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SHATTERED ROMANCES.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I read in a weekly paper that "plans are well in hand for
putting up other Government Department buildings at Acton, which looks to
have a future of its own, that of a sort of suburban Whitehall."

Have you considered what this new departure means for those who, like
myself, are the writers of political romance? To all intents we have lost
the Ball-platz; we have lost the Wilhelmstrasse, and now here is Whitehall
going out into the suburbs.... No doubt our leading Ministers, attracted by
the more salubrious air, will establish themselves in the environs of the
Metropolis, leaving behind them only the lower class of civil servant. Have
you considered the devastating effect of this change?

Think what we used to give our readers: "A heavy mist lay over Whitehall.
High above the seething traffic the busy wires hummed with the fate of
Empires." How, I ask you, will it look when they read: "The busy wires
above Lewisham High Street hummed with the fate of Empires"?

Or think of the thrill that was conveyed by this (it comes in three of my
most recent books): "He looked, with a little catch in the throat, and read
the number, 'Ten'--No. 10, Downing Street, where the finger of fate writes
its decrees while a trembling continent waits, where empires are made and
unmade--the hub of the universe...." Doesn't that make even _your_ heart
beat faster? But who will thrill at this: "He waited for a moment before
the bijou semi-detached villa (bath h. and c.), known as Bella Vista, in
Rule Britannia Road, Willesden Junction; then with a swift glance up and
down he stealthily approached. When the neat maid opened the door, 'Is the