to whom we lent the book
admirably expresses the impression we had formed of it by saying that it
might have been written by EUSTACE or HALLIE MILES. It is characterised
throughout by the lofty and detached spirit in which a cultured turnip
would view the troubled course of mundane events. The sentiments
expressed on such questions as Woman Suffrage, Home Rule, LLOYD GEORGE'S
land policy, though inevitably Radical in tendency, are admirably sane
and unbiassed. We cannot do better, if we would convey to our readers
some conception of the general tone of the work, than quote the opening
paragraph:--

"I was born of humble but worthy parents, but the first years"
[weeks?] "of my existence were embittered by the loss of both
father and mother. My father, who was then in the prime of life,
was torn one day from the bosom of his family, tied up in a
sack, and taken with some two hundred fellow-sufferers to a
slaughter-house, where he was cruelly butchered. Still more
tragic was the end of my dear mother. Like my father she was
dragged away from her native soil. She was then hurled into an
empty shed, where for many days she languished, deprived of both
food and light. At last she was thrown into a tumbril with some
five hundred unfortunates, carted to a neighbouring farm, thence
deported in strict captivity to COVENT GARDEN, and finally
conveyed to the sumptuous household of Mr. BERNARD SHAW, who
devoured her in three gulps."

From this poignant passage the reader may see for himself the profound
understanding which Mr. Mato has brought to bear on his theme. We
commend this book to all lovers of nature.

* * * * *

THE CINEMA HABIT.

The writer of "The Ideal Film Plot," which appeared in a recent issue of
_Punch_, has quoted an "authority" (anonymous) for the approval of his
scenario. It is quite evident that this "authority" (so-styled) must
belong to the plebeian ranks of the film-world. It cannot reside in
_our_ suburb.

Our cinema theatre is, I venture to state, of a far superior order, both
as to drama and as to morality. It is not a mere lantern-hall, close and
stuffy, with twopenny and fourpenny seats (half-price to children, and
tea provided free at _matinee_ performances), but a white-and-gold
Picturedrome, catering to an exclusive class of patrons at sixpence and
a shilling, with neat attendants in dove-grey who atomise sc