Lud, 'tis marvellous! I vow I never dreamed of such an amazing thing! You may say it is all an affair of valves and grids, of coils and earths and aerials, of oscillation and interference. But to me it is no mere dull prosaic mechanical thing, but the most romantic invention in the world.

It keeps you at home? Nothing romantic in that, you say? Ah, but you are wrong! Home is the most romantic place in existence. Your cinema will show you magnificent hotels, glorious flats, garish night-clubs. Interesting, yes; but they pale to insignificance beside a cottage kitchen warmly lighted by a lamp, the snowy cloth set for tea, a baby sleeping in its cot, and a wife welcoming her man home after the day's work. And in the corner that wonderful little box which can bring the colour and brightness of the great world into this simple, remote workingman's home.

In times gone by, when there was no wireless, that same man would probably have gone out after his meal to a sociable evening at the village inn. No harm in that, of course, since the type of Englishman of whom I speak does not drink more than is good for him; but not much fun in it for his wife and the youngsters at home, was there?

But since the advent of these romantic days of the wireless, that same man takes his glass of beer in his own arm-chair at home. He listens to beautiful music, clever drama, or even an interesting lecture. Between whiles he talks with his wife, plays with the baby or, perhaps, if he is a handy man, he will be able to explain to his son details about the set and how to get more perfect reception. Somehow a closer intimacy now exists between that man and his family than used to be the case. Probably, too, the money which formerly went on various kinds of gambling and betting will now go to the improvement of the wireless set and the beautifying of the home. The father of the family has become a home bird. Prosaic, you say? Romantic, says his wife and the happiness in her eyes shows which of you is right.

If it is like this in the country how much more romantic is it in the big towns! The city clerk cannot afford to take his young wife to expensive musical recitals, and only rarely to the theatre or opera. But he can, and does afford to purchase a wireless set for her and then adds to it until it becomes a decorative and perfect mechanism by whose means she may listen, in the comfort of her own little home or flat, to Kreisler or Galli-Curci, or Chaliapin or Paderewski. These are gifts, indeed, and she knows it and loves him the more for it.

In these modern times there has been an alarming tendency towards taking meals and amusements outisde the home, and it is this unfortunate custom which has largely been responsible for the great increase in divorce proceedings in recent years, and given ground for the statement that the British nation is no longer comfortable, happy and home-loving as it used to be. But since the romantic advent of radio, men and women alike, the very young as well as those of mature years, have acquired a real incentive to look on their homes as hte place where they can find all the amusement they require as well as that true happiness for which we all crave on this earth.

Can anyone doubt the very great romance that lies behind Senator Marconi's marvellous invention? Surely, no one who has visited one of the modern hospitals equipped with the latest receiving sets? Is there, indeed, anything more romantic than this new power of giving to the blind visions of the crowded stages of life, or artists' triumphs, or gentle pastoral scenes? What greater romance than the soothing of pain by recalling to the sufferer's mind through the dreamy notes of a favourite song happy moments of the past and hopes of a brighter future to come? What is there finer than the power to banish the weariness from a sick bed through the stirring scenes of a gripping radio drama?

Then think of a vessel in mid-ocean, battling against perdition, making a last gallant stand against the angry waves, and sending her appeal for help crackling through the storm-ridden air. Then think of her message being picked up by one ship after another, each one of which at once turns in her course and speeds like a grey wolf to the help of a wounded mate. The unfortunate sailors and passengers, slipping on sharply sloping decks, and clinging in agonizing despair to life, realize the romance of the radio, for without it the greater romance of living would for them soon come to an end.

One more instance and I have done. Have you never heard of an S.O.S. message calling, perhaps to a song who has been out of touch with home for years--calling to him to come to the bedside of a sick mother or father? And having heard such a message and hearing subsequently that the son did come home, a still loved prodigal, to make a pillow of his strong arms for his dying mother, and did receive the kiss of forgiveness before Death closed those loving eyes in the last long sleep--having heard all that, I say you surely will not deny that one of the greatest romances of all times is the modern wireless.

There never was such a romantic thing as this, the one and only medium that can offer you in your own home, without any exertion on your part, and for an expense so trifling as to be negligible, the music, the arts, the knowledge of the entire civilized world, together with the voices of the greatest artists and scientists to interpret them for you. A waltz from Vienna, a song from Coven Garden, an opera from Milan, a recitation from Berlin, or a fox-trot from New York--you can have which you like for a few shillings yearly and the turning of a knob. It is more than romantic: it is the greatest of all the wonders of the world.