"THERE, NOW, AIN'T THAT A TREAT, BILLY? THERE AIN'T NO COUNTRY IN THE WORLD I LIKE SO MUCH AS ENGLAND." * * * * * THE NEW PROFESSIONAL HUMILITY. ["I have always held a decided opinion that the less people trouble themselves about literature the better for them."--_M. PIERRE LOTI_ (vide "_Daily Chronicle._")] _Sir THOMAS LIPTON._ How can a tea-drinking people hope to lift the Cup? Tannin is a poison fatal to the true sportsman. _The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER._ The interest taken in politics diverts attention from everything that really matters. _The POET LAUREATE._ Poetry is not only a drug on the market, it is a drug that narcotises and debilitates all true manhood. _Mr. EUSTACE H. MILES._ Vegetarianism is fit only for pigs. The noble king of the forest is a meat-eater. _Lord ROBERTS._ The military bias is the only obstacle to peace. _Mme. CLARA BUTT._ The human voice was given us for fish-hawking and encouraging football-players, not for singing. _Sir H. BEERBOHM TREE._ I cannot think why anyone goes to the theatre. It bores me horribly. _Mr. H. G. WELLS._ The past alone possesses interest for intelligent men. _Mr. G. K. CHESTERTON._ Orthodoxy, it has been said, is my doxy; heterodoxy is other people's doxy; but paradoxy is the devil's doxy. _Sir E. ELGAR._ Music? How can any serious man fiddle while Home is burning? _Sir E. J. POYNTER._ The Royal Academy is crushing the life out of English Art. The country's only hope is in Cubism. _Signor MARINETTI._ Your Royal Academy is the true Temple of Art. I never cross its threshold without first removing my sandals. * * * * * A RECORD CAST. "A 3 lb. 15 oz. chub has been taken at Abingdon by Mr. A. Owen near Henley." _Field._ * * * * * Illustration: WHY SHOULD NOT PERSEVERING PETER OF THE PUSH-BIKE ADOPT, WHEN TRAVELLING, THE SAME SUPERCILIOUS ATTITUDE AS LANGUID LIONEL OF THE TOURING-CAR DE LUXE. * * * * * THE JESTING OF JANE. (_In which it is explained how competent I am to keep the servants in their places even when their mistress is away._) I like a good practical joke; as the garland adorning The hair of a maiden it shines, as the balm that is shed On the brain of a wandering minstrel; it comes without warning, Transmuting to gold an existence that once was as lead. It glads, it rejoices the soul; recollecting it after One well-nigh explodes; but I say there are seasons for laughter, And, like other great men, I am not at my best in the morning When just out of bed.