groups along my workaday street, poring over what you regarded as the
vital news of the day. It was not a report of any battle in which your
brothers were fighting, and, if I had asked you breathlessly, "Who
won?" you would not have said, "The British"; you would have said,
"SOLLY JOEL'S colt." You had never seen the horse, but you had
half-a-dollar of your War-bonus on him, or more probably on one of
those who also ran. To-day there are no silly battles to take up
good space in your evening print; and, better still, there is no day
without its racing matter; no more curtailing of the King of Sports to
the lamentable detriment of our national horse-breeding, a subject so
close to your heart. The War is indeed well over.

And nothing can be more gratifying to you than to note the rapid
progress of Reconstruction in the domain of the Turf. In other spheres
of activity there may be a million people drawing the unemployment
donation; but here there is immediate occupation for all. The New
Jerusalem has been built in a day.

_To Peace_.

You must not mind if, when you come at last, we treat you like an
anti-climax. You see, we let ourselves go, once for all, over the
Armistice, and, though there will be plenty of celebrations for you,
we shan't forget ourselves again. There will be bands, of course,
and bunting, and we shall read the directions in the papers, and
buy expensive tickets and get to our seats early. But we shall be
respectable and inarticulate this time, like the present exhibition at
the Royal Academy. Besides, we have no nice things to shout when the
pageants go by, like "_Vive la Victoire_!" or "_Viva la Pace!_" and
even if we had we should all wait for somebody else to start shouting