The horrible old man in the picture above, who started off well and grew wickeder and wickeder as he grew older, is so little deserving of our respect that the best thing to do with him: is to give him a kick into oblivion and hope for the best from his' successor, young 1940. There are three ways of speeding the departure of wretched old 1939—one isin serious contemplation around midnight tonight (a praiseworthy method büt depressing); the-second is by going to bed at the usual time and pretending that the night's the same as any other night; ahd the third way is in the company of one's friends, when one feels very much bolder and able to administer a kick with precision to 1939 and to tell young 1940 that he has got to behave or he'll darn well find out where he gets off.
This farewell and hail business is difficult to escape. It is one of the things that wè have let ourselves in for. The informed, of course, say that one New Year's Day is as good as another, there are so many of them about—a Mahommedan keeps it on one day, a Russian on another, a Chinese has his own formüla, and so on and soon. Those who get a sinking feeling at the prospect of taking that step into the unknown at midnight 1939-40 may save themselves the sickly qualm by deciding quickly that their New Year occurs somewhere about the middle of September, or if a lesser respite will do, let's say in February.
But what will happen when "A Happy New Year! accompanies the hearty handshake? Instead of the easy riposte " The same to you and many of them!" you will have to enter into an explanation which will probably start a rumour round the town that the war is telling on you Better, far better, to jump off the spring-board this midnight in good company and lots of it Celebrate the Yew Year with a bang ever, All the be yours at the Roxy. Let yourself go to-night. d come out to the'Roky before midnight, Souvei surprises and a wonderful time await you!
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.