The campus sward I rove,
Picking Greek roots all the day
And learning how to love.
Considering “A Treasury of English Prose,”—prose that rivals great poetry—Mr. J. C. Squire came to an interesting conclusion—that “there is an established, an inevitable, manner into which an Englishman will rise when his ideas and images lift into grandeur; the style of the Authorized Version.”
Auguste Comte listed five hundred and fifty-eight men and women who could be considered great in the history of the world. An English writer, striking from the list names that he had never heard of before, arrives at the “astounding [p 314] />]fact” that since the dawn of history fewer than three hundred and fifty great men have lived. We too are astounded. We had no notion there were so many.
“Great Britain,” says Lloyd George, “must be freed of ignorance, insobriety, penury, and the tyranny of man over man.” That ought not to require more than three or four glacial periods.
The Woman’s Club asks for “jingles for the jaw.” Well, here are two from C. L. Edson. Try them on your jaw:
THE TREE TOADS.
A tree toad loved a she toad
That lived up in a tree;