cigarette case from his left-hand upper waistcoat pocket). A cynic, my dear Arthur (he opens case deliberately, puts cigarette in mouth, and extracts gold match-box from right-hand trouser) is a man who (strikes match) knows the price of (lights cigarette)—everything, and (standing with match in one hand and cigarette in the other) the value of—— pff (blows out match) of (inhales deeply from cigarette and blows out a cloud of smoke)—nothing.

It makes a different thing of it altogether. Of course on the actual night the match may refuse to strike, and Lord John may have to go on saying "a man who—a man who—a man who" until the ignition occurs, but even so it will still seem delightfully natural to the audience (as if he were making up the epigram as he went along); while as for blowing the match out he can hardly fail to do that in one.

The cigarette, of course, will be smoked at other moments than epigrammatic ones, but on these other occasions you will not need to deal so fully with it in the stage directions. "Duke (lighting cigarette). I trust, Perkins, that ..." is enough. You do not want to say, "Duke (dropping ash on trousers). It seems to me, my love ..." or, "Duke (removing stray piece of tobacco from tongue). What Ireland needs is ..."; still less "Duke (throwing away end of cigarette). Show him in." For this must remain one of the mysteries of the stage—What happens to the stage cigarette when it has been puffed four times? The stage tea, of which a second cup is always refused; the stage cutlet, which is removed with the connivance of the guest after two mouthfuls; the stage cigarette, which nobody ever seems to want to smoke to the end—thinking of these as they make their appearances in the houses of the titled, one would say that the hospitality of the peerage was not a thing to make any great rush for....

But that would be to forget the butler and the three footmen. Even a Duke cannot have everything. And what his chef may lack in skill his butler more than makes up for in impassivity.

A. A. M.

From a column headed "Crimes and Tragedies" in The Western Weekly Mercury:—

And we are left wondering which it is.

REFRESHING THE FRUIT.

Mr. John Burns. "PERFECT! PERFECT! BUT JUST WANTS THE MASTER'S TOUCH."
[Gives it.

Cheery Passenger (in non-stop express). "Well, I must say it's quite a relief to me to 'ave a gentleman in the carriage. It's twice now I've 'ad a fit in a tunnel."

ROOSEVELT RESURGIT

Once more the tireless putter-right of men,
Our roaring Roosevelt, swims into our ken.
With clash of cymbals and with roll of drums,
Reduced in weight, from far Brazil he comes.
What risks were his! The rapids caught his form,
Upset his bark and tossed him in the storm.
Clutching his trumpet in a fearless hand,
The damp explorer struggled to the land;
Then set the trumpet to his lips and blew
A blast that echoed all the wide world through,
And in a tone that