All this sounds highly stupendous. As I am no mathematician, I cannot compete with Professor Andrews of Brown University on equal terms, but to my non-mathematical mind the only inference to be drawn from the Professor's calculation appears to be that the world is not much more than thirty years old, or, let us say, 30⅓. In another ten years or so, I suppose we shall have to start work on the columns. Personally, I am not impatient. I am quite willing to let 832 of my friends get into position first. I can then climb up and complete the column. How the fractional third is to be made up I know not, unless—happy thought—there is to be an extra allowance of three tailors to every column.
The Social Democratic Federation has been meeting in conference at Birmingham. Comrades Quelch, Belcher, Shayer, Geard, Tooth, Tempest, Watts and Wenlington were all on the spot. Some discussion took place with reference to Justice, the official organ of the Federation.
Mr. Belcher (Lincoln), in the course of discussion, thought they ought to induce the workers to take up shares, and to back Justice to the fullest extent. They were inclined to sneer at capitalists, but they could not carry on the Federation work without taking a leaf out of the capitalist's book. (Hear, hear.)
Mr. M'Pherson, as one of the auditors, said the branch accounts in reference to Justice were a disgrace. A great deal was heard about the immorality of capitalists, but a little more morality was wanted in some of the branches in regard to the paying of accounts.
This, of course, is most lamentable. Even a Social Democrat, it seems, cannot alter hard facts or get on without money. And at present nobody seems in want of the particular kind of justice which Messrs. Quelch, Belcher and other comrades are anxious to purvey.
I like to rescue from the dark unfathomed caves of ocean any gem of purest ray serene. Here is one extracted from the speech of Mr. Powell Williams, M.P., at the recent dinner of the Birmingham Conservative Club.
Mr. Powell Williams, M.P., proposed "The Press," and said that before he spoke of the Press he would like to correct a statement which Sir Meysey Thompson made. That gentleman thought that Yorkshire was peculiar, inasmuch as it had got rid of something objectionable in the shape of fever called Shaw-Lefevre. He put in a claim for distinction for the county of Cornwall. In Cornwall they would tell you that they had got rid of the worst kind of beer that anyone ever tasted, and that they called Conybeare.
Later on Mr. Williams said that, although the Gladstonian Press was more numerous than the Unionist Press, it had not been able to persuade the nation to swallow eighty Irish members—which is, perhaps, fortunate; since, to take only one, I am sure Mr. Tim Healy would prove a very tough morsel to digest.