly disgraceful, and I have been quite at a loss to know how to deal with him. But thanks to your great utterance I was able to get together just the words I wanted, and on Tuesday last I sent him _such_ a letter. You will be glad to know that Wednesday's shoulder was excellent." An anonymous correspondent, dating from a temporary address at Limehouse, has written, "Why don't you come over on our side? You and I together could do great things." * * * * * [Illustration: According to a scheme suggested by the Royal Statistical Society everyone should be given a number and an index card at his birth. This would help the police to trace missing persons, prevent fraudulent marriages, etc. it would brighten the scheme if everybody was compelled to wear his number in a conspicuous position, and if a descriptive catalogue was issued.] * * * * * THE SWEET O' THE YEAR. Get your summer smocks on, _ye_ little elves and fairies! Put your winter ones away in burrows underground-- Thick leaves and thistledown, Rabbit's-fur and missel-down, Woven in your magic way which no one ever varies, Worn in earthy hidey-holes till Spring comes round! Got your summer smocks on! Be clad no more in russet! All the flow'rs are fashion-plates and fabrics for your wear-- Gold and silver gossamer, Webs, from every blossomer, Fragrant and so delicate (with neither seam nor gusset), Filmily you spin them, but they will not tear! Get your summer smocks on, for all the woodland's waking, All the glades with green and glow salute you with a shout, All the earth is chorussing (Hear the Lady Flora sing!-- Her that strews the hyacinths and sets you merry-making), Oak and ash do call you and the blackthorn's out! Get your summer smocks on, for soon's the time of dances Soon's the time of junketings and revellers' delights-- Dances in your pleasaunces Where your dainty presence is Dangerous to mortals mid the moonlight that entrances, Dazzling to a mortal eye on hot June nights! * * * * * April 23, 1914. 350th Anniversary of the birth of William Makepeace Shakespeare."--_Kostenaian._ Oliver Wendell Cromwell, the distinguished author-politician, was born much later than the poet-novelist. * * * * *