udiced in favour of a man who got his surname from one of our
own SHAKSPEARE'S heroes, and has consequently given us several easy
chances of making little _As-you-like-it_ jokes for the Press in our
simple unsophisticated way. All the same I think you were wrong in
dropping out of the Big Four like that. If every other Allied delegate
were to go off home whenever he couldn't get his own way, or whenever
he differed from President WILSON, there might be nobody left to meet
the German representatives or to sign any sort of Peace terms. The
enemy might even start a Big Four of their own and begin to talk. What
should we do then? We might have to send for Marshal FOCH. I'm not
sure that in any case this wouldn't be the best plan.

But perhaps you will be back in Paris before this letter reaches you.
All roads lead to Rome, and there must be at least one that leads out
of it again.

_To Ferdinand, Fox_.

If news of the outside world ever reaches you in your earth, and you
read the discussions on the question whether your old friend WILLIAM
ought to be hanged, it can hardly have escaped Your Nosiness that
nothing is said about your own claim to similar treatment. Those who
never rightly appreciated you may imagine that you will meekly
consent to forgo that claim. But, if I know anything of your proud and
princely nature, you are, on the other hand, bitterly chagrined at the
thought that you have been forgotten so soon.

_To a British "Sportsman_."

I have often seen you of an afternoon in war-time hanging about in
groups along my workaday street, poring over what you regarded as the
vital news of the day. It was not a report of any battle in which your
brothers were fighting, and, if I had asked you breathlessly, "Who
won?" you would not have said, "The British"; you would have said,
"SOLLY JOEL'S colt." You had never seen the horse, but you had
half-a-dollar of your War-bonus on him, or more probably on one of
those who also ran. To-day there are no silly battles to take up
good space in your evening print; and, better still, there is no day
without its racing matter; no more curtailing of the King of Sports to
the lamentable detriment of our national horse-breeding, a subject so
close to your heart. The War is indeed well over.

And nothing can be more gratifying to you than to note the rapid
progress of Reconstruction in the domain of the Turf. In other spheres
of activity there may be a million people drawing the u