It is published that the _Post_ contemplated a change in the appearance and make-up of the paper, but gave up the scheme lest it shock the readers of Mr. Godkin’s _Evening Grandmother_. What would shock the readers more would be the appearance of life somewhere about the sheet. I would respectfully call the attention of the editors of the _Post_ to the fate which befell the Assyrians. It is written in Isaiah XXXVII—36: Then the angel of the Lord went forth and smote in the camp of the Assyrians a hundred and four score and five thousand; and when they arose in the morning: behold, they were all dead corpses. * * * * * THE PHILISTINE’S plea is for the widest liberty to individual genius. Perhaps no living man has presented this plea so strongly in his life and work as William Morris. The poem herein printed is a taste of this strong man’s quality. It is taken from that dainty bundle of beautiful things entitled, _Love Lyrics_. * * * * * In that very charming article by Mr. Zangwill in the last _Chap Book_, mention is made of the utter impossibility of stating a truth so that the majority will remember or recognize it when they see it again—so shallow is human wit. In THE PHILISTINE for July I made bold to insert an extract from the Bible. No credit was given, however, and the matter was re-paragraphed. And now, behold, a Chicago paper arises and calls the quotation rot; several other publications refute the scriptural statements and a weekly that is very wise in its day and generation refers to my irreverence in writing in Bible style. * * * * * In the _Popular Science Monthly_ for July a Dr. Oppenheimer announces the interesting discovery why children lie. It has been supposed that they lie, as a general thing, because they want something, but it appears that it is because they have something, in the French sense. It isn’t inherent viciousness but disease. The doctor says: The children usually are suffering from disorders of mind or body, or both, which radically interfere with the transmission of conceptions and perceptions from the internal to the external processes of expression, so that they really are unable to be more exact than they seem. This seems to explain several things about our good friends Landon and Townsend—G. A. * * * * * The London _Athenæum_ says “Stephen Crane is the coming Boozy Prophet of America; his lines send the cold chills streaking up one’s spine, and we are in error if his genius does not yet sweep all other literary fads from the board.” All of which strikes me as a boozier bit of cymbalism than any of Mr. Crane’s verses. * * * * * On the authority of the New York _Sun_, afternoon teas are growing more and more realistic. That arbiter of etiquette says: