The Labor Government of Ramsay MacDonald has apparently accomplished, among its other feats, something not wholly political. Whether consciously in order to smooth the way of affairs of state, or unconsciously as a sign of the times, the Carleton Club of London, which in the popular mind is the symbol of all that is most sacred to the British aristocracy, threw open its doors last week to some fifty odd sons of toil and bade them welcome to its Saturday luncheon. For one short hour, at least, the muezzin did not chant his "procul, o procul este, profani," from the holy doorway; and as a consequence marquises and masons hobnobbed in a state of democratic conviviality.

Such a display of friendliness on the part of two supposedly hostile or unsympathetic groups would certainly have warmed the heart and cheered the soul of Carlyle, although he would have noted sourly that they foregathered merely to partake of food. Had he been present at that most unprecedented luncheon he might have had reason to doubt his theory that England was slowly being gnawad apart by the two groups, to her impending destruction.

Only one thought mars the perfection of this idyllic picture; the guests were engaged in executing repairs on the outside of the club, and it is quite possible--though the thought is an unworthy one--that the hosts hoped to expedite matters by a timely application of lager beer and roast beef.