_ of to-day has played against a ruder
foe than the Spaniard. And was I wrong in tracing a hint of other
experiences gained at the front, when Mr. LORAINE nearly turned up his
false nose at the mention of "military wit."

The part offers little scope for humour. _Cyrano_, with all his
generous impulses, is too self-conscious for that. But in each of his
moods and phases--bravado, sacrifice, acceptance of the inexorable
pathos of things--Mr. LORAINE had got at the heart of the man. A very
brave and inspiring performance.

O.S.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "WHERE YOU BIN THIS HOUR OF THE NIGHT?"

"I'VE BIN AT ME UNION, CONSIDERIN' THIS 'ERE STRIKE."

"WELL--YOU CAN STAY DOWN THERE AN' CONSIDER THIS 'ERE LOCK-OUT."]

* * * * *

HOW HISTORY IS WRITTEN.

From reports of Mr. ASQUITH'S speech at Newcastle:--

"He [Lord French] has taken an unusual, and I think an
unfortunate, course (cheers), giving to the world at this
stage what must be an _ex parte_ narrative of what happened
under his command."--_Times_.

"He has taken an unusual, and as I take it, an unfortunate course in
giving to the world what must of necessity be an expert narrative of
what happened under his command."--_Daily Herald_.

* * * * *

"BEAUTY IN HOUSE BUILDING.

LET US LOOK AS THOUGH WE HAD WON THE WAR."--_Daily Mirror_.

Who said we hadn't?

* * * * *

THE DAY.

At last the great day has arrived; in less than half an hour I shall
be at the church. Heavens! what excitement. And yet I suppose most
girls have had to undergo the ordeal, if one may so describe it, at
some period of their life.

The magic church is not far distant and from my room I can hear the
merry pealing of the bells. In the garden the birds are singing as
they have never sung before. Truly life is a beautiful poem on such a
day as this.

But I have really little time to dwell on these things, for am I
not the centre of creation itself, the hub around which the whole
household revolves in one wild bewildering whirl of ecstasy? How can
one think when one is surrounded by a triumphant mother, a couple
of adoring and not envious sisters, a critical brother and a doting
father?

But then why should I think? Why use my brain at all when all the
thinking that needs to be thought is being thought for me? Goodness,
how my p