* * * * *

They find a native population, struggling in terrible earnest with want, and taking, through the Sweater who commands the situation, starvation prices for the making of a coat, for the which, by working nineteen hours in the day, and reducing life to the slavery of a living death, they manage to earn two shillings and ninepence!

* * * * *

The happy and eager Polish Jews step in, and see their chance.  Eldorado lies before them.  They are asked if they will make the coat for two shillings and sevenpence.  The poor starving foreigners eagerly clutch at any chance.  Who can blame them?  No one.  It is a struggle for life.  Fair but false promises have brought them to these shores, to swell the sum of misery, already, Heaven knows, high enough!  But still they come, keeping up a steady flow of suffering, and the Government makes no sign or move, though people who think are loudly clamouring, and asking, “How long shall such things be?”

* * * * *

WHAT IT MAY COME TO IN LONDON.

(AS THE POINT HAS BEEN NEARLY REACHED IN PARIS.)

    SCENE—­A Hall devoted to MR. EDISON’s latest inventions.  A
    Lecturer acting as Showman to a crowd of possible Customers.

Lecturer.  And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, I must ask you quickly to make a selection.  We have here wires from all parts of the world—­make your selection.  Those who wish to see the kinetograph at work will please go within.  Operas with scenery always on hand.  Here we have only telephones.

Mild Young Lady.  Oh, if you please, a friend of mine was married three weeks ago, and she and her husband are staying at the Grand Hotel, Paris.  Might I hear what they are saying.  Here’s their name.

Lect. (taking card).  Nothing easier. (Speaking through telephone.) Put us on to Grand Hotel, Paris, Room 1564. (To Customer.) A shilling please, Madam.  Thank you, and here you are.

Mild Y.L. (taking receivers).  Oh, thank you. (She places them to her ears and then drops them hurriedly.) Oh dear me!  She has kept him waiting, and he is using such bad language!  You ought to have told me.

Lect. We can’t guarantee language.  Why, would you believe it, Madam, that sometimes we have complaints of things said in Norway!  Pray Ladies and Gentlemen, make your selection. (To Intelligent-looking Stranger.) Can I tempt you.  Sir?  They are playing a new piece at Chicago.  It is excellent, I am told—­a domestic comedy.  Next week, if it’s successful, we shall produce it with scenery and effects on the kinetograph.  Try it, Sir?

Intelligent Stranger.  I don’t mind if I do, (Raising receivers.) Call this a domestic comedy?  Why I can hear firing!

Lect. Very strange, Sir.  Nothing in the plot to account for it,