In scattered groups my comrades talked together, Their disappointment faded bit by bit, So soothing can it be to tell the weather Just what you think of it. But I--I sat aloof as one distressed by A painful tendency to droop and wilt; Though none suspected it, I was oppressed by A conscience charged with guilt. I watched the pitch become a sodden pulp, a Morass, a sponge, a lake, a running stream, What time a sad repentant _Mea culpa_ Was all my musing's theme. Mine was the cricket sin too hard to pardon In one whose age should carry greater sense; On Friday night I'd watered all the garden, Thus tempting Providence. * * * * * "Mr. ---- asserted that the Russian people would be permitted 'untrammelled to pork out their own salvation.'"--_Canadian Paper._ And why not the Irish people too? * * * * * [Illustration: THE MAN WHO WOULD GET TO THE SEASIDE. TRAINS FULL. CHARABANKS FULL. AEROPLANES FULL. THE LAST RESOURCE. SEA, SAND AND HOTELS FULL.] * * * * * THE COUNTER-IRRITANT Most men have a hobby. Timbrell-Timson's is to bear on his narrow shoulders the burden of Middle Europe. He calls it Mittel-Europa. Lately he has been sharing his burden with me. "You know," he said, frowning--he always frowns, because of the burden--"I am rather uneasy about the Czecho-Slovaks." "I'm not too comfortable about them myself," I said truthfully. "There seems to be a certain lack of stability about their new constitution," said T.-T., "a--a--a--what shall I say?" "A--er--um--a," I put in. "Exactly; just so," said T.-T. He then got into his stride and gave me twenty minutes' Czecho-Slovakism when I was dying to discover whether HOBBS had scored his two-millionth run. As T.-T. talked my mind wandered away into regions of its own--Aunt Jane's rheumatic gout, my broken niblick, the necessity for getting my hair cut. But sub-consciously I reserved a courteous minimum of attention for T.-T., and said, "H'm" and "Ha" with decent frequency. He went on and on, shedding several ounces of the burden. I decided that Aunt Jane ought to have a shot at Christian Science. "... very much the same plight as the Poles," said T.-T., emerging from a cloud of Czecho-Slovakism and pausing to clear his meagre throat. I felt it was up to me. "Of course," I said, "the Poles don't strike one as being--er--very--that is--" "Precisely. They are not," said T.-T., as I knew he would. "But I am very relieved to see that M. Grabski...." This was something new and sounded amusing. "Grabski?" I said. "What's happened to dear old--I mean, I thought M. Paderewski was--" "I am referring to the recent Spa Conference," said T.-T. severely. "Of course, how silly of me," I murmured.