is only that
these cranks, at least, seem to be fighting for that human right to an
equal share of the common good things of this life which ought to be the
possession of all labour, however lowly. Take the education of the
masses out of the hands of the for the most part ignorant men and women
who nowadays make it their profession to teach it; raise the standard of
payment so that this all-important branch of citizenship will encourage
educated and refined men and women to take up that duty--and give the
working classes decent homes, plenty of air, and the chance of healthful
recreation close at hand, and you have solved the most vital labour
problems of this old world of ours and laid the foundation stones of the
new.

_How I came to make "History"!_

Only those who have worked in the offices of an important newspaper, know
that the Power Behind the Throne--which is the Editorial Chair--is rarely
the Church, scarcely ever the State, infrequently the Capitalist, and
_never_ Labour,--but simply the Advertisement Department.

I was sitting the other afternoon--dreaming, as is my wont; and smoking
cigarettes, which is one of my bad habits,--when the head-representative
of this unseen Power rushed into my sanctum.

"Will you do something for me?" he demanded, with that beneficent smile
on his face which, through experience, I have discovered to be the
prelude of most disagreeable demands.

"Certainly," I answered, inwardly collecting my scattered brains
preparatory to a brilliant defence. "What is it?"

Without more ado he, as it were, threw his bomb.

"Will you write me an Essay on Corsets?"

"On _what_?" I asked incredulously--knowing that he had been a
distinguished soldier, and suspecting that he had suddenly developed what
the soldiers describe as "a touch of the doolally."

"On _Corsets_!"

"But I don't know anything about them," I protested, "except that I
should not like to wear them!"

"That doesn't matter," he answered reassuringly. "All we want is a page
of 'matter.'"

Then he proceeded to explain that he had secured several highly-paid
advertisements from the leading corsetieres, and that his "bright idea"
was to connect them together by an essay illustrated by their wares, in
order that those who read might be attracted to buy.

Then he left me.

"Just write a history of corsets," he cried out laughing. Then, by way
of decorating the "bitter pill" with jam, he added: "I'm _sure_ you