Eunice came next. This name recalled dear memories of the past and of what might have been. But as an examiner I could not let old dreams weigh down my impartial scales, so I refused to give her more than eighty. Finally, for they are really charming girls and know far more about literature than I do, I gave eighty to everybody except Mollie, and for being Mollie I gave her eighty-two. I forgot. There was one perfectly horrid little girl called Katie de Pinnock. She never shared her chocolates with anyone; the fact was notorious. She wrote in a copperplate hand sentiments like these: "MILTON awes me; SHELLEY thrills me; BLAKE, the prophet of self-sacrifice, is ever my consolation and my guide. I ask for nothing beyond." I gave her nineteen. And now comes the tragedy. Miss Penn-Cushing's letter of thanks was icy. She feared I had been "a thought nepotic," and (with my permission) she would revise my marks. She dealt me the final blow at our Speech-Day. "I have decided," she gave out, "to award the first prize in Literature to Miss Katie de Pinnock. I am sure, though, that you will not be surprised to hear that Mr. Marcus O'Reilly, our examiner, was so impressed with the literary excellence of all your papers that he has presented the whole class with consolation prizes. We tender him our heartiest thanks." * * * * * [Illustration: _Farmer._ "EH, LUCY, THESE MOVING STAIRS DO BE VINE THINGS VOR SAVING VOLK'S TIME."] * * * * * Commercial Candour. Extract from a Canadian business-circular:-- "What intelligent car owners have been looking for is a tire that will give them a minimum amount of service for a maximum amount of expenditure. You can get that tire from us." * * * * * "THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. BY THE RT. HON. C. F. G. MASTERMAN. 'Die, thou children of stormy dawn,' cries the Prime Minister to-day, as he stamps out the life of his little land taxes."--_Daily News._ According to his critic Mr. LLOYD GEORGE seems to have done great violence to his syntax as well as to his little land taxes. * * * * * "The bride, a tall brunette, looked a vision of golden beauty as she advanced up the aisle on the arm of her father."--_Evening Paper._ We do not think that this was the right occasion for an exposure of feminine camouflage. * * * * * THE ART OF POETRY. I. Many people have said to me, "I wish I could write poems. I often try, but----" They mean, I gather, that the impulse, the creative itch, is in them, but they don't know how to satisfy it. My own position is that I know how to write poetry, but I can't be bothered. I have not got the itch. The least I can do, however, is to try to help those who have.