Will Power that Wilted.

As a deterrent to over-ambitious exponents of psychic put-and-take, who might be tempted to page 17 interfere with the face of nature, let us consider an instance of will-power that wilted. Of course, enlightened reader, you recollect perfectly the Canute case; no, it was not in the papers at the time, because in those days the editor who stepped too forcibly on the power of the press was liable to lose his head-lines and become nothing more than a printer's error.

Nevertheless, details of the business have trickled down the pages of history. You remember how King Canute was asked to permanently lower the Plimsol mark on his native foreshore merely with a look of despotism and his personal influence. As you are aware, his action arose out of a wager with the minister of marine with whom the king happened to be drinking stoups of stout, mugs of mead, dippers of dillwater, or something equally damp. It was suggested that nothing of an acqueous nature was beyond the king's powers of control. Then came his famous declaration of indiscretion, which subsequently lost him his seat on the harbour board, and made him so unpopular with the navy. In fact it is on record (or vice versa, as the case may be) that the navy waited upon him in person and threatened to pull out the plug and scuttle the fleet if the king endeavoured again to restrict the cruising radius of the senior service—but we anticipate.