I think "levels" is a little weak. It is a good poetical word and doesn't mean anything in particular; but we have too many words of that kind in this verse. "Deserts" would do, except that deserts and mud don't go very well together. However, that sort of point must be left to the individual writer. At first sight the student may think that "naked_ly_" is not a good rhyme for "sea." Nor is it. If you do that kind of thing in comic poetry no editor will give you money. But in serious poetry it is quite legitimate; in fact it is rather encouraged. That is why serious poetry is so much easier than comic poetry. In my next lecture I shall deal with comic poetry. I don't think I shall finish this poem now. The fact is, I am not feeling so inspired as I was. It is very hot. Besides, I have got hay-fever and keep on sneezing. Constant sneezing knocks all the inspiration out of a man. At the same time a tendency to hay-fever is a sign of intellect and culture, and all the great poets were martyrs to it. That is why none of them grew very lyrical about hay. Corn excited them a good deal, and even straw, but hay hardly ever. So the student must finish this poem as best he can, and I shall be glad to consider and criticise what he does, though I may say at once that there will be no prize. It ought to go on for another eight verses or so, though that is not essential in these days, for if it simply won't go on it can just stop in the middle. Only then it must be headed "MUD: A Fragment." And in any case, in the bottom left-hand corner, the student must write: _Chintonbury, May 28th, 1920._ A. P. H. * * * * * [Illustration: MANNERS AND MODES. WHAT OUR PROFITEER'S BUTLER (WHO WAS TAKEN ON WITH THE HOUSE AND FURNITURE) HAS TO PUT UP WITH:--MASTER'S RELATIONS.] * * * * * ELIZABETH'S TIP FOR THE DERBY. "Talkin' o' the Derby," began Elizabeth. As a matter of fact I was not talking of the Derby or even thinking of it at the moment. I had just been telling Elizabeth that the omelette which she had served us at dinner was leathery, and her remark struck me as irrelevant. "Master thinks the omelettes would be lighter if you fried them in more butter," I continued. Of course Master had thought nothing of the kind. But nowadays complaints must be conveyed to domestics in this indirect way. Elizabeth ignored the omelette. "I'm goin' to win fifty pounds at least," she exclaimed, and in her excitement broke the cup she held--I mean to say the cup came in two in her hand as she spoke. "I've got a bit on an 'orse for the Derby." I felt slightly shocked. It is always surprising to discover a latent sporting instinct in one's domestics, unless they are highly placed and dignified domestics like butlers or head-footmen; but in a cook-general it seems peculiarly low.