No. 103.-Vol. VIII. Registered at the G.P.O. Wednesday November 22 1905 [Brice did. as a Newspaper. The youngest sister of the Queen of Portugal, and a Roman Catholic Princess, who is most frequently spoken of as probable future Queen of Spain THE COLORMANCES DAILY CHARING CROSS. 9 o'clock. The 6 o'clock programme is entirely different from that at 3 and 9 o'clock. All seats in all parts are numbered and reserved. Stamped addressed envelopes should accompany all postal applications for seats. Prices: Boxes, £2 2s., £1 11s. 6d., and 1 1s.; Fauteuils, 7/6; Stalls, 5/-, 4-, 3-, and 2/- (Telephone No. 7689 Gerrard); Grand Tier, 1-; Balcony, 6. (Telephone No. 7699 Gerrard). Children under twelve half price Prayers." By Robert Louis Stevenson. (Chatto and Windus: "Gulliver's Travels." (York Library Edition.) (Bell: 2s. net.) "The Better Way." By Chas. Wagner. (Pitman: Is. net.) Random Jotting's Although we have not hitherto made a special feature in our columns of "Modes for Monarchs," we are not above giving a few hints where we think they may be of use. Consequently, we are gratified to observe that a ruler of considerable originality, perhaps the most original ruler that ever ruled, has taken a suggestion of ours and acted upon it. In THE BYSTANDER of February 8 last, immediately after the discovery that the Kaiser was descended from Admiral de Coligny, there appeared a lyrical exhortation, part of which ran as follows:- Alsace, pack away your mourning, Wilhelm he will be no longer; Sentiment, of course, requires Note the sequel! In the Berliner Tageblatt of a Norway's new Queen in National dress Princess Maud, who now becomes Queen of Norway, is the youngest daughter of King Edward, and is noted for her charm of manner and gaiety of disposition. The above photograph shows Her Majesty in the costume of a Hardanger woman, taken some years ago condolence, which the German Emperor sent to the President of the Legislative Assembly of AlsaceLorraine, was couched in French, and signed 'Guillaume.'" So far, however, we have received no acknowledgment. Londoners will have to bestir themselves, if they do not wish the Metropolis to degenerate into a garden city. The general exodus is becoming alarming. Yarrow and Co. have announced their intended departure; Bryant and May's are-so to speakpacking; and now there is some talk of the Great Eastern shifting their London works. There will soon be nothing left for American visitors to see, except the Zoo, and the Tower, and Westminster Abbey, and the L.C.C. steamers. There will soon be nothing left for Londoners to do, which is even more serious. The rates are at fault in all these instances. They are too high-so I am told, at least. If all ratepayers would decline to pay the present high rates, we should be able, I understand, to retain Yarrow's, and Bryant and May's, and the Great Eastern, and live happily for ever after. It sounds simple enough. But rates are funny things. So are ratepayers. So are the people who arrange the rates and spend them. Their critics are also amusing. The crusade in favour of hats which was conducted in the summer by a Cornish rector is bearing fruit, and I see that our ladies are shortly to be arrayed in positively sky-scraping hats. If these coming hats at all resemble the picture of them recently shown in a contemporary, the risks from overhead wires will have to be seriously considered, underground travelling will be rendered impossible, and matinées quite out of the question. No doubt these trials will, however, be endured with the patience that comes so natural to women of fashion. The real difficulty will come when the husband whose wife has purchased such a hat is asked to build a little tower to store the hat in. Building is such a poor investment. "Some old-fashioned critics," says Lord Montagu, in the Car, "may think it infra dignitatem for a peer to edit and work at newspapers and publishing. But I am not ashamed." This is a naïve and charming confession, and there can be no doubt that Lord Montagu meant it very nicely. But from a journalist's point of view, the critics referred to are so very, very old-fashioned that they are hardly worth talking about, and the confession would have read more agreeably if it had been turned the other way about. The truth is, of course, that it is not necessarily infra dignitatem for an editor to become a peer, especially when he cannot very well help it, as in Lord Montagu's case. As long as he continues to be a good journalist, few people will taunt him with his peerage. Probably, indeed, they will trouble very little about it, even if they go so far as to be aware of it. For, after all, what does it matter to readers of a paper whether its editor is a peer or not, provided he is a good editor? There are so many peers, and so few good editors. Lord Montagu has already proved himself to be among the latter, so that he is quite justified in not being ashamed, and journalists will unite in hoping that the name he has already won for himself will not be extinguished by the necessity he is under of changing it. Queen Alexandra's cheque for £2,000 in aid of the unemployed has touched the purse of the British public like a magic wand, and, at least, a start to relieve a terrible situation is made. Everyone knows that charity is but a stop-gap, but it is the only immediate solution of the problem when men and, what appeals with even greater force to the Queen's heart, their wives and children are on the brink of starvation. The Queen's philanthropy is a by-word to the nation, but of her private charity very little, naturally, is heard. Every day the Queen receives an enormous mail, and, when she is in residence at Buckingham Palace especially, a goodly part of this mail consists of begging letters-genuine and otherwise. Everyone of these she opens herself and reads, and selecting those which appear to her to be both genuine and deserving, she passes them on to her chaplain to investigate before she sends the asked-for relief. The Royal charity, however, sometimes outweighs the Royal discretion, and once Her Majesty's heart is deeply touched and her mind made up, it is almost impossible to influence her. Some time ago she received a piteous letter from a woman in the East End of London, something which immediately made successful appeal to the Royal sympathy. The Queen sent for her chaplain, and informed him that she intended to send the woman 10. She wished to send the money right away, without even troubling to have the usual inquiries as to the genuineness of the woman's story made. Her chaplain, however, persuaded her to allow him at least to make a cursory investigation into the case, and he at once wired to the vicar of the begging-letter writer's parish asking for a verification of the woman's tale of woe. A reply came by return, and to the effect that the woman was a well-known fraud, and an adept at her sorry trade of imposing on the charity of the tender - hearted. The chaplain took the telegram at once to the Queen, intimating that, of course, Her Majesty would rescind her decision of sending 10; but, oh, the refreshing uncertainty of woman! the Queen merely said, "Very well, I will send her £5." And send it she did. HE: "What do you think of the engagement between Miss de Venture and young De Ritch? She must be forty, and he's quite a boy" SHE: "Words fail to express it!" HE: "What about kidnapping?" DRAWN BY CHARLES IN. E |