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Why were there no 〃Britain's Best〃 nor 〃Camberwell Eurekas〃 to be hired
when WE were young？
Or maybe the 〃Britain's Best〃 or the 〃Camberwell Eureka〃 stands
leaning against a gate； maybe it is tired。 It has worked hard all the
afternoon； carrying these young people。 Mercifully minded； they have
dismounted； to give the machine a rest。 They sit upon the grass beneath
the shade of graceful boughs； it is long and dry grass。 A stream flows by
their feet。 All is rest and peace。
That is ever the idea the cycle poster artist sets himself to conveyrest
and peace。
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But I am wrong in saying that no cyclist； according to the poster； ever
works。 Now I come to reflect； I have seen posters representing
gentlemen on cycles working very hardover…working themselves； one
might almost say。 They are thin and haggard with the toil； the
perspiration stands upon their brow in beads； you feel that if there is
another hill beyond the poster they must either get off or die。 But this is
the result of their own folly。 This happens because they will persist in
riding a machine of an inferior make。 Were they riding a 〃Putney
Popular〃 or 〃Battersea Bounder；〃 such as the sensible young man in the
centre of the poster rides； then all this unnecessary labour would be saved
to them。 Then all required of them would be； as in gratitude bound； to
look happy； perhaps； occasionally to back…pedal a little when the machine
in its youthful buoyancy loses its head for a moment and dashes on too
swiftly。
You tired young men； sitting dejectedly on milestones； too spent to
heed the steady rain that soaks you through； you weary maidens； with the
straight； damp hair； anxious about the time； longing to swear； not knowing
how； you stout bald men； vanishing visibly as you pant and grunt along
the endless road； you purple； dejected matrons； plying with pain the slow
unwilling wheel； why did you not see to it that you bought a 〃Britain's
Best〃 or a 〃Camberwell Eureka〃？ Why are these bicycles of inferior
make so prevalent throughout the land
Or is it with bicycling as with all other things： does Life at no point
realise the Poster？
The one thing in Germany that never fails to charm and fascinate me is
the German dog。 In England one grows tired of the old breeds； one
knows them all so well： the mastiff； the plum…pudding dog； the terrier
（black； white or rough…haired； as the case may be； but always quarrelsome）；
the collie； the bulldog； never anything new。 Now in Germany you get
variety。 You come across dogs the like of which you have never seen
before： that until you hear them bark you do not know are dogs。 It is
all so fresh； so interesting。 George stopped a dog in Sigmaringen and drew
our attention to it。 It suggested a cross between a codfish and a poodle。 I
would not like to be positive it was NOT a cross between a codfish and a
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poodle。 Harris tried to photograph it； but it ran up a fence and
disappeared through some bushes。
I do not know what the German breeder's idea is； at present he retains
his secret。 George suggests he is aiming at a griffin。 There is much to
bear out this theory； and indeed in one or two cases I have come across
success on these lines would seem to have been almost achieved。 Yet I
cannot bring myself to believe that such are anything more than mere
accidents。 The German is practical； and I fail to see the object of a griffin。
If mere quaintness of design be desired； is there not already the
Dachshund！ What more is needed？ Besides； about a house； a griffin
would be so inconvenient： people would be continually treading on its
tail。 My own idea is that what the Germans are trying for is a mermaid；
which they will then train to catch fish。
For your German does not encourage laziness in any living thing。 He
likes to see his dogs work； and the German dog loves work； of that there
can be no doubt。 The life of the English dog must be a misery to him。
Imagine a strong； active； and intelligent being； of exceptionally energetic
temperament； condemned to spend twenty…four hours a day in absolute
idleness！ How would you like it yourself？ No wonder he feels
misunderstood； yearns for the unattainable； and gets himself into trouble
generally。
Now the German dog； on the other hand； has plenty to occupy his
mind。 He is busy and important。 Watch him as he walks along
harnessed to his milk cart。 No churchwarden at collection time could
feel or look more pleased with himself。 He does not do any real work；
the human being does the pushing； he does the barking； that is his idea of
division of labour。 What he says to himself is：
〃The old man can't bark； but he can shove。 Very well。〃
The interest and the pride he takes in the business is quite beautiful to
see。 Another dog passing by makes； maybe； some jeering remark；
casting discredit upon the creaminess of the milk。 He stops suddenly； quite
regardless of the traffic。
〃I beg your pardon； what was that you said about our milk？〃
〃I said nothing about your milk；〃 retorts the other dog； in a tone of
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gentle innocence。 〃I merely said it was a fine day； and asked the price of
chalk。〃
〃Oh； you asked the price of chalk； did you？ Would you like to
know？〃
〃Yes； thanks； somehow I thought you would be able to tell me。〃
〃You are quite right； I can。 It's worth〃
〃Oh； do come along！〃 says the old lady； who is tired and hot； and
anxious to finish her round。
〃Yes； but hang it all； did you hear what he hinted about our milk？〃
〃Oh； never mind him！