We have no fault to find with the above, except that it is placed under the general heading "Literature and Art," being actually neither. * * * * * PAYING GUESTS. I came across Crawshaw in the road unexpectedly. I would rather meet a rate-collector than Crawshaw. He is the most dangerous beggar in England. He could induce a blind crossing-sweeper to guarantee half-a-crown a week to a Belgian Relief Fund. If only he were Chancellor of the Exchequer people would almost like paying income-tax. "Good morning, old man," I said, trying to dash past him. "Just the man I was looking for," said Crawshaw. "I want you." "My dear fellow," I began, "I can't possibly afford----" "I don't want your money," interrupted Crawshaw. "Well, you've got all my spare blankets, underclothing and old novels." "I want you to come to a little dinner I'm giving on Monday. Just a bachelor festival." I looked at him suspiciously. "You intend to entice me into your house and produce a subscription list." "My dear fellow, I'll do nothing of the sort. It's just that I want a few of my friends to have a good time. Look in about 7.30. You'll come? That's good." I found a genial company assembled when I arrived. "Now we're all here," said Crawshaw. "Come in to dinner, you men." Two or three guests confided to me on the way that Crawshaw owed us a good dinner after all he had got out of us. We seated ourselves at the table, and then I noticed an empty bowl in the middle. It bore this inscription, "Any one desiring to make a remark about the War will drop a shilling in for the Soldiers' Comforts Fund." "My idea," said our smiling host. "We want a nice convivial dinner with an evening off from The Subject. We shall return to it to-morrow with fresh intelligence and enthusiasm after a brief relaxation." I turned to my neighbour, Spoor, and carefully selecting a safe topic began on the weather. "Bit windy, isn't it, to-night?" "Good anti-Zeppelin weather, I call it," said the incautious Spoor. "A shilling, please, Spoor," remarked Crawshaw. Rogers was across the table. I could see him fiddling with knives and salt-cellars. All at once he broke out: "In our platoon to-day there was a man missing, and in consequence a blank file. Now in such a case----" "You pay a shilling," interposed Crawshaw. For a moment an awful silence prevailed. I could think of nothing except the War. All at once Williams threw a five-shilling piece into the bowl. "I met an officer on leave from the Front to-day," he began, "and he was telling me just what JOFFRE is up to." Now Chapman is nothing if not a strategist. He listened with impatience to the exposition of JOFFRE'S idea, and then, hurling half-a-sovereign into the bowl, proved conclusively that Williams' informant was absolutely in the wrong.