vandal victory o'er the vandal Hun.

And when her children whom the seas have sent her
Come to the Motherland to fight her war,
And claim their common heritage, to enter
The gate of dreams to that enchanted store,
To other palaces we'll ask them in,
To purer joys of "movies" and of gin.

But let us still keep open one collection
Of curiosities and quaint antiques,
Under immediate Cabinet direction--
The finest specimens of talking freaks,
Who constitute our most superb Museum,
Judged by the salaries with which we fee 'em.
O. S.

* * * * *

DIPLOMACY.

"Tell us," said Phyllis laboriously, "about diploma----" and there it
stuck.

"Tistics," added Lillah in a superior manner.

Being an uncle, I can never give my brain a rest. It is the easiest
thing in the world to be found out by a child of seven.

"You mean," I said, "diplomatists?"

"Yes," said Phyllis in a monotone. "Daddy said they-weren't-any
earthly-blast-them and----"

"Yes, yes!" I said hastily. I can imagine what George said about
diplomatists. He held a good deal of Balkan stock.

"Well, are they?" asked Lillah innocently.

"Diplomatists," I said, "are people in spats and creased trousers, and
the truth is not in them."

"What is spats?" asked Phyllis.

"Spats," I answered, "are what people wear when they want to get a job
and their boots are shabby."

"Are diplomatists shabby?" queried Lillah.

"Not a bit," I answered rather bitterly.

"Do they want jobs?"

"They want to keep them," I said.

"So they have spats," said Phyllis, completely satisfied.

"Exactly," I said. "Then they go into an extremely grand room together
and talk."

"What about?" said Lillah.

"Oh, anything that turns up," I answered--"the rise in prices or the
late thaw; or if everything fails they simply make personal remarks."

"Like clergymen," said Phyllis vaguely.

"Exactly," I said. "And all round the building are secret police
disguised as reporters, and reporters disguised as secret police. And
then each of the diplomatists goes away and writes a white paper, or a
black paper, or a greeny-yellow paper, to show that he was right."

"And then?" Phyllis gaped with astonishment.

"Then everybody organises, and centralises, and fraternises, and
defraternises, and, in the end, mobilises."

Phyllis and Lillah simply star