Part 5 (2/2)

The argument that resulted in the teacup's leaving MR. CARLYLE'S hands was common in most households. It transpires that MRS.

CARLYLE, with a Bolshevistic tendency that makes patriots wonder what the Department of Justice--to borrow a phrase from a newspaper cartoonist--thinks about, had been championing the British-Wilson League of Nations, that league which will make ironically true our ”E Pluribus Unum”--one of many. Repeated efforts by MR. CARLYLE, in appeals to the Department of Justice, the Military Intelligence Division, and the City Government, were of no avail. And so MR.

CARLYLE, like the red-blooded American he is, did what the authorities should have saved him the embarra.s.sing trouble of doing.

FROM OUR OWN ”CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR”

It is reported that Mr. Thomas Carlyle has thrown a teacup at Mrs. Carlyle, and much exaggerated and acrid comment has been made on this incident.

If it had been a whiskey gla.s.s, or a c.o.c.ktail gla.s.s, the results might have been fatal.

In Oregon, which went dry in 1916, the number of women hit by crockery has decreased 4.2 per cent in three years. Of 1,844 women in Oregon hit by crockery in 1915, 1,802 were hit by gla.s.ses containing, or destined to contain, alcoholic stimulants. More than 94 per cent of these accidents resulted fatally. The remaining 22 women, hit by tea or coffee cups, are now happy, useful members of society.

If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley

A DECADE

When you came you were like red wine and honey, And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.

Now you are like morning bread-- Smooth and pleasant, I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour, But I am completely nourished.

--AMY LOWELL, in _The Chimaera_.

When I wuz courtin' Annie, she wuz honey an' red wine, She made me feel all jumpy, did that ol' sweetheart o' mine; Wunst w'en I went to Crawfordsville, on one o' them there trips, I kissed her--an' the burnin' taste wuz sizzlin' on my lips.

An' now I've married Annie, an' I see her all the time, I do not feel the daily need o' bustin' into rhyme.

An' now the wine-y taste is gone, fer Annie's always there, An' I take her fer granted now, the same ez sun an' air.

But though the honey taste wuz sweet, an' though the wine wuz strong, Yet ef I lost the sun an' air, I couldn't git along.

If the Advertising Man Had Been Gilbert

Never mind that slippery wet street-- The tire with a thousand claws will hold you.

Stop as quickly as you will-- Those thousand claws grip the road like a vise.

Turn as sharply as you will-- Those thousand claws take a steel-p.r.o.ng grip on the road to prevent a side skid.

You're safe--safer than anything else will make you-- Safe as you would be on a perfectly dry street.

And those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too.

--_From the Lancaster Tire and Rubber Company's advertis.e.m.e.nt in the Satevepost._

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