welcome
exception has been made by the patriotic pageantry which, during
the week now closed, has been enacted at Queen's Hall.[*] There
were critics, neither malicious nor ill-informed, who contended
that such pageantry was ill-timed. They advanced against it all
sorts of objections which would have been quite appropriate if the
public had been bidden to witness some colossal farce or burlesque;
some raree-show of tasteless oddities, or some untimely pantomime
of fairy-lore. What was really intended, and was performed, at a
great cost of toil and organizing skill, was the opposite of all
this. All the best elements of a great and glorious ceremonial
were displayed--colour and form and ordered motion; noble music
set to stirring words; and human voices lifted even above their
ordinary beauty by the emotion of a high occasion. The climax,
wisely ordered, was our tribute of gratitude to the United States,
and never did the "Battle-hymn of the Republic" sound its trumpets
more exultingly. For once, the word "Ritual" might with perfect
propriety be separated from its controversial associations, and
bestowed on this great act of patriotic pageantry. It was, in the
truest sense, a religious service, fitly commemorating the entry
of all the world's best powers into the crowning conflict of light
with darkness.

[Footnote *: Under the direction of Madame Clara Butt (May, 1918).]

VII

FACT AND FICTION

N. B.--_These two stories are founded on fact; but the personal
allusions are fictitious. As regards public events, they are
historically accurate.--G. W. E. R._

I

_A FORGOTTEN PANIC_

Friday, the 13th of September, 1867, was the last day of the Harrow
holidays, and I was returning to the Hill from a visit to some
friends in Scotland. During the first part of the journey I was
alone in the carriage, occupied with an unlearnt holiday task;
but at Carlisle I acquired a fellow-traveller. He jumped into the
carriage just as the train was beginning to move, and to the porter
who breathlessly enquired about his luggage he shouted, "This is
all," and flung a small leathern case on to the seat. As he settled
himself into his plate, his eye fell upon the pile of baggage which
I had bribed the station-master to establish in my corner of the
carriage--a portmanteau, a hat-box, a rug wrapped round an umbrella,
and one or two smaller parcels--all legibly labelled

G. W. E. RUSSELL,
Woodside,
Harrow-o