WORKING FOR PEACE.

Aggrieved Profiteeress(studying photographs of the Peerage). "Well, I don’t see as they’ve any call to look that ’aughty. Like as not me an’ you’d be wearin’ coronets this minute if all our ancestors ’adn’t a-been cut off in the Wars of the Roses, or somethink."

(Extracts from the Diary of Mr. John Robert Boffkins, Trade Union Leader.)

Monday.—Rose with a heart over-flowing with love towards my fellow-men. Industrial strife must cease. Strikes are a barbarous and futile method of redressing wrong. Rather think that an increase in wages of two shillings a day would appeal to our members. Must inquire.

Tuesday.—Have confirmed my opinion that a two-shillings’ increase would appeal to our members. They all seem enthusiastic over the suggestion. They appear to be under the impression that the idea is their own. It is not. It is mine. If it materialises I shall be most popular. But I am all for peace. A strike is out of the question. I shall spare no effort to prevent one.

Wednesday.—Presented formal demand to employers to-day. Told our members they must be firm to the bitter end. The two-shillings’ increase is their strict due, and, if we present a united front, the grasping capitalist will be brought to his knees. Am working night and day for peace.

Thursday.—Pointed out to the employers that a strike is inevitable unless they give way. We can make no concession. My whole energies are concentrated on preventing a strike. Told our members that unless they remain firm the employers will crush them. A strike would be a national calamity and might spell ruin to the country.

Friday.—The possibility of a strike looms larger. Can nothing be done to prevent it? Informed the employers that we declined to abate one iota of our claim. "All or nothing" is our motto. Also refused to go to arbitration. Warned the employers that a strike means starvation for women and children. The prospect appals me.

Saturday.—The employers, who seem to be determined on a strike, have offered the men two shillings if they will consider the question of working five days a week instead of four. We refused their offer and demanded that our claim should be conceded unconditionally by noon, failing which our members would cease work.

Later.—The strike has commenced. Heaven knows that I did everything to prevent it which human being could do. The capitalists seem to have made up their minds to force civil war and all its horrors upon the country. The spectacle of little children starving causes me acute distress.

[Mr.Jacob Epsteinmaintains inThe Daily Mailthat a man to be a creative genius must lead an orderly domesticated life.]

Icourtedthe Muse as a stripling,Immured in a Bloomsbury flat,And yearned for the kudos ofKiplingFor fees that were frequent and fat;But editors, far from discerningThe worth of the pearls that I placedAt their feet, had a way of returningThe same with indelicate haste.But, espousing, a year or two later,The sweetest and neatest of wives,I found, after peeling a taterOr imparting a polish to knives,I could scribble with frenzy and passion,That the breaking of coal would inspire,In a truly remarkable fashion,My soul with celestial fire.Serenity reigns in the household;I’ve cancelled my grudge against Fate;My lyrical efforts are now soldAt a simply phenomenal rate;And, whether I’m laying the linoOr bathing the babes, I regardThe job as a cushy one:IknowThe way to succeed as a bard.

But, espousing, a year or two later,The sweetest and neatest of wives,I found, after peeling a taterOr imparting a polish to knives,I could scribble with frenzy and passion,That the breaking of coal would inspire,In a truly remarkable fashion,My soul with celestial fire.

Serenity reigns in the household;I’ve cancelled my grudge against Fate;My lyrical efforts are now soldAt a simply phenomenal rate;And, whether I’m laying the linoOr bathing the babes, I regardThe job as a cushy one:IknowThe way to succeed as a bard.

THE SCALES OF JUSTICE.Sir Robert Horne. "I WANT TO KEEP THE BALANCE. NOW THEN, BOTH TOGETHER."The Miner. "NO.YOUBEGIN—AND THEN PERHAPS I’LL THINK ABOUT IT."

Sir Robert Horne. "I WANT TO KEEP THE BALANCE. NOW THEN, BOTH TOGETHER."

The Miner. "NO.YOUBEGIN—AND THEN PERHAPS I’LL THINK ABOUT IT."

P. C. Greenwood."Arrah! Get out wid yez and let the lady pass."

Tuesday, October 19th.—A start was made with half a hundred Questions, and, considering that most of them had been in cold storage since before the Recess, it was surprising how fresh they remained. Persia and Mesopotamia—not to mention Ireland—are still unsettled; the Turkish Treaty is not yet ratified; the cost of living continues to rise, and the ratio of unemployment has alarmingly advanced, especially in the case of ex-service men.

These last are to be found work in the building trades, with, it is hoped, the assistance of the trade unions, but, if that hope is disappointed, then without it. The country requires half-a-million houses built. "Here are men who could assist," said thePrime Minister, "and we propose that they should be allowed to assist."

Over a prospect already sufficiently bleak there broods the shadow of the coal-strike. SirRobert Horne, in presenting the case for the Government, was admirably clear but, perhaps naturally, a little cold. Only when the new lighting arrangement had flooded the House with artificial sunshine did the Minister warm up a little and hint that a way of peace might yet be found.

I wonder if it was by accident or artifice that Mr.Bracebegan his plea for the miners with the admission that they had only dropped the demand for the reduction of fourteen shillings and twopence in the price of domestic coal when they discovered that "the money was not there." Anyhow the laughter that ensued served to put Members into a good temper and to cause them to lend a friendly ear to his suggestion that the two shillings advance, though in his view only "dust in the balance," should be "temporarily" conceded, pending the establishment of a tribunal which should permanently settle the conditions of the mining industry. The increase of output which everyone desired would then be brought about.

Most of the speakers who followed seemed to think that Mr.Bracehad sown the seed of a settlement. It was left to thePrime Minister, who evidently did not relish the task, to awaken the House from its beautiful dream. He pointed out that to accept the proposal would be to give the miners what they had originally claimed, without any guarantee that the greater output would be forthcoming. If it were not forthcoming and the two shillings were taken away, what would happen? "A strike," cried someone. "Precisely," said Mr.Lloyd George; only it would have been provoked by the Government instead of by the miners. He was not prepared to do business on those lines.

And so the debate came to an end rather than a conclusion.

Wednesday, October 20th.—The Peers plunged into the morasses of the Irish Question. LordCreweasked for an official inquiry into the alleged "reprisals" and particularly instanced the attacks upon the creameries. Rather than that Ireland should be "pacified" by such methods as these he would see her engaged in civil war, "fairly conducted on both sides." From these words it may be gathered that his lordship’s knowledge of civil war is happily not extensive.

Furnished with a voluminous brief from the Irish Office, LordCurzonmade a long reply, the purport of which was that many of the reprisals were bogus, many were actions undertaken in self-defence, while the rest were generally due to men "seeing red" after their comrades had been brutally murdered. The Government did not palliate such cases, and had instituted inquiries and taken disciplinary action against the offenders, when known; but they were not prepared to set up a public inquiry such as LordCrewehad demanded. It would only substitute "a competition in perjury" for the present "competition in murder"—a somewhat infelicitous phrase by which, as he subsequently explained, he did not mean to imply, as LordParmoorsuggested, that police and rebels were engaged in a murderous rivalry.

Simultaneously the House of Commons was engaged upon an identically similar debate. Mr.Arthur Hendersonwas as lugubrious as LordCrewein presenting the indictment and distinctly less adroit in selecting his facts. His theory was that the Government had provoked the Sinn Fein outrages by its treatment of the people. Why, women had been prevented from taking their eggs to market!

SirHamar Greenwoodspoke from the same brief as LordCurzon, but threw far more passion and vigour into its recital. There had been some reprisals, he admitted, but they were as nothing compared to the horrors that had provoked them; and he protested against the notion that "the heroes of yesterday"—the R.I.C. is mainly recruited from ex-service men—had turned into murderers. As for the creameries, he had never seen a tittle of evidence that they had been destroyed by servants of the Crown, and he warned the House not to believe the stories put out by the propaganda bureau of the Irish Republican Army. He was still a convinced Home Ruler—an Ulster hot-gospeller had accused him of being a Sinn Feiner with a Papist wife!—but the first thing to do was to break the reign of terror and end the rule of the assassin. That they were doing, and there was no case for Mr.Henderson’s"insulting resolution."

The Opposition for the moment seemed stunned by theChief Secretary’ssledge-hammer speech. No one rose from the Front Bench and Lieutenant-CommanderKenworthyhad to overcome his modesty and step into the breach. Later on, LordRobert Cecil, on the strength of information supplied by an American journalist, supported the demand for an inquiry. So did Mr.Asquith, on the ground that it would be in the interests of the Government of Ireland itself; but this argument was obviously weakened by Mr.Bonar Law’sreminder that in 1913 and 1914 Mr.Asquithhimself had deprecated inquiries in somewhat similar circumstances. The Government had a very good division, 346 to 79; but there were many abstentions.

Thursday, October 21st.—It was, no doubt, by way of brightening an unutterably gloomy week that Mr.L’Estrange Malone, who has not hitherto been known as a humourist, invited the Government to intercede at Washington for the release of the notoriousJames Larkin, now languishing in an American gaol. Inasmuch asLarkinhad been convicted for having advocated the overthrow of the United States by violence, Mr.Harmsworthdid not think H.M. Government were called upon to intervene. Mr.Maloneunderstood from this that the Government had no sympathy with British subjects in foreign lands, and so he got another laugh.

CommanderBellairsthought it would be a good idea if the League of Nations, pending the discharge of its more important functions, were to offer rewards for world-benefiting discoveries such as a prophylactic against potato-blight. SirJohn Reessaw his chance and took it. "Does the League," he inquired, "declare to win on Phosphates, Peace or Potatoes?"—thus supplying proof positive that he owes his precise pronunciation to past practice with "prunes and prisms."

It was rather impudent of Mr.Adamson, who has just been instrumental in throwing out of work some hundreds of thousands of his fellow-citizens, to initiate a debate on unemployment. Most of the speakers endeavoured to throw the blame on "the other fellow"—the Government on the trade unions, the trade unionists on the employers, and the employers on the Government. A welcome exception was Mr.Hopkinson, who boldly blamed the short-sighted selfishness of some of his own class. Employés would not work their hardest to "make the boss a millionaire." As a fittingfinaleto an inconclusive debate thePrime Ministerannounced that in order to force a settlement of the coal-strike the railwaymen—Mr.Thomas, apparently, dissenting—had threatened to join the unemployed.

Harassed Secretary. "I say, you needn’t make bunkers, you know."

"Willard was game and well trained, and in stature he was Goliath to the Daniel of Dempsey."—Evening Paper.

ADavidcome to judgment!

"The rate plague has developed to an alarming extent in Thanet, and considerable anxiety is felt, especially as there appears to be no effective preparation of poison to exterminate them."—Evening Paper.

And Thanet is not the only place.

Bitingand keen as any razorThe fluent pen ofLovat Fraser;And swift as arrows, thick as hail,His outbursts inThe Daily Mail,Exposing in impassioned phraseThePremier’swild and wicked ways.And yet thePremierdoesn’t squirm,No, not a bit—the pachyderm!But goes about with cheerful mien,As if such things had never been.SoLovat Frasergrows emphaticIn efforts to be more dogmatic,And down the column, once a week,His shrill italics fairly shriek.But does thePremierbow his backAnd go and give himself the sack?Not he. Indeed, for all he troubles,His critic might be blowing bubbles.It’s up toLovat FrasernowTo make an even bigger row;I’d like to see the sturdy fellowWrite articles that simply bellow.I think thePremiermight perhapsShiver and possibly collapseIf Lovat got to work in "caps."

SoLovat Frasergrows emphaticIn efforts to be more dogmatic,And down the column, once a week,His shrill italics fairly shriek.But does thePremierbow his backAnd go and give himself the sack?Not he. Indeed, for all he troubles,His critic might be blowing bubbles.

It’s up toLovat FrasernowTo make an even bigger row;I’d like to see the sturdy fellowWrite articles that simply bellow.I think thePremiermight perhapsShiver and possibly collapseIf Lovat got to work in "caps."

“ANative DramaEntitled’Inu vere ki pani’

(Popularly known as Merchant of Venice, but beautified and enlarged to local taste), Interspersed with Popular Dialogues, latest Songs, etc. Will (D. V.) be rendered by the —— Guild.”—West African Poster.

WHAT OUR BOHEMIANS HAVE TO PUT UP WITH.Shabbily-dressed person. "I’ve lost the ticket, but I left a hat. That’s it over there."Attendant. "I must ask you to find the ticket, Sir, please. The hat that you indicate is quite new."

Shabbily-dressed person. "I’ve lost the ticket, but I left a hat. That’s it over there."

Attendant. "I must ask you to find the ticket, Sir, please. The hat that you indicate is quite new."

Fromthe memories of my mid-Victorian childhood, before the instruction of a governess had reached a point at which the plunge was made into a preparatory school, three names emerge with remarkable distinctness. "Little Arthur," from whom I derived my earliest knowledge of the History of England; "Henry," by whom I was grounded in the rudiments of the dead Latin tongue (but who must be carefully distinguished fromJames Henry, the Virgilian, who in turn had nothing whatever to do withHenry Jamesthe novelist), andOllendorff, the illustrious author of a series of manuals for the teaching of living foreign languages.

Ollendorff, I fear, is not even the shadow of a name to the present generation. There is no mention of him inThe Encyclopædia Britannicaor inChambers. Even in his own country he seems to have lapsed into obscurity, and inMendel’svoluminousConversations-Lexikonthere is only a brief reference to the Ollendorffian method, but no account of the man or his history.

Yet he must have existed;Ollendorffcannot have been a mere symbol. And as students ofShakspearehave endeavoured to reconstruct the man from his plays so I feel sure that the character ofOllendorff, his interests and politics, might very well be reconstructed from a study of his dialogues. One must admit that his Teutonic patronymic is an obstacle to his revival, but that difficulty can be surmounted by the adoption of analias. For example, by the omission of one of the "f’s" and the transposition of one other letter his name, read backwards, becomes Frondello, which is at once euphonious and void of all racial offence.

The Ollendorffian method, it may be noted for the benefit of the ignorant, did not merely depend on the employment of question and answer; it aimed at conveying information drawn from the homely affairs of daily life and the relations between persons belonging to different trades and occupations. "Have you,"Ollendorffwould ask, "the hat of the gardener’s son?" And when this had been duly and correctly translated into German or French the pupil proceeded to the answer, "No, but I have the boots of the grocer’s brother-in-law."

I thinkOllendorffbuilt better than he knew; or perhaps he did know. A strong vein of Socialism runs through all his examples, which seem to show a lively appreciation of the Communistic principle. To him there was nothing wrong or dangerous in this mutual interchange and enjoyment of property. He drew no hard-and-fast lines betweenmeumandtuum. We cannot help thinking that, at a time when so much depends on the fusion of classes, a new edition of these immortal dialogues, brought up to date so as to meet the exigencies of the new poor, the new rich, the old aristocracy and the new plutocracy, would be fraught with the most salutary results.

The following are some crude suggestions of the lines on which the revision might be carried out:—

"Have you the leathern waistcoat of the taxi-driver?—""No, but I have the reach-me-down trousers of an inferior quality to those worn by the village postman."

"Have you the smooth-running automobile of the prosperous grocer?"—"No, but I have the loan of the push-bicycle of my former under-gardener’s uncle."

"Are you going to marry the beautiful daughter of the shoemaker?"—"Yes, and her brother has just become engaged to the widow of my cousin the marquis."

"The Romantic Age."

Mr. Arthur Wontner(to himself)."Well, I don’t think much of your taste in clothes."

Ihopethat Mr.Alan Milneis a good enough critic to agree with me in thinking that this is the best play he has so far given us. Not that the idea of it is as new as that of hisMr. Pimor hisWurzel-Flummery, but because, without sacrificing his lightness of touch and his sense of fun, he has, for the first time, produced a serious scheme.

People will tell you that his Second Act was the weak spot in the play; that the others were brilliant, but that this one, for its first half, was tedious and delayed the action. They will say this because they are familiar with A. A. M.’s humour, but not with his sentiment. Yet it was in this middle Act that he gave us the best passage of all, in presenting the philosophy of his pedlar, which had in it something of the dewy freshness of the early morning scene in the wood ("morning’s at seven," asPippa—notMr. Pim—saiden passant). There was no real delay in the action here, for the pedlar was providing the hero with the argument without which he could never have persuaded the lady to yield; could never have made her understand that Romance is not confined to the trunk-and-hose period, or any age, so named, of chivalry, but is to be found wherever there is a true companionship of hearts. Unfortunately the effect of this passage was a little spoilt by what had just gone before—a rather slow and superfluous scene with the village idiot—and some of the audience imagined that the author was still marking time.

Mr.Milnehas an individual manner so distinct that he can well afford to acknowledge his debt to SirJames Barrie. As inMary Rose, so here (though there are no supernatural forces at work) we have the sharp contrast between commonplace life, as lived by the rest, and the life of Fairyland, as coming within the vision of one only. And we were reminded too of the Midsummer-madness that overtook the company inDear Brutus. I won’t say that it wasn’t natural enough forMelisande, under the fascination of a moonlit Midsummer Eve, to imagine, when she chanced upon a gentleman in fancy dress of the right period, that at last she had realised her dream of a hero of romance; but she was stark Midsummer-mad to suppose, when she met him early next morning with his costume unchanged, that he would keep it on till he came to tea with the family, and then, still wearing it, waft her off to Faerie.

But not evenBarriehas ever made a better scene than that which showed us the disillusionment of the visionary when she is confronted with her blue-and-gold hero of romance now transformed into a plain Stock Exchange man, his air of banality enhanced by the last word in golf suitings. The humour of this scene, in which she made conventional conversation without any real effort to conceal her sense of the bathos of the situation, was very perfect. The relatively simple humour of the match-making mother—not so simple, all the same, as its spontaneity made it appear—had the distinction which one expects of Mr.Milne; but this was far the funniest feature in the play.

It would have been an easy matter to make cheap fun, asMark Twaindid inA Yankee at the Court of King Arthur, out of the popular view of the Age of Romance, but A. A. M. avoided that obvious lure. Indeed, in his natural anxiety not to be taken too seriously in his first attempt to be serious, he rather tended to make light of his own theory of modern romance, laying a little too much stress at the end on the culinary aspect of conjugal felicity.

I am not sure that Mr.Arthur Wontner(to whom my best wishes for his new managership) quite realised, in his doublet and long hose, my idea of a figure of mediæval romance. In fact I am free to confess that I disagreed withMelisandeand preferred him in his golf-clothes. But perhaps that was part of the idea, and Mr.Milnemeant me to feel like that. MissBarbara Hoffe’sMelisande—a difficult part, because she was the only other-worldly person in the play and the only one in desperate earnest—was very cleverly handled. In her most exalted moments of poetic rapture she was never too precious, and when called upon for a touch of corrective humour was quick to respond.

MissLottie Vennelaid herself out in her inimitable way for a broad interpretation of the visionary’s very earthly mother; indeed once or twice she almost laid herself out of the picture; but she still remained irresistible. As a pair of light-hearted young lovers MissDorothy Tetleyand Mr.John Williamsplayed really well in parts that were not nearly so easy as they looked. And there was the dry humour of Mr.Bromley-Davenport, as the father (I fear he must have missed the romance of twin souls) and the open-air charm of Mr.Nicholson’sperformance asGentleman Susan, the pedlar. In a word, my grateful compliments embrace as good a cast as ever caught—and held—the spirit of an author.

"Priscilla and the Profligate."

When you have been jilted byCynthiaat the church-door and, two days afterwards, in a fit of pique marryPriscillaat sight (of course you can’t always get aPriscillato consent to this arrangement; butMr. Bensley Stuart Gorehad a young ward at school who wanted her freedom; so that was all right), you may think to persuade the Faithless One that you have given solid proof of your indifference to her. But you mustn’t dash off to Africa an hour after your wedding with the declared intention of being eaten by wild men or wilder beasts, because, if you do that, you give your scheme away andCynthiawill have the satisfaction of knowing that she has driven you to desperate courses. Yet that is whatMr. Bensley Stuart Goredid (he was the "Profligate" of the title, though he never gave any noticeable sign of profligacy).

After this strain on my credulity I felt prepared for anything, and was not in the least surprised to find him, six years older and still intact, on the terrace of the Hotel Casa Bellini, by the dear old shores of Lake Maggiore, which, as the programme advised me, is in Italy. It seemed, too, the most natural thing in the world that the author, MissLaura Wildig, should have collectedPriscillaandCynthia(the latter in tow of a third-rate millionaire husband whom she loathed) at the same address.

It was at this juncture thatMr.Bensley Stuart Gorewas inspired with a Great Thought. In order to setPriscillafree (I ought to say that he hadn’t recognised her) he would elope withCynthia. HowPriscillaset out to frustrate this noble sacrifice and secure her husband for herself; how she bribed the caretaker to lock him up with her in the "Bloody Turret" of an adjacent ruin; how subsequently, at 2a.m., in the public lounge of the hotel, she tried to work upon his emotions by appearing in a black night-dress (surely this rather vulgar form of allurement isdémodéby now even in the suburbs, or, anyhow, is not so freshly daring as she seemed to think it), I will leave you to imagine. Even MissIris Hoey’snice soft voice and pleasantcâlineriescould not quite carry off this rather machine-made trifle. If anything saved it, it was the acting of Mr.Frank DentonasJimmy Forde. Starting asBensley’s"best man," he missed the wedding ceremony through going to the wrong church, but after that he stuck close to his friend for the remainder of the plot, and greatly endeared himself to the audience by the excellent way in which he played the silly ass.

As forBensleyhimself, you might have thought that he had a sufficiently chequered career, yet Mr.Cyril Raymondgot very little colour out of the part. For the rest, Mr. H.de Lange, as the millionaire, got a certain amount out of the subject of his wife’s indigestion, which was a sort ofleit-motifwith him; but most of the colour seemed to have gone into the scenery, admirably designed and painted by Mr.McCleeryand Mr.Walter Hann.

O. S.

Diner."I say, waiter, I’ve asked three times for potatoes."Waiter(still under the influence of military discipline). "Beg pardon, Sir, but I’m told off to concentrate on the cabbage."

Diner."I say, waiter, I’ve asked three times for potatoes."

Waiter(still under the influence of military discipline). "Beg pardon, Sir, but I’m told off to concentrate on the cabbage."

"Logs to burn; logs to burn;Logs to save the coal a turn."Here’s a word to make you wiseWhen you hear the wood-man’s cries;Never heed his usual taleThat he has splendid logs for sale,But read these lines and really learnThe proper kinds of logs to burn.Oak logs will warm you wellIf they’re old and dry;Larch logs of pine woods smell,But the sparks will fly.Beech logs for Christmas-time,Yew logs heat well;"Scotch" logs it is a crimeFor anyone to sell.Birch logs will burn too fast,Chestnut scarce at all;Hawthorn logs are good to lastIf cut in the Fall.Holly logs will burn like wax,You should burn them green;Elm logs like smouldering flax,No flame to be seen.Pear logs and apple logs,They will scent your room;Cherry logs across the dogsSmell like flowers in bloom.But Ash logs, all smooth and grey,Burn them green or old;Buy up all that come your way,They’re worth their weight in gold.

"Logs to burn; logs to burn;Logs to save the coal a turn."

Here’s a word to make you wiseWhen you hear the wood-man’s cries;Never heed his usual taleThat he has splendid logs for sale,But read these lines and really learnThe proper kinds of logs to burn.

Oak logs will warm you wellIf they’re old and dry;Larch logs of pine woods smell,But the sparks will fly.Beech logs for Christmas-time,Yew logs heat well;"Scotch" logs it is a crimeFor anyone to sell.Birch logs will burn too fast,Chestnut scarce at all;Hawthorn logs are good to lastIf cut in the Fall.Holly logs will burn like wax,You should burn them green;Elm logs like smouldering flax,No flame to be seen.Pear logs and apple logs,They will scent your room;Cherry logs across the dogsSmell like flowers in bloom.But Ash logs, all smooth and grey,Burn them green or old;Buy up all that come your way,They’re worth their weight in gold.

Picture-title in Daily Paper.

Perhaps we ought to mention that the eyes she makes are artificial, not "glad."

"Mystery surrounds the Russo-Polish peace negotiations at Riga. According to a Central News message from Warsaw Marshal Pilsudski has had a conference with??????????, the Premier, as to whether demobilisation should take place shortly."—Evening Paper.

"When he [Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree] was prepared to playMartin Chuzzlewithe wrote to me (and doubtless explained to others) that he was going to presentMr. Micawberas ’a sort of fairy.’"—Sunday Paper.

We suppose if SirHerberthad stagedDavid Copperfieldhe would have cast himself for the husband ofMrs. Harris.

Myattention has been drawn to the most recent and perhaps the most terrible development of the Cinema by an advertisement, from which I take the following extracts:—

"HAVE YOUR OWN FILM TAKEN.

The most Modern Method of gaining Publicity.

To Members of Parliament, Mayors, Lecturers and other Public Men and Women.

"The Cinema has become the cheapest, the surest and most rapid road to publicity. It is estimated that a third of the population attend the Cinema once a week. Messrs. Mump and Gump have therefore fitted up a special studio for film work, in which you can now have your own film taken, representing you in any action you may desire. This method of publicity is specially recommended to Members of Parliament. For instance one can be filmed writing a letter, which can be closed down and handed to a messenger, which action can be followed by the letter itself being thrown on the screen.... Think what this means to a prospective Candidate when he goes to a constituency where he is unknown. He takes with him twenty or more films. Your constituents must see and know you before you can hope for their vote. The Cinema introduces your personality and your policy.

"Your film will cost you—First reel ... Three guineas.Each extra reel. One guinea."

The more I see of business-men the less they seem to me to know about business. I never read an advertisement without thinking, "How much better I (or even you) could have done that!" Yet they will tell you that it is their advertisements which make the money. It only shows.... However. Messrs. Mump and Gump, for instance, have scarcely skimmed the surface possibilities of their brilliant notion. This invention is going to make politics tolerable at last. No man minds being in the House of Commons; it is being in his constituency which is so dreadful.And now he need never go there.

For instance, when the constituency is tired of the letter-film, he can be filmed making a speech, which can be taken down and handed to a typist, which action can be followed by the speech itself being thrown on the screen—in instalments. The constituency will enjoy this, because it will take much less time to read it than it would to listen to it, and they can argue out loud about the meaning of Early English phrases like Datum-line and Functional Representation. In fact they can go on arguing during theWhips of Sinwhich will follow.

As for the public man, it won’t take him two minutes to be filmed making the speech, unless, of course, he has any very complicated gestures; and it won’t take him any time at all to compose it, because the private secretary will do that; and the private secretary will be able to make sure that his joke aboutJereboamis not turned into a joke aboutJehoshaphatat the last minute, or simply shelved in favour of a peroration on rainbows. After the speech the M.P. can be filmed opening a flowershow and, if necessary, writing a cheque to the local hortiphilist society, which cheque can be thrown on the screen amid loud applause, but need not, of course, go any further.

There is one other point, but it is rather a delicate matter: Messrs. Mump and Gump say to the prospective Candidate, "Your constituents must see and know you before you can hope for their vote." Are they quite right? I have seen a good many Candidates in my time, and I can think of some to whom I should have said, "Your constituents mustneversee you if you hope for a single vote." I mean, when one looks round the present House of Commons, one really marvels how.... But perhaps I had better not go on with that. The point is that a Candidate of that kind neverneedbe seen by his constituents now. A handsome young private secretary, uniformed and beribboned, and the film does the rest.

Then I rather resent the assumption that Members of Parliament, Mayors, Lecturers and Actors are the only people who require publicity. I should have thought that those who spend their time writing things in the public Press, which are read by the public (if anybody), might have had at least the courtesy title of Public Man. Anyhow, I am going to have three guineas’ worth. The only question is, what sort of picture will most thoroughly "get" my personality before a third of the population once a week? The moment when I am most characteristic is when I am lying in a hot bath, and to-morrow is Sunday; but I doubt if even a sixth of the population would be really keen on that. I don’t mind writing a letter or two, only, if it meant an extra reel every time I decided to write it to-morrow instead, it would be rather a costly advertisement.

Really, I suppose, one ought to be doneAt Work in His Study; but even that would require a good deal of faking. Ought one, for instance, to remove the golf-balls and the cocoa-cup (and the rhyming dictionary) from The Desk? Then I always write with a decayed pencil, and that would look so bad. Messrs. Mump and Gump would have to throw in a quill-pen. And I have no Study. I work in the drawingroom, when the children are not playing in it. To go into The Study I simply walk over to my table and put up a large notice: "The Study. Do not Speak to Me. I am Thinking." Do you think that had better be in the film?

Or I wonder if a Comic would be more effective—a Shaving reel or a Dressing reel? It is the small incidents of every-day life that one should look to for the key to the character of a Public Man; and once a whole third of the population had seen for themselves what pain it gives me to put links and studs and all those things in a clean shirt, they would understand the strange note of melancholy which runs through this article.

But of course an author should have several different reels corresponding to the different kinds of work which he wants to publicitise. (That is a new word which I have just invented, but you will find it in common use in a month or two.) People like Mr.Bellocwill probably require the full politician’s ration of twenty or more, but the ordinary writer might rub along with four or five.

When hisPug, Wog and Pussyis on the market there will be a Family reel, in which he is pretending to be a tree and the children are climbing it. And when he has just publishedThe Cruise of the Cow; or, Seven Hours at Sea, he will be seen with an intense expression tying a bowline on a bight or madly hauling on the throat-halyard—at Messrs. Mump and Gump’s specially-equipped ponds. And for his passionate romance,The Borrowed Bride—— But I don’t know what he will do then.

And even now we have not exhausted the list of Public Men. There are clergymen. Don’t you feel that some of those sermons might be thrown on the screen—and left there? A. P. H.

The Dean ofCape Townwith a critical frownTo the jests of St. Albans’ gay Bishop demurs;But the Bishop denies the offence and implies’Tis the way of all asses to nibble atFurse.

"Harvest Festival celebrations took place at St. John’s Church on Sunday evening, when the choir rendered the anthem ’Praise the young ladies of the choir.’"—Yorkshire Paper.

And we have no doubt they deserved it.

Butcher(at conclusion of scathing criticism of horse). "Well, that’s my opinion, anyway. And I ought to know something by now about a bit of ’orseflesh when I sees it."Groom."Yes—and so ought your customers too."

Butcher(at conclusion of scathing criticism of horse). "Well, that’s my opinion, anyway. And I ought to know something by now about a bit of ’orseflesh when I sees it."

Groom."Yes—and so ought your customers too."

(By Mr. Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks.)

How you regard MissMay Sinclair’slatest story,The Romantic(Collins), will entirely depend upon your attitude towards the long-vexed question of the permissible in art. If you hold that all life (which in this association generally means something disagreeable) is its legitimate province and that genius can transmute an ugly study of morbid pathology into a romance, you will admire the force of this vivid little book; otherwise, I warn you frankly, you are like to be repelled by the whole business. The title, to begin with, is an irony as grim as anything that follows, in what sense you will find as the story reveals itself.The Romanticis a picture—what do I say? a vivisection—of cowardice, seen through the horrified eyes of a woman who loved the subject of it. The scene is the Belgian battlefields, to whichJohn Conway, being unfitted for active service, had taken out a motor-ambulance, withCharlotte Redheadas one of his drivers. All the background of this part of the tale is wonderfully realised, a thing of actual and unforgetable experience. Here gradually the first tragedy ofConwayis made clear, though shielded and ignored as long as possible by the loyalty of fellow-workers and the obstinate disbelief of the girl. Perhaps you think I am making too much of it all; treacherous nerves were the lot of many spiritually noble men in that hell. But little by little conviction of a deeper, less understandable, horror creeps upon the reader, only to be explained and confirmed on the last page. To be honest,The Romanticis an ugly, a detestably ugly book, but of its cleverness there can be no question.

It would appear that Mr. A. E. W.Masonis another of those who hold that the day of war-novels is not yet done. Anyhow,The Summons(Hodder and Stoughton) shows him dealing out all the old familiar cards, spies and counter-spies, submarines and petrol bases and secret ink. It must be admitted that the result is unexpectedly archaic. Perhaps also Mr.Masonhardly gives himself a fair chance. The "summons" to his hero (who, being familiar with the Spanish coast, is required when War breaks out to use this knowledge for submarine-thwarting) is too long delayed, and all the non-active service part of the tale suffers from a very dull love-interest and some even more dreary racing humour. Archaic or not, however,Hillyard’santi-spy adventures, in an exquisite setting that the author evidently knows as well as his hero, are good fun enough. But the home scenes had (for me at least) a lack of grip and conviction by no means to be looked for from a writer of Mr.Mason’sexperience. His big thrill, the suicide of the lady who first sends by car to the local paper the story of her end and then waits to confirm this by telephone before making it true, left me incredulous. I’m afraidThe Summonscan hardly be said to have found Mr.Masonin his customary form.

"To write another person’s life-history in the first person, and yet give to it the verisimilitude of a genuine autobiography, would under ordinary circumstances be a difficult if not impossible undertaking." So Mr. C. E.Gouldsburytells us in a note toReminiscences of a Stowaway(Chapman and Hall), and most of us will cordially agree with him. But, after reading this volume of reminiscences, I think you will also agree that Mr.Gouldsburyhas acquitted himself admirably of a most difficult task. The man into whose skin, if I may so express it, he has temporarily tried to fit himself was Mr.Alexander Douglas Larymore, who started his adventurous career as a stowaway in an "old iron tub," and eventually became Inspector-General of Jails in India. For nearly forty years Mr.Gouldsburywas Mr.Larymore’sintimate friend, and has had sufficient data at his disposal to do justice to what was a remarkably full and interesting life. Possibly those of us who retain a tender spot in our hearts for stowaways may regret that Mr.Larymoregrew tired of the sea; but his adventures were as numerous and amusing on land as on water, and they are also valuable for the strong light they throw on the India of some years ago. Mr.Gouldsburyhas at once provided a lasting tribute to the memory of his friend and written a book which both in style and matter would be hard to beat.

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