Even if I could still retain The ethics which my early brain Imbibed from ARISTOTLE, It would not serve me much to speak His views on virtue (in the Greek) When buying table claret (weak) At ten-and-six the bottle. Or when my tailor claims his loot Of twenty guineas for a suit Of rude continuations, I must remain his hopeless thrall, Nor would it move his heart at all Could I from JUVENAL recall Some apposite quotations. If I engaged a working-man To mend a leaky pot or pan Or else a pipe that's porous, He would not modify his fees For hours and hours of vacant ease Though out of ARISTOPHANES I said a funny chorus. I am a failure, it appears; I cannot cope with profiteers Nor with enlightened Labour; Too late I see, on looking back, Where lies the blame for what I lack; Why was I never taught the knack Of beggaring my neighbour? O. S. * * * * * A CONNOISSEUR'S APPRECIATION. SHARP RISE OF GREAT BRITAIN IN THE ESTIMATION OF U.S.A. The first-class carriage was empty. I threw my coat into a corner and settled myself in the seat opposite. Just as the train started to move, the door was flung open and a tall lean body hurled itself into the compartment and dropped on my coat. He was followed instantaneously by a leather bag which crashed on to the floor. "Say, these cars pull out pretty slick." My intelligence at once conjectured that this was an American, one of the thousands who have lately taken advantage of the exchange to spy out the nakedness of our land. I must admit that I understand American only with great difficulty. I try to guess the meaning of each sentence from the unimportant words which I can interpret. I surmised somehow that his speech referred to the bag on the floor. So I answered, civilly enough, "I hope your bag is undamaged. Excuse me, I will relieve you of my coat." So saying, I pulled it from beneath him and with a single movement flung it on the rack over my own head. The stranger spoke again after some moments. He appeared to have spent the interval in repeating my words to himself, as though to grasp their meaning. Yet, heaven knows, I speak plainly enough. This time he said, "Guess my grip's O.K. But I ain't plunkin' my bucks on the guy that says the old country's in the sweet and peaceful." After this most extraordinary and unintelligible communication he began to feel his pockets and his person all over, as though searching for something. I felt myself at liberty to resume my study of _The Spectator_. However, I was not to be left alone. Again he addressed me. "Guess I gotta hand it to you." "I beg your pardon," I observed, lowering my paper.