  We are sorry to hear that the Premier is suffering from a troublesome Gough. Poor Mr. Asquith, as though he had not already worries enough, is getting into trouble for sending an exclusive statement to The Times. He now stands convicted by his own party of being a Times-server. The Premier Magazine is announced for sale. Is this, we wonder, the Powder Magazine on which he has been sitting? At one moment it began to look as if the Admiralty, after all, was going to change its mind and we were to have Grand Man[oe]uvres this year—off the coast of Ireland. There are rumours that the Suffragettes are now preparing to blow up the whole of Ireland, as they find that that little country has during the past few days been distracting public attention from their cause. An appeal is being made for funds to enable the battlefield of Waterloo to be preserved. A handsome donation has, it is said, been offered by one of our most enterprising railway companies, the only condition made being that the name shall be altered to Bakerloo. It is so often asserted that a Varsity career unfits one for success in the bigger world that it is satisfactory to read that the Prince of Wales's income from the Duchy of Cornwall was £85,719 last year, as compared with £81,350 in the previous year. The Association of Lancastrians in London held their annual dinner last week. It would have been a kindly and thoughtful act on the part of those responsible for the dinner had they offered a seat to Mr. Masterman, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, who is now back in town. Mr. Justice Scrutton has fined a man for saying "Hear, hear," in court, and there is something approaching a panic among our Comic Judges lest some colleague on a lower plane of humour should fine somebody, for laughing in court. It has been said that we English take our pleasures sadly. By way of compensation, apparently, we take our tragedies gaily. Under the heading "Amusement Notes" in The Daily Mail we find the following announcement:—"At the Scala Theatre a new colour film is promised for Monday next, which is to depict in striking fashion the terrors of modern scientific warfare." A contemporary describes the production, Splash Me, which was presented at the Palladium last week, as "a Water Revue." The correct expression is surely "Naval Revue"? Messrs. Weekes and Co. have published a "Song of the Aeroplane," and we suspect that all concerned in this venture are terrified lest some clumsy critic shall say, "Merely to hear this song makes one want to fly." It is sometimes asked, Are we a musical nation? It is possible, of course, that we are, but last week we were informed by an advertisement that "the greatest song success of the season" is entitled "Popsy Wopsy." A Mr. Snooks attained his 100th birthday last week. So much for those who say that ridicule kills! Thetford (Norfolk) Corporation have decided to pay their mayor a salary of £20 in future "owing to the heavy financial drain on his pocket." We think it should have been removed and the cost charged to drainage expenses. The coat-of-arms provided for the Metropolitan Asylum Board includes a red cross, the golden staff of Æsculapius, an eagle, a dragon, and red and white roses. It sounds a mad enough medley. Answer to a correspondent: No, Wild Life is not an organ of the Militants. Our Futurist Pygmalion Our Futurist Pygmalion (on seeing his Galatea come to life). |
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