A certain young man never knew
Just when to say _whom_ and when _who_;
"The question of choosing,"
He said, "is confusing;
I wonder if _which_ wouldn't do?"

Nothing is so illegitimate
As a noun when his verbs do not fit him; it
Makes him disturbed
If not properly verbed--
If he asks for the plural, why git him it!

_Lie_ and _lay_ offer slips to the pen
That have bothered most excellent men:
You can say that you lay
In bed--yesterday;
If you do it to-day, you're a hen!

A person we met at a play
Was cruel to pronouns all day:
She would frequently cry
"Between you and I,
If only us girls had our way--!"

VISITING POETS

We were giving a young English poet a taste of Philadelphia, trying to
show him one or two of the simple beauties that make life agreeable to
us. Having just been photographed, he was in high good humor.

"What a pity," he said, "that you in America have no literature that
reflects the amazing energy, the humor, the raciness of your life! I
woke up last night at the hotel and heard a motor fire engine thunder
by. There's a symbol of the extraordinary vitality of America! My, if I
could only live over here a couple of years, how I'd like to try my hand
at it. It's a pity that no one over here is putting down the humor of
your life."

"Have you read O. Henry?" we suggested.

"Extraordinary country," he went on. "Somebody turned me loose on Mr.
Morgan's library in New York. There was a librarian there, but I didn't
let her bother me. I wanted to see that manuscript of 'Endymion' they
have there. I supposed they would take me up to a glass case and let me
gaze at it. Not at all. They put it right in my hands and I spent three
quarters of an hour over it. Wonderful stuff. You know, the first
edition of my book is selling at a double premium in London. It's been
out only eighteen months."

"How do you fellows get away with it?" we asked humbly.

"I hope Pond isn't going to book me up for too many lectures," he said.
"I've got to get back to England in the spring. There's a painter over
there waiting to do my portrait. But there are so many places I've got
to lecture--everybody seems to want to hear about the young English
poets."

"I hear Philip Gibbs is just arriving in New York," we said.

"Is that so? Dear me, he'll quite take the wind out of my sails, won't
he? Nice chap, Gibbs. He sent me an awfully cheery note when I wen