She had arms. Two of them. They were big and round, like herself. One held a large parcel ("package" for the American edition); the other, an umbrella. She also had two legs. She stood on them. If they had been absent, or if they had weakened, she would have collapsed. But they held her up. Ah, the mysteries of existence! More than ever was she conscious of her firm, strong underpinning. Maria waved her umbrella and her parcel and stopped a 'bus. The driver was elderly, wrinkled, weatherbeaten. Maria got in and rode six furlongs and some yards to Mooge Road, and then she stopped the 'bus to get out. If she was conscious of her upper members and their charges, she was still more conscious of her lower ones. If she had her parcel and her umbrella to think about, she also had her stockings and petticoats to consider. The wind blew, the rain drizzled, the driver looked around, wondering why Maria didn't get out and have done with it. "If he should see them!" she gasped. (You know what she meant by "them.") Her round, broad face mutely implored the 'busman to look the other way. He wearily closed his eyes. He had been rumbling through the Strand for thirty years. "Lor', mum," he said, "legs ain't no treat to me!" Maria collapsed, after all, and took the 4:29 for home that same afternoon. A LINE-O'-TYPE OR TWO _Hew to the Line, let the quips fall where they may._ APRILLY. Whan that Aprillè with hise shourès soote The droghte of March had percèd to the roote, I druv a motor thro' Aprillè's bliz Somme forty mile, and dam neere lyke to friz. * * * Harriet reports the first trustworthy sign of spring: friend husband on the back porch Sunday morning removing last year's mud from his golf shoes. * * * Old Doc Oldfield of London prescribes dandelion leaves, eggs, lettuce, milk, and a few other things for people who would live long, and a Massachusetts centenarian offers, as her formula, "Don't worry and don't over-eat." But we, whose mission is to enlighten the world, rather than to ornament it, are more influenced by the experiment of Herbert Spencer. Persuaded to a vegetarian diet, he stuck at it for six months. Then reading over what he had written during that time, he thrust the manuscript into the fire and ordered a large steak with fried potatoes and mushrooms. * * * "SPRING HAS COME..." The trees were rocked by April's blast; A frozen robin fell, And twittered, as he breathed his last, "Lykelle, lykelle, lykelle." * * * BYRON WROTE MOST OF THIS. [From the Monticello Times.]