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there in plenty, and must not be withheld. Emigration, migration, anything is suggested to get rid of the people. But the country does not wish to lose them any more than they wish to go. Emigration, as a last resort, is necessary where population becomes too dense for the soil to support it. Here, however, the case is different; and where land is. plentiful and labourers willing, it becomes both unwise and cruel to expatriate a people whom incompetence and mismanagement have brought to their present position. Let the landlords look to these things; or failing that, it is not difficult-in the face of recent legislation in Ireland, and in the present temper of the country—to conceive that the State may step in and say-We will no longer permit the mere accidents of possession to violate the natural alliance between land and labour, or permit the rights of private ownership to override the greater rights of the community.

RHO PI.

A Curious Fact.

T is an interesting fact, that the C.L.A. has this year held three fortnightly meetings in the shortest month of the year, February. This is the first time since the birth of the association, that there have been five Fridays in this month. The last time that the 1st and the 29th of February fell on Fridays was in the year 1856, and if the C.L.A. continue to hold meetings on alternate Fridays, the next year when it will have a chance of assembling three times in February, will be 1924

G. F. E. RICHARD.

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A Deep into the "Unknown."

VER since Dickens, and Jerrold, and Thackeray, all of them true kings of laughter, passed away from us, leaving a rich legacy for English men and women to enjoy of all that is best and good in humorous literature, so long as the language in which they spoke so admirably to their less gifted fellows shall endure, there has been a marked void in the world of wit and harmless satire ; and those of us who desire a hearty laugh at something new and original, without bating one jot of our love to, and interest in, the now classic trio above mentioned, must turn, alas! to the writings of American and other foreign authors for amusement, as the genuine indigenous English fun and humour seems to have become almost extinct.

This being the state of matters the advent of any new production in letters, if evincing, however faintly, some of the ancient power to create a laugh; or if illuminated by only a small candle-a farthing dip-of real wit, is welcomed with feelings of delight by all funny folks. Recently an "amoosing little cuss " of a book entitled English as she is spoke has appeared, and by its popularity, as shown by its circulation and numerous imitations, proves how low our own writers have sunk ; for the success of the book is obtained by reproducing the blunders of a poor Portuguese schoolmaster, who, à la Goldsmith, desired to teach. others a language of which he knew not even the merest smattering—a blind leader of the blind. Unfortunately the production of good comic works does not keep pace with the demand, and so funny books, like angels' visits, are few and far between.

For my own part I am driven to frequent the performances of unutterably worthless melodramas in order to obtain even the ghost of a hearty laugh. It is difficult for a person endowed with any sense of humour to witness these extraordinary productions without obtaining some genuine amusement. Not long ago, at one of our local theatres, I witnessed an incident which tickled my own sense of the ridiculous exceedingly, and would even have compelled a "very superior person" to make a faint approach to a smile. The piece being entitled The Follies of the Day, however, I suppose this incident was not considered by the author to be an improbable one. This was the funny "folly:"A misguided young "masher" having lost all his money, and apparently most of his apparel at "nap," or some other fascinating game--rushes from a gambling saloon (somewhere in the small hours) and madly hurries through the streets of London, clad somewhat insufficiently (consider that a furious paper snowstorm is raging at the time) in his shirt and unmentionables, and proceeds to jump into the Thames to put an end to himself. Till the moment of his disappearance nothing more animated than a quantity of stage snow occupied the stage.

But

the despairing cry of the misguided "masher was the signal for the appearance, instantaneously with his fall, of apparently most of the population of the metropolis; and so the stage was forthwith crowded with a very miscellaneous assortment of the inhabitants of London. There were sailors, policemen, mashers, she ditto, organ-grinders, potato vendors, fishermen with every appliance for both saving and destroying life, firemen, beggars, dogs, cats, fire escapes, etc., etc., and all the aramatis persona, and there were not a few of the latter either. Of course everything came right as it should do in the end, everybody in the large assemblage embraced each other, and I left the theatre with a light heart, for, although the rescued reckless young gambler had presumably made acquaintance with the bottom of the river, he was perfectly dry, so there was no danger of his catching even a cold by reason of his immersion.

But there are, or rather were, the pantomimes-three of them--surely one can get a laugh at these entertainments. Well, certainly, there is variety, which is said to be charming; splendid dresses, magnificent spectacular effects, acrobatic and gymnastic feats, concert hall songs in plenty— yes, all these, but neither wit nor mirth, nor amusement is there for me, at least. I have tried them all-not this year, indeed—and if rapidly whitening locks, a wrinkled brow, pallid cheeks, a tottering gait, and all the signs of premature old age, are the evidences of innocent laughter, then be assured I have been amused-fatally amused by pantomimes. If, however, any rash being were to suggest in my presence that such performances are humorous and enjoyable, by Jupiter and Saturn, he should die the death! for it would become my painful duty to shoot him there and then like a dog—aye, and a mad dog!

Think not, dear reader, that I am in any way excited, or driven in despair to give way to ebullitions of my over-wrought feelings by any sense of hopeless misery, or that my "Peeps into the Unknown" are the morbid emanations of a would-be-suicide; on the contrary, I am at this moment perfectly happy. I have discovered a new humorist; and it is with mingled feelings of pride and humility that I beg to introduce to our readers a veritable Comic Star! It is true, unfortunately, that I cannot produce him in the flesh, for I know him only by his gifted work, "The Unknown;" but believe me when I say that to read him is to know him, and to know him is to love him. My Comic Star has made his debut as a contributor to our local literature in a rather peculiar, and indeed in an almost unprecedented manner.

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that

I believe I violate no secret, nor break any confidence when I this new Birmingham genius rejoices in the name of 'Arry, or Arry without the apostrophe; and I fancy that, like the late Dr. Johnson, he probably lives in a court-we will say Court 9, house 4, Anywhere Street. By reason of the unfortunate bankruptcy of his printers and publishers Arry has been compelled to throw his literary offspring, like a poor deserted orphan, upon a hard-hearted and too often callous world.

My own copy of his delightful work was purchased at a marine store, in the unsympathetic vicinity of Smallbrook Street; and, when by a lucky

inspiration I saw it, was lying disconsolately along with several brother copies, between a flat iron and some old door knobs, and surrounded by worn-out and maimed household utensils. But the "Unknown" in its fresh bright cover seemed to make the prosy, sordid surroundings appear poetical and even romantic; and to cause even that dull wilderness of trade to blossom like a rose. For the modest sum of twopence I became the happy possessor of the finest comic production that has of late appeared in this our tight little island.

It has been rumoured that prices rule higher at the West End, and in Broad Street so much as threepence is asked by the vendors. On the other hand copies may be obtained from an enterprising costermonger so low as one penny each, for he is selling the "Unknown," piled up on his barrow, as he would cherries or the succulent winkle, at this ridiculous figure.

O fortunate bankruptcy, which has thus led to the dispersal of those inimitable brochures, which had otherwise perhaps (dreadful thought) mouldered away on some dark shelf in a printer's warehouse, or have been sold to some huckster to wrap pennyworths of toffy in. Do not, dear reader, neglect these opportunities of obtaining-whether at the high patrician figure of threepence, or at the more plebeian one of a pennythis truly delightful composition.

As I have said, I know not Arry personally, but I can fancy I see him, a youthful brass caster, or a gunlock filer perchance, during the day --at night a poet and a remarkable writer of fiction-There he sits in his home in Number 9 Court, Anywhere Street, painfully struggling with the mysteries of spelling and composition as he commits his noble ideas to paper, by the dim and odorous light of a sixpenny paraffin lamp placed in the middle of the not too immaculate family table. Thus, night after night, having duly cleaned himself, he pulls out that gradually increasing manuscript, which is destined to make him so famous, and to drive the unlucky printer thereof into the Bankruptcy Court. Many pens, and more yet of penny bottles of ink, are worn out and consumed ere the mighty work is done and Arry may rest from his labour.

To criticise the "Unknown" seriously would of course be absurd; it is beyond all conception utterly vulgar in sentiment, hopelessly involved in plot and construction, and finally probably the worst composition ever printed in this or any other language. But then I do not wish to judge the work seriously any more than I would pretend to try a clown for any of his numerous escapades in a pantomime; or gravely debate with an inmate of Winson Green Asylum any abstruse question or problem in Henry George's latest production.

Arry is a poor novelist, but an admirable humorist. It is impossible to give any outline of the plot of the "Unknown," because after a lengthy study of the same I have been unable to unravel its mystery. By beginning at the end and reading backwards, or by opening it at hazard, and reading alternately forwards and backwards, a faint glimmer of the author's intentions may be possibly made out.

The style of diction is peculiar, and resembles closely the language of courts--not royal ones, but those of Anywhere Street-with a slight flavouring of the mannerism of the writers for the "Boys of England," and a dash of the delicious incoherence of the old "last dying speech and confession" school. The description of places, scenery, and natural phenomena in the "Unknown" are very funny, and in every way as good as anything a first-rate comic writer could produce. I will just quote a few of the gems with which this remarkable work is studded from beginning to end.

DESCRIPTION OF A STORM.

"The day was swiftly passing away, and all things, as usual, seemed unchanged. Night had long dawned. Dark it was indeed dark as dark could be! The moon was dead, its light had left the gloomy sky; the stars had sunk into the depths of darkness; the slated clouds that sailed onwards cast their dark appalling shadow upon the earth below, and as the inmates at Vaca Hall listened, nothing was heard but the constant howling of the wild wind that raged through the tall trees, leaving behind its mournful echo. Without, all seemed an unnatural gloom. Bang! bang! burst the thunder above, rolling with its mighty roar in the clouds that now burst asunder with bright flashes of lightning, making the inmates of Vaca Hall shrink with fear beneath the sudden creak.'

Perhaps it will be best to give a list of the characters represented in the "Unknown," with suitable quotations illustrative of the peculiarities, etc., of each person, failing the possibility to describe the plot.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

Sir Charles Montrue (owner of Ferbourne Hall).—“This well-known family were a good old race, where honour and wealth had showered her blessings. His stature was still noble, his face was healthy and pleasing, and there were certain moments when one might say-age was kind, she did not rob him of his youthful beauty. About the centre of his days he married a French lady of high rank, who died, leaving Sir Charles in possession of one daughter-who was named after her mother."

Constance. "Her hair was dark brown, she was kind and loving to all that was true and faithful. Affection beamed in all her ways, innocence guarded her path, and often one might see the picture of beauty," etc., etc.

Leonard "The Unknown.". When Sir Charles was travelling

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lovely land of Italy,' one night his attention was attracted by distant strains of music softly pealing through the silent air drawing aside an aged fern, what met his curious gaze but a fair haired boy, with glittering tears upon his cheeks. Search was made, but nothing discovered respecting the owner and so Sir Charles brought the boy into the world as his own son: a gold ring, with the name of 'Leonard,' was found upon him, so he was called, but to Sir Charles he remained The Unknown."

Colonel Clevedon (occupier of Fernside).--" While spending his better years as an officer in the army fortune was favourable towards him, and, having a relation die. he unexpectedly took possession of much property. Our readers may wonder why he was sweet upon this estate. (Here follows an account of the reason for his being "sweet upon this estate.")

Clara Clevedon (his daughter).—“She was tall and stately, graceful and innocent, loving in all her ways her face was pretty--a dream face, and each noble

trait of woman was dawning.'

Frank Mortimer (friend to the Unknown).—"Tall, with dark whiskers half the way down his bronzed face."

Count Boulang (a heavy villain).-"No lady that received his amiable attention would suspect the vile heart within, concealed from the gaze of the world; he, with a smile, and honour bestowed, basks in the sunshine of unknown wickedness."

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