r sunk! Each newsman has a different bait, and as the day goes on
they become more attractive, so that one goes to bed at night filled
with optimism. Well, these all have to be bought.

Speaking as a reader of too many of them I must admit to a grievance or
two; and the chief is the difficulty that we have in finding the
fulfilment of all the promises which are set out in the headings to the
principal war news. For example, I find among these headings on the day
on which I write a reference to a German admission of failure and
dismay. But can I find the thing itself? I cannot. It may be there, but
again and again has my eye travelled up and down the columns seeking the
nutritious morsel and not yet has it alighted thereon, and that is but
one case out of many. Sometimes after a long hunt I do track these
joyful tit-bits down, and then discover that they are separated from the
heading by several columns. Some day a newspaper editor will arise who
can achieve a really useful index to his contents. _The Times_ used to
have something of the sort, but under the stress of battle that has
gone.

Another grievance--but I shall say no more on that subject. Grievances
are for peace time, when a general huffiness and stuffiness about the
way that everyone else conducts business is natural and indeed expected.
In wartime no one should be harassed by criticism. So I pass on to the
paper which I like best of all those now being published. I like it
because it contains the news I most want to read, and every day, or
rather every night, it gets better and will continue to get better until
the Brandenberg gate opens to let the Allies in. This paper is not a
morning paper and not an evening paper. It is published at night, in the
smallest of the small hours, and I am its sole subscriber, for it is the
paper of my dreams. Whether or not I am its editor I could not say. That
question leads to the greater one which would need a volume for its
decision: Do we compose our own dreams, or are they provided by Ole Luk
Oie or some other dream-spinner? Anyway, no one can read the paper of my
dreams but I, and it is, after all, the best reading. It contains the
oddest things. Last night it had a fine article about a football match
in the North of England. Twenty-two terrific fellows, whose united
salaries came to a respectable fortune and whose united transfer fees,
should their Clubs ever let them go, would be sufficient to build a
_Dreadnought_,