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diff --git a/10450-h/10450-h.htm b/10450-h/10450-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e066d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/10450-h/10450-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1773 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Aug. 22, 1917, by Various</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note, + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10450 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, +Aug. 22, 1917, by Various, Edited by Owen Seamen</h1> +<br /> +<br /> + +<hr class="full" /> +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>Vol. 153.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>AUGUST 22nd, 1917.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page127" id="page127"></a>[pg +127]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;"><a href= +"images/127.png"><img width="100%" src="images/127s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"A POULTRY-FANCIER, HEARING THAT DEFENCES AT THE FRONT ARE +SOMETIMES DISGUISED AS HEN-HOUSES, DETERMINED TO REVERSE THE +PROCESS. BEING A BIT OF AN ARTIST HE DISGUISED HIS HEN-HOUSE BY +GIVING IT A WARLIKE APPEARANCE. THE ENEMY WAS STRICKEN WITH +PANIC."</p> +</div> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p>Eighty-eight policemen were bitten by dogs in 1913, but only +forty-four in 1915, says <i>The Daily Mail</i>, and quotes a +policeman as saying that "dogs are not half so vicious as they used +to be." The true explanation is that policemen no longer taste as +good as in the old rabbit-pie days.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Recent heavy rain and the absence of sunshine have, it is +stated, caused corn in Essex to sprout in the ear. This idea of +portable allotments is appealing very strongly to busy City +men.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Feeling about the Stockholm Conference is changing a little, and +several people suggest that Mr. RAMSAY MACDONALD might be sent as a +reprisal.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Sixty-seven children were recently lost on one day at New +Brighton. The fact that they were all restored to their parents +before nightfall speaks well for the honesty of the general +public.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The German authorities have further restricted the foods to be +supplied to dogs, and German scientists are now trying to grow +dachshunds with a shorter span.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"We have a Coal Controller, but where is the coal?" plaintively +asks a contemporary. There is no satisfying the jaundiced +Press.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A well-dressed female baby a month old has been found under the +seat of a first-class compartment in a train on the Chertsey line. +Several mothers have written to congratulate her upon her +courageous and unconventional protest against the fifty per cent. +increase in railway fares.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A Glasgow woman has been fined a guinea for trying to enlist in +the Irish Guards. Only the Scottish Courts carry pride of race to +these absurd lengths.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>It is announced that the recent increase in the price of bacon +was sanctioned by the FOOD CONTROLLER. The news has given great +satisfaction to law-abiding consumers, who bitterly resented the +unauthorised increases (upon which this is a further increase) that +were made under the old <i>régime</i>.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A dress made from banana skins is now being exhibited in London. +It is, we believe, a <i>négligé</i> costume, the sort +of thing one can slip on at any time.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"If you had let the boy eat it, it would have punished him a +great deal more than I can," said the North London magistrate to a +man who was prosecuting a boy for stealing an unripe pear. It is a +splendid tribute to the humanity of our stipendiary magistrates +that the heroic offer of the boy to accept the greater punishment +was promptly refused.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A workman at Kinlochleven, Argyllshire, found a live crab in a +pocket of sand at a depth of more than ten feet. On being taken to +the police-station and shown the "All Clear" notice the cautious +crustacean consented to go straight home.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>At a flower-day sale at Grimsby one thousand pounds was paid by +a local shipowner for a blue periwinkle. In recognition of his +generosity no charge was made for the pin.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A Vienna telegram states that the Emperor KARL has handed the +Grand Cross of St. Stephen to the GERMAN CHANCELLOR. The latter +quite rightly protests that Herr BETHMANN-HOLLWEG is the real +culprit.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>From Scotland comes the news that an inmate of a workhouse has +received an income-tax form to fill in. This is considered to be +but a foretaste of the time when all income-tax papers will have to +be addressed to the workhouses.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>In a Gloucester meadow, Lieutenant JAGGARD has picked a mushroom +weighing ten ounces and measuring twenty-seven inches in +circumference. Eyewitnesses describe the gallant officer's +enveloping movement as a really brilliant piece of single-handed +work.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Prussian Military Press Bureau, among its other fantasies, +has discovered with horror that Calais has been leased to England +for ninety-nine years. Our own information is that the situation is +really worse than that, the lease being granted alternatively for +ninety-nine years "or the duration of the War."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An official statement points out that the work of the National +Service Department is continuing without interruption pending the +appointment of a new Director-General. It appears that the members +of the staff have expressed a desire to die in harness.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128" id="page128"></a>[pg +128]</span> +<hr /> +<h2>IDYLLS OF THE KING OF PRUSSIA.</h2> +<h3>A FRAGMENT.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>So spake Sir GERARD (U.S.A.) and ceased.</p> +<p>Then answered WILLIAM, talking through his hat:</p> +<p>"When first the heathen rose against our realm,</p> +<p>That haunt of peace where all day long occurred</p> +<p>The cooing of innumerable doves,</p> +<p>I hailed my knighthood where I sat in hall</p> +<p>At high Potsdam the Palace, and they came;</p> +<p>And all the rafters rang with rousing <i>Hochs</i>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"So to my feet they drew and kissed my boots</p> +<p>And laid their maily fists in mine and sware</p> +<p>To reverence their Kaiser as their God</p> +<p>And <i>vice versâ</i>; to uphold the Faith</p> +<p>Approved by me as Champion of the Church;</p> +<p>To ride abroad redressing Belgium's wrongs;</p> +<p>To honour treaties like a virgin's troth;</p> +<p>To serve as model in the nations' eyes</p> +<p>Of strength with sweetness wed; to hack their way</p> +<p>Without superfluous violence; to spare</p> +<p>The best cathedrals lest my heart should bleed,</p> +<p>Nor butcher babes and women, or at least</p> +<p>No more than needful—in a word, behave</p> +<p>Like Prussian officers, the flower of men.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"I bade them take ensample from their Lord</p> +<p>Of perfect manners, wearing on their helms</p> +<p>The bouquet of a blameless Junkerhood,</p> +<p>And be a law of culture to themselves,</p> +<p>Though other laws, not made in Germany,</p> +<p>Should perish, being scrapped. For so I deemed</p> +<p>That this our Order of the Table Round</p> +<p>Should mould its Christian pattern on the spheres,</p> +<p>Itself unchanged amid a world new-made,</p> +<p>And men should say, in that fair after-time,</p> +<p>'The old Order sticketh, yielding place to none.'"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>So be. Whereat that other held his peace,</p> +<p>Seeming, for courtesy, to yield assent.</p> +<p>But, as within the lists at Camelot</p> +<p>Some temporary knight mislays his seat</p> +<p>And falls, and, falling, lets his morion loose,</p> +<p>And lights upon his head, and all the spot</p> +<p>Swells like a pumpkin, and he hides the bulge</p> +<p>Beneath his gauntlet lest it cause remark</p> +<p>And curious comment—so behind his hand</p> +<p>Sir GERARD's cheek, that had his tongue inside,</p> +<p>Swelled like a pumpkin....</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>O. S.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>THE STOCKING OF PRIVATE PARKS.</h2> +<p>As I came out on to the convalescents' verandah my brother James +looked up from his paper.</p> +<p>"Did I ever tell you about a certain Private Parks?" he asked. +"He was with me in Flanders in the early days. He came out with a +draft and lasted about two months. Rather a curious type. Very +superstitious. If a shell narrowly missed him he must have a small +piece to put in his pocket. If while standing on a duck-board he +happened to be immune while his pals were being knocked out he +would carry it about with him all day if possible. On one occasion +he was very nearly shot for insubordination, because he would go +out into No-man's-land after a flower which he thought would help +him.</p> +<p>"Not that his superstition was purely selfish. Once, when he had +had two particularly close shaves during the day, he insisted upon +sleeping outside the barn where we were billeted. 'I'm absolutely +certain to have a third close shave,' he said, 'and if I'm in the +billet someone will get it.'</p> +<p>"The Corporal let him lie down in the farmyard, but a little +later he crept up the road about fifty yards to make things more +certain."</p> +<p>"And I suppose the barn was hit and he escaped?" I put in, +feeling that I had heard this story before.</p> +<p>"You don't know Private Parks," said James. "About two o'clock +in the morning a shell fell on the road not ten yards from him. +Bits of it must have made a pattern all round him, but not one hit +him, and when he'd picked himself out of the ditch he went back to +the billet, knowing all was then safe.</p> +<p>"Then one day when we were in the front line there came up with +the mail a parcel for Private Parks. I was near when he opened it. +When he saw the contents he gave a sigh and a curious resigned +expression came over his face.</p> +<p>"'What's she sent you?' I asked.</p> +<p>"'It's from my old aunt, Sir,' he said. 'It's a stocking.' 'Only +one?' 'Yes,' he said with great solemnity. 'The other one's been +pinched?' I asked. 'No, Sir. The parcel's not been opened. It +simply means that I shall lose a leg to-day,' he added. He wasn't +panicked at all. But, as to reassuring him, I might as well have +argued with a tank.</p> +<p>"We'd had a very quiet time, but that evening the Hun put over a +pretty stiff bombardment. We stood to, but we all thought it was +only a little extra evening hate, except Private Parks. He kept +saying, 'They're coming across,' till we told him not to get the +wind up. But he hadn't got the wind up. Only he knew they were +coming.</p> +<p>"And they did come. Just after it was dark they made a biggish +raid and got into our front trench a little to our right. We +started bombing inwards, but the slope of the ground was awkward, +and they seemed to be having the best of the fun.</p> +<p>"Then Parks jumped up on to the parapet with a pail of bombs and +ran along. He fairly got among them, and by the time he was hit in +the right leg they were mostly casualties or prisoners. I saw him +on the stretcher going back. He was in some pain, but he smiled, +and said, 'One stocking will be enough now, Sir.'"</p> +<p>"Very extraordinary," I began, but James stopped me.</p> +<p>"I haven't finished," he said. "When about three months later I +went down to Southmouth Convalescent Camp, almost the first man I +saw was Private Parks. He was still on crutches, but <i>he had two +legs</i>. I greeted him, and then I couldn't resist saying, 'What +about the stocking?'</p> +<p>"'I'll tell you, Sir,' he said. 'For a week after I was wounded +it was a toss up whether they took the leg off or not. Then a +parcel arrived for me. It was the other stocking. My aunt had +discovered that she had left it out. That evening the surgeon +decided that they need not amputate. I knew they wouldn't, of +course, as soon as I received the parcel.'"</p> +<p>James had really finished this time, and after a moment's +reflection I said, "I wonder if that's true."</p> +<p>"Do you flatter me?" he asked.</p> +<p>"I don't know about that. Not with intent," I said, "though it +would really be more to your credit if you'd made it up."</p> +<p>"As a matter of fact," said James, "I did make it up. It was +suggested to me by the heading to a letter in this paper—'The +Stocking of Private Parks,' though that appears to be upon quite a +different subject. Something agricultural, I gather."</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"By a comparison of the wet and dry bulb registrations +the dew point and the humility of the atmosphere is +determined."<br /> +<i>Banbury Guardian</i>.</blockquote> +<p>In the first week of August, at any rate, the atmosphere had no +reason to swank.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page129" id="page129"></a>[pg +129]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href= +"images/129.png"><img width="80%" src="images/129s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h2>THE INTRUDERS</h2> +<p>AMERICAN EAGLE (<i>to German Peace Doves</i>). "GO AWAY; I'M +BUSY."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page131" id="page131"></a>[pg +131]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/131.png"><img width="100%" src="images/131s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Chatty Waiter (to Visitor Growing Stouter Every +Day).</i><br /> +"I'M SURE, SIR YOUR STAY HERE IS DOING YOU GOOD. WHY, YOU'RE TWICE +THE GENTLEMAN YOU WERE WHEN YOU CAME."]</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>A LETTER FROM NEW YORK.</h2> +<p>Dear ——,—We got here safely, with the usual +submarine scares <i>en route</i>, but apparently no real danger. +Vessels going westward from England are not much the U-boats' +concern, nor are the U's, I guess, particularly keen on wasting +torpedoes on passenger ships. What they want to sink is the +goods.</p> +<p>Anyway, we got here safely. It is all very wonderful and novel, +and the interest in the War is unmistakable; but what I want to +tell you about is an experience that I have had in the house of one +of the leading picture collectors here—and the art treasures +of America are gradually but surely becoming terrific. If some +measure is not passed to prevent export, England will soon have +nothing left, except in the public galleries. Of course, for a +while, America can't be so rich as if she had not come into the +War, but she will be richer than we can ever be for a good many +years, while the steel people who make the implements of +destruction at Bethlehem will be richest of all. What my man makes +I cannot say, but he is a king of sorts, even if not actually a +Bethlehem boss, and the Medici are not in it! I have introductions +to all the most famous collectors, but, hearing of his splendours, +I went to him first.</p> +<p>Well, I sent on my credentials, and was invited to call and +inspect the Plutocrat's walls. You never saw anything like them! +And he refers to his collection only as a "modest nucleus." He has +agents all over the world to discover when the possessors of +certain unique works are nearing the rocks. Then he offers to buy. +As his wealth is unlimited, and sooner or later all the nobility +and gentry of England, France, Italy and Russia will be in Queer +Street, his collection cannot but grow and become more and more +amazing. He even had the cheek to send the Trustees of the National +Gallery a blank cheque asking them to fill it up as they wished +whenever they were ready to part with TITIAN'S "Bacchus and +Ariadne." Though he calls himself a patriot, directly the War is +done he will make overtures to Germany. There is a Vermeer in +Berlin on which he has set his heart, and another in Dresden.</p> +<p>I could fill reams in telling you what he has. But I confine +myself to one picture only, which he keeps in a room by itself. I +am not so foolish as to pretend to <i>know</i> anything, but to my +eyes this picture was nothing whatever but the Louvre's "Monna +Lisa."</p> +<p>That being of course impossible, "What a wonderful copy!" I +said.</p> +<p>"You may indeed say so," replied my host.</p> +<p>I looked at it more closely, even applying a pocket +magnifying-glass.</p> +<p>"There was not a contemporary duplicate?" I inquired. "Could +LEONARDO have painted two?"</p> +<p>The Chowder King, or whatever he is called, smiled inscrutably. +"No doubt he <i>could</i>," he said. "But perhaps," he continued, +"you have not seen the Louvre picture since it was put back after +the theft?"</p> +<p>"Not to examine it closely," I replied.</p> +<p>He laughed softly and led the way to the door.</p> +<p>Now what I want to know is, is it possible that—?</p> +<p>This terrible thought has been haunting me day and night.</p> +<p>I have asked many Americans to tell me about this collector and +his methods, but I can get no exact information. But it seems to be +agreed that he would stick at nothing to get a coveted work beneath +his roof. If I have many more such shocks as he gave me I shall +give up paint altogether and specialise in photography or the +three-colour process.</p> +<p>Anyway, it is God's own country, and I will tell you my further +adventures as I have them. Tomorrow I am to attend a reception at +the White House to hear ELLA WHEELER WILCOX recite an Ode at the +President.</p> +<p>Yours, X. Y. Z.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page132" id="page132"></a>[pg +132]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/132.png"><img width="100%" src="images/132s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Mr. Green</i>. "IT DOESN'T SEEM TO ME TO LOOK QUITE +RIGHT."<br /> +<i>Artist (engaged solely on account of shortage of labour).</i> +"WELL, SIR, THE PANEL WAS A BIT ON THE LONG SIDE, BUT I THOUGHT I'D +SPUN THE LETTERING OUT VERY NICE."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE MUD LARKS.</h2> +<p><i>Time</i>—NIGHT.</p> +<p>SCENE.—<i>A shell-pitted plain and a cavalry regiment +under canvas thereon. It is not yet "Lights out," and on the right +hand the semi-transparent tents and bivouacs glow like giant +Chinese lanterns inhabited by shadow figures. From an Officers' +mess tent comes the tinkle of a gramophone, rendering classics from +"Keep Smiling." In a bivouac an opposition mouth-organ saws at "The +Rosary." On the left hand is a dark mass of horses, picketed in +parallel lines. They lounge, hips drooping, heads low, in a +pleasant after-dinner doze. The Guard lolls against a post, lantern +at his feet, droning a fitful accompaniment to the distant +mouth-organ. "The hours I spent wiv thee, dear 'eart, are-Stan' +still, Ginger—like a string of pearls ter me-ee ... Grrr, +Nellie, stop kickin'!" The range of desolate hills in the +background is flickering with gun-flashes and grumbling with +drum-fire—the Bosch evensong.</i></p> +<p>A bay horse (shifting his weight from one leg to the other). +Somebody's catching it in the neck to-night.</p> +<p><i>A chestnut</i>. Yep. Now if this was 1914, with that racket +loose, we'd be standing to.</p> +<p><i>A gunpack horse</i>. Why?</p> +<p><i>Chestnut</i>. Wind up, sonny. Why, in 1914 our saddles grew +into our backs like the ivy and the oak. In 1914—</p> +<p><i>A black horse</i>. Oh, dry up about 1914, old soldier; tell +us about the Battle of Hastings and how you came to let WILLIAM'S +own Mounted Blunderbusses run all over you.</p> +<p><i>A bay horse</i>. Yes, and how you gave the field ten stone +and a beating in the retreat to Corunna. What are your personal +recollections of NAPOLEON, Rufus?</p> +<p><i>Chestnut</i>. You blinkin' conscripts, you!</p> +<p><i>Black.</i> Shiss! no bad language, Rufus—ladies +present.</p> +<p><i>Chestnut</i>. Ladies, huh. Behave nice and ladylike when they +catch sight of the nosebags, don't they?</p> +<p><i>A skewbald mare</i>. Well, we gotta stand up for our +rights.</p> +<p><i>Chestnut</i>. S'truth you do, tooth and hoof. What were you +in civil life, Baby? A Suffragette?</p> +<p><i>Skewbald</i>. No, I wasn't, so there.</p> +<p><i>Bay</i>. No, she was a footlights favourite; wore her mane in +plaits and a star-spangled bearing-rein and surcingle to improve +her fig-u-are; did pretty parlour tricks to the strains of the +banjo and psaltery. <i>N'est-ce pas, chérie?</i></p> +<p><i>Skewbald</i>. Well, what if I did? There's scores of +circus-gals is puffect lydies. I don't require none of your +familiarity any'ow, Mister.</p> +<p><i>Bay</i>. Beg pardon. Excuse my bluff soldierly ways; but +nevertheless take your nose out of my hay-net, please.</p> +<p><i>A Canadian dun</i>. Gee! quit weavin' about like that, Tubby. +Can't you let a guy get some sleep. I'll hand you a cold rebuff in +the ribs in a minute. Wazzer matter with you, anyhow?</p> +<p><i>Tubby</i>. Had a bad dream.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Don't wonder, the way you over-eat yourself.</p> +<p><i>Bay</i>. Ever know a Quartermaster's horse that didn't? He's +the only one that gets the chance.</p> +<p><i>Skewbald</i>. And the Officers' chargers.</p> +<p><i>Voice from over the way</i>. Well, we need it, don't we? We +do all the bally head-work.</p> +<p><i>Bay</i>. Hearken even unto the Honourable Montmorency. Hello, +Monty there! Never mind about the bally head-work, but next time +you're out troop-leading try to steer a course somewhat approaching +the straight. You had the line opening and shutting like a +concertina this morning.</p> +<p><i>An iron-grey</i>. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought +my ribs was goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his +breath the way you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a +straight line, Monty avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken.</p> +<p><i>Monty</i>. Sorry, but the flies were giving me gyp.</p> +<p><i>Canadian dun</i>. Flies? Say, but you greenhorns make me +smile. Why, out West we got flies that—</p> +<p><i>Iron-grey</i>. Och sure we've heard all about thim. 'Tis as +big as bull-dogs they are; ivery time they bite you you lose a +limb. Many a time the traveller has observed thim flyin' away wid a +foal in their jaws, the rapparees! F' all that I do be remarkin' +that whin one of the effete European variety is afther ticklin' you +in the short hairs you step very free an' flippant, Johnny +acushla.</p> +<p><i>A brown horse</i>. Say, Monty, old top, any news? You've got +a pal at G.H.Q., haven't you?</p> +<p><i>Monty</i>. Oh, yes, my young brother. He's got a job on +HAIG'S personal Staff now, wears a red brow-band and all +that—ahem! Of course he tells me a thing or two when we meet, +but in the strictest confidence, you understand.</p> +<p><i>Brown</i>. Quite; but did he say anything about the end of +the War?</p> +<p><i>Monty</i>. Well, not precisely, that is not exactly, +excepting that he says that it's pretty certain now that +it—er—well, that it will end.</p> +<p><i>Brown</i>. That's good news. Thanks, Monty.</p> +<p><i>Monty</i>. Not a bit, old thing. Don't mention it.</p> +<p><i>Iron-grey</i>. 'Tis a great comfort to us to know that the +War will ind, if not in our day, annyway some time.</p> +<p><i>Canadian dun</i>. You bet. Gee, I wish it was all over an' I +was home in the foothills with the brown wool and pink prairie +roses underfoot and the Chinook layin' my mane over.</p> +<p><i>Iron-grey</i>. Faith, but the County Cork would suit me +completely; a roomy loose-box wid straw litter an' a leak-proof +roof.</p> +<p><i>Tubby</i>. Yes, with full meals coming regularly.</p> +<p><i>A bay mare</i>. I've got a two-year-old in Devon I'd like to +see again.</p> +<p><i>Monty</i>. I've no quarrel with Leicestershire myself.</p> +<p><i>Gunpack horse</i>. Garn! Wot abaht good old London?</p> +<p><i>Chestnut</i>. Steady, Alf, what are you grousing about? You +never had a full meal in your life until Lord DERBY pulled you out +of that coster barrow and pushed you into the Army.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133" id="page133"></a>[pg +133]</span> +<p><i>Tubby</i>. A full meal in the Army—help!</p> +<p><i>Brown</i>. Listen to our living skeleton. Do you chaps +remember that afternoon he had to himself in an oat-field up Plug +Street way? When the grooms found him he was lying on his back, +legs in the air, blown up like a poisoned pup. "Blimy," says one +lad to t'other, "'ere's one of our observation bladders the 'Un 'as +brought down."</p> +<p><i>Chestnut</i>. I heard the Officer boy telling the Troop +Sergeant that he'd buy a hay-stack some day and try to burst you, +Tubby. The Sergeant bet him a month's pay it couldn't be done.</p> +<p><i>Tubby</i>. Just because I've got a healthy +appetite—</p> +<p><i>Brown</i>. Healthy appetites aren't being worn this season, +Sir—bad form. How are the politicians' park hacks to be kept +sleek if the troop-horse don't tighten his girth a bit? Be +patriotic, old dear; eat less oats.</p> +<p><i>Chestnut</i>. That Mess gramophone must be red-hot by now. +It's been running continuous since First Post. I suppose somebody's +mamma has sent him a bottle of ginger-pop, and they're seeing life +while the bubbles last.</p> +<p><i>Monty</i>. Yes, and I suppose my young gentleman will be +parading to-morrow morning with a <i>camouflage</i> tunic over his +pyjamas, looking to me to pull him through squadron drill.</p> +<p><i>Iron-grey</i>. God save us, thin!</p> +<p><i>A Mexican roan. Buenas noches!</i></p> +<p><i>Gunpack horse</i>. Hish! Orderly Officer. 'E's in the Fourth +Troop lines nah; you can 'ear 'im cursin' as he trips over the heel +shackles.</p> +<p><i>Monty</i>. Hush, you fellows. Orderly Officer. <i>Bong +swar</i>.</p> +<hr /> +<p><i>Once more heads and hips droop. They pose in attitudes of +sleep like a dormitory of small boys on the approach of a prefect. +The line Guard comes to life, seizes his lantern and commences to +march up and down as if salvation depended on his getting in so +many laps to the hour. From the guard-tent a trumpet wails, "Lights +out."</i></p> +<p>PATLANDER.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/133.png"><img width="100%" src="images/133s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Venus.</i>"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE ARMY?" +<i>Mars.</i>"OH, ABOUT THREE CHEQUE-BOOKS."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>HYMN FOR HIGH PLACES.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In darkened days of strife and fear,</p> +<p class="i2">When far from home and hold,</p> +<p>I do essay my soul to cheer</p> +<p class="i2">As did wise men of old;</p> +<p>When folk do go in doleful guise</p> +<p class="i2">And are for life afraid,</p> +<p>I to the hills will lift mine eyes</p> +<p class="i2">From whence doth come mine aid.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I shall my soul a temple make</p> +<p class="i2">Where hills stand up on high;</p> +<p>Thither my sadness shall I take</p> +<p class="i2">And comfort there descry;</p> +<p>For every good and noble mount</p> +<p class="i2">This message doth extend—</p> +<p>That evil men must render count</p> +<p class="i2">And evil days must end.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>For, sooth, it is a kingly sight</p> +<p class="i2">To see God's mountain tall</p> +<p>That vanquisheth each lesser height</p> +<p class="i2">As great hearts vanquish small;</p> +<p>Stand up, stand up, ye holy hills,</p> +<p class="i2">As saints and seraphs do,</p> +<p>That ye may bear these present ills</p> +<p class="i2">And lead men safely through.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Let high and low repair and go</p> +<p class="i2">To where great hills endure;</p> +<p>Let strong and weak be there to seek</p> +<p class="i2">Their comfort and their cure;</p> +<p>And for all hills in fair array</p> +<p class="i2">Now thanks and blessings give,</p> +<p>And, bearing healthful hearts away,</p> +<p class="i2">Home go and stoutly live.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Classical Master for endurance of war +wanted."—<i>Scotsman</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Humane letters are very sustaining.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<h3>"MARCHING ON!</h3> +"The council of the Chippewa tribe of North American Indians, by a +two to one majority, have accorded the suffrage to their +squaws."—<i>The Vote</i>.</blockquote> +<p>As SHAKSPEARE was on the point of saying, "Suffrage is the badge +of all our tribe."</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page134" id="page134"></a>[pg +134]</span> +<h2>THE SPOIL-SPORT.</h2> +<blockquote class="note">["The Town Clerk of Colwyn Bay informs us +that the fish caught there the other day by two youths was a +dogfish and not a shark, as reported, and that its size was much +overestimated."—<i>Manchester Guardian</i>.]</blockquote> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>O gallant youths of Colwyn Bay,</p> +<p class="i2">With what unmitigated rapture</p> +<p>Did I peruse but yesterday</p> +<p class="i2">The story of your famous capture!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Alone ye did it, or at least</p> +<p class="i2">'Twas next to being single-handed;</p> +<p>No other helped to catch the beast,</p> +<p class="i2">No strength but yours the monster landed.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But now comes in the cold Town Clerk,</p> +<p class="i2">Who has meticulously stated</p> +<p>It was a dogfish—not a shark—</p> +<p class="i2">In size much overestimated.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>So ye intrepid striplings, who</p> +<p class="i2">Made all your school-fellows feel humble,</p> +<p>Are mulcted of your honours due</p> +<p class="i2">By an officious Cambrian Bumble.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But, though your generous hearts be sore,</p> +<p class="i2">Take comfort: all the true patricians</p> +<p>Of intellect have been at war</p> +<p class="i2">With frigid, rigid statisticians.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I too have suffered from the rule</p> +<p class="i2">Of sceptics, icily pedantic,</p> +<p>Who blighted, ere I went to school,</p> +<p class="i2">My dreams when they were most romantic.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>For once, when swinging on a gate,</p> +<p class="i2">With hands that doubtless daubed it jammily,</p> +<p>I saw a lion, sure as fate,</p> +<p class="i2">And fled indoors to tell the family.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But when I told them, all agog,</p> +<p class="i2">My aunt, a lean and acid spinster,</p> +<p>Snapped out "the doctor's yellow dog";</p> +<p class="i2">And nothing I could say convinced her.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour—"</p> +<p class="i2">Since HOMER, HANNIBAL or STRONGBOW,</p> +<p>Men of outstanding mental power</p> +<p class="i2">Are charged with drawing of the long bow.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Great travellers—not your GRANTS or SPEKES—</p> +<p class="i2">Who lived with dwarfs, or tamed gorillas,</p> +<p>Or scaled imaginary peaks</p> +<p class="i2">Upon the backs of pink chinchillas,</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Or in some languorous lagoon</p> +<p class="i2">Bestrode the awe-inspiring turtle,</p> +<p>Or in the Mountains of the Moon</p> +<p class="i2">Saw rocs athwart the zenith hurtle—</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>All, all have had their fame aspersed</p> +<p class="i2">By rude Town Clerks or senior wranglers;</p> +<p>But those who have been treated worst</p> +<p class="i2">Are the heroic tribe of anglers.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE NEW GOLF.</h2> +<p>"Let's go and play the new golf," said James.</p> +<p>Now as I understand it there are four kinds of golf. First, the +ordinary golf, as played by all people who are not quite right in +their heads; second, the ideal golf, to be played by me (but not +till I get to heaven) on a bowling-green with a croquet-mallet, the +holes being sixty-six feet apart and both cutting-in and +going-through strictly prohibited; third, the absurd golf, as +played by James in pre-war days on his private nine-hole course; +and fourth, it seemed, the new golf, such as James would be liable +to create during a recovery from shell-shock.</p> +<p>James is one of those people who, possessing what <i>Country +Life</i> would call one of the lesser country-houses of England, +has an indeterminate bit of ground beyond the garden, called, +according to choice of costume, "the rock-garden," "the home-farm," +"the grouse moor," or "no rubbish may be shot here." James calls +his own particular nettle-bed (or slag heap) "the golf-course."</p> +<p>When anyone went to stay with James, he was adjured to +"bring-your-golf-clubs-old-man-as-I-can-give +-you-a-bit-of-a-game-on-my-own-course-only-a-nine-hole-one-you +understand." And when James went—far more willingly—to +stay opposite the Germans, until an interesting visit was +short-circuited by shell-shock, he showed himself so wonderfully at +home in dug-outs and shell-holes and mine-craters, so completely +undisturbed by the weariful lack of any green on the course over +which his battalion was playing, that he rose from +Second-Lieutenant to Lieutenant with almost unheard-of celerity in +the space of two years and nine months. And now the absurd +figure-of-eight nine-hole course, the third hole of which was also +the seventh, and the first the ninth, had been complicated into a +war kitchen-garden, and James, bored with ordinary difficulties and +discomforts, had evolved the new golf.</p> +<p>"Come on," said he, burning with the zeal of a martyr-burner, +"I'll show you the ground."</p> +<p>"Can't I see it by standing up in the hammock?" I protested.</p> +<p>We approached the dark demesne, which was now pretty decently +clothed with potatoes, artichokes, rhubarb, raspberry-canes, +marrows and even cucumber-frames. In the midst was a large open +cask which filled itself by a pipe from a former six-inch +water-hazard. Here James began to propound the mysteries.</p> +<p>"The game," he said, "is a mixture of the old golf, +tiddleywinks, ludo and the race game."</p> +<p>"Not spillikins?" I protested. "A game I rather fancy myself +at."</p> +<p>"For your information, please," continued James in his kindliest +military manner, "I may remark that a mashie is the club mostly +used—except when it is necessary to keep low between, say, +two clumps of potatoes."</p> +<p>"So as not to rouse the wireworms," I nodded. "Yes—go +on."</p> +<p>"The conditions of the game are governed by the necessity of +paying due respect to the vegetable hazards. There is only one hole +on the course."</p> +<p>"If you remember," I said, "I told you long ago that that was +all there was room for, but you would persist in making it +nine."</p> +<p>"The hole," said James, "is the water-butt. You have to get into +that. By the way, your balls are floaters, I hope?"</p> +<p>"Only six of 'em," I said. "However, I dare say you won't mind +if I grub up a few potatoes to carry on with afterwards. So we hole +out in the water-butt? That's the tiddleywinks part of it, I +suppose? Go on."</p> +<p>"There are various penalties," he explained. "If you get among +the potatoes, you add ten to your strokes and start again at the +tee. If you are bunkered in the raspberries, you lift +out—"</p> +<p>"Step back three paces out of sight and pick one over your left +shoulder?" I inquired hopefully. "I shall often find myself in the +raspberry hazard."</p> +<p>"And if," concluded James sternly, "you are so clumsy as not to +avoid the cucumber-frames—"</p> +<p>"Say no more," I begged. "I understand. I shall ask for the +time-table, shake hands, thank you for a most delightful visit, and +express my regrets that any little <i>contretemps</i> should have +arisen to hasten my departure."</p> +<p>"—you add fifty to your strokes. Five for the marrows and +the rhubarb—in each case returning to the tee."</p> +<p>"And the artichokes," I asked, surveying a thick forest of them +guarding the right flank of the water-butt—"what is their +market value?"</p> +<p>"No penalty," said James grimly, "except staying there till you +get out."</p> +<p>"One last piece of information. What is bogey for this +hole?"</p> +<p>"About two hundred, I think," said James; "but no doubt you'll +lower it."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page135" id="page135"></a>[pg +135]</span> +<p>"I don't know," I replied. "That's about my usual at the old +game." And therewith I made my tee, drove and went into the garden +to cut a cabbage leaf.</p> +<p>After hoeing the vegetables with a mashie for a hot two hours, I +fought my way out of the rhubarb on all fours, with a golf-ball +between my teeth, and then strode doggedly back to the tee and +drove into the virgin artichoke forest. While I toyed there with +the sub-soil, the unwearied James went to earth among the marrows. +Hastily I heeled my ball into the ground (to be retrieved by James +months later and announced as a curious scientific result of +growing artichokes on a golf course), uttered a cry of triumph, and +strolled out into the open.</p> +<p>"A hundred and seventy-nine. My game, I think," I announced.</p> +<p>James extricated himself and walked with me to the butt.</p> +<p>"Hullo!" I said, "it's sunk. Thought it was a floater. It ought +to be for a half-crown ball."</p> +<p>"You mustn't lose it," said James suspiciously. "Well let off +the water and get it out."</p> +<p>"No, no," I protested. "It's not one that I really valued. Oh, +very well," I added indifferently, feeling in my pocket for a +non-floater.</p> +<p>James stooped to open the tap, and I popped the new ball in +unobtrusively.</p> +<p>It floated. And the next instant James stood up and saw it.</p> +<p>After that of course there was nothing left to do but to ask for +the time-table, shake hands, thank James for a most delightful +visit, and express my regrets that any little +<i>contretemps....</i></p> +<p>W. B.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/135.png"><img width="100%" src="images/135s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Major</i>. "WHY HAVE YOU PUT THAT CLOTH OVER HIS HEAD?"</p> +<p><i>Private Mike O'Flanagan (harassed by restive horse)</i>. "SO +AS HE WON'T KNOW HE'S BEING GROOMED, SORR."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"——'s new Pattern Books of +<center>WALLPAPERS</center> +<center>will be sent on loan free of charge.</center> +"N.B.— ——'s use adhesive paste, which has been +expressly prepared to conform with the Food Controller's +regulations."<br /> +<i>Advt. in Evening Paper</i>.</blockquote> +<p>So it is no use waylaying the paper-hanger on the chance of +getting a free meal.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>ANSWER TO CORRESPONDENT.</h3> +<p><i>"Anti-Reprisal."</i>—If you are out walking, and enemy +aeroplanes are dropping bombs on your side of the street, it is +advisable to cross over to the other side. Never shake your +umbrella at the enemy 'planes. A taxi-driver might think you were +signalling to him.</p> +<hr /> +<p>Some of our street urchins are quite bucking up in their +education. The other day a small boy called out to a Frenchman, +"Pourquoi n'êtes-vous pas en bleu? <i>Slackeur!</i>"</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Unique Old-World Cottage (big), about 30 min. door to +West End, yet rural seclusion; frequent express trains, last 12 +p.m.; nothing like it so close town; suit antique lover."<br /> +<i>Observer</i>.</blockquote> +<p>This should make a beautiful retreat for an elderly +<i>Lothario's</i> declining years.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"The Basement Tea Room is near the Boot Dept., where +Afternoon Teas at moderate prices are obtainable."—<i>Advt. +in Evening Paper</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Very <i>à propos—des bottes</i>.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136" id="page136"></a>[pg +136]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:***WIDTH***%;"><a href= +"images/136.png"><img width="100%" src="images/136s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Governess</i>. "WELL, MOLLIE, WHAT ARE LITTLE GIRLS MADE OF?" +<i>Mollie</i>. "SUGAR AND SPICE AND ALL THAT'S NICE." +<i>Governess</i>. "AND WHAT ARE LITTLE BOYS MADE OF?" +<i>Mollie</i>. "SNIPS AND SNAILS AND PUPPY DOGS' TAILS. I TOLD +BOBBIE THAT YESTERDAY, AND HE COULD <i>HARDLY</i> BELIEVE IT."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE BOMBER GIPSY.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thank you, dear William, I am fairly well.</p> +<p class="i2">The climate suits me and the simple life—</p> +<p>Come, let me tell the oft-told tale again</p> +<p class="i2">Of that strange Tyneside grenadier we had,</p> +<p>Whom none could quell or decently constrain,</p> +<p class="i2">For he was turbulent and sometimes bad,</p> +<p>Yet, stout of heart, he dearly loved to fight,</p> +<p>And spoke his fellows on a gusty night</p> +<p>In some high barn, where, huddled in the straw,</p> +<p class="i2">They watched the cheap wicks gutter on the shelf,</p> +<p>How he was irked with discipline and law,</p> +<p class="i2">And would fare forth to battle by himself.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>This said, he left them and returned no more;</p> +<p class="i2">But whispers passed from Vimy to Verdun,</p> +<p>Where'er the fields ran thickliest with gore,</p> +<p class="i2">Of some stray bomber that belonged to none,</p> +<p>But none more fierce or flung a fairer bomb,</p> +<p>Who ran unscathed the gamut of the Somme</p> +<p>And followed Freyberg up the Beaucourt mile</p> +<p class="i2">With uncouth cries and streaming muddy hair;</p> +<p>But after, when they sought his name and style</p> +<p class="i2">And would have honoured him—he was not +there.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But most he loved to lie upon Lorette</p> +<p class="i2">And, couched on cornflowers, gaze across the +lines</p> +<p>At Vimy's heights—we had not Vimy yet—</p> +<p class="i2">Pale Souchez's bones and Lens among the mines,</p> +<p>The tall pit-towers and dusky heaps of slag,</p> +<p>Until, like eagles on the mountain-crag</p> +<p>By strangers stirred, with hoarse indignant shrieks</p> +<p class="i2">Gunners emerged from some deep-delvéd lair</p> +<p>To chase the intruder from their sacred peaks</p> +<p class="i2">And cast him down to Ablain St. Nazaire.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And rumour said he roamed the rearward ways</p> +<p class="i2">In quiet seasons when no battle brewed;</p> +<p>The transport, homing through the evening haze,</p> +<p class="i2">Had seen and carried him, and given him food;</p> +<p>And he would leave them at Bethune canteen</p> +<p>Or some hot drinking-house at Noeux-les-Mines,</p> +<p>Where he would sit with wine and eggs and bread</p> +<p class="i2">Till the swart minions of the A.P.M.</p> +<p>Stole in and called for him, but found him fled</p> +<p class="i2">Out at the back. He was too much for them.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Too much. And surely thou shalt e'er be so;</p> +<p class="i2">No hungry discipline shall starve thy soul;</p> +<p>Shalt freely foot it where the poppies blow,</p> +<p class="i2">Shalt fight unfettered when the cannon roll,</p> +<p>And haply, Wanderer, when the hosts go home,</p> +<p>Thou only still in Aveluy shalt roam,</p> +<p>Haunting the crumbled windmill at Gavrelle</p> +<p class="i2">And fling thy bombs across the silent lea,</p> +<p>Drink with shy peasants at St. Catherine's Well</p> +<p class="i2">And in the dusk go home with them to tea.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>A. P. H.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137" id="page137"></a>[pg +137]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href= +"images/137.png"><img width="75%" src="images/137s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>THE "KNIGHTLY MANNER."</h3> +<p>BELGIUM. "AS LONG AS THERE IS MOTION IN MY BODY, AND LIFE TO +GIVE ME WORDS, I'LL CRY FOR JUSTICE!"</p> +<p>KAISER. "JUSTICE SHALL NEVER HEAR YOU. I AM JUSTICE!"</p> +<p><i>BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, Valentinian,</i> III. 1.</p> +<p>["There is no longer any international law."—<i>The KAISER +to Mr. GERARD</i>.]</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page139" id="page139"></a>[pg +139]</span> +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> +<p><i>Monday, August 13th</i>.—In a certain political club +there used, before the War, to be a popular pick-me-up compounded +of a little whisky, a little Angostura and a good deal of +soda-water, and known after its inventor as "a Henderson." In one +respect the speech explaining his resignation which the right hon. +Member for Barnard Castle delivered this afternoon resembled this +eponymous beverage, for it was decidedly effervescent. But the +other ingredients were wrongly apportioned—too much of the +bitters and not enough of the mellowing spirit.</p> +<p>His initial mistake was not realising in time that, as Mr. +ASQUITH put it, a man cannot permanently divide himself into +watertight compartments. As member of the War Cabinet and Secretary +of the Labour Party, he seems to have resembled one of those twin +salad bottles from which oil and vinegar can be dispensed +alternately but not together. The attempt to combine the two +functions could only end, as it began, in a double fiasco.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:35%;"><a href= +"images/139.png"><img width="100%" src="images/139s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h5>THE DOUBLE FIASCO</h5> +<h6>MR. HENDERSON.</h6> +</div> +<p>It is fortunate for the Ministry of Munitions that it possesses +a spokesman so bland and imperturbable as Sir WORTHINGTON EVANS. In +successive answers he informed the House that near Birmingham the +Ministry was evicting 130 allotment holders on the eve of their +harvest, in order to build a new factory; and that simultaneously +it was abandoning in the West of England the site of another +gigantic factory, on which a cool million had already been spent. +Coming from almost any other Minister this amazing example of how +not to do it would have raised a storm of supplemental inquiries, +if not a motion for the adjournment. But the House accepted Sir +WORTHINGTON'S calm and matter-of-fact narration as quietly as if it +were the last word in efficiency and coordination.</p> +<p>I was a little premature last week in assuming that Mr. +MACCALLUM SCOTT had been silenced by his appointment as Mr. +CHURCHILL'S private secretary. A long question to the Board of +Trade, on the subject of horse-hides, followed by a series of +supplementaries delivered with his customary emphasis, showed that +he is not yet resigned to his muzzle. He is not, however, entirely +oblivious of the customary etiquette in this matter, for he recited +his catechism from the third bench behind Ministers, and only when +it was over descended to the second bench, where private +secretaries most do congregate.</p> +<p><i>Tuesday, August 14th</i>.-Mr. KING has a legitimate grievance +against the Government spokesmen. Two Nationalist Members having +been allowed to go to the United States to collect funds for their +party, he asked yesterday whether he too would be permitted to +proceed abroad on a similar mission. Mr. BONAR LAW, with his +habitual courtesy, replied that he, personally, would not offer any +objection. But this afternoon, on putting an almost identical +question to Lord ROBERT CECIL, Mr. KING was informed, with a touch +of <i>brusquerie</i>, that "there are some people to whom we should +not think of granting a passport." He cannot reconcile these +replies, which seem to him to afford convincing proof that the +Government does not know its own mind.</p> +<p>The Ministry of Munitions, In order to cater for the spiritual +needs of the new population at Gretna, has simultaneously provided +sites for the Church of Scotland, the Church of England, the Roman +Catholics and the Congregationalists. The local blacksmith is said +to be aggrieved by all this ecclesiastical rivalry.</p> +<p>The HOME SECRETARY has determined to put a stop to the practice +of whistling for taxicabs in London. It is suggested that he would +confer a still greater boon on his fellow-townsmen if he would +provide a few more taxis for them not to whistle for.</p> +<p>Mr. PETO complained once more of the refusal of the War Office +to employ "manipulative surgeons" in the Army, and called in aid +the testimony of Mr. HODGE, the Minister of Labour, as a proof of +Mr. BARKER'S miraculous powers. Sir WATSON CHEYNE, the newest +Member of the House, pointed out that unfortunately all +bone-setters were not BARKERS; and, fortified by this expert +opinion, Mr. MACPHERSON declined to say more than that private +soldiers might go to these unconventional practitioners at their +own risk.</p> +<p><i>Wednesday, August 15th</i>.—Taking the view that a Corn +Production Bill was intended to produce corn, Lord CHAPLIN made an +effort to secure that the bounties should be paid in accordance +with the crops harvested and not upon the acreage sown. But the +Government, unwilling to risk a quarrel with the other House at +this late period of the Season, declined to accept the amendment. +The bounties therefore will fall, like the rain, upon good and bad +land alike, though in the interests of the general taxpayer I trust +not quite so heavily.</p> +<p>To take down the Ladies' Grille, Sir ALFRED MONO informed the +House, would only cost a matter of five pounds. All the same I +think there was some disappointment in certain quarters, including +the gilded cage itself, that this momentous question should be +disposed of without debate. Several sparkling orations, teeming +with wit and persiflage, were nipped in the bud. A score of +ungallant fellows, including several whom I should have diagnosed +as ladies' men, opposed the removal, but they were outnumbered +eight to one.</p> +<p>Mr. WALTER LONG introduced a Bill to enable the Government to +prospect for oil in the United Kingdom. If this should necessitate +the appointment of a Controller of Bores he will find abundance of +work.</p> +<p>Contrary to expectation Mr. CHURCHILL succeeded in piloting the +Munitions of War Bill through its remaining stages in double-quick +time. Its progress was facilitated by his willingness to abolish +the leaving-certificate, which a workman hitherto had to procure +before changing one job for another. Having had unequalled +experience in this respect he is convinced that the +leaving-certificate is a useless formality.</p> +<p><i>Thursday, August 16</i>.—Owing to the House meeting at +noon the usual time-limit for Questions did not apply. Messrs. +PRINGLE and HOGGE were especially active. With a meaning glance in +their direction the HOME SECRETARY, replying to a complaint of Mr. +GULLAND that the representation of the Northern Kingdom would not +be increased by the Representation of the People Bill, observed +that he saw no sufficient reason for extending the number of +Scottish Members.</p> +<p>Food-stocks going up, thanks to the energy of the farmers and +the economy of consumers; German submarines going down, thanks to +the Navy; Russia recovering herself; Britain and France advancing +hand-in-hand on the Western Front, and our enemies fumbling for +peace—that was the gist <span class="pagenum"><a name= +"page140" id="page140"></a>[pg 140]</span> of the message with +which the PRIME MINISTER sped the parting Commons. But, fearing +perhaps that he might have made them unduly optimistic, he +concluded with a warning that not until next year could we expect +to reap the fruits of our labours.</p> +<p>An attempt by Messrs. MACDONALD and SNOWDEN to keep the +Stockholm fires burning quickly fizzled out. Mr. ELLIS GRIFFITHS +mocked at the claim of those elegant doctrinaires to speak for +British Labour, and Mr. BONAR LAW told them frankly that the +Government had no intention of letting them go to Stockholm to chat +with our enemies.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:66%;"><a href= +"images/140.png"><img width="100%" src="images/140s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>THE UPPER PICTURE INDICATES WHAT GOES ON BEHIND THE LADIES' +GRILLE IN THE IMAGINATION OF THE HOUSE. THE LOWER PICTURE INDICATES +THE GRIM REALITY.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Neu propius tectis taxum sine." <i>Vergil: Georg. IV. +47.</i></blockquote> +<p>Do not signal for a taxi near houses.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>WAR ECONOMY</h3> +<blockquote>"The Federated Chamber of Court Dressmakers of Paris +has informed the Government that for the winter season 1917-18 the +length employed for woollen costumes will not exceed 4-1/2 +in."—<i>Yorkshire Evening News</i>.</blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>From the report of a motoring accident:—</p> +<blockquote>"The car pulled up in about a year and a +half."—<i>Kentish Mercury</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Quicker than the War, anyhow.</p> +<hr /> +<p>From an article headed "Exclusive War Information":—</p> +<blockquote>"Vertical parallel Lines that do not look so—an +optical Illusion almost as curious as that which makes Soldiers +invisible when dressed in Combinations of bright Colours."<br /> +<i>Popular Science Siftings.</i></blockquote> +<p>We do not think our contemporary ought to give away military +secrets like this.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>POLITICAL PICK-ME-UPS.</h2> +<p>Recent revelations as to the way in which our leading Statesmen +keep themselves fit have been almost entirely concerned with their +physical recreations. Further investigations make it clear that +they owe their fitness quite as much to diet, to alternating one +form of brain-work with another or to the consolations of +music.</p> +<p>Thus Mr. BALFOUR, who has little time for golf nowadays, finds +his most refreshing recreation in reading the speeches of Lord +NORTHCLIFFE, co-ordinating them with those of BURKE and PERICLES, +and setting them to music in the style of HANDEL, his favourite +composer.</p> +<p>Lord RHONDDA finds his chief solace in gratifying his literary +tastes. In philosophy he is at present a convinced Rationalist. He +is devoted to the study of BACON, but not averse from the lighter +sort of fiction, having a special preference for cheerful stories +published in a cereal form.</p> +<p>The PRIME MINISTER, it may not be generally known, recruits his +energies by frequent perusal of the plays of SHAKSPEARE. At present +he is conducting a correspondence with Sir SIDNEY LEE and Professor +GOLLANCZ on the esoteric significance of <i>Labour's Love's +Lost</i>.</p> +<p>Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL is a voracious novel-reader of catholic +tastes. Just now he is revelling in <i>Called Back</i> and <i>The +House on the Marsh</i>, which are being read aloud to him by his +private secretary.</p> +<p>Mr. ARTHUR PONSONBY, M.P., the Democratic Controller, is a +confirmed fruitarian, and attributes his robust health to a diet of +Morella cherries and Carlsbad plums, washed down with Stockholm +tar-water.</p> +<p>Mr. JOHN BURNS, who happily describes himself as "a dormant +volcano" has of late found an agreeable stimulant in the +performance of solos on the muted first violin.</p> +<p>Lastly, Mr. LEO MAXSE keeps himself keyed up to concert pitch by +coining new nicknames for Lord HALDANE. The list already extends to +four figures.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Khartum has the reputation of being a very hot place +this time of year. But last June must have been fairly damp if the +meteorological statistics published by the 'Sudan Times' are +correct. The rainfall during this month amounted to no less than +33.6 kilometres. No wonder a man I know there wrote to say the +other day that sometimes the rain is too heavy for him to go on +sleeping on the roof, and this in spite of a waterproof sheet. A +life-belt would probably be more useful."—<i>Egyptian +Mail</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Only NOAH'S Ark would really meet the case.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page141" id="page141"></a>[pg +141]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/141.png"><img width="100%" src="images/141s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>First Tommy</i>. "WHAT ARE YE GOING TO DO WITH IT?"</p> +<p><i>Second Tommy (with tiny prisoner).</i> "FIX IT ON THE BONNET +OF THE GENERAL'S MOTOR-CAR."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>MATILDA</h2> +<p><i>(From our Adjutant's Diary).</i></p> +<p>The depôt has decided that Matilda is a notable puppy. I +could not tell you her particular make, but our motor cyclist +artificer described her as a "1917 model; well upholstered but weak +in the chassis and unreliable in the differential on hairpin bends; +in fact, built for comfort and not speed."</p> +<p>Matilda became a celebrity all in one day. The C.O. wrote the +following chit to her master:—</p> +<p>"O.C.-'A' Company.—If your dog <i>must</i> stroll into my +orderly-room, will you please see that she is kept reasonably +clean? Please take necessary action, initial and return."</p> +<p>Matilda was bathed and sent back for inspection to the C.O., +with a chit from O.C. "A" Company, pointing out that, as he +couldn't initial her, he had put his office stamp on her tummy and +hoped it wouldn't rub off.</p> +<p>The C.O. pronounced Matilda to be moderately clean. As she was +conducting the trumpeter back to "A" Company she fell into a vat of +by-products near the mess hut. She couldn't be washed again, as the +Quartermaster had already written three scathing chits about the +previous use of depôt disinfectant. Matilda spent the night +licking herself clean in the detention cell.</p> +<p>The staff of "A" Company loved Matilda in spite of the fact that +her conduct was prejudicial to good order and military discipline, +and that she constantly used abusive language to her superiors. +Even the Company Sergeant-Major loved her. He might have loved her +still, but ... and that's the story.</p> +<p>Brown was the depôt nuisance. He had a conduct sheet +filled up in red and black, and his entries would have been even +more numerous if he had not possessed a great gift of cunning. He +had had several passages of arms with the C.S.M. of "A" Company and +had emerged unscathed more than once.</p> +<p>On the occasion of this story Brown was being tried for using +abusive language to a superior officer, to wit, the said C.S.M. The +abusive language consisted of one very striking epithet. The charge +was read over to Brown, and the C.S.M. was called upon to give +evidence. He stepped smartly forward. Matilda loitered between his +legs ... and then, I regret to say, the C.S.M. applied the same +epithet to Matilda that Brown had applied to him.</p> +<p>The case was reluctantly dismissed, and Matilda is out of favour +with the C.S.M.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"It was my first experience of a sandstorm, and I can +tell you that the sensation was a most terrible one. With the aid +of my assistants I got off the camel, which immediately stretched +itself in the sand, and moistening my handkerchief pushed it across +my face."<br /> +<i>Sydney Herald (N.S.W.).</i></blockquote> +<p>Wise and dexterous creature! We presume it drew the moisture +from its internal reservoir.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"The second cook, who is an American citizen, managed +when the Germans ordered the lifeboats to be given up to hide one +under his raincoat."—<i>Western Mail</i>.</blockquote> +<p>One of the collapsible sort, no doubt.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Some very daring entrances were forced into these +fortresses. One single soldier not directly concerned with the +attack found 20 bottles of champagne in one, drank a glass or two, +and went forward to seek for others. Squeezing into one he +discovered a German officer in bed."—<i>Daily +Mail</i>.</blockquote> +<p>It must have been a bantam who thought of this ingenious +ruse.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page142" id="page142"></a>[pg +142]</span> +<h2>THE NORTH ATLANTIC TRADE.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>As I was walking beside the docks I met a pal o' mine</p> +<p>I sailed with once on the Colonies run in Thomson's Blue Star +Line;</p> +<p>Said I, "What cheer—what brings you here?" "Why, 'aven't +you 'eard?" he said;</p> +<p>"I'm under the Windsor 'ouse-flag now in the North Atlantic +trade.</p> +<p>We sweep a bit an' we fight a bit—an' that's what we like +the best—</p> +<p>But a towin' job or a salvage job, they all go in with the +rest;</p> +<p>When we aren't too busy upsettin' old Fritz an' 'is +frightfulness blockade,</p> +<p>A bit of all sorts don't come amiss in the North Atlantic +trade."</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"And how does old Atlantic look?" "Oh, round an' about the +same;</p> +<p>'E 'asn't seemed to alter a lot since I've been in the game;</p> +<p>'E's about as big as 'e always was, an' 'e's pretty well just as +wet</p> +<p>(Or, if there's some parts anyway dry, well, I 'aven't struck +none yet!),</p> +<p>There's the same old bust-up, same old mess, when a green sea +breaks inboard,</p> +<p>An' the equinoctials roarin' by the same as they've always +roared,</p> +<p>An' the West Wind playin' the same old larks 'e's been at since +the world was made—</p> +<p>They've a peach of a time, 'ave sailormen, in the North Atlantic +trade."</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"And who's your skipper, and what is he like?" "Oh, well, if you +want to know.</p> +<p>I'm sailin' under a hard-case mate as I sailed with years +ago;</p> +<p>'E's big an' bucko an' full o' beans, the same as 'e used to +be</p> +<p>When I knowed 'im last in the windbag days when first I followed +the sea.</p> +<p>'E was worth two men at the lee fore brace, an' three at the +bunt of a sail;</p> +<p>'E'd a voice you could 'ear to the royal-yards in the teeth of a +Cape 'Orn gale;</p> +<p>But now 'e's a full-blown lootenant an' wears the twisted +braid,</p> +<p>Commandin' one of 'is Majesty's ships in the North Atlantic +trade."</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"And what is the ship you're sailin' in?" "Oh, she's a bit of a +terror—</p> +<p>She ain't no bloomin' levvyathan, an' that's no fatal error!</p> +<p>She scoops the seas like a gravy-spoon when the gales are up an' +blowin',</p> +<p>But Fritz 'e loves 'er above a bit when 'er fightin' fangs are +showin'.</p> +<p>The liners go their stately way an' the cruisers take their +ease,</p> +<p>But where would they be if it wasn't for us, with the water up +to our knees?</p> +<p>We're wadin' when their soles are wet, we're swimmin' when they +wade,</p> +<p>For I tell you small craft gets it a treat in the North Atlantic +trade!"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"And what is the port you're plying to?" "When the last long +trick is done</p> +<p>There'll some come back to the old 'ome port—'ere's 'opin' +I'll be one;</p> +<p>But some 'ave made a new landfall, an' sighted another +shore,</p> +<p>An' it ain't no use to watch for them, for they won't come 'ome +no more.</p> +<p>There ain't no 'arbour dues to pay when once they're over the +bar,</p> +<p>Moored bow an' stern in a quiet berth where the lost +three-deckers are,</p> +<p>An' there's NELSON 'oldin' 'is one 'and out an' welcomin' them +that's made</p> +<p>The roads o' Glory an' the port of Death in the North Atlantic +trade!"</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>C. F. S.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>SELF-DENIAL.</h2> +<p>"And what," I said, "did you do during the Great War, +Francesca?"</p> +<p>"In the first place I fine you a sum not exceeding one hundred +pounds for asking me such a question. In the second place I retort +upon you by telling you that one of the things you're going to do +during the Great War is to give up marmalade."</p> +<p>"What! Give up the thing which lends to breakfast its one and +only distinction? Never."</p> +<p>"That," she said, "sounds very brave; but what are you going to +do if there isn't any marmalade to be obtained for love or +money?"</p> +<p>"Mine," I said, "has always been the sort you get for money. I +have not hitherto met the amatory variety; but if it's really +marmalade I'm prepared to have a go at it."</p> +<p>"And that," she said, "is very kind of you, but it's quite +useless. For the moment there's no marmalade of any kind to be +had."</p> +<p>"None of the dark-brown variety?"</p> +<p>"No."</p> +<p>"Or the sort that looks like golden jelly?"</p> +<p>"Not a scrap."</p> +<p>"Or the old-fashioned but admirable kind? The excellent +substitute for butter at breakfast?"</p> +<p>"That must go like the rest. It has been a substitute for the +last time."</p> +<p>"Impossible," I said. "Everything is now a substitute for +something else. Marmalade started being a substitute long ago, and +it isn't fair to stop it and let the other things go on."</p> +<p>"Well," she said, "what are you going to do about it? If you +can't get Seville oranges how are you going to get Seville orange +marmalade?"</p> +<p>"Oh, that's it, is it?"</p> +<p>"Yes, that's it, more or less. And now let's have your +remedy."</p> +<p>"You needn't think," I said, "that I'm going to take it lying +down. I shall go up to London and defy Lord RHONDDA to his face. I +shall write pro-marmalade letters to various newspapers. I shall +form a Marmalade League, with branches in all the constituencies so +as to bring political pressure to bear. I shall head a deputation +to the PRIME MINISTER. I shall get Mr. KING or Mr. HOGGE or Mr. +PRINGLE, or all three of them, to ask questions in the House of +Commons. In short I shall exhaust all the usual devices for giving +the Government a thoroughly uncomfortable time."</p> +<p>"In short you will do your patriotic best to help your country +through its difficulties and to put the interest of the nation +above your own convenience."</p> +<p>"Francesca," I said, "you must not be too serious. I was but +attempting a jest."</p> +<p>"This is no time for jests. I can't bear even to think of your +joining <span class="pagenum"><a name="page143" id= +"page143"></a>[pg 143]</span> the Brigade of Grousers who are +always girding at the Government. I won't stand your being a +girder. So make up your mind to that."</p> +<p>"Very well," I said, "I will endeavour not to be a girder; but +you simply <i>must</i> get me a pot or two of marmalade."</p> +<p>"And allow the KAISER to win the War? Not if I know it. Besides, +I don't like marmalade."</p> +<p>"There you are," I said. "You don't like marmalade—few +women do—and so you're going to make a virtue for yourself by +forcing <i>me</i> to give it up. My dear, you've given the whole +show away."</p> +<p>"Don't juggle with words," she said, speaking with a dreadful +calm. "I may be able to get a pot or two—say at the outside a +dozen pots. Well, if I manage it I will inform you—"</p> +<p>"Yes," I said eagerly.</p> +<p>"If I manage it," she repeated, "you shall know of it, and you +shall make your self-denial complete and efficacious."</p> +<p>"I don't like the way in which this sentence is turning +out."</p> +<p>"You shall have a pot in front of you at breakfast, and you +shan't touch a shred of it."</p> +<p>"Francesca," I said, "you're a tyrant. But no, you wouldn't be +mean enough to do it—before the children too."</p> +<p>"Perhaps, as a concession, I would allow you a little marmalade +in a pudding at luncheon."</p> +<p>"But I don't like marmalade in a pudding at luncheon. I like it +on toast at breakfast."</p> +<p>"But you're not going to have it on toast at breakfast."</p> +<p>"Well," I said, "I shall conduct reprisals. For every time you +don't allow me to have any I shall destroy something you +like—a blouse or a hat. If I'm to give up the essence of +Dundee or Paisley you shall at least give up hats."</p> +<p>"But the marmalade will remain."</p> +<p>"Yes, and the hats will all perish. That's where I come in."</p> +<p>"Don't buoy yourself up with that notion," she said. "You'll +have to pay for the new ones—or owe."</p> +<p>R. C. L</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/143.png"><img width="60%" src="images/143s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"OH, CONSTABLE, I CAN'T GET A TAXI. THEY ALL SAY IT'S THEIR +DINNER-HOUR. IS IT ANY GOOD MY WAITING?"</p> +<p>"I CAN'T SAY, MISS. IF YOU WAS ON THE SPOT YOU <i>MIGHT</i> BE +ABLE TO CATCH ONE AFORE THEIR TEA-HOUR BEGINS."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>Commercial Candour.</h3> +<p>From a tailor's advertisement:—</p> +<blockquote>"HAVE YOU ANY BLUE SERGES? YES! WE HAVE — (REGD.) +IN STOCK. THE SUIT TO ORDER .. 63/- Will last about another +month."<br /> +<i>Southern Daily Echo.</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>Quotation from an article in the <i>Frankfurter Zeitung</i> in +praise of sandals:—</p> +<blockquote>"When people saunter through the town without +hats—who still wears a hat?—why should they not go +without stockings?"<br /> +<i>Times</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Well, the explanation may be that while the German head is hot +the German feet are cold.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>MR. PUNCH'S "SPORPOT."</h2> +<p>Two Summers ago Mr. Punch gave an account of the Sporpot (or +Spaerpot, meaning a savings-box), a familiar institution which our +little guests from Belgium brought over with them to England. The +idea was taken up by certain schools in South Africa, and a +competition was started to see which of them could fill the biggest +Sporpot to make a fund for helping to restore the homes of Belgian +exiles. This year the Eunice High School for Girls at Bloemfontein +comes out first, and the second honours fall to the St. Andrew's +Preparatory School for Boys at Grahamstown. The total sum of +thirty-two pounds collected by the competing schools has been +forwarded to and received by the author of the <i>Punch</i> article +and will be used by him for the purpose desired.</p> +<p>Mr. Punch begs to offer his congratulations to the winners and +his best thanks to all who have contributed so generously from +their personal savings to the needs of the children of our +Ally.</p> +<hr /> +<p>A Tough Proposition.</p> +<blockquote>"Ducks (15) For Sale, 7 years old; 4s. +each."—<i>Staffordshire Sentinel</i>.</blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page144" id="page144"></a>[pg +144]</span> +<h2>WHISPER, AND I SHALL HEAR.</h2> +<p>There's nothing like a newspaper for spreading disease. You wake +up in the morning, feeling fit to do a day's digging on your +allotment; you come down to your breakfast singing a Rhonddalay and +eat more than your allowance. Then you open the newspaper, glance +at the latest accession to the ranks of the Allied Powers, and +suddenly, "Plop!" you find there is a new disease raging, and +before you know where you are you discover that you have got it +badly.</p> +<p>That is how I discovered that I was the possessor of a heart +murmur. By putting my hand on the spot under which I had been +taught, and still believed, my heart to be, I felt rather than +heard a distinct burbling.</p> +<p>I went to the telephone and fixed up an appointment with a +specialist.</p> +<p>"It's only a murmur now," I said when I reached the +consulting-room, "only a mere whisper, but——"</p> +<p>The doctor tapped me vigorously. Being very absent-minded I +said, "Come in," the first time.</p> +<p>"You were rejected for this, I suppose?" he said.</p> +<p>"No, cow-hocked or spavined, I forget which," I said. "This +hadn't started then."</p> +<p>The rite was quite a lengthy one, and at the conclusion the +heartsmith said, "M—yes, there is a slight murmuring, +certainly."</p> +<p>He wrote me out a prescription, and I felt the murmur myself +distinctly when parting with three of the greater Bradburys and +three shillings.</p> +<p>On the way home I ran into Beatrice.</p> +<p>"Well, old thing," she said, "what's the matter? I saw you +coming out of Dr. Cox's."</p> +<p>"Yes," I said. "I've got a heart murmur. I don't know what the +poor things been trying to say, but it's been murmuring like +anything all the morning."</p> +<p>"Perhaps you're in love," she suggested.</p> +<p>"By Jove, I never thought of that. I wonder," I said, "if it's +anything to do with you. If this were not such a public place you +might like to put your head against my top left-hand waistcoat +pocket and listen. Perhaps it's saying something about you."</p> +<p>"Have you taken to writing poetry about me?" she said. "That's +always a sign."</p> +<p>"Now I come to think of it," I said, "I did feel a bit broody +the other day, and hatched a line or two, but I can't say for +certain that I had you in my mind. The lines ran like +this:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Oh, glorious female, like a goddess decked,</p> +<p>No wonder that we crawl on bended knee—"</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>"Rotten," said Beatrice. "You couldn't have been thinking of me. +I'm not a female."</p> +<p>"You have the right plumage for the hen-bird," I said. "However, +what did me was 'decked.' I could only think of three rhymes, +'wrecked,' 'flecked' and 'stiff-necked.' You're not any of those by +any chance?"</p> +<p>"There's 'circumspect', suggested Beatrice.</p> +<p>"Ah! Come and have lunch," I said, "and we'll talk it over. Some +place where I can hold your hand and really find out if you are the +cause of it all."</p> +<p>"Do you think I ought to?" she said.</p> +<p>"Good heavens! Of course you ought," I said. "It's most +important. My heart's only murmuring now, but it may start shouting +soon, and a silly ass I shall look walking about in the street with +a heart yelling 'Beatrice' at the top of its voice."</p> +<p>As regards meat and drink I consider that Beatrice overdid it +for a war-time lunch. She didn't give me any time to hold her hand, +she was so busy.</p> +<p>"It's curious," I said, as I watched the amount of food that was +going her way, "but my heart seems to have stopped murmuring +altogether."</p> +<p>"Has it?" she said. "Oddly enough, mine's begun."</p> +<p>"Your luncheon has overstrained you," I said.</p> +<p>I had a letter from Beatrice the next morning.</p> +<blockquote>DEAR JIMMY (she wrote),—You were wrong. Mine was +a real murmur. It's been coming on for some time, but not on your +account. It's murmuring for Basil Fludger. He's on leave, and we +fixed things up last Tuesday. I didn't tell you when I met you, +because I was afraid you wouldn't want to take me to lunch, and I +<i>did</i> enjoy it.<br /> +<br /> +Yours ever, BEATRICE.</blockquote> +<p>If my heart gets really noisy I do hope it won't shout for +Beatrice. It would be so useless.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Let us go hence, my heart;</p> +<p>she will not hear" (<i>Swinburne</i>).</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/144.png"><img width="50%" src="images/144s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"HEARD THE LATEST RUMOUR UP FROM THE BACK, GEORGE? WAR'S GOING +TO BE OVER NEXT WEEK."</p> +<p>"HO. WELL, I HOPE IT DON'T UPSET MY GOING ON LEAVE NEXT +TUESDAY."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>CIGARISTICS</h3> +<blockquote>["According to an enterprising American scientist a +man's character can be told from the way he smokes a +cigar."—<i>Weekly Paper</i>.]</blockquote> +<p>For, instance, a man who snatches a cigar from somebody else's +mouth and smokes it himself may be assumed to be of a grasping +disposition.</p> +<p>The man who while smoking a cigar burns his finger is a man of +few words and quick of action. Plumbers never burn their fingers +like that.</p> +<p>The man who smokes his cigar right through without removing it +from his mouth is a deep thinker. Lord NORTHCLIFFE always smokes +one cigar right through before deciding what England really wants, +and two when he has to decide which Cabinet Minister must go.</p> +<p>The man who accepts a cigar from a friend, lights it, sniffs and +drops it behind his chair has no character worth mentioning.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>Mem. for Agriculturists.</h3> +<p>Protect the birds and the insects will be in their crops. +Destroy the birds and the crops will be in the insects.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"S.P. (Lincoln).—Humming-birds don't hum with +their mouths. The humming is the vibration of their wings while +flying—for the same reason that a blue-bottle or an aeroplane +hums."—<i>Pearson's Weekly</i>.</blockquote> +<p>So it is not the pilot rubbing his feet together, as we had been +taught to believe.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page145" id="page145"></a>[pg +145]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/145.png"><img width="100%" src="images/145s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Uncle</i>. "BY JOVE, THERE'S A NICE QUIET-LOOKING GIRL JUST +COME IN. WONDER WHO SHE IS.' <i>Niece</i>. "HAVEN'T THE FOGGIEST. +MUST BE PRE-WAR."</p> +</div> +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> +<p><i>(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)</i></p> +<p><i>The Safety Candle</i> (CASSELL) might have been called, but +for the fact that the title has been used already, A Comedy of Age. +For this is what it is—only perhaps less a comedy than a +tragedy. <i>Agnes Tempest</i> was called the Safety Candle, for the +ingenious reason that, though attractive, she burnt nobody's wings. +Returning as a middle-aging widow, after an unhappy wifehood in +Africa, she meets on the boat two persons, <i>Captain Brangwyn</i>, +a young man, and a girl-mother calling herself <i>Antonina +Pisa</i>. Hence the tears. <i>Brangwyn</i> she marries, doubtfully, +half-defiantly, despite the difference in years between them; +<i>Antonina</i> is taken as a companion and very soon developes +into a sick-nurse. For in the space between the ship-board +engagement and the wedding a railway accident changes poor +<i>Agnes</i> from a still beautiful and active woman to a +nerve-ridden invalid. But in spite of this she and <i>Brangwyn</i> +marry; and (with the much too attractive <i>Antonina</i> always in +evidence) you can guess the result. One odd point; you will hardly +get any distance into Miss E.S. STEVENS' exceedingly well-written +story without being struck by its resemblance to one of Mr. +HICHENS' romances. The relative positions of the members of the +triangle, middle-aged wife, young husband, and girl are exactly +those of <i>The Call of the Blood</i>; while the Sicilian setting +is identical. But this of course is by no means to accuse Miss +STEVENS of plagiarism; her development of the situation, and +especially the tragedy that resolves it, is both original and +convincing. The end indeed took me wholly unawares, since as a +hardened novel-reader I had naturally been expecting—but read +it, and see if you also are not startled by a refreshing departure +from the conventional.</p> +<hr /> +<p>If there still linger in the remoter parts of Cromarty or the +Balls Pond Road certain unsophisticated persons who believe that +the stage is one long glad symposium of wine, woman and song they +will be interested to know that Mr. KEBLE HOWARD has written his +latest novel, <i>The Gay Life</i> (JOHN LANE), with the express +object—or so he says—of disillusioning them. He has no +use for the cynic who declared that there are three sexes, men, +women and actors. His Thespians are gay because they are happy, and +happy because (though poor) they are virtuous. The crowning +ambition of their lives of honest toil is not unlimited +silk-stockings and champagne suppers, but the combined and +unqualified approval of Mr. GRANVILLE BARKER and Miss HORNIMAN. I +fear the Philistines will not be much impressed with Mr. KEBLE +HOWARD'S championship. In the first place he selects for his +heroine a girl of what used to be known as the "lower orders." Yet +it is more than doubtful if the lower orders have ever done +anything for Mr. KEBLE HOWARD except open his cab-doors and bring +his washing home on Saturday night. Otherwise he would not make his +East End of London heroine talk an argot of which fifty per cent, +is pure East Side Noo York. True, "the curtain" finds her in New +York in the arms of a faithful and acrobatic American, so perhaps +it doesn't matter much. Meanwhile she has become the idol of the +Manchester School, enjoyed an unsuccessful season in partnership +with the late Sir HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE, and signed a contract with +the SCHUBERTS to tour the States, and <span class= +"pagenum"><a name="page146" id="page146"></a>[pg 146]</span> all +without any apparent diminution of the guileless flow of +"Whitechapel" with which she won the hearts of her first employers. +It is courageous of Mr. HOWARD to place on record his apparent +belief that a total absence of the three "R's" and any number of +"h's" cannot debar a strong-minded daughter of the slums from the +higher rungs of the histrionic ladder.</p> +<hr /> +<p>When a warm-hearted and law-abiding gentleman, who has kept +open-house for many guests, suddenly discovers that these guests +have plotted against him, have read his private correspondence, +have caused explosions in his garden, have attacked his neighbours +from the vantage-ground of his house, and altogether have behaved +as if he didn't exist, he is not unlikely to be both shocked and +angry, and to denounce to the world the crew of traitors and +assassins who have imposed on his kindness and hospitality. This is +what happened to Uncle Sam at the hands of the German conspirators +for whom he had unconsciously provided a base of operations. A full +account of the doings of this poisonous gang is given in <i>The +German Spy in America</i> (HUTCHINSON), by JOHN PRICE JONES, a +member of the staff of the New York <i>Sun</i>. It is not easy for +anyone, least of all for a good American, to refrain from +indignation at the baseness of the rogues who thus battened for +many months on the United States and their people. The book is +soberly and clearly written, and is commended by Mr. ROOSEVELT in a +Foreword, to which are added another Foreword by the Author, and an +Introduction by Mr. ROGER B. WOOD, formerly U.S. Assistant-Attorney +in New York.</p> +<hr /> +<p>With whatever sharpness of criticism I had approached +<i>Ma'am</i> (HUTCHINSON), the edge of it would have been turned by +the statement upon the fly-leaf that the author, M. BERESFORD +RYLEY, died while the novel was still in manuscript, and that it +has been revised for the press by her friend, Mr. E.V. LUCAS. As +things are, having before me only the pleasant task of praise, I am +the more sorry that I cannot increase that pleasure by telling the +writer how much I have enjoyed a wholly admirable story. She had +above everything the rare art of writing about homely and familiar +matters unboringly. <i>Ma'am</i> (a not too happy title) begins in +a dull parish, where its heroine is the newly-wedded wife of the +curate. You will have read no more than the opening pages +(descriptive of the terrible Sunday evening supper which the pair +took at the Vicarage—a supper of cold meat and a ground-rice +mould, whereat four jaded and parish-worn persons lacerated one +another's nerves) before you will have realised gratefully that the +story and its characters are going to be alive with a very +refreshing and unpuppetlike vitality. Eventually, of course, more +happens than Vicarage suppers. An old lover of <i>Griselda</i> +(Mrs. Curate) turns up, and many most unparochial events follow +upon his arrival. The scene shifts to Naples, and we meet a +villaful of men and women, all of them admirably original and +human. Not for a great while have I read a story so unforced and +appealing. It is indeed a sad thought that this graceful pen will +give us nothing more of its quality.</p> +<hr /> +<p>When you hear the title or see the cover of <i>The Heel of the +Hun</i> (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) your blood may begin to curdle and +your flesh to creep. Be assured. When I think of some of the +war-books vouchsafed to us Mr. J.P. WHITAKER'S is almost tame, and +I venture to say that it might be read out loud at a party of +sock-knitters without a stitch being dropped. Mr. WHITAKER was in +Roubaix and, presumably because he was believed to be an American, +was allowed considerable freedom. So, before he escaped into +Holland, he saw some things which were not for British eyes, and he +tells us about them with a staidness altogether unusual in this +kind of book. Although he forgets to mention the fact, his articles +have already appeared in <i>The Times</i>, and I can see no +particular reason why they should have been gathered together in +this brief volume. Anyhow, I must believe that the Hun's heel fell +less heavily on Mr. WHITAKER than upon most people who have had the +misfortune to be introduced to it.</p> +<hr /> +<p>An author who can choose so fascinating a title as <i>The Way of +the Air</i> (HEINEMANN) certainly has much in his favour, and this +not only because of the more or less temporary connection between +aeronautics and victory, but because just lately we have all been +talking large and free about peace-time developments of the craft +in the near future. Personally I have already arranged to take my +wife's mother for a short week-end in the Holy Land in the Spring +of 1920; and a forty-eight hours' mail service to Bombay is an +event of to-morrow. Thus, if Mr. EDGAR C. MIDDLETON'S book fails to +secure general appreciation, he must place the blame elsewhere than +with his subject, and it is a fact that by some repetitions and +contradictions, as well as by a tendency to let one down at what +should be the critical point of his yarns, he has done something to +alienate a public—such as myself—entirely predisposed +in his favour. It remains to say, all the same, that this little +volume is in the main a sincere and obviously well-informed account +of the doings of the men of our air services, full of incident and +achievement utterly beyond belief an unbelievably short time ago. +In the pages he devotes to prophecy—an irresistible +temptation—he is on controversial ground, and his apparent +preference for the "gas-bag" as the principal craft of the future +will certainly not find general acceptance. Much more to my liking +is his suggestion that duck chasing and shooting from an +aeroplane—it has already been done at least once—may +become a recognised sport.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/146.png"><img width="100%" src="images/146s.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Barber</i>. "MY TONIC 'AIR-RESTORER IS TO THE BALD 'EAD WHAT +THE BENEFICENT SPRAY IS TO THE BLIGHTED TOOBER."</p> +</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10450 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |