y for the Control
of Syncopation?--No; but I would cordially support a Bill for the
Compulsory Segregation of Irresponsible Collectivists.

In reply to Mr. Moody MacTear, Sir Mark Holloway said that he had
never been down a coal-mine, but that he had a few shares in a
gold-mine, which had cost him five pounds a-piece, but had never borne
any dividends and were now quoted at one-and-sixpence.

The next witness, Dame Frisca, the famous Californian singer, was
subjected to a remarkably severe examination by Mr. Moody MacTear.

_Mr. Moody MacTear_. Do you consider that the assumption of the title
_prima donna_ is compatible with democratic principles?--I never
assumed it; it was bestowed on me by the free suffrages of the musical
world.

_Mr. MacTear_. Then you admit that you possess it. Are you prepared
to submit proof of your title to the Commission?--Certainly; but it
would probably mean bringing forty van-loads of press-cuttings and
cause considerable congestion of traffic.

_Mr. MacTear_. Is it not the case that the _prima donna_ has been
condemned by the best musical critics as an obsolete anachronism,
tending to perpetuate the abuses of the "star" system and to foster
breaches of the Decalogue and to enhance the soloist at the expense
of the chorus?--I believe that WAGNER held the view expressed in the
opening part of your question, but he was unable to get on without
her, wrote a famous address to the Star of Eve, and gave the chorus
practically nothing to do in many of his operas.

_Mr. MacTear_. Is it not the case that the operatic tenor has been
pronounced on good authority to be not a man but a disease?--The
authority was a German conductor, who was presumably speaking of
German tenors.

_Mr. MacTear_. Have you ever been down a coal-mine?--No; but I was
presented with a diamond brooch by the diggers of Kimberley.

* * * * *

BAKERLOONACY.

This is a song of the Tube--
Let us begin it
By cursing the furies who fight and who bite ev'ry night
To get in it;
The folk who see red and who tread on the dead
And climb over the slain,
And who step on your face in the race for a place
In the train.

The pack!
The wolves who attack,
Attempting to kill you until you
Fall flat on your back;
The tigers who tear at your-hair and who swear
As they tread on your neck,
Leaving you batt