ips were dropped into a hopper, and presently
emerged neatly gummed to sheets of copy paper; and if an extract from
the book were desired, a page was quickly torn out and fed in with the
slip. Reviewing by title page was almost as rapid. The operator
type-wrote the title, author's name, publisher, price, and number of
pages, and then pulled certain levers controlling the necessary words
and phrases, such as--

"This latest work is not likely to add to the author's reputation"; or--

"The book will appeal chiefly to specialists"; or--

"An excellent tale to while away an idle hour"; or--

"The book is attractively bound and is profusely illustrated."

"Father," said little Harold, his face glowing, "to-morrow we will hire
a furniture van and take all these books to the city."

"My boy," cried Abner Skipp, folding his little son in his arms, "you
are the little fairy in our home. Surely no other could have done this
job more neatly or with greater dispatch; and no fairy wand could be
more wonder-working than this truly Magic Kit."

A LINE-O'-TYPE OR TWO

_"Fay ce que vouldras."_

TO B. L. T.

(_Quintus Horatius Flaccus loquitur._)

Maecenas sprang from royal line,
You spring a Line diurnal.
(Perhaps my joke is drawn too fine
For readers of your journal.)

But what I started out to say,
Across the gulf of ages,
Is that, in our old Roman day,
My patron paid me wages.

No barren wreath of fame was mine
When Mac approved my stuff,
But casks of good Falernian wine,
And slaves and gold enough.

And last, to keep the wolf away
And guard my age from harm,
He gave me in his princely way
My little Sabine farm.

But now, forsooth, your merry crew--
_O Tempora! O Mores!_--
What do they ever get from you--
Your Laura, Pan, Dolores?

They fill the Line with verse and wheeze,
To them your fame is due.
What do they ever get for these?
Maecenas? Ha! Ha! _You?_

So as I quaff my spectral wine,
At ease beside the Styx,
Would I contribute to the Line?
Nequaquam! Nunquam! Nix!

Campion.

* * *

Our compliments to Old Man Flaccus, whose witty message reminds us to
entreat contribs to be patient, as we are snowed under with offerings.
For a week or more we have been trying to horn into the column with some
verses of our own composing.

* * *

BRIG