The French Cook; We Open Tins.

From Behind A Wooden Crate We Saw A Long Black-muzzled Nose Poking Round At Us. We Took Him Out-soft, Wobbly, Tearful; Set Him Down On His Four, As Yet Not Quite Simultaneous Legs, And Regarded Him. He Wandered A Little Round Our Legs, Neither Wagging His Tail Nor Licking At Our Hands; Then He Looked Up, And My Companion Said: "he's An Angel!"

Looking Back On The Long-stretched-out Body Of One's Work, It Is Interesting To Mark The Endless Duel Fought Within A Man Between The Emotional And Critical Sides Of His Nature, First One, Then The Other, Getting The Upper Hand, And Too Seldom Fusing Till The Result Has The Mellowness Of Full Achievement. One Can Even Tell The Nature Of One's Readers, By Their Preference For The Work Which Reveals More Of This Side Than Of That.

Humanism Is The Creed Of Those Who Believe That In The Circle Of Enwrapping Mystery, Men's Fates Are In Their Own Hands - A Faith That For Modern Man Is Becoming The Only Possible Faith.

I Drink The Wine Of Aspiration And The Drug Of Illusion. Thus I Am Never Dull.

Take Modern Courtships! They Resulted In The Same Thing As Under George The Second, But Took Longer To Reach It, Owing To The Motor-cycle And The Standing Lunch.