Summer Solecisms.

Such a seasonal revolution would also influence the sartorial semblances of the man in the street.

Shouldering His Responsibilities

Gentlemen of the highest commercial integrity would be seen accelerating the wheels of commerce in the lower half of a bathing suit while tame sea-horses galloped round the office. Typistes would tap their tidings with starfishes on their heads, beach attire beneath, and the sweetest little overskirt of rucked seaweed trimmed with crayfish legs.

The office boy would be found in the basement boiling the billy for the morning tea and dropping in a few tadpoles for the sake of realism. The cashier would pay out on the roof, up to his neck in a tub of brine. There would be a slump in the clothing trade and tailors would go into the skin and hide business.

The house problem would settle itself because nobody would live in them. All railway trains would be provided with floats, and springboards on the platforms, and would simply keep on going when the supply of land ran out. Passengers would thus be enabled to go in off the deep end without delay. Enginedrivers, of course, would have to hold sea-going tickets and guards would be certificated life savers with a spot of deep-sea diving to their credit.

The main streets would be deeply sanded, with a few rusty anchors strewn about, and the water cart would squirt pedestrians at regular intervals. Policemen would have power to arrest anyone wearing more than 6½ ounces of clothing on the grounds of false pretensions. The board of trade would be a surf board and business would be a picnic if,

All the year were summer,
And all the days were hot,
'Twould seem a little rummer
No doubt, but what a lot
Of fun we'd have pursuing
A life devoid of fuss,
Without this constant stewing,
To make our minus plus.
If Jan and Feb were static,
Conditions might be wuss,
We'd make our plans, emphatic,
That sea and sun seek us.