Good gentlemen, good gentlemen, we crave your kind permission! Here's Summer, at your service, and she'd sing you on your ways The marching songs of morning and the Road that fits the Vision, The mellow songs of twilight and the gold September haze; God rest you all, good gentlemen, and send you pleasant days. * * * * * Illustration: THE VOGUE FOR WEARING FANCY DRESS THREATENS TO INVADE ORDINARY SOCIAL LIFE. TENNIS AT THE VICARAGE. A JOLLY BATHING PARTY. * * * * * Illustration: OUR DEAR OLD FRIEND, THE FOREIGN SPY (CUNNINGLY DISGUISED AS A GOLFER), VISITS OUR YOUNGEST SUBURB ONE SATURDAY AFTERNOON IN QUEST OF FURTHER EVIDENCE OF OUR LETHARGY, GENERAL DECADENCE AND FALLING BIRTH-RATE. HE GETS A SHOCK AND AT ONCE TELEGRAPHS TO HIS COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF URGING THAT THE CONQUEST OF THE BRITISH ISLES BE UNDERTAKEN BEFORE THE PRESENT GENERATION IS MANY YEARS OLDER. * * * * * Illustrations: THE INTRUSIONS OF THE CINEMA. [Jones, secretary to the South Sea Islanders' Regeneration Society, who is suffering from nerves, is recommended a very remote sea-coast retreat for his summer holiday. With his wife and family he tries it. The manager of a certain cinema company likewise chooses this particular spot for his company to rehearse their powerful new drama, "Down among the Dead Men."] _Miss Jones._ "WAKE UP, DAD, WE'RE GOING TO BATHE." _First Act of the Drama._--AFTER THE WRECK: DESMOND AND ROSEMARY WASHED ASHORE ON THE CANNIBAL ISLAND. * * * _Jones (to the rescue)._ "DEVILS! FIENDS! UNTIE THAT WHITE MAN!" * * * _The Cinema Manager explains._ "SORRY TO HAVE CAUSED YOU ANY INCONVENIENCE, SIR--MERELY REHEARSING 'DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN'--DAM FINE DRAMA, SIR--WE PRODUCE SAME AT THE OPERA 'OUSE, CROYDON, ON THE 16TH." * * * * * Illustration: _Surf-rider._ "I'M ALMOST SURE THIS ISN'T A BIT THE WAY IT'S DONE IN THOSE ILLUSTRATED PAPERS!" * * * * * Illustration: _Early Tripper._ "MAKES YER FEEL LIKE OLE NAPOLEON AT WHAT'S-ITS-NAME!" * * * * * Illustration: APT NOMENCLATURE IN OUR GARDEN SUBURB. * * * * * Illustration: _The Captain._ "THE BLOOMIN' VICE-PRESIDENT'S FORGOT THE STUMPS. YOUNG BILL 'ERE BETTER BE THE WICKET--'E WANTS TO PLAY AND 'E'S TOO LITTLE TO BAT AGIN SWIFT BOWLIN'!" * * * * * Illustration: _Native_ (_having seen his rival tipped by guileless visitor_). "'E'S SWINDLED YER, SIR. I'M THE OLDEST INHABITANT--NINETY-FOUR COME SUNDAY THREE WEEKS. 'E'S ONLY A YOUNGSTER OF EIGHTY-TWO." * * * * * Illustration: EVEN IN HIS PLAY THE SCIENTIST'S CHILD IS SCIENTIFIC. * * * * * Illustration: THE POLITICAL JUNGLE. * * * * * Illustration: A FULL JOY-DAY.