You may say, "He is so brave he Ought some day to rule the Navy." Certainly he _ought_, but still I'm afraid he never will; For they talked to him so gruffly And they handled him so roughly That, when he was fit to drop And the kindly Bloke said, "Stop! Or you'll make him even madder; He is wiser now and sadder," Ernest simply answered, "Ay, Sir, You have _made_ me sad; but why, Sir?" * * * * * AEQUAM MEMENTO. "I wonder," said Mary for the third time, "if we shall catch the tram at the other end." "Calmness," I told her--this for the second time--"is the essence of comfortable travel. Meeting trouble half-way--" "It isn't half-way," she said indignantly. "We're nearly there." We were on a bus whose "route" terminated some five miles from home, which we proposed to reach by a tram, and, the hour being late, it was our chances of catching a car that were worrying Mary. "Never get flurried," I went on. "If people would only go ahead calmly and steadily.... What causes half our traffic congestion? Flurry. What makes it so difficult to move quickly in the streets? Flurry. What is it clogs the wheels of progress everywhere?" "Don't tell me," she implored. "Let me guess. Flurry." "Exactly," I said, and at this point we reached our terminus. Two trams were waiting, one behind the other, some thirty yards away, and, as we descended the steps of the bus, the bell of the first one rang warningly. Mary would have started running, but I detained her. "Flurrying again," I said indulgently. "Here are two trams, but of course you must have the first one, however full it is," and I led her towards the second. As I expected, it was quite empty, and I was still using it to point my moral when its conductor began juggling with the pole. It was then that I realised that, though on the down lines, this car was going no further. It was, in fact, turning round for its journey back to London, while in the distance the rear lights of our last down tram seemed to wink a derisive farewell. There was nothing for it but to go ahead calmly and steadily, and we did so. It was somewhere about the end of the fourth mile that Mary asked suddenly:-- "What was it you said clogged the wheels of progress everywhere?" "Flurry," I said feebly. "Well, _I_ think it's blisters," she said. * * * * * FILM NOTES. Those who are still inclined to question whether the cinema is to be regarded as a serious force in the realm of Art should not only read the frequent contributions to _The Times_ and other newspapers on this department of the drama, but should bear in mind that quite recently it has been stated that both the Rev. SILAS K. HOCKING and Mr. JACK DEMPSEY have taken part in photo-plays. It cannot be doubted that the peculiar talent required for making the heart of the people throb is being revealed in the most unlikely places. * * * * *