Coleridge expressed his joy on departing from Cologne in a

poem of seven lines : As I am a Rhymer And now at least a merry one, Mr. Mum's Rudesheimer And the church of St. Geryon Are the two things alone That deserve to be known In the body-and-soul-stinking town of Cologne.

A prize of £5 was offered for verses conveying the same even-handed justice upon any other town or city, Coleridge's metre and rhyme scheme being followed.

The lead-in seems to have bothered many competitors, particularly the second line with its break—or caesura. So though 1 received a liberal crop of last lines of prize-worthy pungency, quite a number had to be ruled out for a bad start. Coleridge awarded the city of Cologne praise part gastronomic and part architectural ; Spectator competitors seem, however, may I remark, to be more interested in a good meal than in an ancient church.

The cities selected for praise or abuse were limited for the most part to those whose names end on an accented syllable. This let out Halifax ; Hull, however, received merited attention. Among the best last lines are the following: Through the rain-sodden, tram-ridden streets of Belfast (Gordon Shoppee).

In that pig-ridden snobbish old city of York (Victor Coverley Price).

The queer-fish-ridden port-cum-resort of St. Ives (D. L. L. Clarke).

To that crassly crepuscular city of Crewe (J. N. Wheeler). It was essential that the city should receive something of a summing up, and, though Gordon Shoppee's pleasantly assonanced adjectives might apply to almost any provincial town first seen on a dull day, and J. N. Wheeler's Crewe has attracted its epithets alliteratively, rather than by virtue of its own individual horror, all four suggest at least a recognisable mood between amusement and exasperation

in the departing visitor and some characteristics of the place to which he has said goodbye.

I have decided to divide the prize between five competitors of almost equal accomplishment, and if I have put them in order of excellence, it is with no sense of conviction, though I think Mr. Kennard Davis's Florence would retain a lead, however I might re- shuffle the others.

PRIZEWINNERS (R. KENNARD DAVIS) Apart from Chianti

(On which I am blotto),

The church " Ognissanti " And the bell-tower, by Giotto,

I view with abhorrence

(Like B's Brother Lawrence) This Ruskiny-Browningy snob-ridden Florence.

• (W. B. W.)

Now I am departing I'm glad, there is no doubt of it. The train that's just starting

Or the roads that lead out of it, Are all that one heeds And all that one needs '

To know of the prosperous city of Leeds.

(W. M. L. Escomae)

Though it makes a lovely biscuit And its seeds are quite unbeatable ; My opinion if I risk it Will be almost unrepeatable.

Lest for libel I'm heading, My adjectives shedding,

1'11 leave it at this—I don't think much of Reading.

(H. A. C. Evit4s)

The modest, ill-fated Cathedral of the Trinity,

And the castle, located In harmonious proximity—

These alone are worth-while In the mile after mile

Of dispiriting streets in the town of Carlisle.

(Joyce JOHNSON) I can't say I'm eager,

Though I'm not one for finery,

To re-visit Tredegar, All depressing and hiinery ;

But I did like the shock

Of its garish town clock On that piece of incredibly pink Brighton rock.