n one Square Mile of the East End of London than
you could find in the whole State of Kansas. He said there were fewer
Murders in England because good Opportunities were being overlooked.

He said he could Tip any one in England except, possibly, the
Archbishop of Canterbury.

It was his unbiased Opinion that London consisted of a vast swarm of
melancholy Members of the Middle and Lower Classes of the Animal
Kingdom who ate Sponge Cake with Clinkers in it, drank Tea, smoked
Pipes and rode by Bus, and thought they were Living.

Standing beneath the rippling folds of Old Glory, the proud Citizen of
the Great Republic declared that we could wallop Great Britain at any
Game from Polo up to Prize-Fighting and if we cut down on the Food
Supplies the whole blamed Runt of an undersized Island would starve to
death in a Week.

With quivering Nostrils, he heaped Scorn and Contumely upon any Race
that would call a Pie a Tart. In conclusion, he expressed Pity for
those who never had tasted Corn on the Cob.

After he had gone up to the Bridge Deck to play Shuffle-Board, the
Representative of the Tightest little Island on the Map took out his
Note-Book and made the following Entry: "Every Beggar living in the
States is a Bounder and a Braggart."

That evening in the Smoke Room he began to pull his favorite Specialty
of ragging the Yanks on a New Yorker, who interrupted him by saying:
"Really, I know nothing about my own Country. I spend the Winter in
Egypt, the Spring in London, the Summer in Carlsbad, and the Autumn in
Paree."

So the Traveler afterward reported to a Learned Society that the
Typical American had become a denatured Expatriate.

MORAL: No Chance.

THE DIVINE SPARK

One Evening at a Converted Rink known as the Grand Opera House, a flock
of intrepid Amateurs put on a War Drama.

Lila, principal Child of the Egg and Poultry King, played a Daughter of
the Southland, with her Hair shaken out and Lamp Black on her Eye-
Winkers, so as to look like Maxine.

All of her Relations and the other Members of the Pocahontas Bridge
Whist and Pleasure Club were in Front, and they gave her a Hand every
time she stepped out from behind a Tree.

She scored what is known in the Ibsen cult as a Knock-Out.

At 11 P. M., she was up on a lonesome Eminence, right between Sara
Bernhardt and Julia Marlowe, waiting for a Telegram from C. F. to come
on and tackle any Role that was too heavy for Maude Adams.

The proud Pa