Here, for example, is an excellent thing which comes, if

I remember rightly, from the vivacious Memoir of Lady

Ranelagh de Chit Chat.

ANECDOTE OF THE DUKE OF STRATHYTHAN

Lady Ranelagh writes:

"The Duke of Strathythan (I am writing of course of the

seventeenth Duke, not of his present Grace) was, as

everybody knows, famous for his hospitality. It was not

perhaps generally known that the Duke was as witty as he

was hospitable. I recall a most amusing incident that

happened the last time but two that I was staying at

Strathythan Towers. As we sat down to lunch (we were a

very small and intimate party, there being only forty-three

of us) the Duke, who was at the head of the table, looked

up from the roast of beef that he was carving, and running

his eye about the guests was heard to murmur, 'I'm afraid

there isn't enough beef to go round.'

"There was nothing to do, of course, but to roar with

laughter and the incident passed off with perfect savoir

faire."

Here is another story which I think has not had all the

publicity that it ought to. I found it in the book "Shot,

Shell and Shrapnell or Sixty Years as a War Correspondent,"

recently written by Mr. Maxim Catling whose exploits are

familiar to all readers.

ANECDOTE OF LORD KITCHENER

"I was standing," writes Mr. Maxim, "immediately between

Lord Kitchener and Lord Wolsley (with Lord Roberts a

little to the rear of us), and we were laughing and

chatting as we always did when the enemy were about to

open fire on us. Suddenly we found ourselves the object

of the most terrific hail of bullets. For a few moments

the air was black with them. As they went past I could

not refrain from exchanging a quiet smile with Lord

Kitchener, and another with Lord Wolsley. Indeed I have

never, except perhaps on twenty or thirty occasions,

found myself exposed to such an awful fusillade.

"Kitchener, who habitually uses an eye-glass (among his

friends), watched the bullets go singing by, and then,

with that inimitable sangfroid which he reserves for his

intimates, said,

"'I'm afraid if we stay here we may get hit.'

"We all moved away laughing heartily.

"To add to the joke, Lord Roberts' aide-de-camp was shot

in the pit of the stomach as we went."

The next anecdote which I reproduce may be already too

well known to my readers. The career of Baron Snorch

filled so large a page in the history of European diplomacy

that the publication of his recent memoirs was awaited

with profound interest by half the chancelleries of

Europe. (Even the other half were half excited over them.)

The tangled skein in which the politics of Europe are

enveloped was perhaps never better illustrated than in

this fascinating volume. Even at the risk of repeating

what is already familiar, I offer the following for what

it is worth--or even less.

NEW LIGHT ON THE LIFE OF CAVOUR

"I have always regarded Count Cavour," writes the Baron,

"as one of the most impenetrable diplomatists whom it

has been my lot to meet. I distinctly recall an incident

in connection with the famous Congress of Paris of 1856

which rises before my mind as vividly as if it were

yesterday. I was seated in one of the large salons of

the Elysee Palace (I often used to sit there) playing

vingt-et-un together with Count Cavour, the Duc de Magenta,

the Marquese di Casa Mombasa, the Conte di Piccolo Pochito

and others whose names I do not recollect. The stakes

had been, as usual, very high, and there was a large pile

of gold on the table. No one of us, however, paid any

attention to it, so absorbed were we all in the thought

of the momentous crises that were impending. At intervals

the Emperor Napoleon III passed in and out of the room,

and paused to say a word or two, with well-feigned

eloignement, to the players, who replied with such

degagement as they could.

"While the play was at its height a servant appeared with

a telegram on a silver tray. He handed it to Count Cavour.

The Count paused in his play, opened the telegram, read

it and then with the most inconceivable nonchalance, put

it in his pocket. We stared at him in amazement for a

moment, and then the Duc, with the infinite ease of a

trained diplomat, quietly resumed his play.

"Two days afterward, meeting Count Cavour at a reception

of the Empress Eugenie, I was able, unobserved, to whisper

in his ear, 'What was in the telegram?' 'Nothing of any

consequence,' he answered. From that day to this I have

never known what it contained. My readers," concludes

Baron Snorch, "may believe this or not as they like, but

I give them my word that it is true.

"Probably they will not believe it."

I cannot resist appending to these anecdotes a charming

little story from that well-known book, "Sorrows of a

Queen". The writer, Lady de Weary, was an English

gentlewoman who was for many years Mistress of the Robes

at one of the best known German courts. Her affection

for her royal mistress is evident on every page of her

memoirs.

TENDERNESS OF A QUEEN

Lady de W. writes:

"My dear mistress, the late Queen of Saxe-Covia-Slitz-

in-Mein, was of a most tender and sympathetic disposition.

The goodness of her heart broke forth on all occasions.

I well remember how one day, on seeing a cabman in the

Poodel Platz kicking his horse in the stomach, she stopped

in her walk and said, 'Oh, poor horse! if he goes on

kicking it like that he'll hurt it.'"

I may say in conclusion that I think if people would only

take a little more pains to resuscitate anecdotes of this

sort, there might be a lot more of them found.

VI.--Education Made Agreeable or the Diversions of a

Professor

A few days ago during a pause in one of my college lectures

(my class being asleep) I sat reading Draper's "Intellectual

Development of Europe". Quite suddenly I came upon the

following sentence:

"Eratosthenes cast everything he wished to teach into

poetry. By this means he made it attractive, and he was

able to spread his system all over Asia Minor."

This came to me with a shock of an intellectual discovery.

I saw at once how I could spread my system, or parts of

it, all over the United States and Canada. To make

education attractive! There it is! To call in the help

of poetry, of music, of grand opera, if need be, to aid

in the teaching of the dry subjects of the college class

room.

I set to work at once on the project and already I have

enough results to revolutionize education.

In the first place I have compounded a blend of modern

poetry and mathematics, which retains all the romance of

the latter and loses none of the dry accuracy of the

former. Here is an example:

The poem of

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

expressed as

A PROBLEM IN TRIGONOMETRY

INTRODUCTION. A party of three persons, a Scotch nobleman,

a young lady and an elderly boatman stand on the banks

of a river (R), which, for private reasons, they desire

to cross. Their only means of transport is a boat, of

which the boatman, if squared, is able to row at a rate

proportional to the square of the distance. The boat,

however, has a leak (S), through which a quantity of

water passes sufficient to sink it after traversing an

indeterminate distance (D). Given the square of the

boatman and the mean situation of all concerned, to find

whether the boat will pass the river safely or sink.

A chieftain to the Highlands bound

Cried "Boatman do not tarry!

And I'll give you a silver pound

To row me o'er the ferry."

Before them raged the angry tide

X**2 + Y from side to side.

Outspake the hardy Highland wight,

"I'll go, my chief, I'm ready;

It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady."

And yet he seemed to manifest

A certain hesitation;

His head was sunk upon his breast

In puzzled calculation.

"Suppose the river X + Y

And call the distance Q

Then dare we thus the gods defy

I think we dare, don't you?

Our floating power expressed in words

Is X + 47/3"

"Oh, haste thee, haste," the lady cries,

"Though tempests round us gather

I'll face the raging of the skies

But please cut out the Algebra."

The boat has left the stormy shore (S)

A stormy C before her

C1 C2 C3 C4

The tempest gathers o'er her

The thunder rolls, the lightning smites 'em

And the rain falls ad infinitum.

In vain the aged boatman strains,

His heaving sides reveal his pains;

The angry water gains apace

Both of his sides and half his base,

Till, as he sits, he seems to lose

The square of his hypotenuse.

The boat advanced to X + 2,

Lord Ullin reached the fixed point Q,--

Then the boat sank from human eye,

OY, OY**2, OGY.

But this is only a sample of what can be done. I have

realised that all our technical books are written and

presented in too dry a fashion. They don't make the most

of themselves. Very often the situation implied is

intensely sensational, and if set out after the fashion

of an up-to-date newspaper, would be wonderfully effective.

Here, for example, you have Euclid writing in a perfectly

prosaic way all in small type such an item as the following:

"A perpendicular is let fall on a line BC so as to bisect

it at the point C etc., etc.," just as if it were the

most ordinary occurrence in the world. Every newspaper

man will see at once that it ought to be set up thus:

AWFUL CATASTROPHE

PERPENDICULAR FALLS HEADLONG

ON A GIVEN POINT

The Line at C said to be completely bisected

President of the Line makes Statement

etc., etc., etc.

But I am not contenting myself with merely describing my

system. I am putting it to the test. I am preparing a

new and very special edition of my friend Professor Daniel

Murray's work on the Calculus. This is a book little

known to the general public. I suppose one may say without

exaggeration that outside of the class room it is hardly

read at all.

Yet I venture to say that when my new edition is out it

will be found on the tables of every cultivated home,

and will be among the best sellers of the year. All that

is needed is to give to this really monumental book the

same chance that is given to every other work of fiction

in the modern market.

First of all I wrap it in what is called technically a

jacket. This is of white enamelled paper, and on it is

a picture of a girl, a very pretty girl, in a summer

dress and sunbonnet sitting swinging on a bough of a

cherry tree. Across the cover in big black letters are

the words:

THE CALCULUS

and beneath them the legend "the most daring book of the

day." This, you will observe, is perfectly true. The

reviewers of the mathematical journals when this book

first came out agreed that "Professor Murray's views on

the Calculus were the most daring yet published." They

said, too, that they hoped that the professor's unsound

theories of infinitesimal rectitude would not remain

unchallenged. Yet the public somehow missed it all, and

one of the most profitable scandals in the publishing

trade was missed for the lack of a little business

enterprise.

My new edition will give this book its first real chance.

I admit that the inside has to be altered,--but not very

much. The real basis of interest is there. The theories

in the book are just as interesting as those raised in

the modern novel. All that is needed is to adopt the

device, familiar in novels, of clothing the theories in

personal form and putting the propositions advanced into

the mouths of the characters, instead of leaving them as

unsupported statements of the author. Take for example

Dr. Murray's beginning. It is very good,--any one will

admit it,--fascinatingly clever, but it lacks heart.

It runs:

If two magnitudes, one of which is determined by a straight

line and the other by a parabola approach one another,

the rectangle included by the revolution of each will be

equal to the sum of a series of indeterminate rectangles.

Now this is,--quite frankly,--dull. The situation is

there; the idea is good, and, whether one agrees or not,

is at least as brilliantly original as even the best of

our recent novels. But I find it necessary to alter the

presentation of the plot a little bit. As I re-edit it

the opening of the Calculus runs thus:

On a bright morning in June along a path gay with the

opening efflorescence of the hibiscus and entangled here

and there with the wild blossoms of the convolvulus,--two

magnitudes might have been seen approaching one another.

The one magnitude who held a tennis-racket in his hand,

carried himself with a beautiful erectness and moved

with a firmness such as would have led Professor Murray

to exclaim in despair--Let it be granted that A. B.

(for such was our hero's name) is a straight line. The

other magnitude, which drew near with a step at once

elusive and fascinating, revealed as she walked a figure

so exquisite in its every curve as to call from her

geometrical acquaintances the ecstatic exclamation, "Let

it be granted that M is a parabola."

The beautiful magnitude of whom we have last spoken,

bore on her arm as she walked, a tiny dog over which

her fair head was bent in endearing caresses; indeed

such was her attention to the dog Vi (his full name was

Velocity but he was called Vi for short) that her wayward

footsteps carried her not in a straight line but in a

direction so constantly changing as to lead that acute

observer, Professor Murray, to the conclusion that her

path could only be described by the amount of attraction

ascribable to Vi.

Guided thus along their respective paths, the two

magnitudes presently met with such suddenness that they

almost intersected.

"I beg your pardon," said the first magnitude very

rigidly.

"You ought to indeed," said the second rather sulkily,

"you've knocked Vi right out of my arms."

She looked round despairingly for the little dog which

seemed to have disappeared in the long grass.

"Won't you please pick him up?" she pleaded.

"Not exactly in my line, you know," answered the other

magnitude, "but I tell you what I'll do, if you'll stand

still, perfectly still where you are, and let me take

hold of your hand, I'll describe a circle!"

"Oh, aren't you clever!" cried the girl, clapping her

hands. "What a lovely idea! You describe a circle all

around me, and then we'll look at every weeny bit of it

and we'll be sure to find Vi--"

She reached out her hand to the other magnitude who

clasped it with an assumed intensity sufficient to retain

it.

At this moment a third magnitude broke on the scene:--a

huge oblong, angular figure, very difficult to describe,

came revolving towards them.

"M," it shouted, "Emily, what are you doing?"

"My goodness," said the second magnitude in alarm, "it's

MAMA."

I may say that the second instalment of Dr. Murray's

fascinating romance will appear in the next number of

the "Illuminated Bookworm", the great adult-juvenile

vehicle of the newer thought in which these theories of

education are expounded further.

VII.--An Every-Day Experience

He came across to me in the semi-silence room of the

club.

"I had a rather queer hand at bridge last night," he

said.

"Had you?" I answered, and picked up a newspaper.

"Yes. It would have interested you, I think," he went

on.

"Would it?" I said, and moved to another chair.

"It was like this," he continued, following me: "I held

the king of hearts--"

"Half a minute," I said; "I want to go and see what time

it is." I went out and looked at the clock in the hall.

I came back.

"And the queen and the ten--" he was saying.

"Excuse me just a second; I want to ring for a messenger."

I did so. The waiter came and went.

"And the nine and two small ones," he went on.

"Two small what?" I asked.

"Two small hearts," he said. "I don't remember which.

Anyway, I remember very well indeed that I had the king

and the queen and the jack, the nine, and two little

ones."

"Half a second," I said, "I want to mail a letter."

When I came back to him, he was still murmuring:

"My partner held the ace of clubs and the queen. The jack

was out, but I didn't know where the king was--"

"You didn't?" I said in contempt.

"No," he repeated in surprise, and went on murmuring:

"Diamonds had gone round once, and spades twice, and so

I suspected that my partner was leading from weakness--"

"I can well believe it," I said--"sheer weakness."

"Well," he said, "on the sixth round the lead came to

me. Now, what should I have done? Finessed for the ace,

or led straight into my opponent--"

"You want my advice," I said, "and you shall have it,

openly and fairly. In such a case as you describe, where

a man has led out at me repeatedly and with provocation,

as I gather from what you say, though I myself do not

play bridge, I should lead my whole hand at him. I

repeat, I do not play bridge. But in the circumstances,

I should think it the only thing to do."

VIII--Truthful Oratory, or What Our Speakers

Ought to Say

I

TRUTHFUL SPEECH GIVING THE

REAL THOUGHTS OF A DISTINGUISHED

GUEST AT THE FIFTIETH

ANNIVERSARY BANQUET

OF A SOCIETY

Mr. Chairman and gentlemen: If there is one thing I

abominate more than another, it is turning out on a cold

night like this to eat a huge dinner of twelve courses

and know that I have to make a speech on top of it.

Gentlemen, I just feel stuffed. That's the plain truth

of it. By the time we had finished that fish, I could

have gone home satisfied. Honestly I could. That's as

much as I usually eat. And by the time I had finished

the rest of the food, I felt simply waterlogged, and I

do still. More than that. The knowledge that I had to

make a speech congratulating this society of yours on

its fiftieth anniversary haunted and racked me all through

the meal. I am not, in plain truth, the ready and brilliant

speaker you take me for. That is a pure myth. If you

could see the desperate home scene that goes on in my

family when I am working up a speech, your minds would

be at rest on that point.

I'll go further and be very frank with you. How this

society has lived for fifty years, I don't know. If all

your dinners are like this, Heaven help you. I've only

the vaguest idea of what this society is, anyway, and

what it does. I tried to get a constitution this afternoon

but failed. I am sure from some of the faces that I

recognise around this table that there must be good

business reasons of some sort for belonging to this

society. There's money in it,--mark my words,--for some

of you or you wouldn't be here. Of course I quite understand

that the President and the officials seated here beside

me come merely for the self-importance of it. That,

gentlemen, is about their size. I realized that from

their talk during the banquet. I don't want to speak

bitterly, but the truth is they are SMALL men and it

flatters them to sit here with two or three blue ribbons

pinned on their coats. But as for me, I'm done with it.

It will be fifty years, please heaven, before this event

comes round again. I hope, I earnestly hope, that I shall

be safely under the ground.

II

THE SPEECH THAT OUGHT TO BE

MADE BY A STATE GOVERNOR

AFTER VISITING THE FALL

EXPOSITION OF AN AGRICULTURAL

SOCIETY

Well, gentlemen, this Annual Fall Fair of the Skedink

County Agricultural Association has come round again. I

don't mind telling you straight out that of all the

disagreeable jobs that fall to me as Governor of this

State, my visit to your Fall Fair is about the toughest.

I want to tell you, gentlemen, right here and now, that

I don't know anything about agriculture and I don't want

to. My parents were rich enough to bring me up in the

city in a rational way. I didn't have to do chores in

order to go to the high school as some of those present

have boasted that they did. My only wonder is that they

ever got there at all. They show no traces of it.

This afternoon, gentlemen, you took me all round your

live-stock exhibit. I walked past, and through, nearly

a quarter of a mile of hogs. What was it that they were

called--Tamworths--Berkshires? I don't remember. But

all I can say, gentlemen, is,--phew! Just that. Some of

you will understand readily enough. That word sums up

my whole idea of your agricultural show and I'm done with

it.

No, let me correct myself. There was just one feature of

your agricultural exposition that met my warm approval.

You were good enough to take me through the section of

your exposition called your Midway Pleasance. Let me tell

you, sirs, that there was more real merit in that than

all the rest of the show put together. You apologized,

if I remember rightly, for taking me into the large tent

of the Syrian Dancing Girls. Oh, believe me, gentlemen,

you needn't have. Syria is a country which commands my

profoundest admiration. Some day I mean to spend a

vacation there. And, believe me, gentlemen, when I do

go,--and I say this with all the emphasis of which I am

capable,--I should not wish to be accompanied by such a

set of flatheads as the officials of your Agricultural

Society.

And now, gentlemen, as I have just received a fake

telegram, by arrangement, calling me back to the capital

of the State, I must leave this banquet at once. One word

in conclusion: if I had known as fully as I do now how

it feels to drink half a bucket of sweet cider, I should

certainly never have come.

III

TRUTHFUL SPEECH OF A DISTRICT

POLITICIAN TO A LADIES' SUFFRAGE

SOCIETY

Ladies: My own earnest, heartfelt conviction is that you

are a pack of cats. I use the word "cats" advisedly, and

I mean every letter of it. I want to go on record before

this gathering as being strongly and unalterably opposed

to Woman Suffrage until you get it. After that I favour

it. My reasons for opposing the suffrage are of a kind

that you couldn't understand. But all men,--except the

few that I see at this meeting,--understand them by

instinct.

As you may, however, succeed as a result of the fuss that

you are making,--in getting votes, I have thought it best

to come. Also,--I am free to confess,--I wanted to see

what you looked like.

On this last head I am disappointed. Personally I like

women a good deal fatter than most of you are, and better

looking. As I look around this gathering I see one or

two of you that are not so bad, but on the whole not

many. But my own strong personal predilection is and

remains in favour of a woman who can cook, mend clothes,

talk when I want her to, and give me the kind of admiration

to which I am accustomed.

Let me, however, say in conclusion that I am altogether

in sympathy with your movement to this extent. If you

ever DO get votes,--and the indications are that you will

(blast you),--I want your votes, and I want all of them.

IX.-Our Literary Bureau

[Footnote: This literary bureau was started by the author

in the New York Century. It leaped into such immediate

prominence that it had to be closed at once.]

NOVELS READ TO ORDER

FIRST AID FOR THE

BUSY MILLIONAIRE

NO BRAINS NEEDED

NO TASTE REQUIRED

NOTHING BUT MONEY

SEND IT TO US

We have lately been struck,--of course not dangerously,--by

a new idea. A recent number of a well-known magazine

contains an account of an American multimillionaire who,

on account of the pressure of his brain power and the

rush of his business, found it impossible to read the

fiction of the day for himself. He therefore caused his

secretaries to look through any new and likely novel and

make a rapid report on its contents, indicating for his

personal perusal the specially interesting parts.

Realizing the possibilities coiled up in this plan, we

have opened a special agency or bureau for doing work of

this sort. Any over-busy multimillionaire, or superman,

who becomes our client may send us novels, essays, or

books of any kind, and will receive a report explaining

the plot and pointing out such parts as he may with

propriety read. If he can once find time to send us a

postcard, or a postal cablegram, night or day, we undertake

to assume all the further effort of reading. Our terms

for ordinary fiction are one dollar per chapter; for

works of travel, 10 cents per mile; and for political or

other essays, two cents per page, or ten dollars per

idea, and for theological and controversial work, seven

dollars and fifty cents per cubic yard extracted. Our

clients are assured of prompt and immediate attention.

Through the kindness of the Editor of the Century we are

enabled to insert here a sample of our work. It was done

to the order of a gentleman of means engaged in silver

mining in Colorado, who wrote us that he was anxious to

get "a holt" on modern fiction, but that he had no time

actually to read it. On our assuring him that this was

now unnecessary, he caused to be sent to us the monthly

parts of a serial story, on which we duly reported as

follows:

JANUARY INSTALMENT

Theodolite Gulch,

The Dip, Canon County,

Colorado.

Dear Sir:

We beg to inform you that the scene of the opening chapter

of the Fortunes of Barbara Plynlimmon is laid in Wales.

The scene is laid, however, very carelessly and hurriedly

and we expect that it will shortly be removed. We cannot,

therefore, recommend it to your perusal. As there is a

very fine passage describing the Cambrian Hills by

moonlight, we enclose herewith a condensed table showing

the mean altitude of the moon for the month of December

in the latitude of Wales. The character of Miss Plynlimmon

we find to be developed in conversation with her

grandmother, which we think you had better not read. Nor

are we prepared to endorse your reading the speeches of

the Welsh peasantry which we find in this chapter, but

we forward herewith in place of them a short glossary of

Welsh synonyms which may aid you in this connection.

FEBRUARY INSTALMENT

Dear Sir:

We regret to state that we find nothing in the second

chapter of the Fortunes of Barbara Plynlimmon which need

be reported to you at length. We think it well, however,

to apprise you of the arrival of a young Oxford student

in the neighbourhood of Miss Plynlimmon's cottage, who

is apparently a young man of means and refinement. We

enclose a list of the principal Oxford Colleges.

We may state that from the conversation and manner of

this young gentleman there is no ground for any apprehension

on your part. But if need arises we will report by cable

to you instantly.

The young gentleman in question meets Miss Plynlimmon at

sunrise on the slopes of Snowdon. As the description of

the meeting is very fine we send you a recent photograph

of the sun.

MARCH INSTALMENT

Dear Sir:

Our surmise was right. The scene of the story that we

are digesting for you is changed. Miss Plynlimmon has

gone to London. You will be gratified to learn that she

has fallen heir to a fortune of 100,000 pounds, which we

are happy to compute for you at $486,666 and 66 cents

less exchange. On Miss Plynlimmon's arrival at Charing

Cross Station, she is overwhelmed with that strange

feeling of isolation felt in the surging crowds of a

modern city. We therefore enclose a timetable showing

the arrival and departure of all trains at Charing Cross.

APRIL INSTALMENT

Dear Sir:

We beg to bring to your notice the fact that Miss Barbara

Plynlimmon has by an arrangement made through her trustees

become the inmate, on a pecuniary footing, in the household

of a family of title. We are happy to inform you that

her first appearance at dinner in evening dress was most

gratifying: we can safely recommend you to read in this

connection lines 4 and 5 and the first half of line 6 on

page 1OO of the book as enclosed. We regret to say that

the Marquis of Slush and his eldest son Viscount Fitzbuse

(courtesy title) are both addicted to drink. They have

been drinking throughout the chapter. We are pleased to

state that apparently the second son, Lord Radnor of

Slush, who is away from home is not so addicted. We send

you under separate cover a bottle of Radnor water.

MAY INSTALMENT

Dear Sir:

We regret to state that the affairs of Miss Barbara

Plynlimmon are in a very unsatisfactory position. We

enclose three pages of the novel with the urgent request

that you will read them at once. The old Marquis of Slush

has made approaches towards Miss Plynlimmon of such a

scandalous nature that we think it best to ask you to

read them in full. You will note also that young Viscount

Slush who is tipsy through whole of pages 121-125, 128-133,

and part of page 140, has designs upon her fortune. We

are sorry to see also that the Marchioness of Buse under

the guise of friendship has insured Miss Plynlimmon's

life and means to do away with her. The sister of the

Marchioness, the Lady Dowager, also wishes to do away

with her. The second housemaid who is tempted by her

jewellery is also planning to do away with her. We feel

that if this goes on she will be done away with.

JUNE INSTALMENT

Dear Sir:

We beg to advise you that Viscount Fitz-buse, inflamed

by the beauty and innocence of Miss Plynlimmon, has gone

so far as to lay his finger on her (read page 170, lines

6-7). She resisted his approaches. At the height of the

struggle a young man, attired in the costume of a Welsh

tourist, but wearing the stamp of an Oxford student, and

yet carrying himself with the unmistakable hauteur (we

knew it at once) of an aristocrat, burst, or bust, into

the room. With one blow he felled Fitz-buse to the floor;

with another he clasped the girl to his heart.

"Barbara!" he exclaimed.

"Radnor," she murmured.

You will be pleased to learn that this is the second son

of the Marquis, Viscount Radnor, just returned from a

reading tour in Wales.

P. S. We do not know what he read, so we enclose a file

of Welsh newspapers to date.

JULY INSTALMENT

We regret to inform you that the Marquis of Slush has

disinherited his son. We grieve to state that Viscount

Radnor has sworn that he will never ask for Miss

Plynlimmon's hand till he has a fortune equal to her own.

Meantime, we are sorry to say, he proposes to work.

AUGUST INSTALMENT

The Viscount is seeking employment.

SEPTEMBER INSTALMENT

The Viscount is looking for work.

OCTOBER INSTALMENT

The Viscount is hunting for a job.

NOVEMBER INSTALMENT

We are most happy to inform you that Miss Plynlimmon has

saved the situation. Determined to be worthy of the

generous love of Viscount Radnor, she has arranged to

convey her entire fortune to the old family lawyer who

acts as her trustee. She will thus become as poor as the

Viscount and they can marry. The scene with the old

lawyer who breaks into tears on receiving the fortune,

swearing to hold and cherish it as his own is very

touching. Meantime, as the Viscount is hunting for a job,

we enclose a list of advertisements under the heading

Help Wanted--Males.

DECEMBER INSTALMENT

You will be very gratified to learn that the fortunes of

Miss Barbara Plynlimmon have come to a most pleasing

termination. Her marriage with the Viscount Radnor was

celebrated very quietly on page 231. (We enclose a list

of the principal churches in London.) No one was present

except the old family lawyer, who was moved to tears at

the sight of the bright, trusting bride, and the clergyman

who wept at the sight of the cheque given him by the

Viscount. After the ceremony the old trustee took Lord

and Lady Radnor to a small wedding breakfast at an hotel

(we enclose a list). During the breakfast a sudden

faintness (for which we had been watching for ten pages)

overcame him. He sank back in his chair, gasping. Lord

and Lady Radnor rushed to him and sought in vain to

tighten his necktie. He expired under their care, having

just time to indicate in his pocket a will leaving them

his entire wealth.

This had hardly happened when a messenger brought news

to the Viscount that his brother, Lord Fitz-buse had been

killed in the hunting field, and that he (meaning him,

himself) had now succeeded to the title. Lord and Lady

Fitz-buse had hardly time to reach the town house of the

family when they learned that owing to the sudden death

of the old Marquis (also, we believe, in the hunting

field), they had become the Marquis and the Marchioness

of Slush.

The Marquis and the Marchioness of Slush are still living

in their ancestral home in London. Their lives are an

example to all their tenantry in Piccadilly, the Strand

and elsewhere.

CONCLUDING NOTE

Dear Mr. Gulch:

We beg to acknowledge with many thanks your cheque for

one thousand dollars.

We regret to learn that you have not been able to find

time to read our digest of the serial story placed with

us at your order. But we note with pleasure that you

propose to have the "essential points" of our digest

"boiled down" by one of the business experts of your

office.

Awaiting your commands,

We remain, etc., etc.

X.--Speeding Up Business

We were sitting at our editorial desk in our inner room,

quietly writing up our week's poetry, when a stranger

looked in upon us.

He came in with a burst,--like the entry of the hero of

western drama coming in out of a snowstorm. His manner

was all excitement. "Sit down," we said, in our grave,

courteous way. "Sit down!" he exclaimed, "certainly not!

Are you aware of the amount of time and energy that are

being wasted in American business by the practice of

perpetually sitting down and standing up again? Do you

realize that every time you sit down and stand up you

make a dead lift of"--he looked at us,--"two hundred

and fifty pounds? Did you ever reflect that every time

you sit down you have to get up again?" "Never," we said

quietly, "we never thought of it." "You didn't!" he

sneered. "No, you'd rather go on lifting 250 pounds

through two feet,--an average of 500 foot-pounds,

practically 62 kilowatts of wasted power. Do you know

that by merely hitching a pulley to the back of your neck

you could generate enough power to light your whole

office?"

We hung our heads. Simple as the thing was, we had never

thought of it. "Very good," said the Stranger. "Now, all

American business men are like you. They don't think,--do

you understand me? They don't think."

We realized the truth of it at once. We had never thought.

Perhaps we didn't even know how.

"Now, I tell you," continued our visitor, speaking rapidly

and with a light of wild enthusiasm in his face, "I'm

out for a new campaign,--efficiency in business--speeding

things up--better organization."

"But surely," we said, musingly, "we have seen something

about this lately in the papers?" "Seen it, sir," he

exclaimed, "I should say so. It's everywhere. It's a

new movement. It's in the air. Has it never struck you

how a thing like this can be seen in the air?"

Here again we were at fault. In all our lives we had

never seen anything in the air. We had never even looked

there. "Now," continued the Stranger, "I want your paper

to help. I want you to join in. I want you to give

publicity."

"Assuredly," we said, with our old-fashioned politeness.

"Anything which concerns the welfare, the progress, if

one may so phrase it--" "Stop," said the visitor. "You

talk too much. You're prosy. Don't talk. Listen to me.

Try and fix your mind on what I am about to say."

We fixed it. The Stranger's manner became somewhat calmer.

"I am heading," he said, "the new American efficiency

movement. I have sent our circulars to fifty thousand

representative firms, explaining my methods. I am receiving

ten thousand answers a day"--here he dragged a bundle

of letters out of his pocket--"from Maine, from New

Hampshire, from Vermont,"--"Massachusetts, Rhode Island,

Connecticut," we murmured.

"Exactly," he said; "from every State in the Union--from

the Philippines, from Porto Rico, and last week I had

one from Canada." "Marvellous," we said; "and may one

ask what your new methods are?"

"You may," he answered. "It's a proper question. It's a

typical business question, fair, plain, clean, and even

admitting of an answer. The great art of answering

questions," he continued, "is to answer at once without

loss of time, friction or delay in moving from place to

place. I'll answer it."

"Do," we said.

"I will," said the Stranger. "My method is first: to

stimulate business to the highest point by infusing into

it everywhere the spirit of generous rivalry, of wholesome

competition; by inviting each and every worker to outdo

each and every other."

"And can they do it?" we asked, puzzled and yet fascinated.

"Can they all do it?"

"They do, and they can," said the Stranger. "The proof

of it is that they are doing it. Listen. Here is an

answer to my circular No. 6, Efficiency and Recompense,

that came in this morning. It is from a steel firm.

Listen." The Stranger picked out a letter and read it.

Dear Sir:

Our firm is a Steel Corporation. We roll rails. As soon

as we read your circular on the Stimulus of Competition

we saw that there were big things in it. At once we sent

one of our chief managers to the rolling, mill. He carried

a paper bag in his hand. "Now boys," he said, "every man

who rolls a rail gets a gum-drop." The effect was magical.

The good fellows felt a new stimulus. They now roll out

rails like dough. Work is a joy to them. Every Saturday

night the man who has rolled most gets a blue ribbon;

the man who has rolled the next most, a green ribbon;

the next most a yellow ribbon, and so on through the

spectroscope. The man who rolls least gets only a red

ribbon. It is a real pleasure to see the brave fellows

clamouring for their ribbons. Our output, after defraying

the entire cost of the ribbons and the gum-drops, has

increased forty per cent. We intend to carry the scheme

further by allowing all the men who get a hundred blue

ribbons first, to exchange them for the Grand Efficiency

Prize of the firm,--a pink ribbon. This the winner will

be entitled to wear whenever and wherever he sees fit to

wear it.

The stranger paused for breath.

"Marvellous," we said. "There is no doubt the stimulus

of keen competition--"

"Shut up," he said impatiently. "Let me explain it further.

Competition is only part of it. An item just as big that

makes for efficiency is to take account of the little

things. It's the little things that are never thought

of."

Here was another wonder! We realized that we had never

thought of them. "Take an example," the Stranger continued.

"I went into a hotel the other day. What did I see?

Bell-boys being summoned upstairs every minute, and flying

up in the elevators. Yes,--and every time they went up

they had to come down again. I went up to the manager.

I said, 'I can understand that when your guests ring for

the bell-boys they have to go up. But why should they

come down? Why not have them go up and never come down?'

He caught the idea at once. That hotel is transformed.

I have a letter from the manager stating that they find

it fifty per cent. cheaper to hire new bell-boys instead

of waiting for the old ones to come down."

"These results," we said, "are certainly marvellous. "You

are most assuredly to be congratulated on--"

"You talk too much," said the Stranger. "Don't do it.

Learn to listen. If a young man comes to me for advice

in business,--and they do in hundreds, lots of them,--almost

in tears over their inefficiency,--I'd say, 'Young man,

never talk, listen; answer, but don't speak.' But even

all this is only part of the method. Another side of it

is technique."

"Technique?" we said, pleased but puzzled.

"Yes, the proper use of machine devices. Take the building

trade. I've revolutionized it. Till now all the bricks

even for a high building were carried up to the mason in

hods. Madness! Think of the waste of it. By my method

instead of carrying the bricks to the mason we take the

mason to the brick,--lower him on a wire rope, give him

a brick, and up he goes again. As soon as he wants another

brick he calls down, 'I want a brick,' and down he comes

like lightning."

"This," we said, "is little short of--"

"Cut it out. Even that is not all. Another thing bigger

than any is organization. Half the business in this

country is not organized. As soon as I sent out my

circular, No. 4, HAVE YOU ORGANIZED YOUR BUSINESS! I

got answers in thousands! Heart-broken, many of them.

They had never thought of it! Here, for example, is a

letter written by a plain man, a gardener, just an ordinary

man, a plain man--"

"Yes," we said, "quite so."

"Well, here is what he writes:

Dear Sir:

As soon as I got your circular I read it all through

from end to end, and I saw that all my failure in

the past had come from my not being organized. I

sat and thought a long while and I decided that I

would organize myself. I went right in to the house

and I said to my wife, "Jane, I'm going to organize

myself." She said, "Oh, John!"--and not another

word, but you should have seen the look on her face.

So the next morning I got up early and began to

organize myself. It was hard at first but I stuck to it.

There were times when I felt as if I couldn't do it.

It seemed too hard. But bit by bit I did it and now,

thank God, I am organized. I wish all men like me

could know the pleasure I feel in being organized."

"Touching, isn't it?" said the Stranger. "But I get lots

of letters like that. Here's another, also from a man,

a plain man, working on his own farm. Hear what he says:

Dear Sir:

As soon as I saw your circular on HOW TO SPEED UP THE

EMPLOYEE I felt that it was a big thing. I don't have

any hired help here to work with me, but only father. He

cuts the wood and does odd chores about the place. So I

realized that the best I could do was to try to speed up

father. I started in to speed him up last Tuesday, and

I wish you could see him. Before this he couldn't split

a cord of wood without cutting a slice off his boots.

Now he does it in half the time."

"But there," the Stranger said, getting impatient even

with his own reading, "I needn't read it all. It is the

same thing all along the line. I've got the Method

introduced into the Department Stores. Before this every

customer who came in wasted time trying to find the

counters. Now we install a patent springboard, with a

mechanism like a catapault. As soon as a customer comes

in an attendant puts him on the board, blindfolds him,

and says, 'Where do you want to go?' 'Glove counter.'

'Oh, all right.' He's fired at it through the air. No

time lost. Same with the railways. They're installing

the Method, too. Every engineer who breaks the record

from New York to Buffalo gets a glass of milk. When he

gets a hundred glasses he can exchange them for a glass

of beer. So with the doctors. On the new method, instead

of giving a patient one pill a day for fourteen days they

give him fourteen pills in one day. Doctors, lawyers,

everybody,--in time, sir," said the Stranger, in tones

of rising excitement, "you'll see even the plumbers--"

But just at this moment the door opened. A sturdy-looking

man in blue entered. The Stranger's voice was hushed at

once. The excitement died out of his face. His manner

all of a sudden was meekness itself.

"I was just coming," he said.

"That's right, sir," said the man; "better come along

and not take up the gentleman's time."

"Good-bye, then," said the Stranger, with meek affability,

and he went out.

The man in blue lingered behind for a moment.

"A sad case, sir," he said, and he tapped his forehead.

"You mean--" I asked.

"Exactly. Cracked, sir. Quite cracked; but harmless. I'm

engaged to look after him, but he gave me the slip

downstairs."

"He is under delusions?" we inquired.

"Yes, sir. He's got it into his head that business in

this country has all gone to pieces,--thinks it must be

reorganized. He writes letters about it all day and sends

them to the papers with imaginary names. You may have

seen some of them. Good day, sir."

We looked at our watch. We had lost just half an hour

over the new efficiency. We turned back with a sigh to

our old-fashioned task.

XI.--Who Is Also Who. A Companion Volume

to Who's Who

Note by the editor: I do not quarrel with the contents

of such valuable compendiums as "Who's Who," "Men and

Women of the Time," etc., etc. But they leave out the

really Representative People. The names that they include

are so well known as to need no commentary, while those

that they exclude are the very people one most wishes to

read about. My new book is not arranged alphabetically,

that order having given great offence in certain social

circles.

Smith, J. Everyman: born Kenoka Springs; educ. Kenoka

Springs; present residence, The Springs, Kenoka; address,

Kenoka Springs Post-Office; after leaving school threw

himself (Oct. 1881) into college study; thrown out of it

(April 1882); decided to follow the law; followed it

(1882); was left behind (1883); decided (1884) to abandon

it; abandoned it; resolved (1885) to turn his energies

to finance; turned them (1886); kept them turned (1887);

unturned them (1888); was offered position (1889) as sole

custodian of Mechanics' Institute, Kenoka Springs; decided

(same date) to accept it; accepted it; is there now; will

be till he dies.

Flintlock, J. Percussion: aged 87; war veteran and

pensioner; born, blank; educated, blank; at outbreak of

Civil War sprang to arms; both sides; sprang Union first;

entered beef contract department of army of U. S.; fought

at Chicago, Omaha, and leading (beef) centres of operation

during the thickest of the (beef) conflict; was under

Hancock, Burnside, Meade, and Grant; fought with all of

them; mentioned (very strongly) by all of them; entered

Confederate Service (1864); attached (very much) to rum

department of quarter-master's staff; mentioned in this

connection (very warmly) in despatches of General Lee;

mustered out, away out, of army; lost from sight, 1865-1895;

placed on pension list with rank of general, 1895; has

stayed on, 1895-1915; obtained (on 6th Avenue) war medals

and service clasps; publications--"My Campaigns under

Grant," "Battles I have Saved," "Feeding an Army,"

"Stuffing the Public," etc., etc.; recreations, telling

war stories; favorite amusement, showing war medals.

Crook, W. Underhand: born, dash; parents, double dash;

educated at technical school; on graduation turned his

attention to the problem of mechanical timelocks and

patent safes; entered Sing-Sing, 1890; resident there,

1890-1893; Auburn, 1894, three months; various state

institutions, 1895-1898; worked at profession, 1898-1899;

Sing-Sing, 1900; professional work, 1901; Sing-Sing,

1902; profession, 1903, Sing-Sing; profession, Sing-Sing,

etc., etc.; life appointment, 1908; general favorite,

musical, has never killed anybody.

Gloomie, Dreary O'Leary: Scotch dialect comedian and

humorist; well known in Scotland; has standing offer from

Duke of Sutherland to put foot on estate.

Muck, O. Absolute: novelist; of low German extraction;

born Rotterdam; educated Muckendorf; escaped to America;

long unrecognized; leaped into prominence by writing "The

Social Gas-Pipe," a powerful indictment of modern society,

written in revenge for not being invited to dinner; other

works--"The Sewerage of the Sea-Side," an arraignment of

Newport society, reflecting on some of his best friends;

"Vice and Super-Vice," a telling denunciation of the New

York police, written after they had arrested him; "White

Ravens," an indictment of the clergy; "Black Crooks," an

indictment of the publishers, etc., etc.; has arraigned

and indicted nearly everybody.

Whyner, Egbert Ethelwind: poet, at age of sixteen wrote

a quatrain, "The Banquet of Nebuchadnezzar," and at once

left school; followed it up in less than two years by a

poem in six lines "America"; rested a year and then

produced "Babylon, A Vision of Civilization," three lines;

has written also "Herod, a Tragedy," four lines; "Revolt

of Woman, "two lines, and "The Day of Judgement," one

line. Recreation, writing poetry.

Adult, Hon. Underdone: address The Shrubbery, Hopton-

under-Hyde, Rotherham-near-Pottersby, Potts, Hants,

Hops, England (or words to that effect); organizer of

the Boys' League of Pathfinders, Chief Commissioner of

the Infant Crusaders, Grand Master of the Young Imbeciles;

Major-General of the Girl Rangers, Chief of Staff of the

Matron Mountain Climbers, etc.

Zfwinski, X. Z.: Polish pianist; plays all night; address

4,570 West 457 Street, Westside, Chicago West.

XII.--Passionate Paragraphs

(An extract from a recent (very recent) novel, illustrating

the new beauties of language and ideas that are being

rapidly developed by the twentieth century press.)

His voice as he turned towards her was taut as a tie-line.

"You don't love me!" he hoarsed, thick with agony. She

had angled into a seat and sat sensing-rather-than-seeing

him.

For a time she silenced. Then presently as he still stood

and enveloped her,--

"Don't!" she thinned, her voice fining to a thread.

"Answer me," he gloomed, still gazing into-and-through

her.

She half-heard half-didn't-hear him.

Night was falling about them as they sat thus beside the

river. A molten afterglow of iridescent saffron shot with

incandescent carmine lit up the waters of the Hudson till

they glowed like electrified uranium.

For a while they both sat silent,--looming.

"It had to be," she glumped.

"Why, why?" he barked. "Why should it have had to have

been or (more hopefully) even be to be? Surely you don't

mean because of MONEY?"

She shuddered into herself.

The thing seemed to sting her (it hadn't really).

"Money!" she almost-but-not-quite-moaned. "You might

have spared me that!"

He sank down and grassed.

And after they had sat thus for another half-hour grassing

and growling and angling and sensing one another, it

turned out that all that he was trying to say was to ask

if she would marry him.

And of course she said yes.

XIII.--Weejee the Pet Dog. An Idyll of the Summer

We were sitting on the verandah of the Sopley's summer

cottage.

"How lovely it is here," I said to my host and hostess,

"and how still."

It was at this moment that Weejee, the pet dog, took a

sharp nip at the end of my tennis trousers.

"Weejee!!" exclaimed his mistress with great emphasis,

"BAD dog! how dare you, sir! BAD dog!"

"I hope he hasn't hurt you," said my host.

"Oh, it's nothing," I answered cheerfully. "He hardly

scratched me."

"You know I don't think he means anything by it," said

Mrs. Sopley.

"Oh, I'm SURE he doesn't," I answered.

Weejee was coming nearer to me again as I spoke.

"WEEJEE!!" cried my hostess, "naughty dog, bad!"

"Funny thing about that dog," said Sopley, "the way he

KNOWS people. It's a sort of instinct. He knew right away

that you were a stranger,--now, yesterday, when the

butcher came, there was a new driver on the cart and

Weejee knew it right away,--grabbed the man by the leg

at once,--wouldn't let go. I called out to the man that

it was all right or he might have done Weejee some harm."

At this moment Weejee took the second nip at my other

trouser leg. There was a short GUR-R-R and a slight

mix-up.

"Weejee! Weejee!" called Mrs. Sopley. "How DARE you,

sir! You're just a BAD dog!! Go and lie down, sir. I'm

so sorry. I think, you know, it's your white trousers.

For some reason Weejee simply HATES white trousers. I do

hope he hasn't torn them."

"Oh, no," I said; "it's nothing only a slight tear."

"Here, Weege, Weege," said Sopley, anxious to make a

diversion and picking up a little chip of wood,--"chase

it, fetch it out!" and he made the motions of throwing

it into the lake.

"Don't throw it too far, Charles," said his wife. "He

doesn't swim awfully well," she continued, turning to

me, "and I'm always afraid he might get out of his depth.

Last week he was ever so nearly drowned. Mr. Van Toy

was in swimming, and he had on a dark blue suit (dark

blue seems simply to infuriate Weejee) and Weejee just

dashed in after him. He don't MEAN anything, you know,

it was only the SUIT made him angry,--he really likes

Mr. Van Toy,--but just for a minute we were quite alarmed.

If Mr. Van Toy hadn't carried Weejee in I think he might

have been drowned.

"By jove!" I said in a tone to indicate how appalled I

was.

"Let me throw the stick, Charles," continued Mrs. Sopley.

"Now, Weejee, look Weejee--here, good dog--look! look

now (sometimes Weejee simply won't do what one wants),

here, Weejee; now, good dog!"

Weejee had his tail sideways between his legs and was

moving towards me again.

"Hold on," said Sopley in a stern tone, "let me throw

him in."

"Do be careful, Charles," said his wife.

Sopley picked Weejee up by the collar and carried him to

the edge of the water--it was about six inches deep,--and

threw him in,--with much the same force as, let us say,

a pen is thrown into ink or a brush dipped into a pot of

varnish.

"That's enough; that's quite enough, Charles," exclaimed

Mrs. Sopley. "I think he'd better not swim. The water in

the evening is always a little cold. Good dog, good

doggie, good Weejee!"

Meantime "good Weejee" had come out of the water and was

moving again towards me.

"He goes straight to you," said my hostess. "I think he

must have taken a fancy to you."

He had.

To prove it, Weejee gave himself a rotary whirl like a

twirled mop.

"Oh, I'm SO sorry," said Mrs. Sopley. "I am. He's wetted

you. Weejee, lie down, down, sir, good dog, bad dog, lie

down!"

"It's all right," I said. "I've another white suit in my

valise."

"But you must be wet through," said Mrs. Sopley. "Perhaps

we'd better go in. It's getting late, anyway, isn't it?"

And then she added to her husband, "I don't think Weejee

ought to sit out here now that he's wet."

So we went in.

"I think you'll find everything you need," said Sopley,

as he showed me to my room, "and, by the way, don't mind

if Weejee comes into your room at night. We like to let

him run all over the house and he often sleeps on this

bed."

"All right," I said cheerfully, "I'll look after him."

That night Weejee came.

And when it was far on in the dead of night--so that even

the lake and the trees were hushed in sleep, I took Weejee

out and--but there is no need to give the details of it.

And the Sopleys are still wondering where Weejee has gone

to, and waiting for him to come back, because he is so

clever at finding his way.

But from where Weejee is, no one finds his way back.

XIV.--Sidelights on the Supermen. An Interview with

General Bernhardi.

He came into my room in that modest, Prussian way that

he has, clicking his heels together, his head very erect,

his neck tightly gripped in his forty-two centimeter

collar. He had on a Pickelhaube, or Prussian helmet,

which he removed with a sweeping gesture and laid on the

sofa.

So I knew at once that it was General Bernhardi.

In spite of his age he looked--I am bound to admit it--a

fine figure of a man. There was a splendid fullness about

his chest and shoulders, and a suggestion of rugged power

all over him. I had not heard him on the stairs. He

seemed to appear suddenly beside me.

"How did you get past the janitor?" I asked. For it was

late at night, and my room at college is three flights

up the stairs.

"The janitor," he answered carelessly, "I killed him."

I gave a gasp.

"His resistance," the general went on, "was very slight.

Apparently in this country your janitors are unarmed."

"You killed him?" I asked.

"We Prussians," said Bernhardi, "when we wish an immediate

access anywhere, always kill the janitor. It is quicker:

and it makes for efficiency. It impresses them with a

sense of our Furchtbarkeit. You have no word for that in

English, I believe?"

"Not outside of a livery stable," I answered.

There was a pause. I was thinking of the janitor. It

seemed in a sort of way--I admit that I have a sentimental

streak in me--a deplorable thing.

"Sit down," I said presently.

"Thank you," answered the General, but remained standing.

"All right," I said, "do it."

"Thank you," he repeated, without moving.

"I forgot," I said. "Perhaps you CAN'T sit down."

"Not very well," he answered; "in fact, we Prussian

officers"--here he drew himself up higher still--"never

sit down. Our uniforms do not permit of it. This inspires

us with a kind of Rastlosigkeit." Here his eyes glittered.

"It must," I said.

"In fact, with an Unsittlichkeit--an Unverschamtheit--with

an Ein-fur-alle-mal-un-dur-chaus--"

"Exactly," I said, for I saw that he was getting excited,

"but pray tell me, General, to what do I owe the honour

of this visit?"

The General's manner changed at once.

"Highly learned, and high-well-born-professor," he said,

"I come to you as to a fellow author, known and honoured

not merely in England, for that is nothing, but in Germany

herself, and in Turkey, the very home of Culture."

I knew that it was mere flattery. I knew that in this

same way Lord Haldane had been so captivated as to come

out of the Emperor's presence unable to say anything but

"Sittlichkeit" for weeks; that good old John Burns had

been betrayed by a single dinner at Potsdam, and that

the Sultan of Turkey had been told that his Answers to

Ultimatums were the wittiest things written since Kant's

Critique of Pure Reason. Yet I was pleased in spite of

myself.

"What!" I exclaimed, "they know my works of humour in

Germany?"

"Do they know them?" said the General. "Ach! Himmel!

How they laugh. That work of yours (I think I see it on

the shelf behind you), The Elements of Political Science,

how the Kaiser has laughed over it! And the Crown Prince!

It nearly killed him!"

"I will send him the new edition," I said. "But tell

me, General, what is it that you want of me?"

"It is about my own book," he answered. "You have read

it?"

I pointed to a copy of Germany and the Next War, in its

glaring yellow cover--the very hue of Furchtbarkeit--lying

on the table.

"You have read it? You have really read it?" asked the

General with great animation.

"No," I said, "I won't go so far as to say that. But I

have TRIED to read it. And I talk about it as if I had

read it."

The General's face fell.

"You are as the others," he said, "They buy the book,

they lay it on the table, they talk of it at dinner,--they

say 'Bernhardi has prophesied this, Bernhardi foresaw

that,' but read it,--nevermore."

"Still," I said, "you get the royalties."

"They are cut off. The perfidious British Government will

not allow the treacherous publisher to pay them. But that

is not my complaint."

"What is the matter, then?" I asked.

"My book is misunderstood. You English readers have failed

to grasp its intention. It is not meant as a book of

strategy. It is what you call a work of humour. The book

is to laugh. It is one big joke."

"You don't say so!" I said in astonishment.

"Assuredly," answered the General. "Here"--and with this

he laid hold of the copy of the book before me and began

rapidly turning over the leaves--"let me set it out

asunder for you, the humour of it. Listen, though, to

this, where I speak of Germany's historical mission on

page 73,--'No nation on the face of the globe is so able

to grasp and appropriate all the elements of culture as

Germany is?' What do you say to that? Is it not a joke?

Ach, Himmel, how our officers have laughed over that in

Belgium! With their booted feet on the mantelpiece as

they read and with bottles of appropriated champagne

beside them as they laugh."

"You are right, General," I said, "you will forgive my

not laughing out loud, but you are a great humorist."

"Am I not? And listen further still, how I deal with the

theme of the German character,--'Moral obligations such

as no nation had ever yet made the standard of conduct,

are laid down by the German philosophers.'"

"Good," I said, "gloriously funny; read me some more."

"This, then, you will like,--here I deal with the

permissible rules of war. It is on page 236 that I am

reading it. I wrote this chiefly to make laugh our naval

men and our Zeppelin crews,--'A surprise attack, in order

to be justified, must be made only on the armed forces

of the state and not on its peaceful inhabitants.

Otherwise the attack becomes a treacherous crime.' Eh,

what?"

Here the General broke into roars of laughter.

"Wonderful," I said. "Your book ought to sell well in

Scarborough and in Yarmouth. Read some more."

"I should like to read you what I say about neutrality,

and how England is certain to violate our strategical

right by an attack on Belgium and about the sharp measures

that ought to be taken against neutral ships laden with

contraband,--the passages are in Chapters VII and VIII,

but for the moment I fail to lay the thumb on them."

"Give me the book, General," I said. "Now that I understand

what you meant by it, I think I can show you also some

very funny passages in it. These things, for example,

that you say about Canada and the colonies,--yes, here

it is, page 148,--'In the event of war the loosely-joined

British Empire will break into pieces, and the colonies

will consult their own interests,'--excellently funny,--and

this again,--'Canada will not permanently retain any

trace of the English spirit,'--and this too,--'the Colonies

can be completely ignored so far as the European theatre

of war is concerned,'--and here again,--'Egypt and South

Africa will at once revolt and break away from the empire,'

--really, General, your ideas of the British Colonies

are superbly funny. Mark Twain wasn't a circumstance on

you."

"Not at all," said Bernhardi, and his voice reverted to

his habitual Prussian severity, "these are not jokes.

They are facts. It is only through the folly of the

Canadians in not reading my book that they are not more

widely known. Even as it is they are exactly the views

of your great leader Heinrich Bauratze--"

"Who?" I said.

"Heinrich Bauratze, your great Canadian leader--"

"Leader of what?"

"That I do not know," said Bernhardi. "Our intelligence

office has not yet heard what he leads. But as soon as

he leads anything we shall know it. Meantime we can see

from his speeches that he has read my book. Ach! if only

your other leaders in Canada,--Sir Robert Laurier, Sir

Osler Sifton, Sir Williams Borden,--you smile, you do

not realize that in Germany we have exact information of

everything: all that happens, we know it."

Meantime I had been looking over the leaves of the book.

"Here at least," I said, "is some splendidly humorous

stuff,--this about the navy. 'The completion of the Kiel

Canal,' you write in Chapter XII, 'is of great importance

as it will enable our largest battleships to appear

unexpectedly in the Baltic and in the North Sea!' Appear

unexpectedly! If they only would! How exquisitely

absurd--"

"Sir!" said the General. "That is not to laugh. You err

yourself. That is Furchtbarkeit. I did not say the book

is all humour. That would be false art. Part of it is

humour and part is Furchbarkeit. That passage is specially

designed to frighten Admiral Jellicoe. And he won't read

it! Potztausand, he won't read it!"--repeated the general,

his eyes flashing and his clenched fist striking in the

air--"What sort of combatants are these of the British

Navy who refuse to read our war-books? The Kaiser's

Heligoland speech! They never read a word of it. The

Furchtbarkeit-Proklamation of August,--they never looked

at it. The Reichstags-Rede with the printed picture of

the Kaiser shaking hands with everybody,--they used it

to wrap up sandwiches! What are they, then, Jellicoe and

his men? They sit there in their ships and they read

nothing! How can we get at them if they refuse to read?

How can we frighten them away if they haven't culture

enough to get frightened. Beim Himmel," shouted the

General in great excitement--

But what more he said can never be known. For at this

second a sudden catastrophe happened.

In his frenzy of excitement the General struck with his

fist at the table, missed it, lost his balance and fell

over sideways right on the point of his Pickelhaube which

he had laid on the sofa. There was a sudden sound as of

the ripping of cloth and the bursting of pneumatic cushions

and to my amazement the General collapsed on the sofa,

his uniform suddenly punctured in a dozen places.

"Schnapps," he cried, "fetch brandy."

"Great Heavens! General," I said, "what has happened?"

"My uniform!" he moaned, "it has burst! Give me Schnapps!"

He seemed to shrink visibly in size. His magnificent

chest was gone. He was shrivelling into a tattered heap.

He appeared as he lay there, a very allegory and

illustration of Prussian Furchtbarkeit with the wind

going out of it.

"Fetch Schnapps,"--he moaned.

"There are no Schnapps here," I said, "this is McGill

University."

"Then call the janitor," he said.

"You killed him," I said.

"I didn't. I was lying. I gave him a look that should

have killed him, but I don't think it did. Rouse yourself

from your chair, and call him--"

"I will," I said, and started up from my seat.

But as I did so, the form of General Bernhardi, which I

could have sworn had been lying in a tattered heap on

the sofa on the other side of the room, seemed suddenly

to vanish from my eyes.

There was nothing before me but the empty room with the

fire burned low in the grate, and in front of me an open

copy of Bernhardi's book.

I must,--like many another reader,--have fallen asleep

over it.

XV.--The Survival of the Fittest

A bell tinkled over the door of the little drug store as

I entered it; which seemed strange in a lighted street

of a great city.

But the little store itself, dim even in the centre and

dark in the corners was gloomy enough for a country

crossroads.

"I have to have the bell," said the man behind the counter,

reading my thought, "I'm alone here just now."

"A toothbrush?" he said in answer to my question. "Yes,

I guess I've got some somewhere round here." He was

stooping under and behind his counter and his voice came

up from below. "I've got some somewhere--" And then as

if talking to himself he murmured from behind a pile of

cardboard boxes, "I saw some Tuesday."

Had I gone across the street to the brilliant premises

of the Cut Rate Pharmaceutical where they burn electric

light by the meterfull I should no sooner have said "tooth

brush," than one of the ten clerks in white hospital

jackets would have poured a glittering assortment over

the counter--prophylactic, lactic and every other sort.

But I had turned in, I don't know why, to the little

store across the way.

"Here, I guess these must be tooth brushes," he said,

reappearing at the level of the counter with a flat box

in his hand. They must have been presumably, or have once

been,--at some time long ago.

"They're tooth brushes all right," he said, and started

looking over them with an owner's interest.

"What is the price of them?" I asked.

"Well," the man said musingly, "I don't--jest--know. I

guess it's written on them likely," and he began to look

at the handles.

Over at the Pharmaceutical across the way the words "what

price?" would have precipitated a ready avalanche of

figures.

"This one seems to be seventy-five cents," he said and

handed me one.

"Is it a good tooth brush?" I asked.

"It ought to be," he said, "you'd think, at that price."

He had no shop talk, no patter whatever.

Then he looked at the brush again, more closely.

"I don't believe it IS seventy-five," he muttered, "I

think it must be fifteen, don't you?"

I took it from his hand and looked and said,--for it is

well to take an occasional step towards the Kingdom of

Heaven,--that I was certain it was seventy-five.

"Well," said the man, "perhaps it is, my sight is not so

good now. I've had too much to do here and the work's

been using me up some."

I noticed now as he said this how frail he looked as he

bent over his counter wrapping up the tooth brush.

"I've no sealing wax," he said, "or not handy."

"That doesn't matter," I answered, "just put it in the

paper."

Over the way of course the tooth brush would have been

done up almost instantaneously, in white enamel paper,

sealed at the end and stamped with a label, as fast as

the money paid for it went rattling along an automatic

carrier to a cashier.

"You've been very busy, eh?" I asked.

"Well, not so much with customers," he said, "but with

fixing up the place,"--here he glanced about him. Heaven

only knows what he had fixed. There were no visible signs

of it.

"You see I've only been in here a couple of months. It

was a pretty tough looking place when I came to it. But

I've been getting things fixed. First thing I did I put

those two carboys in the window with the lights behind

them. They show up fine, don't they?"

"Fine!" I repeated; so fine indeed that the dim yellow

light in them reached three or four feet from the jar.

But for the streaming light from the great store across

the street, the windows of the little shop would have

been invisible.

"It's a good location here," he said. Any one could have

told him that it was the worst location within two miles.

"I'll get it going presently," he went on. "Of course

it's uphill just at first. Being such a good location

the rent is high. The first two weeks I was here I was

losing five dollars a day. But I got those lights in the

window and got the stock overhauled a little to make it

attractive and last month I reckon I was only losing

three dollars a day."

"That's better," I said.

"Oh, yes," he went on, and there was a clear glint of

purpose in his eye that contrasted with his sunken cheeks.

"I'll get it going. This last two weeks I'm not losing

more than say two and a half a day or something like

that? The custom is bound to come. You get a place fixed

up and made attractive like this and people are sure to

come sooner or later."

What it was that was fixed up, and wherein lay the

attractiveness I do not know. It could not be seen with

the outward eye. Perhaps after two months' work of piling

dusty boxes now this way, now that, and putting little

candles behind the yellow carboys to try the effect, some

inward vision came that lighted the place up with an

attractiveness wanting even in the glass and marble

glitter of the Pharmacy across the way.

"Yes, sir," continued the man, "I mean to stay with it.

I'll get things into shape here, fix it up a little more

and soon I'll have it,"--here his face radiated with a

vision of hope--"so that I won't lose a single cent."

I looked at him in surprise. So humble an ambition it

had never been my lot to encounter.

"All that bothers me," he went on, "is my health. It's

a nice business the drug business: I like it, but it

takes it out of you. You've got to be alert and keen all

the time; thinking out plans to please the custom when

it comes. Often I don't sleep well nights for the rush

of it."

I looked about the little shop, as gloomy and sleepful

as the mausoleum of an eastern king, and wondered by what

alchemy of the mind the little druggist found it a very

vortex of activity.

"But I can fix my health," he returned--"I may have to

get some one in here and go away for a spell. Perhaps

I'll do it. The doctor was saying he thought I might take

a spell off and think out a few more wrinkles while I'm

away."

At the word "doctor" I looked at him more warmly, and I

saw then what was plain enough to see but for the dim

light of the little place,--the thin flush on the cheek,

the hopeful mind, the contrast of the will to live and

the need to die, God's little irony on man, it was all

there plain enough to read. The "spell" for which the

little druggist was going is that which is written in

letters of sorrow over the sunlit desolation of Arizona

and the mountains of Colorado.

A month went by before I passed that way again. I looked

across at the little store and I read the story in its

drawn blinds and the padlock on its door.

The little druggist had gone away for a spell. And they

told me, on enquiry, that his journey had been no further

than to the cemetery behind the town where he lies now,

musing, if he still can, on the law of the survival of

the fittest in this well-adjusted world.

And they say that the shock of the addition of his whole

business to the great Pharmacy across the way scarcely

disturbed a soda siphon.

XVI--The First Newspaper. A Sort of Allegory

How likes it you, Master Brenton?" said the brawny

journeyman, spreading out the news sheet on a smooth

oaken table where it lay under the light of a leaded

window.

"A marvellous fair sheet," murmured Brenton Caxton,

seventh of the name, "let me but adjust my glasses and

peruse it further lest haply there be still aught in it

that smacks of error."

"It needs not," said the journeyman, "'tis the fourth

time already from the press."

"Nay, nay," answered Master Brenton softly, as he adjusted

his great horn-rimmed spectacles and bent his head over

the broad damp news sheet before him. "Let us grudge no

care in this. The venture is a new one and, meseems, a

very parlous thing withal. 'Tis a venture that may easily

fail and carry down our fortunes with it, but at least

let it not be said that it failed for want of brains in

the doing."

"Fail quotha!" said a third man, who had not yet spoken,

old, tall and sour of visage and wearing a printer's

leather apron. He had moved over from the further side

of the room where a little group of apprentices stood

beside the wooden presses that occupied the corner, and

he was looking over the shoulder of Master Brenton Caxton.

"How can it do aught else? 'Tis a mad folly. Mark you,

Master Brenton and Master Nick, I have said it from the

first and let the blame be none of mine. 'Tis a mad thing

you do here. See then," he went on, turning and waving

his hand, "this vast room, these great presses, yonder

benches and tools, all new, yonder vats of ink straight

out of Flanders, how think you you can recover the cost

of all this out of yonder poor sheets? Five and forty

years have I followed this mystery of printing, ever

since thy grandfather's day, Master Brenton, and never

have I seen the like. What needed this great chamber when

your grandfather and father were content with but a garret

place, and yonder presses that can turn off four score

copies in the compass of a single hour,--'Tis mad folly,

I say."

The moment was an interesting one. The speakers were in

a great room with a tall ceiling traversed by blackened

beams. From the street below there came dimly through

the closed casements the sound of rumbling traffic and

the street cries of the London of the seventeenth century.

Two vast presses of such colossal size that their wooden

levers would tax the strength of the stoutest apprentice,

were ranged against the further wall. About the room,

spread out on oaken chairs and wooden benches, were flat

boxes filled with leaden type, freshly molten, and a

great pile of paper, larger than a man could lift, stood

in a corner.

The first English newspaper in history was going to press.

Those who in later ages,--editors, printers, and

workers--have participated in the same scene, can form

some idea of the hopes and fears, the doubts and the

difficulties, with which the first newspaper was ushered

into the world.

Master Brenton Caxton turned upon the last speaker the

undisturbed look of the eye that sees far across the

present into the years to come.

"Nay, Edward," he said, "you have laboured over much in

the past and see not into the future. You think this

chamber too great for our purpose? I tell you the time

will come when not this room alone but three or four such

will be needed for our task. Already I have it in my mind

that I will divide even this room into portions, with

walls shrewdly placed through its length and breadth, so

that each that worketh shall sit as it were in his own

chamber and there shall stand one at the door and whosoever

cometh, to whatever part of our task his business

appertains, he shall forthwith be brought to the room of

him that hath charge of it. Cometh he with a madrigal or

other light poesy that he would set out on the press, he

shall find one that has charge of such matters and can

discern their true value. Or, cometh he with news of

aught that happens in the realm, so shall he be brought

instant to the room of him that recordeth such events.

Or, if so be, he would write a discourse on what seemeth

him some wise conceit touching the public concerns, he

shall find to his hand a convenient desk with ink and

quills and all that he needeth to set it straightway on

paper; thus shall there be a great abundance of written

matter to our hand so that not many days shall elapse

after one of our news sheets goes abroad before there be

matter enough to fill another."

"Days!" said the aged printer, "think you you can fill

one of these news sheets in a few days! Where indeed if

you search the whole realm will you find talk enough in

a single week to fill out this great sheet half an ell

wide!"

"Ay, days indeed!" broke in Master Nicholas, the younger

journeyman. "Master Brenton speaks truth, or less than

truth. For not days indeed, but in the compass of a single

day, I warrant you, shall we find the matter withal."

Master Nicholas spoke with the same enthusiasm as his

chief, but with less of the dreamer in his voice and eye,

and with more swift eagerness of the practical man.

"Fill it, indeed," he went on. "Why, Gad Zooks! man! who

knoweth what happenings there are and what not till one

essays the gathering of them! And should it chance that

there is nothing of greater import, no boar hunt of his

Majesty to record, nor the news of some great entertainment

by one of the Lords of the Court, then will we put in

lesser matter, aye whatever comes to hand, the talk of

his Majesty's burgesses in the Parliament or any such

things."

"Hear him!" sneered the printer, "the talk of his Majesty's

burgesses in Westminster, forsooth! And what clerk or

learned person would care to read of such? Or think you

that His Majesty's Chamberlain would long bear that such

idle chatter should be bruited abroad. If you can find

no worthier thing for this our news sheet than the talk

of the Burgesses, then shall it fail indeed. Had it been

the speech of the King's great barons and the bishops

'twere different. But dost fancy that the great barons

would allow that their weighty discourses be reduced to

common speech so that even the vulgar may read it and

haply here and there fathom their very thought itself,--and

the bishops, the great prelates, to submit their ideas

to the vulgar hand of a common printer, framing them into

mere sentences! 'Tis unthinkable that they would sanction

it!"

"Aye," murmured Caxton in his dreaming voice, "the time

shall come, Master Edward, when they will not only sanction

it but seek it."

"Look you," broke in Master Nick, "let us have done with

this talk? Whether there be enough happenings or not

enough,"--and here he spoke with a kindling eye and looked

about him at the little group of apprentices and printers,

who had drawn near to listen, "if there be not enough,

then will I MAKE THINGS HAPPEN. What is easier than to

tell of happenings forth of the realm of which no man

can know,--some talk of the Grand Turk and the war that

he makes, or some happenings in the New Land found by

Master Columbus. Aye," he went on, warming to his words

and not knowing that he embodied in himself the first

birth on earth of the telegraphic editor,--"and why not.

One day we write it out on our sheet 'The Grand Turk

maketh disastrous war on the Bulgars of the North and

hath burnt divers of their villages.' And that hath no

sooner gone forth than we print another sheet saying,

'It would seem that the villages be not burnt but only

scorched, nor doth it appear that the Turk burnt them

but that the Bulgars burnt divers villages of the Turk

and are sitting now in his mosque in the city of Hadrian.'

Then shall all men run to and fro and read the sheet and

question and ask, 'Is it thus?' And, 'Is it thus?' and

by very uncertainty of circumstances, they shall demand

the more curiously to see the news sheet and read it."

"Nay, nay, Master Nick," said Brenton, firmly, "that will

I never allow. Let us make it to ourselves a maxim that

all that shall be said in this news sheet, or 'news

paper,' as my conceit would fain call it, for be it not

made of paper (here a merry laugh of the apprentices

greeted the quaint fancy of the Master), shall be of

ascertained verity and fact indisputable. Should the

Grand Turk make war and should the rumour of it come to

these isles, then will we say 'The Turk maketh war,' and

should the Turk be at peace, then we will say 'The Turk

it doth appear is now at peace.' And should no news come,

then shall we say 'In good sooth we know not whether the

Turk destroyeth the Bulgars or whether he doth not, for

while some hold that he harasseth them sorely, others

have it that he harasseth them not, whereby we are sore

put to it to know whether there be war or peace, nor do

we desire to vex the patience of those who read by any

further discourse on the matter, other than to say that

we ourselves are in doubt what be and what be not truth,

nor will we any further speak of it other than this.'"

Those about Caxton listened with awe to this speech. They

did not,--they could not know,--that this was the birth

of the Leading Article, but there was something in the

strangely fascinating way in which their chief enlarged

upon his own ignorance that foreshowed to the meanest

intelligence the possibilities of the future.

Nicholas shook his head.

"'Tis a poor plan, Master Brenton," he said, "the folk

wish news, give them the news. The more thou givest them,

the better pleased they are and thus doth the news sheet

move from hand to hand till it may be said (if I too may

coin a phrase) to increase vastly its 'circulation'--"

"In sooth," said Master Brenton, looking at Nicholas with

a quiet expression that was not exempt from a certain

slyness, "there I do hold thou art in the wrong, even as

a matter of craft or policie. For it seems to me that if

our paper speaketh first this and then that but hath no

fixed certainty of truth, sooner or later will all its

talk seem vain, and no man will heed it. But if it speak

always the truth, then sooner or later shall all come to

believe it and say of any happening, 'It standeth written

in the paper, therefore it is so.' And here I charge you

all that have any part in this new venture," continued

Master Brenton, looking about the room at the listening

faces and speaking with great seriousness, "let us lay

it to our hearts that our maxim shall be truth and truth

alone. Let no man set his hand to aught that shall go

upon our presses save only that which is assured truth.

In this way shall our venture ever be pleasing to the

Most High, and I do verily believe,"--and here Caxton's

voice sank lower as if he were thinking aloud,--"in the

long run, it will be mighty good for our circulation."

The speaker paused. Then turning to the broad sheet before

him, he began to scan its columns with his eye. The others

stood watching him as he read.

"What is this, Master Edward," he queried presently,

"here I see in this first induct, or column, as one names

it, the word King fairly and truly spelled. Lower down

it standeth Kyng, and yet further in the second induct

Kynge, and in the last induct where there is talk of His

Majesty's marvelous skill in the French game of palm or

tennis, lo the word stands Quhyngge! How sayeth thou?"

"Wouldst have it written always in but one and the same

way?" asked the printer in astonishment.

"Aye, truly," said Caxton.

"With never any choice, or variation to suit the fancy

of him who reads so that he who likes it written King

may see it so, and yet also he who would prefer it written

in a freer style, or Quhyngge, may also find it so and

thus both be pleased."

"That will I never have!" said Master Brenton firmly,

"dost not remember, friend, the old tale in the fabula

of Aesopus of him who would please all men. Here will I

make another maxim for our newspaper. All men we cannot

please, for in pleasing one belike we run counter to

another. Let us set our hand to write always without

fear. Let us seek favour with none. Always in our news

sheet we will seek to speak dutifully and with all

reverence of the King his Majesty: let us also speak with

all respect and commendation of His Majesty's great

prelates and nobles, for are they not the exalted of the

land? Also I would have it that we say nothing harsh

against our wealthy merchants and burgesses, for hath

not the Lord prospered them in their substances. Yea,

friends, let us speak ever well of the King, the clergy,

the nobility and of all persons of wealth and substantial

holdings. But beyond this"--here Brenton Coxton's eye

flashed,--"let us speak with utter fearlessness of all

men. So shall we be, if I may borrow a mighty good word

from Tacitus his Annals, of a complete independence,

hanging on to no man. In fact our venture shall be an

independent newspaper."

The listeners felt an instinctive awe at the words, and

again a strange prescience of the future made itself felt

in every mind. Here for the first time in history was

being laid down that fine, fearless creed that has made

the independent press what it is.

Meantime Caxton continued to glance his eye over the news

sheet, murmuring his comments on what he saw,--"Ah! vastly

fine, Master Nicholas,--this of the sailing of His

Majesty's ships for Spain,--and this, too, of the Doge

of Venice, his death, 'tis brave reading and maketh a

fair discourse. Here also this likes me, 'tis shrewdly

devised," and here he placed his finger on a particular

spot on the news sheet,--"here in speaking of the strange

mishap of my Lord Arundel, thou useth a great S for

strange, and setteth it in a line all by itself whereby

the mind of him that reads is suddenly awakened, alarmed

as it were by a bell in the night. 'Tis good. 'Tis well.

But mark you, friend Nicholas, try it not too often, nor

use your great letters too easily. In the case of my Lord

Arundel, it is seemly, but for a mishap to a lesser

person, let it stand in a more modest fashion."

There was a pause. Then suddenly Caxton looked up again.

"What manner of tale is this! What strange thing is here!

In faith, Master Nicholas, whence hast thou so marvelous

a thing! The whole world must know of it. Harken ye all

to this!

"'Let all men that be troubled of aches, spavins, rheums,

boils, maladies of the spleen or humours of the blood,

come forthwith to the sign of the Red Lantern in East

Cheap. There shall they find one that hath a marvelous

remedy for all such ailments, brought with great dangers

and perils of the journey from a far distant land. This

wonderous balm shall straightway make the sick to be well

and the lame to walk. Rubbed on the eye it restoreth

sight and applied to the ear it reviveth the hearing.

'Tis the sole invention of Doctor Gustavus Friedman,

sometime of Gottingen and brought by him hitherwards out

of the sheer pity of his heart for them that be afflicted,

nor shall any other fee be asked for it save only such

a light and tender charge as shall defray the cost of

Doctor Friedman his coming and going.'"

Caxton paused and gazed at Master Nicholas in wonder.

"Whence hadst thou this?"

Master Nicholas smiled.

"I had it of a chapman, or travelling doctor, who was

most urgent that we set it forth straightway on the

press."

"And is it true?" asked Caxton; "thou hast it of a full

surety of knowledge?"

Nicholas laughed lightly.

"True or false, I know not," he said, "but the fellow

was so curious that we should print it that he gave me

two golden laurels and a new sovereign on the sole

understanding that we should set it forth in print."

There was deep silence for a moment.

"He PAYETH to have it printed!" said Caxton, deeply

impressed.

"Aye," said Master Nicholas, "he payeth and will pay

more. The fellow hath other balms equally potent. All of

these he would admonish, or shall I say advert, the

public."

"So," said Caxton, thoughtfully, "he wishes to make, if

I may borrow a phrase of Albertus Magnus, an advertisement

of his goods."

"Even so," said Nicholas.

"I see," said the Master, "he payeth us. We advert the

goods. Forthwith all men buy them. Then hath he more

money. He payeth us again. We advert the goods more and

still he payeth us. That would seem to me, friend Nick,

a mighty good busyness for us."

"So it is," rejoined Nicholas, "and after him others will

come to advert other wares until belike a large part of

our news sheet,--who knows? the whole of it, perhaps,

shall be made up in the merry guise of advertisements."

Caxton sat silent in deep thought.

"But Master Caxton"--cried the voice of a young apprentice,

a mere child, as he seemed, with fair hair and blue eyes

filled with the native candour of unsullied youth,--"is

this tale true!"

"What sayest thou, Warwick?" said the master printer,

almost sternly.

"Good master, is the tale of the wonderous balm true?"

"Boy," said Caxton, "Master Nicholas, hath even said, we

know not if it is true."

"But didst thou not charge us," pleaded the boy, "that

all that went under our hand into the press should be

truth and truth alone?"

"I did," said Caxton thoughtfully, "but I spoke perhaps

somewhat in overhaste. I see that we must here distinguish.

Whether this is true or not we cannot tell. But it is

PAID FOR, and that lifts it, as who should say, out of

the domain of truth. The very fact that it is paid for

giveth it, as it were, a new form of merit, a verity

altogether its own."

"Ay, ay," said Nicholas, with a twinkle in his shrewd

eyes, "entirely its own."

"Indeed so," said Caxton, "and here let us make to

ourselves another and a final maxim of guidance. All

things that any man will pay for, these we will print,

whether true or not, for that doth not concern us. But

if one cometh here with any strange tale of a remedy or

aught else and wishes us to make advertisement of it and

hath no money to pay for it, then shall he be cast forth

out of this officina, or office, if I may call it so,

neck and crop into the street. Nay, I will have me one

of great strength ever at the door ready for such castings."

A murmur of approval went round the group.

Caxton would have spoken further but at the moment the

sound of a bell was heard booming in the street without.

"'Tis the Great Bell," said Caxton, "ringing out the hour

of noon. Quick, all of you to your task. Lay me the forms

on the press and speed me the work. We start here a great

adventure. Mark well the maxims I have given you, and

God speed our task."

And in another hour or so, the prentice boys of the master

printer were calling in the streets the sale of the first

English newspaper.

XVII--In the Good Time After the War

[Footnote: An extract from a London newspaper of 1916.]

HOUSE OF COMMONS REPORT

The Prime Minister in rising said that he thought the

time had now come when the House might properly turn its

attention again to domestic affairs. The foreign world

was so tranquil that there was really nothing of importance

which need be brought to the attention of the House.

Members, however, would, perhaps, be glad to learn

incidentally that a new and more comfortable cage had

been supplied for the ex-German Emperor, and that the

ex-Crown Prince was now showing distinct signs of

intelligence, and was even able to eat quite quietly out

of his keeper's hand. Members would be gratified to know

that at last the Hohenzollern family were able to abstain

from snapping at the hand that fed them. But he would

now turn to the subject of Home Rule.

Here the House was seen to yawn noticeably, and a general

lack of interest was visible, especially among the

Nationalist and Ulster members. A number of members were

seen to rise as if about to move to the refreshment-

room. Mr. John Redmond and Sir Edward Carson were seen

walking arm in arm towards the door.

The Prime Minister. "Will the members kindly keep their

seats? We are about to hold a discussion on Home Rule.

Members will surely recall that this form of discussion

was one of our favourite exercises only a year or so ago.

I trust that members have not lost interest in the

subject." (General laughter among the members, and cries

of "Cut it out!" "What is it?")

The Prime Minister (with some asperity). "Members are

well aware what Home Rule meant. It was a plan--or rather

it was a scheme--that is to say, it was an act of

parliament, or I should say a bill, in fact, Mr. Speaker,

I don't mind confessing that, not having my papers with

me, I am unable to inform the House just what Home Rule

was. I think, perhaps, the Ex-Minister of Munitions has

a copy of last year's bill."

Mr. Lloyd George rising, with evident signs of boredom.

"The House will excuse me. I am tired. I have been out

all day aeroplaning with Mr. Churchill and Mr. Bonar Law,

with a view to inspect the new national training camp.

I had the Home Rule Bill with me along with the Welsh

Disestablishment Bill and the Land Bill, and I am afraid

that I lost the whole bally lot of them; dropped them

into the sea or something. I hope the Speaker will overlook

the term 'bally.' It may not be parliamentary."

Mr. Speaker (laughing). "Tut, tut, never mind a little

thing like that. I am sure that after all that we have

gone through together, the House is quite agreed that a

little thing like parliamentary procedure doesn't matter."

Mr. Lloyd George (humbly). "Still I am sorry for the

term. I'd like to withdraw it. I separate or distinguish

in any degree the men of Ulster from the men of Tipperary,

and the heart of Belfast from the heart of Dublin." (Loud

cheers.)

Mr. Redmond (springing forward). "And I'll say this: Not

I, nor any man of Ireland, Dublin, Belfast, or Connaught

will ever set our hands or names to any bill that shall

separate Ireland in any degree from the rest of the

Empire. Work out, if you like, a new scheme of government.

If the financial clauses are intricate, get one of your

treasury clerks to solve them. If there's trouble in

arranging your excise on your customs, settle it in any

way you please. But it is too late now to separate England

and Ireland. We've held the flag of the Empire in our

hand. We mean to hold it in our grasp forever. We have

seen its colours tinged a brighter red with the best of

Ireland's blood, and that proud stain shall stay forever

as the symbol of the unity of Irish and the English

people."

(Loud cheers ring through the House; several members rise

in great excitement, all shouting and speaking together.)

There is heard the voice of Mr. Angus McCluskey, Member

for the Hebrides, calling--"And ye'll no forget Scotland,

me lad, when you talk of unity! Do you mind the

Forty-Second, and the London Scottish in the trenches of

the Aisne? Wha carried the flag of the Empire then? Unity,

ma friends, ye'll never break it. It may involve a wee

bit sacrifice for Scotland financially speaking. I'll no

say no to a reveesion of the monetairy terms, if ye

suggest it,--but for unita--Scotland and the Empire, now

and forever!"

A great number of members have risen in their seats. Mr.

Open Ap Owen Glendower is calling: "Aye and Wales! never

forget Wales." Mr. Trevelyan Trendinning of Cornwall has

started singing "And shall Trelawney Die?"--while the

deep booming of "Rule Britannia" from five hundred throats

ascends to the very rafters of the House.

The Speaker laughing and calling for order, while two of

the more elderly clerks are beating with the mace on the

table,--"Gentlemen, gentlemen, I have a proposal to make.

I have just learned that there is at the Alhambra in

Leicester Square, a real fine moving picture show of the

entrance of the Allies into Berlin. Let's all go to it.

We can leave a committee of the three youngest members

to stay behind and draw up a new government for Ireland.

Even they can't go wrong now as to what we want."

Loud Cheers as the House empties, singing "It was a Long

Way to Tipperary, but the way lay through Berlin."