But Father George, being a most unreasonable man, and a perverse, says that the best use a church can be put to is that of a barricade on which to smash bottles of Extra Triple XXX. In fact, he earnestly declares that his church was built with this special idea in mind and that the foundation is so deep and the walls so solid that if all the demijohns in Buffalo were banged plumb against it, it would still stand secure. And the upstart of it all is that over a hundred bicycle tires have been punctured in that block during the last month and no wheelman feels safe from broken glass within a mile limit in any direction of St. Joseph’s church. So the police have notified the Father that he must smash no more bottles in the street on penalty. And furthermore, on the statute books of the State of New York is a law known as “The Bottlers’ Protective Act.” This law makes it a misdemeanor to wilfully break a beer bottle in the great Empire State. The Beer Bottlers’ Association, in order to uphold its dignity, is about to bring action against Father George under this law, all as legally provided, and the end is not yet. * * * * * We now have the _Lotus_, the _Lotos_ and the _Lettuce_. The latest is _The Prairie Dog_. Its hole is in Lawrence, Kansas, and it is patterned after the _Chip Munk_. Verily, like begets like. * * * * * The Drumtochty folks are both good and witty. And it looks a bit as if that old idea that a joke cannot be gotten into the head of a Scotsman without trepanning is a mistake. Some say, though, that there is no such place as Drumtochty; yet the same remark has been made about East Aurora. But Dodd, Rott & Company declare that Drumtochty exists, and in their last Price List they insert this poem, which they say fitly describes the Land of parritch: Land of chivalry and freedom, Land of old traditional fame, May thy noble sons and daughters Long uphold thy honored name. Land of simple-hearted kindness, Land of patriotic worth, May thy virtues ever flourish, Hardy clansman of the north. No Scot has arisen so far to deny the allegations set forth; but an Englishman has, and he winds up with this: Land of ancient bloody tyrants, Sneaking traitors, deep and sly, Land of thieving “Heelen teevils,” Kilted rogues and stolen kye. Land o’ canny carefu bodies, Foes to a’ ungodly fun, Those who sum up man’s whole duty, Heaven, hell and number one. And now Mr. H. O. Mac Arthur, who edits _The Bookman_, has offered a reward of seven dollars and fifty cents for the name and address of the Englishman aforesaid. * * * * * If Rider Haggard had been Lew Wallace what would _She_ have been? * * * * * Conan Doyle used to print good things before he made a success; but now that he has found a market, what’s the use!