gesture and business made a reasonable figure
of fun for our obloquy. All but broken in the end, but still claiming
that he had "the larger vision" (as he certainly had the larger
diameter), there was a certain dignity of pathos in his exit, a late
_amende_ by an otherwise remorseless puppet-maker. Mr. SYDNEY PAXTON
as a pillar of Nonconformity offered a clever study in the
unctuous-grotesque; Mr. VINCENT STERNROYD sketched a portrait of a
nut-consuming impenitent disarmamentist. The author is the first, so far
as I know, to give public emphasis to the queer fact of natural
history that there is some connection between extreme opinions and the
prominence of the Adam's apple of the holder of them--a fact on which I
have often pondered.

Mr. M. MORAND, the aggressive Scots member of the election committee,
inspired to great heights of insobriety by the return of his
London-Scottish nephew from the Front, sounded a welcome human note, as
did Mr. SAM LIVESEY, the Labour Member of the committee, shaken out of
his detachment into an extreme explicitness of language by a Zeppelin
raid experience. Mr. GEORGE BELLAMY'S Welsh Disestablisher and Mr.
GRIFFITH HUMPHREYS' exuberant German press-agent of the pre-war period
were both really shrewd studies.

Of the right sort there were but five--and one of these, the editor's
secretary, at heart an honest patriot, but in fact eating the bread of
shame, was perhaps not altogether of the right sort. Still he did get
off his chest at last the pent-up passion of years, and very well he did
it, with the help of Mr. RANDLE AYRTON, whose subtle little touches,
building up a picture of a disheartened hack, were very adroit indeed.

Then there was young _Henry Craig_, at the beginning an undergraduate in
his last term, at the end a V.C. in his last resting-place. Mr. PERCIVAL
CLARKE'S was an adequate pleasant study. So also was Mr. PHILIP
ANTHONY'S of a Canadian, full of strange idioms, who butted in to just
the wrong corner of Fleet Street to put the editor wise about the
intentions of a Germany in which he had spent his last two years. And
then there was splendidly English _Frank Aylett_, exile returned,
unspoilt by the cynicism of party and paper, whose fortune came to him
just at the psychological moment, enabling him to give his proprietor
notice and fight and win a by-election in the astonied man's own
constituency, besides carrying off his daughter (Miss VIOLA TREE), who
was the fifth