Dear Mr. Punch,—­In this bitter controversy I hope that a few moderate and impartial words from one, like myself, who sees clearly both sides of the question, may not be out of place.  In any case I feel it is incumbent upon me to do all I can to avert the dire consequences of the frightful catastrophe that has fallen upon us through the mad act of an insensate War Cabinet.  I can only say that if this is to be our spirit we are indeed defeated.  Where is our devotion to manly sports, so potent in the moulding of our National character?  What has become of our immemorial Right to Look On?  Where is our boasted liberty, deprived as we are now to be of a chance to find the winner?  What did Wellington say of Waterloo? and Marlborough of Blenheim? and Bottomley of the Battle of the Somme?  By what perversity of reasoning are we thus to asphyxiate the best instincts of our race?

We are said to be fighting for all that we hold sacred.  Yet there is nothing that is held more sacred in every cottage home throughout the land than the Preservation of our Bloodstock.  Let us not deceive ourselves.  It is our supremacy in Bloodstock alone that makes possible the governess car, the milk van, the brewer’s dray, the very plough itself.  These are fundamental facts.

It has been suggested that, in order to avoid the assembling of frivolous crowds in war-time, races might be run in private.  But that is quite impracticable.  Only on the public racecourse can the lofty virtues of our British Bloodstock be displayed.  The exciting presence of the crowd is absolutely essential to tune up its nerve and temper.  Already our Bloodstock has suffered cruelly from gaps in the Grand Stand.

Then again there are some who actually complain that petrol is consumed in large quantities by those attending race meetings.  Are we to put new heart into our enemies by letting it be known that we are short of petrol?

And finally there are some who so little understand the qualities of the Thoroughbred as to suggest that gambling should be stopped in war-time.  The horse, unlike the Cabinet, is intelligent.  Can he be expected to exhibit his priceless qualities of speed and stamina if no one puts his money up?

I need say no more.  Such flippant legislation is bad enough at any time; during the Armageddon period it is little short of treason.  One wonders when our Government will begin to realise that we are at war.

  I am,
  Yours helpfully, as usual,
  statistician.

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The diary of A co-ordinator.

June 17th.—­Flew in an aeroplane to Los Angeles and correlated the industrial functions of the East and West.  Returned to the White House for dinner, and co-ordinated grape juice with lemonade and Perrier.