d directer,
Was Athens accustomed to see
In the sheets of its _Argus_ how Hector
Had bloaters for tea?

If so--or indeed if it's not so--
One cannot but gently deplore
That the custom of chronicling rot so
Has not been expunged by the War.
When the world with its horrors still stunned is
And waits for vast hopes to come true,
What boots it if delegates' undies
Are scarlet or blue?

All facts of those delegates' labours
I'm ready to read with a zest,
And they must, like myself and my neighbours,
I know, have their moments of rest;
I do not begrudge them their pleasures,
But frankly I don't care a rap
If the sport that engages their leisure's
"Up, Jenkins" or "Snap."

Since the founts of its wisdom present us
Each morning with gems of this kind,
Such matters must strike as momentous
The news-editorial mind;
'Tis time this delusion was done with,
High time that some voice made it clear
We don't want those fountains to run with
Such very small beer.

* * * * *

"A married man, aged 34 years, collided with the mail train
when riding a motorcycle into Hawera on Friday. His right
arm, collarbone, and blue hospital uniforms on Thursday
morning."--_New Zealand Herald_.

We rather like this telescopic style of reporting. It leaves something
to the reader's imagination.

* * * * *

"To Parents and Pawnbrokers.--Anyone assisting to remove the
Charity Boots, marked B., from the Children's Feet, which
are the property of Mr. J. B---- and his Supporters, WILL BE
PROSECUTED."--_Irish Paper_.

A distressful country, indeed, where the children do not own their own
feet.

* * * * *

WINCHESTER'S OPPORTUNITY.

War legislation has pressed hard on many callings, and on none more
than that of the architect. But the embargo has been lifted; the
ancient art is coming to its own again, and it is of happy omen
that the new President of the Royal Academy has been chosen from the
architects. In this context we welcome the stimulating article in a
recent issue of _The Times_ _a propos_ of the Winchester War Memorial.
"Are we never," asks the writer, "to take risks in our architecture?"
and his answer, briefly summed up, is "Perish the thought. _De
l'audace, encore de l'audace, toujours de l'audace._" It is, of
course,