April may smile in Patagonia, But here it always breeds pneumonia. May, alternating sun and blizzard, Plays havoc with the stoutest gizzard. No part of England is immune From frost and thunder-storms in June. Only the suicide lays by His thickest hose throughout July. August, in spite of dog-days' heat, For floods is very hard to beat. The equinoctial gales, remember, Are at their worst in mid-September. Old folk, however hale and sober, Die very freely in October. November with its clammy fogs The bronchial region chokes and clogs. December, with its dearth of sun, For sheer discomfort takes the bun. * * * * * THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND. In the course of a recent search for Italian conversation manuals I came upon one which put so strangely novel a complexion on our own tongue that, though it was not quite what I was seeking, I bought it. To see ourselves as others see us may be a difficult operation, but to hear ourselves as others hear us is by this little book made quite easy. Everyone knows the old story of the Italian who entered an East-bound omnibus in the Strand and asked to be put down at Kay-ahp-see-day. Well, this book should prevent him from doing it again. But its great attraction is the courageous personality of the protagonist as revealed by his various remarks. For example, most of us who are not linguists confine our conversations in foreign places to the necessities of life, rarely leaving the beaten track of bread and butter, knives and forks, the times of trains, cab fares, the way to the station, the way to the post-office, hotel prices and washing lists. And even then we disdain or flee from syntax. But this conversationalist embroiders and dilates. He is intrepid. He has no reluctances. Where we in Italy would, at the most, say to the _cameriere_, "_Portaci una tazza di caffè_," and think ourselves lucky to get it, he lures the London waiter to invite a disquistion on the precious berry. Thus, he begins: "Còffi is rI-marchêbl fòr iZ vèrE stim-iùlêtin pròpèRtÊ. Du ju nô hau it uòs discòvvaRd?" The waiter very promptly and properly saying, "Nô, Sôr," the Italian unloads as follows: "Uèl, ai uil tèl ju thèt iZ discòvvarê is sêd tu hèv bin òchêsciònt bai thi fòllôin sôrcòmstanZ. Som gôtS, hu brauS-t òp-òn thi plènt fròm huicc thi còffi sîds aR gàthaRd, ueaR òbsèrv-D bai thi gôthaRds tu bi èchsîdinglE uêchful, ènd òfn tu chêpaR èbaut in thi nait; thi pràioR Ôv ê nêbArin mònnastErE, uiscin tu chip his mònchs êuêch èt thèaR mat-tins, traid if thi côffi ud prôdiùS thi sêm èffècht òp-òn thèm, ès it uòs òbsèrv-D tu du òp-òn thi gôtS; thi sòch-sès òv his èchspèrimènt lèd tu thi apprèsciêsciòn òv iZ valliù."