have delighted the readers of Punch and other magazines--"Imaginary
Speeches," "Steps to Parnassus," "Tricks of the Trade," "Repertory Drama,
How They Do It and How They Would Have Done It," "Imaginary Reviews and
Speeches" and "The Aspirant's Manual."

The great source book of fun in rhyme, however, is and will for a long
time remain Carolyn Wells's _The Book of Humorous Verse_. This has not an
equal in existence, so far as I know, except _The Home Book of Verse_.
Here in nearly 900 pages are specimens of light verse from Chaucer to
Chesterton. Modern writers, such as Bert Leston Taylor and Don Marquis,
share the pages with Robert Herrick and William Cowper, Charles Lamb and
Oliver Wendell Holmes. Verses whimsical, satiric, narrative,
punning--there is no conceivable variety overlooked by Miss Wells in what
was so evidently a labour of love as well as of the most careful industry,
an industry directed by an exceptional taste.

P. G. Wodehouse used to write lyrics for musical plays in England,
interpolating one or two in existing successes. Then he came to America
and began writing lyrics, interpolating them in musical comedies over
here. Then he began interpolating extremely funny short stories in the
American magazines and he has now succeeded in interpolating into modern
fiction some of the funniest novels of the last few years. This bit from
his latest, _Three Men and a Maid_, is typical:

"Mrs. Hignett was never a very patient woman. "'Let us take all your
negative qualities for granted,' she said curtly. 'I have no doubt that
there are many things which you do not do. Let us confine ourselves to
issues of definite importance. What is it, if you have no objection to
concentrating your attention on that for a moment, that you wish to see me
about?'

"This marriage.'

"'What marriage?'

"'Your son's marriage.'

"'My son is not married.'

"'No, but he's going to be. At eleven o'clock this morning at the Little
Church Around the Corner!'

"Mrs. Hignett stared.

"'Are you mad?'

"'Well, I'm not any too well pleased, I'm bound to say,' admitted Mr.
Mortimer. 'You see, darn it all, I'm in love with the girl myself!'

"'Who is this girl?'

"'Have been for years. I'm one of those silent, patient fellows who hang
around and look a lot, but never tell their love....'

"'Who is this girl who has entrapped my son?'

"'I've always been one of those men who....'

"'Mr. Mortimer! With your permission we will