I believe that in B.B.C. .circles Sir Max Beerbohm's broa
cast on Sunday night, on memories of the Victorian music-hall, regarded as the very pattern and model of how such things should be done. The matter was altogether admirable, but mo important, because of its value as an example to lesser aspirant was the clarity of the diction and the pace. It takes mu practice or much resolution to be slow enough at the microphon (Lord David Cecil a few hours earlier had demonstrated th disadvantages of a hand-gallop.) Sir Max—no, Max—was a near perfection as is well possible in both respects, as well a in modulation of tone. One bad turn I must do him in th interests of fact. The legend of second childhood, a anachronistic survival, which he has built up sits on him like fifty-shilling suit. But actually he is by no means the old, of man who goes to bed every night by nine-thirty (and probabl
has gruel taken up to him). He is still nearer 69 than 70. * * *
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