s fails
With grosser ironmongery, where's the wonder?"

So may the Law's High Majesty o'erlook
My rash presumption; may the memory die
Of how I won the match (and further took
The liberty of mopping up the bye);
Remember just a happy morning's round,
Also the fact that this alleged old fogey
Played at the last hole like a book and downed
The barely human feat of Colonel Bogey.

O.S.

* * * * *

IF WE ALL TOOK TO MARGOTRY.

[Mrs. ASQUITH'S feuilleton, which for so many people has transformed Sunday
into a day of unrest, sets up a new method of autobiography, in which the
protagonist is, so to speak, both JOHNSON and BOSWELL too. Successful
models being always imitated we may expect to see a general use of her
lively methods; and as a matter of fact I have been able already, through
the use of a patent futurist reading-glass (invented by Signer Margoni), to
get glimpses of two forthcoming reminiscent works of the future which, but
for the _chronique egoistique_ of the moment might never have been written,
and certainly not in their present interlocutory shape.]

I.

FROM "FIRST AID TO LITERATURE."

By _Edmund Gosse_.

... Not the least interesting and delicate of my duties as a confidential
adviser were connected with a work of reminiscences which created some stir
in the nineteen-twenties. How it came about I cannot recollect, but it was
thought that my poor assistance as a friendly censor of a too florid
exuberance in candour might not be of disservice to the book, and I
accepted the invitation. The volume being by no means yet relegated to
oblivion's dusty shelves I am naturally reluctant to refer to it with such
particularity as might enable my argus-eyed reader to identify it and my
own unworthy share therein, and therefore in the following dialogue,
typical of many between the author and myself, I disguise her name under an
initial. _Quis custodiet?_ It would be grotesque indeed if one whose
special mission was to correct the high spirits of others should himself
fail in good taste.

_Mrs. A. (laying down the MS. with a bang)._ I see nothing but blue pencil
marks, and blue was never my colour. Why are you so anxious that I should
be discreet? Indiscretion is the better part of authorship.

_EDMUND (earnestly)._ It is your fame of which I am thinking. If you adopt
my emendations you will go down to history as the writer of the best book
of