A correspondent, anxious about etiquette, writes:--"Sir,--The other day I offered my seat to the lady-conductor of a tramcar. Did I right?--Yours truly, Noblesse Oblige." * * * It is stated that one of the principal items of discussion during the new Session of the Prussian Diet will be a Supplementary War Bill. Some of the members are expected to protest, on the ground that the present War is quite sufficient, thank you. * * * * * INTELLECTUAL RETRENCHMENT. [The annual expenses that will be saved by the closing of the London Museums and Galleries amount to about one-fifth of the public money spent on the salaries of Members of Parliament.] Fetch out your padlocks, bolt and bar the portals, That none may worship at the Muses' shrine; Seal up the gifts bequeathed by our Immortals To be the birthright of their ancient line; At luxury if you would strike a blow, Let Art and Science be the first to go. Close down the fanes that guard the golden treasure Wrung by our hands from Nature's hidden wealth; Treat them as idle haunts of wanton pleasure, Extremely noxious to the nation's health; Show that our statesmanship at least has won A vandal victory o'er the vandal Hun. And when her children whom the seas have sent her Come to the Motherland to fight her war, And claim their common heritage, to enter The gate of dreams to that enchanted store, To other palaces we'll ask them in, To purer joys of "movies" and of gin. But let us still keep open one collection Of curiosities and quaint antiques, Under immediate Cabinet direction-- The finest specimens of talking freaks, Who constitute our most superb Museum, Judged by the salaries with which we fee 'em. O. S. * * * * * DIPLOMACY. "Tell us," said Phyllis laboriously, "about diploma----" and there it stuck. "Tistics," added Lillah in a superior manner. Being an uncle, I can never give my brain a rest. It is the easiest thing in the world to be found out by a child of seven. "You mean," I said, "diplomatists?" "Yes," said Phyllis in a monotone. "Daddy said they-weren't-any earthly-blast-them and----" "Yes, yes!" I said hastily. I can imagine what George said about diplomatists. He held a good deal of Balkan stock. "Well, are they?" asked Lillah innocently. "Diplomatists," I said, "are people in spats and creased trousers, and the truth is not in them." "What is spats?" asked Phyllis. "Spats," I answered, "are what people wear when they want to get a job and their boots are shabby." "Are diplomatists shabby?" queried Lillah. "Not a bit," I answered rather bitterly. "Do they want jobs?" "They want to keep them," I said. "So they have spats," said Phyllis, completely satisfied. "Exactly," I said. "Then they go into an extremely grand room together and talk."