The Cotton Factory Times. — 1910-08-26 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

VESTA. „. Hee.a address letters to "Vesta," oio "The "etcrY Ti 131%," Ashton-under-Lyne.  My holiday sun, that a year ago rose slowly an an expanding going-off share, has again set in the wintry west of a vanquished rhino. To wit—and more of it—l've come home with an empty fob, and an idea-crammed cranium ready to replenish the piece,: lacking in lucre and abounding in banter. Though Ido like to be beside the seaside, though I do love the bustle and the breeze, now and then I get beside myself in raising up the puny pelf to buy an extra bit of bread and cheese. I've been on the joy-wheel, and left an unpleasant epithet in every spoke of it; I've lost the cobwebs of pessimism, and found the monocle of the optimist. and now I'm busy looking for his other eyepiece; hope I shall find it. He must have been a good-tempered man who sat for hours in the rain and wind on the Blackpool aerodrome to await the flying, Which—unlike his smile—didn't come off. The chap in the placarded motor, who ran up and down the promenade to let the eager tripper know there was "Flying now in progress," was perhaps a humorist, and, as he winked one goggle to Father Wind and the other to naughty Neptune, was thinking of the seagulls so well as the landgulls. None of us I hope would wish to pay our shilling to see a plucky aviator break his neck in a gale, but when we do pay our "bob" we naturally expect to get more than an empty, sloppy field and a damp bad cold for our money. Even some of the pierrots brought from the Blackpool streets would have been better than nothing at all. We could at least have tried to laugh at them, and a shower of rain would have perhaps I washed some of their "Yip-i-eddy" away.  Flying at the best is but showy sensationalism. The Bishop of Carlistle says so, anyhow. He says, "Sensationalism is like dram drinking—the more they had and the more they wanted. He wondered how many would take a trip to Blackpool to gee a swallow fly. They would, at any, rate, rush there to see a man try to fly, although the flight of an aeroplane was not so wonderful nor so beautiful as that of a swallow." I don't agree with Mr. Bishop. A flying swallow is both wonderful and beautiful, I admit, so is a walking rnan— some of 'ern—it's the nature of the beast; but if he'd seen Grahame White soaring over the Blackpool houses, with his light brown wings outstretched against a clear blue sky, I think in his heart of hearts he would have ejaculated, as I dial, " Wonderful! Beautiful!"  Thousands of observers said likewise, and when somebody can persuade a swallow to ride a bicycle, wear an eyeglass, speak seven languages, or invent something to supersede wireless telegraphy, I and a thousand others will willingly pay our "bob" to see it, and shout " Wonderful!" and maybe his swallowship won't be less beautiful.  The Bishop is down on sensationalism. He said people went to a theatre to see ove*essed people in bad paint, but they never stopped to look at a daffodil in the valley. H'm, f'raps! All the stage people are not ovedressed, methinks. Let us have sensation by all means; we cannot live without it. I wonder what kind of a sensation was caused by the first man—or was it a woman—who wore drone, or ornament at all. No, no. Let an paint our theatrical ecenery, powder and puff the faces of our actors; place statues in our music-halls, stainedglass windows in our churches; garb our already beautiful selves in silks and surplices, and we'll admire the sweetness of the swallow and the daintiness of the daffodil just the same. They say that beauty unadorned is adorned the most; yet we shouldn't blame a collier for wearing baggy trousers to hide his bow legs that have been bent in his efforts to scramble out his means to live at all.  Mr. Lee Jones, of Liverpool, the man who is appealing for funds to provide would-be suicides with a fairer view of life, has already received 1,000 applications for aid from people who are in sore straits and anxious to solve the grand secret. One of the letters, unstarnped, was marked "Very urgent," and read: "Iliad fully made up my mind to finish all this worry this afternoon, but I will wait until I hear from you; but, pray God, let it be  Be reading the following,while I go and shake the barometer :—" A Treasury return issued yesterday at the instance of Mr. Barnes shows that the total expenditure for the nine years to March fist last provided from public sources for the support of His Majesty's household and of the honour and dignity of the Crown amounted to £8,841,411."  Yes, the glass is going up, and though some glasses keep going down, Mr. Jones above mentioned says drink isn't responsible for all the suicide in the country. Therefore,