Mr. CHARLES GARVICE, the next witness, stated that he did not think the literary quality of novels would be necessarily improved by nationalisation. Speaking for himself he did not think it would affect his output. But if the State took over this industry it should be liberal in affording novel-producers facilities for obtaining fresh material, local colour, etc. At all costs the output of salubrious and sedative fiction must be maintained if only as an antidote to the subversive and revolutionary literature now freely disseminated among the proletariat. COLONEL WEDGWOOD. HOW do you expect a workman earning only three pounds a week to afford seven shillings for every novel that he buys?--Personally I should like to see the cost reduced, but I understand that if the price of novels were fixed at one shilling it would involve the State in an expenditure of ten million pounds annually, even with the present reduced output of novels, which has fallen during the War to little over twenty million tons. Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE declared himself a whole-hearted supporter of nationalisation. There was something extraordinarily uplifting in the notion of consecrating one's talents to the State. Publishers were too often callous individualists. Here one would be working for humanity. If his interview with the KAISER had been issued under State sanction he believed that the Peace would have been signed months sooner. * * * * * OFFICIAL CANDOUR. "TELEGRAPHIC NOTICE. Public is hereby informed that delays to and from offices in Punjab are normal."--_Indian Paper_. Same here. * * * * * OUR VETERANS. "London Rifle Brigade, 40 strong, of the 1st Battalion, which went out in 1814, arrived in London from France at mid-day yesterday."--_Daily Paper_. * * * * * A ROYAL INTERVIEW. "Someone to see you, Miss." Thus Mary at about nine o'clock on an April evening at the door of my tiny sitting-room. There was a strange little quiver in her voice. Mary is so extremely well trained, and so accustomed, moreover, to queer visitors at the flat, that I looked up in surprise. "Yes?" I said. "Is it a lady?" Mary did not reply immediately; she seemed half-dazed. "Is it a lady?" I repeated a little sharply. My usually imperturbable parlourmaid appeared to have taken leave of her senses. "She said she was a queen, Miss," she gasped. At that moment the visitor, evidently grown tired of waiting, calmly floated in through the half-open door and settled down gracefully in the centre of a large gold cushion lying on the end of the Chesterfield. Fortunately I grasped the situation at once. "Thank you, Mary," I said, with what I now feel to have been most commendable coolness in the entirely unprecedented circumstances; "I will ring if I want tea later." When the door had closed upon the still gasping Mary I turned apologetically to my visitor.