ndian Intelligence."
Similarly, there was a little item called, "Our Chinese Correspondent."
That one explained ten lines down, in very small type, that a hundred
thousand Chinese had been drowned in a flood. And there was another
little item labelled "Foreign Gossip," under which was mentioned
that the Pope was dead, and that the President of Paraguay had been
assassinated.

In short, I got the impression that I was living in an easy drowsy
world, as no doubt the editor meant me to. It was only when the Montreal
Star arrived by post that I felt that the world was still revolving
pretty rapidly on its axis and that there was still something doing.

As with the world news so it is with the minor events of ordinary
life,--birth, death, marriage, accidents, crime. Let me give an
illustration. Suppose that in a suburb of London a housemaid has
endeavoured to poison her employer's family by putting a drug in
the coffee. Now on our side of the water we should write that little
incident up in a way to give it life, and put headings over it that
would capture the reader's attention in a minute. We should begin it
thus:

PRETTY PARLOR MAID
DEALS DEATH-DRINK
TO CLUBMAN'S FAMILY

The English reader would ask at once, how do we know that the parlor
maid is pretty? We don't. But our artistic sense tells us that she ought
to be. Pretty parlor maids are the only ones we take any interest in: if
an ugly parlor maid poisoned her employer's family we should hang her.
Then again, the English reader would say, how do we know that the man is
a clubman? Have we ascertained this fact definitely, and if so, of what
club or clubs is he a member? Well, we don't know, except in so far as
the thing is self-evident. Any man who has romance enough in his life
to be poisoned by a pretty housemaid ought to be in a club. That's the
place for him. In fact, with us the word club man doesn't necessarily
mean a man who belongs to a club: it is defined as a man who is arrested
in a gambling den; or fined for speeding a motor or who shoots another
person in a hotel corridor. Therefore this man must be a club man.
Having settled the heading, we go on with the text:

"Brooding over love troubles which she has hitherto refused to divulge
under the most grilling fusillade of rapid-fire questions shot at her
by the best brains of the New York police force, Miss Mary De Forrest,
a handsome brunette thirty-six inches around the hips, em