y are safe in a rowing boat, but capsize in a sailing
boat.

Here is an axiom which I offer to all spendthrifts: We cannot command our
incomings; but we can control outgoings.

ON A TOP-HAT

A few days ago I went to a christening to make vows on behalf of the
offspring of a gallant young officer now at the front. I conceived that the
fitting thing on such an occasion was to wear a silk hat, and accordingly I
took out the article, warmed it before the fire, and rubbed it with a hat
pad until it was nice and shiny, put it on my head, and set out for the
church. But I soon regretted the choice. It had no support from any one
else present, and when later I got out of the Tube and walked down the
Strand I found that I was a conspicuous person, which, above all things, I
hate to be. My hat, I saw, was observed. Eyes were turned towards me with
that mild curiosity with which one remarks any innocent oddity or vanity of
the streets.

I became self-conscious and looked around for companionship, but as my eye
travelled along the crowded pavement I could see nothing but bowlers and
trilbys and occasional straws. "Ah, here at last," said I, "is one coming."
But a nearer view only completed my discomfiture, for it was one of those
greasy-shiny hats which go with frayed trousers and broken boots, and which
are the symbol of "better days," of hopes that are dead, and "drinks" that
dally, of a social status that has gone and of a suburban villa that has
shrunk to a cubicle in a Rowton lodging-house. I looked at greasy-hat and
greasy-hat looked at me, and in that momentary glance of fellowship we
agreed that we were "out of it."

I put my silk hat away at night with the firm resolution that nothing short
of an invitation to Buckingham Palace, or some similar incredible disaster,
should make me drag it into the light again. For the truth is that the war
has given the top-hat a knock-out blow. It had been tottering on our brows
for some time. There was a very hot summer a few years ago which began the
revolution. The tyranny of the top-hat became intolerable, and quite
"respectable" people began to be seen in the streets with Panamas and
straws. But these were only concessions to an irresponsible climate, and
the silk hat still held its ancient sway as the crown and glory of our City
civilisation. And now it has toppled down and is on the way, perhaps, to
becoming as much a thing of the past as wigs or knee-breeches. It is alm