Major Dobbin, a beau sabreur of irresistible charm, is on the point of eloping with Amelia Osborne, the wife of a brother-officer, when the Battle of Waterloo breaks out and Dobbin is slain. Captain Osborne, in the mistaken impression that Amelia has shared her betrayer’s fate, marries the beautiful Becky Sharp and is tried for bigamy, but is acquitted, as Becky Sharp is proved to have been already married to an Indian Nabob of the name of Crawley.  On the death of Crawley, Becky marries the Marquis of Steyne, becomes deeply religious and dies in the odour of sanctity.

“Is marriage a failure?” is the problem of this kaleidoscopic drama, which is handled with all the author’s well-known soulful verve.

* * * * *

“SMITH MINOR” AGAIN.

    “Apelles fuit carus Alexandro propter comitate.”
    “Apples were dear in the days of Alexander on account
    of the Committee.” (?  Food Controller.)

* * * * *

“A resolution was passed requesting the responsible local authority to provide thirty new houses in accordance with the Local Government Board’s scheme.  The houses required were—­first, those which were unfit for human habitation.”—­Sussex Paper.

And, to judge by some of the fantastic designs for rural cottages published in the newspapers, those are what they will probably get.

* * * * * [Illustration:  THE ORDER OF RELEASE.

PIVOTAL PIG (demobilised).  “SO LONG, LEAGUE OF RATIONS, SEE YOU LATER.”]

* * * * *

THE REAL DALRYMPLE.

You would feel quite uncomfortable if you heard Dalrymple talk.  He conveys the impression that everything is badly in the way and ought to be removed at once.  That’s his view.  Dalrymple has no patience with the social system.  This includes everything, from the washing bill to the House of Commons.

Dalrymple said the General Election made him impatient.  By the way, Dalrymple is a fine upstanding personage, with just the coloured hair the lady novelists dote on, and eyes in harmony; but despite his handsome placid bearing Dalrymple is a fire-eater of the hungriest.

“What you want to do is to make a clean sweep of everything,” he said.  “Money is an anachronism, and in a perfectly ordered State would not be required.”

Of course it is no more use arguing with Dalrymple than it would be to attempt a controversy on naval affairs with Lord Nelson on his pedestal.

And then there is this about Dalrymple—­you remember what some Court poet said concerning Louis THE FOURTEENTH; it was to the effect that quand le Roi parle—­well, apparently everything and everybody else had to put up the shutters.  I forget exactly how the thing ran.  It is just so with Dalrymple.  He comes into my room in the City and warms himself, though no fire is needed to fan his enthusiasm for destruction.  The Bolsheviks are peaceable Sunday folk compared with him.  A Nihilist on a war footing would be considered Quaker-like in his symptoms.