The manager of the Hotel Pomeroy, Barbados, W. I., warns: "No cigarettes or cocktails served to married ladies without husband's consent." * * * It is years since we read "John Halifax, Gentleman," but we must dust off the volume. The Japanese translation has a row of asterisks and the editor's explanation: "At this point he asked her to marry him." * * * Gadders have many grievances, and one of them is the small-town grapefruit. One traveler offers the stopper of a silver flask for an authentic instance of a grapefruit served without half of the tough interior thrown in for good measure. * * * If Jedge Landis has time to attend to another job, a great many people would like to see him take hold of the Senate and establish in it the confidence of the public. It would be a tougher job than baseball reorganization, but it is thought he could swing it. * * * YES? You may fancy it is easy, When the world is fighting drunk, To compile a colyum wheezy With a lot of airy junk-- To maintain a mental quiet And a philosophic ca'm, And to give, amid the riot, Not a dam. You may think it is no trick to Can the topic militaire, And determinedly stick to Jape and jingle light as air-- To be pertly paragraphic And to jollity inclined, In an evenly seraphic State of mind. When our anger justified is, And the nation's on the brink; When Herr Dernburg--durn his hide!--is To be chased across the drink; When the cabinet is meeting, And the ultimatums fly, And the tom-toms are a-beating A defy; When it's raining gall and bitters-- You may think it is a pipe To erect a Tower of Titters With a lot of lines o' type, To be whimsical and wheezy, Full of {quip and quirk and quiz. {quibbles queer and quaint. Do you fancy _that_ is easy? Well--it {is. {ain't. * * * The dissolution of Farmer Pierson, of Princeton, Ill., from rough-on-rats administered, it is charged, by his wife and her gentleman friend, is a murder case that reminds us of New England, where that variety of triangle reaches stages of grewsomeness surpassed only by "The Love of Three Kings." How often, in our delirious reporter days, did we journey to some remote village in Vermont or New Hampshire, to inquire into the passing of an honest agriculturist whose wife, assisted by the hired man, had spiced his biscuits with arsenic or strychnine. * * * On the menu of the Woman's City Club: "Scrambled Brains." Do you wonder, my dear? * * *