Chapter 4

_All's well that ends well._

FIRST SCENE.--A hospital. _Ferdinand_ and _Joe_ lying in cots and attended by nurses. _Ferdinand_ signals to _Joe_ and they leap out of bed, gag the nurses and tie them up with towels. Then they make a rope of bedclothes and climb out of the window.

SECOND SCENE.--Outside the hospital. _Ferdinand_, in pyjamas, is seen sliding rapidly down the rope. _Joe_ follows. The rope breaks and he falls with a crash to the ground.

THIRD SCENE.--A field, with an aeroplane attended by mechanics standing in it. Enter _Ferdinand_ and _Joe_ running. They climb into the machine, the motor is started and they shoot out of the picture.

FOURTH SCENE.--The sky. An aeroplane flying very high and very fast.

FIFTH SCENE.--A forest. _Phyllis_ is tied to a tree and three Red Indians are about to run her through with spears. Suddenly they look upwards as if disturbed by some noise. At this moment _Ferdinand_ drops to the ground from the top of the picture. He at once shoots the Indians and releases _Phyllis_. The latter points dramatically to the right and produces a paper. Projection on screen:--

------------------------------- | 30,000 men will relieve you | | to-morrow!--_Conolly._ | -------------------------------

_Ferdinand_ and _Phyllis_ both point dramatically to the right.

SIXTH SCENE.--Outside the _General's_ tent. Soldiers and Staff Officers as before. Enter _Ferdinand_ and _Phyllis_. _Ferdinand_ hands the despatch to the _General_. Despatch is again projected on the screen. The _General_ rises and salutes with much emotion. All present salute, _Ferdinand_ clasps _Phyllis_ in his arms to kiss her.

SEVENTH SCENE.--The Kiss--about twenty-five times life-size.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"Mr. G. Dyson, who succeeded Mr. W. S. Bambridge as organist at the college a little over two years ago, is leaving to go to Rugby, as organist there. Since he has been at Marlborough Mr. Dyson has given a large number of much-appreciated recitals in the college chapel. The organ is still undergoing repair."--_The Standard._

We make no comment. This is Rugby's affair, not ours.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.)

_House of Commons, Monday, February 16._--WORTHINGTON EVANS charmed House to-day by one of those little delicacies of feeling and taste favoured in the assembly. MASTERMAN has met the reward of conspicuous success at the Treasury by promotion to Cabinet rank. In his absence his place temporarily taken at Question Time by WEDGWOOD BENN, who, while careful to deprecate personal responsibility for promise to give 9_d._ for 4_d._, displayed remarkable intimacy with intricacies of the Insurance Act. WORTHINGTON EVANS, having as usual, after the leisure of a week-end, provided himself with collection of conundrums based on its working, knew that when he came down to-day he would find MASTERMAN'S seat empty.

Marked the occasion by presenting himself in mourning array--not the profoundest black such as _Hamlet_ upon occasion affected, but a prevalence of decorous colour provided in what is known in drapers' shops as "The Mitigated Affliction Department." An uncompromising black tie was a determining note in his attire, testifying to sincere regret at parting from a Minister whom for three Sessions he has, so to speak, riddled with conundrums.

Insurance Act has suddenly again sprung into prominence. By odd accident revival is coincident with couple of by-elections going forward in Metropolis. JOYNSON-HICKS much struck by circumstance that announcement of scheme under the Act dealing with casual labour at the docks is promulgated just now, when election is proceeding in a constituency where there happen to be many docks and a multitude of casual labourers who have votes.

BONNER LAW, when he comes to think of it, equally surprised. Would the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER oblige by explaining? As for LORD BOB CECIL, he is so perturbed that he momentarily forgets he has leading question to address to PREMIER designed to extract secret intention with respect to amending Home Rule Bill.

LLOYD GEORGE, always ready to oblige, explains that scheme in question was prepared last Autumn, had frequently been referred to by MASTERMAN whilst still at the Treasury.

"I am sure," he added, with twinkle in his eye, "we owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. JOYNSON-HICKS for calling further attention to the matter at this particular moment."

Opposition not to be put off by badinage. Discover in apparently innocent accident evidence of that deep-seated tendency to import bribery and corruption into by-elections of which one of the Whips was this afternoon made a terrible example.

Above and below Gangway Members popped up desiring to put further questions. Too much even for patience of SPEAKER. Suggested matter had better be raised upon debate.

"Why, cert'nly," said JOYNSON-HICKS.

Accordingly, when at eleven o'clock debate on Address automatically stood adjourned, and Members were anxious to get home, the JOCUND JOYNSON turned up, and we had it all over again for space of half-an-hour.

_Business done._--ORMSBY-GORE moved amendment expressing regret that, in spite of all they had heard to its detriment in Lords and Commons, Government intend to proceed with Welsh Church Disestablishment Bill. On division amendment negatived by 279 votes against 217. Reduction of normal Ministerial majority hailed with delight on Opposition benches.

_House of Lords, Tuesday._--"What's this?" SARK asked, looking in at half-past four and finding House crowded with throng of strangers blocking approaches. "Is it the Land or the Church?"

"Neither," said MARCHAMLEY; "it's Marconi."

"Ah," said SARK, as if that explained everything.

On paper stood motion in name of AMPTHILL for appointment of Select Committee to enquire into relation of Lord MURRAY with Marconi business. The name, more blessed than Mesopotamia, stirred glad Opposition to profoundest depths. Thought it over and done with; and here it was again, blooming like the aloe, though after briefer interval. Excitement broke through ordinarily ice-bound calm of the House.

Opposition benches crowded to fullest capacity. Privy Councillors and sons of Peers jostled each other on steps of Throne. Peeresses flocked down by the score. Curious effect of latest fashion in headgear displayed in side galleries. Nearly every bonnet--or were they hats?--was loftily plumed with black feathers, ominously familiar on hearses. It seemed as if the ladies had come to bury Cæsar (of Elibank), not to praise or even condemn him.

MURRAY, arriving early, passed the Front Bench, where as ex-Minister he had a right to sit. Found a place immediately behind in friendly contiguity to former colleagues, Lord CREWE and Lord MORLEY. On stroke of half-past four he rose and, producing sheaf of manuscript, began to read. In low voice, with slow intonation, he turned over page after page, each scored with acknowledgment of contrition and regret for mistakes made. He pleaded that "my error, such as it was, was an error of judgment, not of intention." As to purchase of American Marconi shares on behalf of the Liberal Party, "I have," he said, "myself assumed the burden by taking over these shares at the price paid for them at the date of purchase, and, as the House will appreciate, at very considerable personal loss."

Throughout ten minutes he was on his legs MURRAY, in unconscious sympathy with the hearse plumes that nodded over him from the side gallery at his back, spoke in funereal note. In the Commons so frank a confession, so ample an apology, would have been accepted with burst of general cheering. Shrewd Members know that an assured method of gaining temporary popularity is to commit a breach of order and take early opportunity of withdrawing anything offensive that may have been said, apologising for anything unseemly that may have been done. When, for example, RONALD M'NEILL apologised for having chucked at the head of the FIRST LORD OF THE ADMIRALTY a book containing rules for preservation of order in debate, he was almost rapturously cheered.

Chilliness of the graveyard froze round MURRAY as he read carefully prepared statement. When he sat down, faint murmur of applause rose from scanty muster on Liberal side. No sound, whether of approval or disapproval, broke the stillness of the serried benches opposite.

Effect contagious. LANSDOWNE almost inaudible. CREWE quite so. Strangers at back of gallery, hearing no voice and seeing the Noble Lord standing at the table nervously wringing his hands and twiddling his fingers, thought he was conversing with the LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION by means of the deaf and dumb alphabet.

AMPTHILL above these evidences of human weakness. LANSDOWNE in characteristically chivalrous manner suggested that motion for Committee should be withdrawn, affording opportunity to Noble Lords to consider MURRAY'S statement and the best course to be taken upon it. AMPTHILL not allured by such considerations. As he shrewdly remarked, if he consented to withdraw his motion it could not be revived. All he would consent to was not to insist upon proceeding with business at to-day's sitting. Stipulated that his opportunity should not be hampered by "unavoidable delay."

On this understanding House adjourned, hoarse plumes in side galleries forlornly nodding themselves out.

_Business done._--LLOYD GEORGE at bay in the Commons. His famous Budget attacked afresh on motion of Amendment to Address. ANANIAS and SAPPHIRA personally mentioned in course of debate. Amendment negatived by 301 votes against 213.

_Thursday._--Upon inquiry and reflection LANSDOWNE discovered that in matter of proposed Marconi Committee AMPTHILL is in fuller accord with opinion of majority on his side of House than himself. Accordingly, adopts AMPTHILL'S motion and moves it. CREWE offering no opposition, Committee appointed without division.

In Commons, just after 11 o'clock, news came of defeat of MASTERMAN in Bethnal Green. Turns out there was more in WORTHINGTON EVANS'S assumption of "the inky cloak, good mother" than on Monday met the eye. Boisterous scene of exultation in Unionist camp, jubilant cries of "Resign, Resign." "Resign!" growled SARK. "Why should WILSON resign a seat just won? It is true it was in a three-cornered fight, and by a majority of twenty-four he represents minority of electors. But the seat is his, and of course he'll keep it."

Curious how obtuse SARK can be upon occasion.

_Business done._--Debate on Address agreed to in Commons. Forthwith set to on Estimates. Work cut out till 31st March. After that Home Rule and the Deluge.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"ON SHROVE TUESDAY, FEB. 24,

COOK'S FAST DAY EXCURSIONS TO BIRMINGHAM"

_Midland Railway Leaflet._

The rest of us take our first "fast day," as usual, on Ash Wednesday.

* * * * *

THE CANAL.

[_An attempt to express in futuristic "verse" the emotions aroused by a futuristic painting bearing the above title._]

Mud, sedimentary, coffee-colour, And here a wedge, a sharp, keen, thrustful triangularity, And squares that writhe in painful green, Calling, clamouring--O venerable shade of EUCLID. Back in the ages, dusty, maculated, Across the slate-hued fogs of time, Behold them!--oblongs of sliding water And cubed banks, Bridges and barges, blatantly, wonderfully, inconceivably angular, Calling, clamouring--canal, canal, canal! Out on the sea, restive and sloppy, A waste of salinity, So they aver, There are ships with masts, sails, halyards, Spankers, booms and things; There are lobsters and jellyfish--not here. Nothing here but illimitable mysteries, Baffling unknowledgeableness, Fathomless, fainting from square to square, Oblongs and nosey triangles, ever so nosey, Shapes rhomboidal, perchance rhombohedral--who knows? Puce and mustard-tinted--delicate, Oh, most delicate the mustard!-- And russet, cadaverous pink, They mingle, compaginate, And their voices mingle, They call me out of the frame, They call, Thinly and crazily, Canal, canal, canal--slimy, crawly-crawly water!

* * * * *

"LITERARY.

FREE.--Our 160-page book, 'Hints for Home Decorators,' will be sent free on receipt of 1-1/2d. for postage. Full instructions on painting, staining, graining, varnishing, enamelling, stencilling, gilding, colour-washing, how to mix paints, colours, inks, dyes, and scores of valuable recipes."

_Daily Citizen._

Now we know where our novelists get their local colour.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE DEADLY BUTTON.

We do not know whether the following incident occurred at Signor BEN TROVATO'S famous restaurant on Fifth Avenue or not, but feel impelled, at any rate, to quote it as a warning, on the authority of _The Globe_ of February 19th, and _The New York American_:--

"Giving a well-satisfied sigh after dinner a Pittsburg man burst a button off his waistcoat. It split in two. One half hit another man, with whom he was dining, in the eye. As a result his _vis-á-vis_ may lose the sight of his eye. The other half struck the convivo in the cheek, cutting the flesh."

This new and hitherto unsuspected possibility in ballistics must be rightly directed and also guarded against. There will be danger from the opposite side of the table at City dinners at about the tenth course and onwards, unless the wary guest can screen himself from the Corporation behind a laager of fruit-dishes and substantial ornaments.

If two gourmets fall out over the respective merits of their favourite _entremets_, the remedy is now easy. There is the duel by button. Each of the principals, seconded by his particular waiter, after carefully taking his opponent's range and bearings, will suspire and hit him in the eye. The more replete combatant, having the greater equatorial velocity, will probably win, but the tailor can do a good deal towards securing a flat trajectory and freedom from swerve.

At Christmas dinners, Tommy, when adequately charged, can challenge a rival amateur of plum-pudding to a rally over the dessert, instead of expending his horse-power over crackers. A little training, of course, would be needed to secure a combine fusillade.

It is only right to add that evening-dress waistcoats are henceforward to come under those sections of the Geneva Convention which relate to missiles and explosives. No soft-nosed buttons, or studs which are liable to "bunch," are to be allowed. A special regulation further requires that persons more than fifty inches in circumference, and fire-eaters who have already marked their men, shall dine by themselves, or at any rate only at a high table where there is no _vis-á-vis_. And page-boys are to be compelled to use hooks-and-eyes, unless they are engaged for a wedding or funeral salvo.

ZIG-ZAG.

* * * * *

The Plural Voter.

"At the Wilmot-street Schools ... the credit of being first fell to a well-known resident--a stone-mason by craft.... There was no mistaking the colour of his political opinions. He voted for Major Sir Mathew Wilson."--_Evening News._

"'I am going to be the first man in England who ever voted at 7 a.m.,' said an enthusiastic workman at the Wilmot-street Station as he fell in with the opening of the front door. He voted for Masterman."--_Star._

* * * * *

A message recently sent to a New Zealand chemist:

"Please give the little girl a plaster for a man that a piece of wood blew off a shed and hit him in the rib."

* * * * *

"BAY GELDING, 5 years, 16 h.p., up to 13 stone; hunted up to date; good performer and temperate; quiet with road nuisances; 30 gs."

Thirty guineas for a 16 horse-power horse is absurd.

* * * * *

AT THE PLAY.

"HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND."

There is great entertainment at the Vaudeville for the admirers of Mr. NORMAN MCKINNEL, among whom I propose to count myself whenever, as so rarely happens, he takes an evening off from his tyrannical methods--seldom very edifying when a woman is the victim. As the gentleman says in one of OSCAR WENDELL HOLMES'S books, "_Quoiqu'elle soit très solidement montée, it ne faut pas brutaliser la machine_." Here it is true that Mr. MCKINNEL started out on his familiar courses, but he soon found that he had to do with his match; that _Helen's_ hand was always a little higher than his own. And, even when we saw him at his most dogmatic, the fact that the question of sex, in its physical aspects, did not enter into their relations--he was only her step-great-uncle--saved us from a great deal of uneasiness. In all his moods, whether of blustering self-assertion or reluctant surrender, of canny craft or protesting generosity, Mr. MCKINNEL was equally admirable.

The local atmosphere of the Five Towns was established with less delay over detail than is customary in this kind. There was a lot of tea-drinking, I admit, but no doubt this beverage plays a strong part in the social life of the Potteries. There was also much handling of domestic provisions--streaky bacon, cheese, and so forth--but all this was proper enough in a play that largely turned upon the changes in an old celibate's _ménage_. But in the main it was a comedy of character, a struggle between youth and crabbed age, in which the younger will and the quicker wit prevailed. As we first see him, _James Ollerenshaw_ is a crusty, browbeating, misogynist, hoarding his wealth, content with a mean habit of life, and convinced that nobody can get the better of him. As we see him at the end he is a tamed man, dependent on female protection against the wiles of a designing widow, and established, at great cost, with his niece in the noble and ancient mansion of her desire. There were subsidiary love-episodes, of course, but these, though novel in some particulars, were relatively perfunctory. The character of _James Ollerenshaw_ was the real matter of resistance.

Miss NANCY PRICE'S _Helen_ was a very probable performance. For myself I found her a little too minx-eyed for my taste, but no doubt this was part of the right Pottery touch. Minor characters were all brightly played, Miss MIÉLE MAUND being particularly happy as a garrulous young girl in the first flush of an engagement, who subsequently throws over her violent _fiancé_ on the ground that "she could never marry a man who pushes people into lakes." Even the _vieux jeu_ of the designing widow took on a certain freshness in the robust bands of Miss ROSINA FILIPPI.

I am in the fortunate position of having yet to read Mr. ARNOLD BENNETT'S novel, from which Mr. PRYCE'S comedy has been adapted, and am therefore free to treat the play itself on what I take to be its merits. It may be that the adapter assumed in us a little previous knowledge of the history of _Helen's_ love affair, or that at least there was an obscurity about her past that wanted clearing up by retrospective illumination; but that is my only possible criticism; and I heartily congratulate the Vaudeville management on having at last discovered a play that promises to reward their enterprise.

Not suspecting that there would be a change of hours after the second night, I arrived on the third night punctually at 8, to find that the performance was announced to begin at 8.30. Punctually at that hour I returned, to find that it did not commence till 9; that in the meantime I was to assist at a song-and-talk recital of which no threat had been published. My quarrel is not with Mr. FREDERIC NORTON who did it, though his clever entertainment began with some songs about fishes and things that might have warmed a Penny Readings' audience but left me bitterly cold. My complaint is of a wasted hour and a bolted dinner. I mention it only to prove that, whatever the provocation he has suffered, a Dramatic Critic is incapable of prejudice.

O. S.

* * * * *

Another Impending Apology.

"ALBANIA'S NEW RULER

HOW PRINCE WILLIAM WILL ENTER HIS KINGDOM.

+FOUR+"

_Westminster Gazette._

Looping the loop on all fours?

* * * * *

"Shooting on the river Doe, in Kirkcudbrightshire, Colonel Kennaway, Greenlaw, shot a fine specimen of the male gadwall, a comparatively rare visitor."--_Glasgow Herald._

Col. KENNAWAY (_to deceased male gadwall_). "That'll teach you to be so beastly rare."

* * * * *

"The Wigan County Licensing Sessions were held yesterday. Superintendent Kelly stated that fifty-four persons had been proceeded against for drunkenness, an increase of 124 over last year."--_Liverpool Daily Post._

Superintendent KELLY should join the Government.

* * * * *

"A recital was given yesterday afternoon by Dr. Walter Alcock, who bears the title of organist and composer to His Majesty's Chapels Royal, and assistant organist of Westminster Abbey, and happens to be also an organist of exceptional attainments."

_Yorkshire Post._

The luck of Royalty is proverbial.

* * * * *

"WELSH PROFESSIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP.

Milward, after compiling a break of 73, failed at a very easy shot, otherwise the contribution might have been higher."

_Sportsman._

It would seem certain, but--you never can tell with these wily Welshmen.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE DANGER SIGNAL.

["I think moods and colours are related to one another. For instance, you have to feel very happy and well to enjoy rose-pink."

_Miss GLADYS COOPER._]

Dear, did the afternoon seem dull and dreary? Sweet, did you murmur as the tears fell thick-- "My true love cometh not and I am weary; This is a dirty trick"?

Hear my excuse. With laudable precision I reached our rendezvous full early, but When you appeared in view, a rose-pink vision, I really had to cut.

For oh! your costume made me apprehensive; That colour-scheme which caused my eyes to blink Proved you in joyous vein, while I was pensive And in no mood for pink.

I wanted converse with the gentle lily And not the rose with all its flaunting show, Someone to stroke my hand and call me "Willie" In accents soft and low.

If we had met, your gaiety had grieved me; There had been bitter back-chat to and fro; And so I stole away ere you perceived me; Dear, it was better so.

* * * * *

For all Tastes.

"Number of births on the 28th instant 16; number of rats trapped on the 29th instant 273."--_The Said Gazette._

* * * * *

THE EXPERT IN EXCELSIS.

The invitation to Mr. ARTHUR BROCK, the well-known pyrotechnist, to express his opinion of STRAVINSKY'S orchestral fantasia, "Fireworks," on the occasion of its second performance at Queen's Hall on the 28th inst., has, we are delighted to learn, been fruitful of a series of similar invitations, not only in the sphere of music but also in the domain of art and letters.

Thus we understand that the place of the ordinary musical critic of _The Times_ will be taken at the next performance of _Parsifal_ by Mr. WATERER, the great floricultural expert, and Mr. DEVANT, the eminent conjurer, with a view to their contributing their impressions of the flower maidens and the methods of the magician _Klingsor_ respectively.

Similarly, on the occasion of the next representation of WAGNER'S _Flying Dutchman_ at Covent Garden, a signed criticism by the Chief Locomotive Superintendent of the Great Western Railway will appear in the pages of our contemporary.

The practice, which it is hoped will lend additional brightness to the vivacious criticisms of _The Times_, is not to be confined to Opera. The ASTRONOMER-ROYAL will be asked to record his impressions of BEETHOVEN'S "Moonlight Sonata", and the officials of our leading lightships will be asked to report upon PARRY'S "Blest Pair of Sirens."

The application of the new method to literature promises to be equally interesting. It is an open secret that Messrs. GUNTER have been permanently retained by _The Pastry-cook's Gazette_ to review all books dealing with the Glacial Epoch, Ice-action and Arctic Exploration.

* * * * *

A CHARACTER.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Under the title of "A Bygone" you recently published the tale of a certain estimable butler and his one lapse, during many years' service, into alcoholism. This reminds me of the shorter and sharper history of our own James, who came to our Northern home on a Monday afternoon and left upon the following morning.

For his chief characteristics be referred us, on application, to the opinion of a (Mrs.) Elizabeth Brown, of "The Cottage," Bamston, near Maidstone, Kent, who, he said, knew more about him than anybody else, and would take him back into her service later if need and opportunity arose. This opinion described him briefly but emphatically as honest, sober and willing. By way of the usual caution we wrote to this good lady direct and asked her to be so kind as to elaborate her views to us in confidence. In reply she wrote that James had been with her for eleven years on and off, had left her only because she was leaving "The Cottage," would be welcomed back by her when she settled down again, and meanwhile was very honest, very sober and very willing. There was that about the handwriting and style of this letter which made us feel that the writer might not be one of the old _noblesse_, but was, at any rate, a kindly, sensible and acute old body, who knew now and always what she was talking about. Moreover it indicated, but did not actually state, that the man had come to be regarded in the writer's household with feelings more friendly than those usually found between employer and employé: always, we thought, a strong recommendation of an old servant. On the strength of this correspondence we decided to give him a trial at least.

There was nothing peculiar about his appearance, except the suggestion of a secret sorrow, which was no business of ours. His willingness was at once apparent: our house being full for a hunt ball there was plenty of work for him to do, but even so he found time between tea and dinner to put in a preliminary polish of the silver, which, he told us, was his chief joy in life, or rather one of them. Moreover he refused to go to bed until our return from the ball, timed not to be earlier than 4 A.M., and insisted that he would sit up for us.

We drove off after dinner without a qualm; for, though my wife declares that she detected a suspicious smell of spirits as he put the carriage rug over her, unhappily she did not think to mention this till the next day. When we got back in the small hours we found that, in accordance with his promise, he had indeed not gone to bed. There he was unmistakably in the hall. But he wasn't sitting up.... No.... Rather, he was lying down, back uppermost.... So much for his sobriety.

We resolved to show no mercy. Having promised to drive Captain Merriman, one of our guests, to the station to catch the early train to London, I was myself up betimes to see the sinful James also off the premises. His sorrow, no longer secret, was very manifest; it was a cold wet morning; it required some strength of mind to cast the fellow adrift and leave him to find his own way, with bag and baggage, to oblivion. But I did it.

One does not leave much margin of time on these occasions, and it was not long afterwards that we followed in the dog-cart; nor had we got far on our road before we espied the back of James ahead of us--one of the saddest backs I have ever seen. He had still four miles to go to the station; his bag was obviously not light; he looked as if he would not get four more yards without collapsing; no doubt he had had an exhaustive night; finally, even that stern disciplinarian, Merriman, took pity. So, "Jump up behind, you old blackguard," I called to him as I drew up alongside, and up he climbed, cling-to his seedy bag and protesting that this was very much more than he deserved.

As to his honesty you, Sir, must judge. The police doubted it from the start, and their experience led them to be sure that the reference was forged, that there was no "Cottage" and no Elizabeth Brown. No doubt he had managed to get our letter delivered to him and had forged an answer to that. On all points they were wrong and James was correct. There was "The Cottage" all right, very much a cottage; it had been vacated by the tenant, not voluntarily (who ever said it had?) but by reason of arrears of six weeks' rent, at 5_s._ 6_d._ per week. The tenant's name was truly Elizabeth Brown, though she was more commonly known as Old Bess, and she was the one person to know all about our James, being his wife. And we've no reason to doubt that she has taken him back into her service and was very glad to do it too.

In short, I cannot claim that James lied to us in any particular. So much for his honesty. As far as dishonesty was involved in the matter of the bag, I am not in a position to complain of that, seeing that it was by my agency alone that that bag got to the station, and it was at my expense that our local porter deposited, _inter alia_, my wife's much valued Georgian tea service and spoons in the London train, just about the time that the theft of them was being discovered at home. Under the guilty circumstances I prefer to remain

Your anonymous

CORRESPONDENT.

* * * * *

TO MINKI-POO

(SHUTTING ONE EYE).

I watch you, while the firelight glare Strews flick'ring fancies round the hall, Replete, with what exotic fare No watcher by The Wall Had ever thought to line himself withal.

And, as I mark the locks that weave A curtain for your eyes of flame, I sometimes think if you'd a sleeve To help you in the game, You'd find a laugh or two to fill the same.

For She in whose grey eyes there springs Ruth for the lowliest and the least Proclaims you heir of countless kings, An emblem from the East Of inward beauty in the outward beast.

She says you miss the sidewise roll Of palanquins in Something-Chang, Or sigh for little bells that toll Beside the Si-kiang, And dream-dogs of your old Celestial gang.

For me, I think that tiny heart Bears no such Oriental load; Your dreams concern no Pekoe mart Nor mandarin's abode, But some dim purlieu of the Edgware Road.

Well, young pretender, have your fling! Though Fate forbade you to adorn The pompous pedigree of Ming, No particle of scorn Shall ever fall upon the Briton born!

* * * * *

"It was contended that the captain had been placed in circumstances of exceptional difficulty. The solicitor for the Board of Trade said that between six and seven hundred pilgrims from Mecca swarmed on to the ship at Beyrouth to return to Morocco."

_Westminster Gazette._

Another result of the expiry of the WAGNER copyrights?

* * * * *

"She went out rather quickly by the door, but none of them laughed."--_From "The Cheerful Christian," by DAVID LYALL, in "The British Weekly."_

She must try the window next time, and then, if they still won't laugh, the chimney.

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

_The Golden Barrier_ (METHUEN) was an affair of sovereigns, and the way of it was this. _Magdalen Tempest_, the heroine, had been left by her late father the mistress of many fine houses, and stacks and stacks of money. She had inherited also a disagreeable but honest butler, an aunt who was even more disagreeable but not honest, and an agent who was--well, who was the hero of the book. She had further gathered to herself a crowd of hangers-on more or less artistic, and all given to requiring small temporary loans. One of them, however, was a professed social reformer, a bold bad man of doubtful extraction, who was leagued with the aunt in a plan to marry _Magdalen_ to himself and secure control of the cash. So _Magdalen_ gave a Venetian Carnival in her great house, and it came on to thunder, and she found herself alone in a gondola with the painter (favourite hanger-on), who attempted, too vigorously, to improve the shining hour, and it was all rather awkward, when--romantically opportune arrival of the hero (name of _Denvers_), who flung the painter into the lake, clasped the heroine in his manly arms, married her and lived happy----No. That is where you are too hasty. There remained still the Golden Barrier. For, after an interlude of bliss, back came the intriguing aunt, the social reformer and all the crowd (save the submerged artist) and began to accuse _Denvers_ of living on his wife's cheque-book. How it ends you must find out. If you object that there is very little in all this to suggest the spirit of fine romance which you have learnt to associate with the names of AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE, I can only say that (while my rough synopsis does no justice to some pleasant characterization) I myself greatly prefer these two writers in their earlier and brocaded mood.

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It seems to me that Mr. FRANCIS BRETT-YOUNG has done quite a distinguished piece of work in _Deep Sea_ (SECKER). I have not cared to miss a paragraph of it and have certainly carried away an unusually vivid memory of that unnamed West-country fishing-town which he has so cleverly peopled with his creatures--with poor, simple, introspective _Jeffrey Kenar_, fisherman that was, looking at life through the oddly refracting medium of his window of old glass, and all but seeing visions; comely, bitter _Nesta_, his wife; simple, loyal _Reuben_, _Jeffrey's_ friend, whose rejection of _Nesta Kenar's_ overmastering passion turns her love to hate; _Reuben's_ gentle wife, _Ruth_; and that sleek mortgagee, _Silley_, for whom men like _Reuben_ toil that he may grow fat, nominally owning their vessels, actually in heavy bondage to their shrewd exacting masters. There are dark and deep waters of passion swirling in and out of these simple lives, and the author, whose method is broadly impressionist rather than meticulously realistic, contrives cleverly to suggest that what he imagines has in fact been closely observed. He can make and tell a story and he can marshal words with a certain magic. The tragedy ends peacefully with the resolution of the too bitter discord of _Nesta's_ hate in love of the child of the man she had wrongfully and vainly desired. A book to be read.

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Amongst the makers of what might be called, without in this case any disparagement, the commercial short story, I think I should place Mr. P. G. WODEHOUSE as easily my favourite. The comfortable anticipation that is always mine on observing his name on the contents page of a popular magazine has been renewed by the sight of it attached to a collection of tales in volume form and called, after the first of them, _The Man Upstairs_ (METHUEN). You must not expect a detailed criticism. All I can promise you is that, if you are a Wodehouseite, you will find here the author at his delightful best. He is winged and doth range. The heroes of these tales include (I quote from the cover) "a barber, a gardener, a play-writer, a tramp, a waiter, a golfer, a stockbroker, a butler, a bank clerk, an assistant master at a private school, a Peer's son and a Knight of the Round Table." So there you are; and, if you don't see what you want in the window, you must be hard to please. Personally, I fancy I would give my vote for the play-writing stories. "_Experientia_," as _Mrs. Micawber's_ late father used to observe, "_does it_"; and here I have the feeling that the author is upon tried ground. But not one of the collection will bore you; there is about them all too nice a deftness, too happy a gift of phrase. I am told by the publishers that the American public fully shares my approval of this engaging craftsman. It shows their sense. But, if there is any threat of removing Mr. WODEHOUSE permanently to the other side of the Atlantic, where already he goes far too much, my guinea shall head any public subscription to retain him.

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In an extremely able but peculiarly unpleasant book, _The Questing Beast_ (SECKER), I think that Miss IVY LOW makes two serious mistakes. "Tell her," writes the heroine to a friend after the first of two irregular love affairs, "that I thought, 'I am not that kind of girl,' and tell her that there is no 'sort of girl,' and that life is a sea and human beings must catch hold of life-buoys to keep them afloat." To this it may be answered, however, that there _is_ "that kind of girl," and that _Rachel Cohen was_ "that kind of girl," and that it is a kind which deliberately rejects life-buoys when flung out to them. The second mistake, as it seems to me, in a novel which is in many ways a very clever piece of realism, is a strong feminist or, at any rate, anti-masculine bias. Against the cunning dissection of the character of _Charles Giddey_, a worthless and conceited egotist, I have no complaint to make. It is one of the best things of its kind that I have read for a long time. But it seems unlikely, to say the least, that the heroine, after being deserted by the man she really loves, should, considering her very erotic and unprincipled temperament, find complete happiness in the publication of a successful novel and in devotion to her child. I feel that on a nature like that of _Rachel Cohen_ even Royalties and Press notices would eventually pall. And in pausing I may remark that the beast _Glatisant_ cuts a very episodic and unsatisfactory figure in the _Morte D'Arthur_. Pursued for a short while by _Sir Palamides_ in his Paynim days, it scarcely comes into the cognisance of KING ARTHUR'S Court and the Table Round. And I fancy that the circulating libraries will feel the same about "_The Questing Beast_."

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I do not think that I can recall any novel that makes such insistent demands upon the weather as does Miss JOAN SUTHERLAND'S _Cophetua's Son_ (MILLS AND BOON). The sun, the rain, the wind, the snow--these are from the first page to the last at their intensest, wildest, brightest, most furious, and as I closed the book and looked out upon a day of monotonous drizzle I thanked Heaven for the English climate. But I imagine that Miss SUTHERLAND was aware that nothing but the most vigorous of climatic conditions would afford a true background for her hero's tempestuous soul. _Lucien de Guise_ was unfortunate enough to be the son of a flower-girl, and I had no idea, until Miss SUTHERLAND made it plain to me, how terrible his friends and the members of the smartest of London's clubs--"Will's, a place of great historic interest and brilliant reputation, developing gradually into one of the most exclusive clubs in London, and very strictly limited in numbers"--held so ignominious an origin. There is a scene in Will's where _Colonel Maclean_, "a handsome man and a famous soldier," expels _M. de Guise_ "with a perceptible degree of asperity" in his voice--a scene that does the greatest credit to Miss SUTHERLAND'S imagination. Indeed, I am afraid that Miss SUTHERLAND'S ambition to write a really dramatic story has driven her into incredibilities of atmosphere, of incident, and of character. _M. de Guise_, with his flashing, gleaming eyes, his love of liqueurs, his passion for smashing the most priceless of Nankin vases whenever he sees them, is, surveyed under these grey English skies, an unreal figure, and his world, I am afraid, too brightly coloured to be convincing.

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"RULER wanted for Ireland (N.S.); good wages, permanency to competent, reliable man.--Full particulars to Box 167, Daily News, Manchester."--_Daily News._

Don't reply to it, Mr. REDMOND. It is not in your line. It is a printer's advertisement, merely.

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"The accident caused great excitement in the neighbourhood. A large crowd quickly gathered, and several medical men were hurried to the sport."--_Manchester Guardian._

Those well-known surgeons, _Mr. Robert Sawyer_ and _Mr. Benjamin Allen_, enjoyed it most.

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"A new French revue, entitled 'C'est Bon' (literally, 'It's Top-hole') is to be produced on Monday week."--_Evening News._

Or, more roughly, "That's good."

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In a catalogue of characters assumed at a Mayoral Fancy Dress Ball we are informed by _The Birmingham Daily Mail_ that Professor and Mrs. SONNENSCHEIN figured as "Socrates and Christian Thippe." Poor old pagan XANTHIPPE! SOCRATES is well avenged.