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diff --git a/10594-h/10594-h.htm b/10594-h/10594-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85c6126 --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/10594-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1555 @@ +<!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, Sept. 12, 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%;} + hr.left {text-align: left; width: 30%} + html>body hr.left {margin-right: 70%; margin-left: 0%; width: 30%} + .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;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft, + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img, + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, figleft p, + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10594 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, +Sept. 12, 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>September 12th, 1917.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page183" id="page183"></a>[pg +183]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p>The <i>Cologne Gazette</i> is of the opinion that the American +troops, when they arrive in France, will be hampered by their +ignorance of the various languages. But we understand that the +Americans can shoot in any language.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A weekly periodical is giving away a bicycle every other week. +Meanwhile <i>The Daily Telegraph</i> continues to give away a +Kaiser every day.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"I decline to have anything to do with the War," said a +Conscientious Objector to a North of England magistrate, "and I +resent this interference with my liberty." Indeed he is said to be +so much annoyed that he intends sending the War Office a jolly +snappy letter about it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>CHARLIE CHAPLIN says a gossip writer is coming to England in the +Autumn. This disposes of the suggestion that arrangements were +being made for England to be taken over to him.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p><i>Incidentally</i> we notice that CHARLIE CHAPLIN has become a +naturalised American, with, we presume, permission to use the rank +of Honorary Britisher.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Before a Northern Tribunal an applicant stated that he was +engaged in the completion of an invention which would enable dumb +people to speak or signal with perfection. He was advised, however, +to concentrate for a while on making certain Germans say +"Kamerad."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An Isle of Wight man has succeeded in growing a vegetable marrow +which weighs forty-three pounds. To avoid its being mistaken for +the island he has scratched his name and address on it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Those in search of a tactless present will bear in mind that Mr. +MARK HAMBOURG has written a book entitled "How to Play the +Piano."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The great flagstaff at Kew Gardens, which weighs 18 tons and is +215 feet long, is not to be erected until after the War. This has +come as a great consolation to certain people who had feared the +two events would clash.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>In Mid Cheshire there is a scarcity of partridges, but there is +plenty of other game in Derbyshire. The Mid-Cheshire birds are of +the opinion that this cannot be too strongly advertised.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Thirteen years after it was posted at Watford a postcard has +just reached an Ealing lady inviting her to tea, and of course she +rightly protested that the tea was cold.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An estate near Goole has been purchased for £118,000, the +purchaser having decided not to carry out his first intention of +investing that amount in a couple of boxes of matches.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Herr Erzberger is known among his friends as "The Singing +Socialist." We are afraid however that if he wants peace he will +have to whistle for it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Provisional Government in Russia, according to <i>The +Evening News,</i> has "always regarded an international debate on +the questions of war and pease as useful." But our Government, not +being exactly provisional, prefers to go on giving the enemy +beans.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:33%;"><a href= +"images/183.png"><img width="100%" src="images/183.png" alt= +"" /></a> COMFORTING THOUGHT<br /> +When there are no taxis on your return from your holidays:<br /> +<p>"OUR TRUE STRENGTH IS TO KNOW OUR OWN +WEAKNESS."—<i>CHARLES KINGSLEY.</i></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>THE END OF AN EPISODE.</h3> +<p>I write this in the beginning of a minor tragedy; if indeed the +severance of any long, helpful and sympathetic association can ever +be so lightly named. For that is precisely what our intercourse has +been these many weeks past; one of nervous and quickly roused +irritation on my part, of swift and gentle ministration on his.</p> +<p>At least once a day we have met during that period (and +occasionally, though rarely, more often), usually in those +before-breakfast hours when the temper of normal man is most +exacting and uncertain. But his temper never varied; the perfection +of it was indeed among his finest qualities. Morning after morning, +throughout a time that, as it chanced, has been full of distress +and disappointment, would his soothing and infinitely gentle touch +recall me to content. That stroking caress of his was a thing +indescribable; one before which the black shadows left by the hours +of night seemed literally to dissolve and vanish.</p> +<p>And now the long expected, long dreaded has begun to happen. He, +too, is turning against me, as so many others of his fellows have +done in the past. Who knows the reason? What continued roughness on +my part has at last worn out even him? But for some days now there +has been no misreading the fatal symptoms—increasing +irritability on the one side, harshness turning to blunt +indifference on the other. And this morning came the unforgivable +offence, the cut direct.</p> +<p>That settles it; to-morrow, with a still smarting regret, I +unwrap a new razor-blade.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE WHOLE HOG.</h3> +<blockquote>["Victorian love-making was at best a sloppy business +... modern maidens have little use for half measures.... Primitive +ideas are beginning to assert themselves."—<i>Daily +Paper.</i>]</blockquote> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Betty, when you were in your teens</p> +<p class="i2">And shielded from sensation,</p> +<p>Despite a lack of ways and means</p> +<p>In various appropriate scenes</p> +<p class="i2">I sighed my adoration.</p> +<p>You did not smile upon my suit;</p> +<p class="i2">Pallid I grew and pensive;</p> +<p>My disappointment was acute,</p> +<p>Life seemed a worthless thing and mute.</p> +<p>I moped, then tuned my laggard lute</p> +<p class="i2">And launched a new offensive.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thus you were wooed in former days</p> +<p class="i2">When maids were won by waiting;</p> +<p>The modern lover finds it pays</p> +<p>To imitate the forceful ways</p> +<p class="i2">Of prehistoric mating.</p> +<p>Man is more primitive (a snub</p> +<p class="i2">Has no effect), so if you</p> +<p>Should still refuse a certain "sub."</p> +<p>He will not pine or spurn his grub,</p> +<p>But, seizing the ancestral club,</p> +<p class="i2">Into submission biff you.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>MAKING THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS.</h3> +<blockquote>"As honorary organist at —— Wesleyan Church +he has established a sound and compact business as wholesale grocer +and Italian warehouseman."—<i>Provincial +Paper.</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Maid (superior) wanted for lady, gentleman, small +flat, strong girl, able to assist lady with +rheumatism."—<i>Glasgow Herald.</i></blockquote> +<p>If we hear of a small flat girl we will send her along; but this +shaped figure is rather out of fashion just now.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page184" name="page184"></a>[pg +184]</span> +<h2>THE SUPER-PIPE.</h2> +<p>When Jackson first joined the jolly old B.E.F. he smoked a pipe. +He carried it anyhow. Loose in his pocket, mind you. A pipe-bowl at +his pocket's brim a simple pipe-bowl was to him, and it was nothing +more. Of course no decent B.E.F. mess could stand that. Jackson was +told that a pipe was <i>anathema maranatha</i>, which is Greek for +<i>no bon.</i></p> +<p>"What will I smoke then?" said Jackson, who was no Englishman. +We waited for the Intelligence Officer to reply. We knew him. The +Intelligence Officer said nothing. He drew something from his +pocket. It was a parcel wrapped in cloth-of-gold. He removed the +cloth-of-gold and there was discovered a casket, which he unlocked +with a key attached to his identity disc. Inside the casket was a +padlocked box, which he opened with a key attached by gold wire to +his advance pay-book. Inside the box was a roll of silk. To cut it +all short, he unwound puttee after puttee of careful wrapping till +he reached a chamois-leather chrysalis, which he handled with +extreme reverence, and from this he drew something with gentle +fingers, and set it on the table-cloth before the goggle-eyed +Jackson.</p> +<p>"A pipe," said Jackson.</p> +<p>There was a shriek of horror. The Intelligence Officer fainted. +Here was wanton sacrilege.</p> +<p>"Man," said the iron-nerved Bombing Officer, "it's a +Brownhill."</p> +<p>"What's a Brownhill?" asked Jackson.</p> +<p>We gasped. How could we begin to tell him of that West End +shrine from which issue these lacquered symbols of a New +Religion?</p> +<p>The Intelligence Officer was reviving. We looked to him.</p> +<p>"The prophet Brownhill," he said, "was once a +tobacconist—an ordinary tobacconist who sold pipes."</p> +<p>We shuddered.</p> +<p>"He discovered one day that man wants more than mere pipes. He +wants a—a super-pipe, something to reverence +and—er—look after, you know, as well as to smoke. So he +invented the Brownhill. It is an <i>affaire de coeur</i>—an +affair of art," translated the I.O. proudly. "It is as glossy as a +chestnut in its native setting, and you can buy furniture polish +from the prophet Brownhill which will keep it always so. It has its +year, like a famous vintage, it has a silver wind-pipe, and it +costs anything up to fifty guineas."</p> +<p>"D'you smoke it'?" asked Jackson, brutally.</p> +<p>We gave him up. In awful silence each of us produced his +wrappings and his caskets, extracted the shining briar, smeared it +with cosmetics, and polished it more reverently than a peace time +Guardsman polishes his buttons when warned for duty next day at +"Buck."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>And Jackson smoked his pipe in secret. He would take no leaf +from the book of the Sassenachs.</p> +<p>And the War went on.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Jackson went on leave. To his deep disgust he had to wait a few +hours in London on his way to more civilised parts, and fate led +him idling to Brownhill's. He flattened his Celtic nose on the +window and stared fascinated at the array of super-pipes displayed +there. After a furtive glance along the street he crept into the +temple. A white-coated priest met him. </></p> +<p>"I—I'm wantin'—a—a pipe," said Jackson. He saw +the priest reel and turn pale to the lips. "I should say a—a +Brownhill," he added hastily. The other man gulped, steadied +himself with an effort, and gave a ghastly smile. If you had walked +into a temple at Thibet and planked down sixpence and asked for an +idol wrapped up in brown paper you could not have done a more +dreadful thing than Jackson had done; but the priest forgave him +and produced in silence a trayful of Brownhills. Then was Jackson +like unto ELIA'S little Chinese boy with "the crackling." He +touched a briar and was converted. He stroked them as though they +were kittens, bought ten of them, a pound of polish, fifty silver +wind-pipes and a bale of chamois-leather. The priest took a deep +breath.</p> +<p>"You are a full-blooded man, Sir," said he, "if you will excuse +me saying so, and you should smoke in your new Brownhills a mixture +which has a proportion of Latakia to Virginian of one to +nineteen—a small percentage of glycerine and cucumber being +added because you have red hair, and the whole submitted to a +pressure of eighteen hundred foot-pounds to the square millimetre, +under violet rays. This will be known as 'Your Mixture,' Number +56785-6/11, and will be supplied to no one else on earth, except +under penalty of death.</p> +<p>"I will take a ton," said Jackson with glazing eyes.</p> +<p>This was a man after the priest's own heart. He took another +deep breath and dived into the strong-room. He returned under the +escort of ten armed men, each of them chained by the wrist to an +iron box, which he unlocked with difficulty. Inside the iron box +was a thing which Jackson a few months ago would have called a +pipe. He knew better now. In awful silence the priest lifted it +from its satin bed. "This," he whispered, "was once smoked by +Brownhill himself."</p> +<p>Jackson put out a hand to take it. The priest hesitated, then +laid it gently on his customer's palm.</p> +<p>And Jackson dropped it.</p> +<p>Jackson has never been heard of since.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE FAIRIES HAVE NEVER A PENNY TO SPEND.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The fairies have never a penny to spend,</p> +<p class="i2">They haven't a thing put by,</p> +<p>But theirs is the dower of bird and of flower,</p> +<p class="i2">And theirs are the earth and the sky.</p> +<p>And though you should live in a palace of gold</p> +<p class="i2">Or sleep in a dried-up ditch,</p> +<p>You could never be poor as the fairies are,</p> +<p class="i6">And never as rich.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Since ever and ever the world began</p> +<p class="i2">They have danced like a ribbon of flame,</p> +<p>They have sung their song through the centuries long,</p> +<p class="i2">And yet it is never the same.</p> +<p>And though you be foolish or though you be wise,</p> +<p class="i2">With hair of silver or gold,</p> +<p>You could never be young as the fairies are</p> +<p class="i6">And never as old.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>R. F.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>RARA AVIS.</h3> +<p>From a cigarette-card:—</p> +<blockquote> +<h5>"REED WARBLER.</h5> +<h6><i>"Acrocephalus streperus.</i></h6> +"This bird is found in nearly every part of the British Islands. It +builds a nest about a foot off the ground in the reed beds, and is +formed of grass, horse hair and sometimes feathers."</blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>From a list of medallists of the new Order of the British +Empire:—</p> +<blockquote>"G. P. Hamlet.—For courage in persisting with +dangerous work, with a certainty of suffering from poisoning as a +result."</blockquote> +<p>Just like his illustrious namesake.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Melbourne, Friday.<br /> +<br /> +"The House of Representatives to-day passed the second reading of +the War Times Profits Tax Assessment Bill. The tax will be 50 per +cent. for the year ending June 30, 191161, and 75 per cent. for +afterwards.—Reuter."<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aberdeen Paper.</i></blockquote> +<p>Well, well, we need not worry.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"What is being fought out is a long-drawn battle for +the important shipping port of Trieste, with the whole of the +railway and road communications of the Iberian Peninsula."<br /> +<i>The People.</i></blockquote> +<p>Rather a shock for Madrid.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page185" id="page185"></a>[pg +185]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/185.png"><img width="100%" src="images/185.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL.</h3> +<p>OPTIMISTIC GERMAN <i>(reading paper).</i> "THIS IS KOLOSSAL! OUR +IRRESISTIBLE AIRMEN HAVE AGAIN, FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME, DESTROYED +LONDON."</p> +<p>GLOOMY DITTO. "THAT BEING SO, LET'S HOPE THEY'LL STOP THOSE +CURSED BRITISH AIRMEN FROM BOMBING OUR LINES EVERY DAY AND +NIGHT."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page186" id="page186"></a>[pg +186]</span> +<h2>A STUDY IN SYMMETRY.</h2> +<p>The following story, however improbable it may seem to you, is +true.</p> +<p>Once upon a time there was an artist with historical leanings +not unassociated with the desire for pelf—pelf being, even to +idealists, what petrol is to a car. The blend brought him one day +to Portsmouth, where the <i>Victory</i> lies, with the honourable +purpose of painting a picture of that famous ship with NELSON on +board. What the ADMIRAL was doing I cannot say—most probably +dying—but the artist's intention was to make the work as +attractive as might be and thus draw a little profit from the wave +of naval enthusiasm which was then passing over the country; for +not only was the picture itself to be saleable, but reproductions +were to be made of it.</p> +<p>Permission having been obtained from the authorities, the artist +boarded the <i>Victory</i>, set up his easel on her deck and +settled down to his task, the monotony of which was pleasantly +alleviated by the chatter of the old salts who guard the ship and +act as guides to the tourists who visit her. All of these estimable +men not only possessing views on art, but having come by now to the +firm belief that they had fought with NELSON, their criticisms were +not too easily combated and the artist hadn't a tedious moment. +Thus, painting, conversing and learning (as one can learn only from +a trained imparter of information), three or four days passed +quickly away and the picture was done.</p> +<p>So far there has been nothing—has there?—to strain +credulity. No. But a time will come—is, in fact, upon us.</p> +<p>On the evening of the last day, as the artist was sitting at +early dinner with a friend before catching the London train, his +remarks turned (as an artist's sometimes will) upon the work upon +which he had just been engaged. He expressed satisfaction with it +in the main, but could not, he said, help feeling that its chances +of becoming a real success would be sensibly increased if he could +find as a model for the central figure some one whose resemblance +to NELSON was noticeable.</p> +<p>"There are, of course," he went on, "at the same time—that +is to say, among contemporaries—no two faces exactly alike. +That is an axiom. Strange as it may sound, among all the millions +of countenances with two eyes, a nose in the middle and a mouth +below it, some difference exists in each. That is, as I say, among +contemporaries: in the world at this moment in which I am speaking. +But," he continued, warming to his subject, for, as you will have +already gathered, he was not one of the taciturn brush-brotherhood, +"after the lapse of years I see no reason why nature should not +begin precisely to reproduce physiognomies and so save herself the +trouble of for ever diversifying them. That being so—and +surely the hypothesis is not too far-fetched"—here his friend +said, "No, not at all—oh no!"—"why," the artist +continued, "should there not be at this moment, more than a century +later, some one whose resemblance to NELSON is exact? He would not +be necessarily a naval man—probably, indeed, not, for +NELSON's face was not characteristic of the sea—but whoever +he was, even if he were an archbishop, I," said the painter firmly, +"should not hesitate to go up to him and ask him to sit to me."</p> +<p>The friend agreed that this was a very proper attitude and that +it betokened true sincerity of purpose.</p> +<p>"NELSON's face," the painter continued, "was an uncommon one. So +large and so mobile a mouth is rare. But I have no doubt that a +duplicate exists, and no matter who is the owner of it, even were +he an archbishop, I should not hesitate to go up and ask him to sit +to me."</p> +<p>(For the benefit of any feminine reader of this veracious +history I should say that the repetition which she has just noticed +is not an accident, but has been carefully set down. It is an +attempt to give verisimilitude to the conversation—because +men always say things like that twice.)</p> +<p>The friend again remarked that the painter's resolve did him +infinite credit, and the two started for the station, still +conversing on the same theme.</p> +<p>On entering their carriage the first thing to take their +attention was a quiet little man in black, who was the absolute +double of the hero of Trafalgar.</p> +<p>"Good gracious!" whispered the painter excitedly, "do you see +that? There's the very man. The likeness to NELSON is astonishing. +I never saw anything like it. I don't care who he is, I must tackle +him. It's the most extraordinary chance that ever occurred."</p> +<p>Assuming his most silky and deferential manner—for, though +clearly not an archbishop, unless in mufti, this might yet be a +person of importance—the painter approached the stranger and +tendered a card.</p> +<p>"I trust, Sir, that you will excuse me," he began, "for the +liberty I am taking, but I am an artist and I happen to be engaged +on a picture of NELSON on the <i>Victory</i>. I have all the +accessories and so forth, but what I very seriously need is a brief +sitting from some gentleman with a likeness to the great little +Admiral. Such, Sir, as yourself. It may be news to you—it +probably is—but you, Sir, if I may say so, are so like the +famous and immortal warrior as almost to take one's breath away. It +is astonishing, wonderful! Might I—would it be—could +you—would you, Sir, be so very kind as to allow me to paint +you? I would, of course, make every effort not to inconvenience +you—I would arrange so that your time should be mine."</p> +<p>"Of course I will, guvnor," said the man. "I'm a professional +model and I've been sitting for NELSON for years. Why, I've been +doing it for an artist this very afternoon."</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/186.png"><img width="100%" src="images/186.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>Our Restricted Coast Amusements.</h3> +<p><i>Vendor</i>. "ALL THE OFFICIAL 'OLIDAY FUN. FLY THE PATRIOTIC +KITES AND ANNOY THE GOTHAS!</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page187" id="page187"></a>[pg +187]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/187.png"><img width="100%" src="images/187.png" alt= +"" /></a> <i>Physical Drill Instructor (to Weak-kneed Recruit)</i>. +"NAH THEN! IF YOU'RE A-GOING TER JUMP—<i>JUMP!"</i></div> +<hr /> +<h3>A LOST LAND.</h3> +<h5>(TO GERMANY.)</h5> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A childhood land of mountain ways,</p> +<p>Where earthy gnomes and forest fays,</p> +<p>Kind foolish giants, gentle bears,</p> +<p>Sport with the peasant as he fares</p> +<p>Affrighted through the forest glades,</p> +<p>And lead sweet wistful little maids</p> +<p>Lost in the woods, forlorn, alone,</p> +<p>To princely lovers and a throne.</p> +<hr class="left" /> +<p>Dear haunted land of gorge and glen,</p> +<p>Ah me! the dreams, the dreams of men!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A learned land of wise old books</p> +<p>And men with meditative looks,</p> +<p>Who move in quaint red-gabled towns</p> +<p>And sit in gravely-folded gowns,</p> +<p>Divining in deep-laden speech</p> +<p>The world's supreme arcana—each</p> +<p>A homely god to listening Youth</p> +<p>Eager to tear the veil of Truth;</p> +<hr class="left" /> +<p>Mild votaries of book and pen—</p> +<p>Alas, the dreams, the dreams of men!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A music land, whose life is wrought</p> +<p>In movements of melodious thought;</p> +<p>In symphony, great wave on wave—</p> +<p>Or fugue, elusive, swift, and grave;</p> +<p>A singing land, whose lyric rhymes</p> +<p>Float on the air like village chimes:</p> +<p>Music and Verse—the deepest part</p> +<p>Of a whole nation's thinking heart!</p> +<hr class="left" /> +<p>Oh land of Now, oh land of Then!</p> +<p>Dear God! the dreams, the dreams of men!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Slave nation in a land of hate,</p> +<p>Where are the things that made you great?</p> +<p>Child-hearted once—oh, deep defiled,</p> +<p>Dare you look now upon a child?</p> +<p>Your lore—a hideous mask wherein</p> +<p>Self-worship hides its monstrous sin:—</p> +<p>Music and verse, divinely wed—</p> +<p>How can these live where love is dead?</p> +<hr class="left" /> +<p>Oh depths beneath sweet human ken,</p> +<p>God help the dreams, the dreams of men!</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"The Blessington Papers are included with all their +atmosphere of distinguished High Bohemia. Among them are some +interesting Disraeli letters—he was ever her staunch friend +from the early 'thirties to the late 'forties, when his son had +risen and her's—how brilliant!—had +set."—<i>Saturday Review</i>.</blockquote> +<p>And up to the present we had been under the impression that both +these distinguished persons were childless.</p> +<hr /> +HINT FOR HORTICULTURISTS. +<blockquote>"Mr. ——, undertaker, of Temuka, improved +his plant by the purchase of a new hearse."—<i>Timaru Herald +(New Zealand)</i>.</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Mr. —— hopes shortly to be seen again in +revue in the Wet End."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Or, as the CENSOR would put it, "somewhere in England."</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote><i>Daily Mail</i> (Ordinary Edition), 3 September, +1917: "Lord Halsbury is 92 to-day."<br /> +<br /> +<i>Times</i> (Late War Edition), 3 September, 1917: "The Earl of +Halsbury is 94 to-day."</blockquote> +<p>Yet, from personal observation, one would never believe that the +EX-LORD CHANCELLOR was ageing so rapidly.</p> +<hr /> +<p>From "German Official":—</p> +<blockquote>"With the use of numerous tanks and aeroplanes, flying +at a low altitude, the English infantry soon after advanced to the +attack on this front."—<i>Evening Paper</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Now that the enemy has given away the secret of our new weapon +the CENSOR might let us know more of our flying Tanks.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Prisoner then seized her round the throat with both +hands and hit her on the head with a steel +case-opener."—<i>Daily Paper</i>.</blockquote> +<p>Which, presumably, he carried in his teeth.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page188" id="page188"></a>[pg +188]</span> +<h3>THE SUNFLOWER.</h3> +<p>"Have you," said Francesca, "seen our sunflowers lately?"</p> +<p>"Yes," I said, "I've kept an eye on them occasionally. It's a +bit difficult, by the way, not to see them, isn't it?"</p> +<p>"Well," she said, "perhaps they are rather striking."</p> +<p>"Striking!" I said. "I never heard a more inadequate word. I +call them simply overwhelming—the steam-rollers of the +vegetable world. Look at their great yellow open faces."</p> +<p>"I never," said Francesca, "saw a steam-roller with a face. +You're mixing your metaphors."</p> +<p>"And," I said, "I shall go on mixing them as long as you grow +sunflowers. It's the very least a man can do by way of +protest."</p> +<p>"I don't know why you should want to protest. The seed makes +very good chicken-food."</p> +<p>"Yes, I know," I said, "that's what you always said."</p> +<p>"And I bet," she said, "you've repeated it. When you've met the +tame Generals and Colonels at your club, and they've boasted to you +about their potatoes, I know you've countered them with the story +of how you've turned the whole of your lawn into a bed of +sunflowers calculated to drive the most obstinate hen into laying +two eggs a day, rain or shine."</p> +<p>"I admit," I said, "that I may have mentioned the matter +casually, but I never thought the things were going to be like +this. When I first knew them and talked about them they were tender +little shoots of green just modestly showing above the ground, and +now they're a forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlock +aren't in it with this impenetrable jungle liberally blotched with +yellow, this so-called sunflower patch."</p> +<p>"What would you call it," she said, "if you didn't call it +sunflower?"</p> +<p>"I should call it a beast of prey," I said. "A sunflower seems +to me to be more like a tiger than anything else."</p> +<p>"It was a steam-roller about a minute ago."</p> +<p>"Yes," I said, "it was—a tigerish steam-roller."</p> +<p>"How interesting," she said. "I have not met one quite like +that."</p> +<p>"That," I said, "is because your eye isn't properly poetical. +It's blocked with chicken-food and other utilitarian objects."</p> +<p>"I must," she said, "consult an oculist. Perhaps he will give me +glasses which will unblock my eye and make me see tigers in the +garden."</p> +<p>"No," I said, "you will have to do it for yourself. For such an +eye as yours even the best oculists are unavailing."</p> +<p>"I might," she said, "improve if I read poetry at home. Has any +poet written about sunflowers?"</p> +<p>"Yes," I said, "BLAKE did. He was quite mad, and he wrote a poem +to a sunflower: 'Ah! Sunflower! Weary of time.' That's how it +begins."</p> +<p>"Weary of time!" she said scornfully. "That's no good to me. I'm +weary of having no time at all to myself."</p> +<p>"That shows," I said, "that you're not a sunflower."</p> +<p>"Thank heaven for that," she said. "It's enough to have four +children to look after—five including yourself."</p> +<p>"My dear Francesca," I said, "how charming you are to count me +as a child! I shall really begin to feel as if there were golden +threads among the silver."</p> +<p>"Tut-tut," she said, "you're not so grey as all that."</p> +<p>"Yes, I am," I said, "quite as grey as all that and much greyer; +only we don't talk about it."</p> +<p>"But we <i>do</i> talk about sunflowers," she said, "don't +we?"</p> +<p>"If you'll promise to have the beastly glaring things dug +up—"</p> +<p>"Not," she said, "before we've extracted from them their last +pip of chicken-food."</p> +<p>"Well, anyhow," I said, "as soon as possible. If you'll promise +to do that I'll promise never to mention them again."</p> +<p>"But you'll lose your reputation with the Generals and +Colonels."</p> +<p>"I don't mind that," I said, "if I can only rid the garden of +their detested presence."</p> +<p>"My golden-threaded boy," said Francesca, "it shall be as you +desire."</p> +<p>R. C. L.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>CONSTABLE JINKS.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Our village policeman is tall and well-grown,</p> +<p>He stands six feet two and he weighs sixteen stone;</p> +<p>His gait is majestic, his visage serene,</p> +<p>And his boots are the biggest that ever I've seen.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fame sealed his renown with a definite stamp</p> +<p>When two German waiters escaped from a camp.</p> +<p>Unaided he captured those runaway Huns</p> +<p>Who had lived for a week on three half-penny buns.</p> +<p>When a derelict porpoise was cast on the shore</p> +<p>Our village policeman was much to the fore;</p> +<p>He measured the beast from its tip to its tail,</p> +<p>And blandly pronounced it "an undersized whale."</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When a small boy was flying his kite on the links</p> +<p>It was promptly impounded by Constable Jinks,</p> +<p>Who astutely remarked that it might have been seen</p> +<p>By the vigilant crew of a Hun submarine.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>It is sometimes alleged that great valour he showed</p> +<p>When he chased a mad cow for three miles on the road;</p> +<p>But there's also another account of the hunt</p> +<p>With a four-legged pursuer, a biped in front.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>If your house has been robbed and his counsel you seek</p> +<p>He's sure to look in—in the course of the week,</p> +<p>When his massive appearance will comfort your cook,</p> +<p>Though he fails in the bringing of culprits to book.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>His <i>obiter dicta</i> on life and the law</p> +<p>Set our ribald young folk in a frequent guffaw;</p> +<p>But the elders repose an implicit belief</p> +<p>In so splendid a product of beer and of beef.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>He's the strongest and solidest man in the place,</p> +<p>Nothing—short of mad cattle—can quicken his +pace;</p> +<p>His moustache would do credit to any dragoon,</p> +<p>And his voice is as deep as a double bassoon.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>His complexion is perfect, his uniform neat,</p> +<p>He rivets all eyes as he stalks down the street;</p> +<p>And I doubt if his critics will ever complain</p> +<p>Of his being a little deficient in brain.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>For he's more than a man; he's a part of the map;</p> +<p>His going would cause a deplorable gap;</p> +<p>And the village would suffer as heavy a slump</p> +<p>As it would from the loss of the old parish pump.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A HAPPY JUXTAPOSITION.</h3> +<blockquote>"CHEAPER MATCHES. | FRESH LIGHT ON THE KAISER'S +PLOTS."<br /> +<i>Daily Mirror.</i></blockquote> +<p>From the report of a Royal investiture:—</p> +<blockquote>"The first officer to mount the dais was Major +——, who wore the broad-brimmed slouch hat of the +Austrian Infantry."<br /> +<i>North China Daily News.</i></blockquote> +<p>A souvenir, of course.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page189" id="page189"></a>[pg +189]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/189.png"><img width="100%" src="images/189.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>SUPPLY AND DEMAND.</h3> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page190" id="page190"></a>[pg +190]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/190.png"><img width="100%" src="images/190.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<i>Mother (to maid, who has offered Marjorie some jam).</i> "OH +NO, THANK YOU, NOT WITH THE <i>FIRST</i> PIECE."<br /> +<i>Marjorie.</i> "BUT, MUMMY, I HAVE GIVEN UP HAVING A FIRST +PIECE NOW—WAR ECONOMY." +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>THE TRENCH CODE.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! with what awe, what infantile impatience,</p> +<p class="i2">We eyed the artifice when issued out,</p> +<p>And racked our brains about the Regulations,</p> +<p class="i2">And tried to think we had them free from doubt!</p> +<p>As Rome's old Fathers, reverently leaning</p> +<p class="i2">In secret cellars o'er the Sibyl's strain,</p> +<p class="i6">Beyond the fact that several pars</p> +<p class="i6">Had something vague to do with Mars,</p> +<p>Failed, as a rule, to find the smallest meaning,</p> +<p class="i2">But told the plebs the oracle was plain.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>So did we study it, ourselves deceiving,</p> +<p class="i2">In hope to say, "We have no rations here,"</p> +<p>Or, "Please, Brigade, this regiment wants relieving,"</p> +<p class="i2">And "Thank you for the bombs—but why no +beer?"</p> +<p>And wondered always, with a hint of presage,</p> +<p class="i2">Since never word emerged as it was planned,</p> +<p class="i6">If it was Hermes, Lord of Craft,</p> +<p class="i6">Compiled the code, or someone daft,</p> +<p>So that no mortal could compose a message</p> +<p class="i2">Which anybody else could understand.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Too soon the Staff, to spoil our tiny slumbers,</p> +<p class="i2">Or, as they said, to certify our skill,</p> +<p>Sent us a screed, all signs and magic numbers,</p> +<p class="i2">And what it signified is mystery still.</p> +<p>We flung them back a message yet more mazy</p> +<p class="i2">To say we weren't unravelling their own,</p> +<p class="i6">And marked it <i>urgent</i>, and designed</p> +<p class="i6">That it should reach them while they dined.</p> +<p>All night they toiled, till half the crowd were crazy</p> +<p class="i2">And bade us breathe its burthen o'er the 'phone.</p> +</div> +<hr class="left" /> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But now they want it back—<i>and it is missing!</i></p> +<p class="i2">And shall one patriot heart withhold a throb?</p> +<p>For four high officers have been here, hissing,</p> +<p class="i2">And plainly panicky about their job.</p> +<p>I know they think some dark, deluded bandit</p> +<p class="i2">Has gone and given it to KAISER BILL.</p> +<p class="i6">But though I'm grieved the General's cross,</p> +<p class="i6">I have no qualms about the loss—</p> +<p>If clever men like us can't understand it,</p> +<p class="i2">I don't suppose the Wilhelmstrasse will!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>A. P. H.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>SPREAD OF THE TEMPERANCE MOVEMENT.</h3> +<blockquote>"I, J.A.H. De la Bere, of Woolsevy Rectory, Morchard +Bishop, Devon, desire to Alter my Surname to De la +Fontaine."—<i>Times.</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<center>"WANTED</center> +end August in Swiss family (2 persons) living in villa near +Lausanne +<center>NURSERY'S MAID</center> +able to saw, iron attend at table and take entire care of healthy +baby 19 months old Good English accent serious references." <i>La +Tribune de Lausanne.</i></blockquote> +<p>We are glad to hear that the baby has a good English accent; he +will be able to employ it with effect when the Nursery's Maid +begins to saw and iron him.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"In the cases in which the surgeon his obliged to vast +empty a bone so that offers then itself difficulties therapeuticals +not little because of pus and consequenty becauses of impossibility +of transplantations, plastics, plombages ecc., the A. propose to go +on the bone with specials inesions, not on the surface when the +bone is most superficial, but from the surface in which are +aboundings and easily cessible wet tissue, removing the margin of +the bone's cavity and mathing in mode as, by cause of repaidis +process, this tissue by hemselves adhere to a ground of cavity and +full it."—<i>La Clinica Chirurgica.</i></blockquote> +<p>That makes it perfectly clear.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191" id="page191"></a>[pg +191]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/191.png"><img width="100%" src="images/191.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>"AVANTI, SAVOIA!"</h3> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192" id="page192"></a>[pg +192]</span> +<h2>A DAUGHTER OF THE BACK STEPPES.</h2> +<blockquote class="note"><i>(Russia may not yet be quite +sufficiently herself to be the martial ally that we could desire, +but she still continues to send us the most delightful fiction. Mr. +PUNCH is privileged in being able to offer his readers the opening +of a new and fascinating story translated from the Russian of +Ghastlilkoff.)</i></blockquote> +<p>I was born in the year 18—, and I have never ceased to +regret it. I lived with my grandmother. She was called Natasha. I +do not know why. She had a large mole on her left cheek. Often she +would embrace me with tears and lament over me, crying, "My little +sad one, my little lonely one!" Yet I was not sad; I had too many +griefs. Nor was I lonely, for I had no playmates.</p> +<p>Often my grandmother told me I was ugly. I had no mirror, so I +believed her. When I was sixteen a man I met in the street went mad +for love of me and cut his throat. For the first time in my life I +wondered if my grandmother always spoke the truth. I went home and +wept, but when she asked me why I could not tell her.</p> +<p>Our house was quite dark. It had three rooms leading in and out +of one another, and no windows. There was not much fresh air. Every +morning my grandmother went out to buy otchkza and pickled onions. +The man who sold them was very old. He had a cast in each eye. He +inquired of my grandmother if she would allow him to be my husband, +but she refused. His name I do not remember.</p> +<p>Our neighbours were very pleasant people, kindly and simple. +There was a half-witted youth called Krop. He used to fill his +mouth with large brass-headed nails. I did not dare to go near him, +for he always tried to bite my arms. One day I learned that he had +died. My grandmother bought me black silk mittens to wear at his +funeral. I was very proud, and ran out into the road to show them +to the other children. But in my haste I split them across from +seam to seam, and my grandmother whipped me and put me to bed.</p> +<p>My grandmother's chief friend was a woman who sold toasted +cheese. It was her custom to bring round the delicacy on a small +hand-cart and sell to the children for a few kopecks. This woman +was reputed to be very rich. She was not beautiful, for she had no +teeth, and had hair on her face. The first time I saw her I ran +into the house and hid behind the large barrel of butter-milk. My +grandmother took me by the ear and led me to her friend.</p> +<p>"This is Ilonoka," she said. "She is a good girl."</p> +<p>I remember that I cried very loud.</p> +<p>Afterwards my grandmother told me that perhaps the woman would +leave me all her money. Next time she came I wished to speak to +her, but unfortunately I had a quinsy. When the woman eventually +died it was discovered that she had been destitute for a long time. +She left her hand-cart by will to my grandmother, and in her +disappointment my grandmother beat me over the head with it. Soon +afterwards my hair began to come out, and my grandmother said it +was time I found a husband.</p> +<p>Accordingly she went next door, where lived a woman with five +sons. They were all out except one, and he had a sore leg. She +brought him to me, and I cried very bitterly. He also. His name was +Ivan, and I wished it had been Peter.</p> +<p>The next day we were betrothed, and all our friends came to eat +the feast that my grandmother provided. A school-fellow of mine, a +very beautiful girl, was angry because I had a husband and not she. +She scratched my face, and the blood ran on to my dress. Our +friends congratulated us, and when they had gone my grandmother +said it had been a great success. She and I finished what was left +of the feast and went to bed. I remember that my feet were very +cold, and when I fell asleep I dreamed that my betrothed's name was +Peter. When I awoke I cried very loud, and my grandmother slapped +my cheeks.</p> +<p>Shortly afterwards she died, and I went to live with my uncle, +who was a pawnbroker in Moscow.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>THE LONG-FACED CHUMS.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza">When Alexander won the world he knew not bombs +nor guns,<br /> +<br /> +<p>His simple forms of frightfulness were quite unlike the +Huns';</p> +<p>'Twas not by barking mortars that the pushful CAESAR scored;</p> +<p>He trusted close formations and the silent stabbing sword.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When ROLAND'S rearguard turned at bay, and from the furious +press</p> +<p>The scuppered Paladin sent forth his famous S.O.S.,</p> +<p>Scared Roncesvalles rang loud with war, as misty legends +tell,</p> +<p>But echo's ear was spared the shriek and crash of bursting +shell.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>So could you meet the shades of those whose prowess made +Romance,</p> +<p>You'd find them only puzzled by your tales of stunts in +France;</p> +<p>You'd have to cut the business out, and be content to chat</p> +<p>Of rations, grub, and officers—such odds and ends as +that,</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Unless you chanced to entertain some true rough-rider's +ghost,</p> +<p>Who galloped after HANNIBAL, or with the Parthian host,</p> +<p>Some curled Assyrian prince who pranced, bareback, along a +frieze—</p> +<p>Or one of RUPERT'S <i>beaux sabreurs</i>—a +horseman—whom you please.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>With chosen spirits such as those your talk need never end</p> +<p>If you are worthy of your spurs and count a horse your +friend.</p> +<p>Just ask them "Did you clip trace-high?" or "Did you chaff your +hay?"</p> +<p>Or boast about the gee you ride, and they'll have lots to +say.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Cut out the talk of battle's din, of whizz-bangs and of +crumps,</p> +<p>Of bombs and gas and hand-grenades, of mines and blazing +dumps;</p> +<p>If you would wake their sympathy and warm their hearts +indeed</p> +<p>Describe a Squadron watering, and then the fuss at "Feed!"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>That lively bustle has a charm to wake a mummy's ear</p> +<p>Who, ere the Pyramids were planned, was mustered charioteer;</p> +<p>And many a horseman's spirit thrills by Lethe's drowsy brink</p> +<p>When in a strange, familiar dream his Troop comes down to +drink!</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>From "The Story of the Haldane Missions":—</p> +<blockquote>"The Kaiser laughingly remarked that he had better have +the high chair (in which the Kaiser usually sat at his council +meetings). He also gave Lord Haldane an Imperial cigar.... While +discussing the naval question, the Kaiser took a copy of the new +Naval Bill out of his pocket and handed it to Lord Haldane, who +transferred it to his pocket without looking at it."—<i>Daily +Chronicle.</i></blockquote> +<p>He probably thought it was another of the Imperial cigars.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page193" id="page193"></a>[pg +193]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/193.png"><img width="100%" src="images/193.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>Grocer-fiend (who has treated three preceding customers to (a) +"We ain't got no sugar;" (b) "We have none, Madam;" and (c) "No +sugar in the shop'—to boy). "BE OFF. WE'VE GOT NO SUGAR!"</p> +<p><i>Boy.</i> "I DIDN'T ASK FOR NO SUGAR. I WANT A PENNORTH O' +SODA—AN' THAT'S TAKEN THE' BLOOMING SWANK OUT OF YOU, AIN'T +IT?"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A STRAIGHT TALK WITH L. G.</h3> +<blockquote class="note"><i>(Everyone has views as to how to win +the War, but not all are vocal, or—shall we +say?—vociferous. If Mr. LLOYD GEORGE reads all the papers (as +their Editors of course expect him to do) he cannot have missed +quite a number of powerful articles in the following manner. And +even if he should miss one or two it would not matter, because +there is always another in preparation.)</i></blockquote> +<p>I've always said that the PREMIER shouldn't be bothered with +Parliament. Of course I've said too that our old friend Demos, the +new god, should have a say in affairs; but that's an inconsistency +that doesn't count in the least, does it?</p> +<p>Now then, Mr. PREMIER, you've got the chance of your lifetime. I +always said you were a lucky devil—in fact, I never met the +Welshman that wasn't.</p> +<p>You see, Parliament's in recess, and all its trivial overpaid +Members are playing golf and things. You've got absolutely a free +hand if only you'll take it. It's quite easy and bound to succeed. +You've only got to do as I tell you.</p> +<p>For instance, you want to buck up HAIG and the people at the +Front. It's no use them telling you they know best, being on the +spot. That's only bluff, old man. Don't take any notice of them, +but just order a big general offensive; and before you can say Jack +Robinson we'll have the Huns behind the Rhine.</p> +<p>And do tell the Navy to get a move on. I'm glad to see my +articles have made you change the heads at the Admiralty; and of +course that's all very well so far as it goes. But it doesn't go +far enough. <i>Have a chat with BEATTY about it.</i> Get him to +root the Huns out. He can bombard Ostend and Zeebrugge and all +those funny little places in two-twos. Tell KING ALBERT not to +mind. We'll easily slap up new towns for him after the War, built +on the speedy American principle.</p> +<p>Then about that aerial offensive. There's really been quite +enough talk about it. We want some action, Mr. PREMIER. Isn't it +time it came off? Think what a bombardment of Cologne (taking care +of the cathedral, <i>of course</i>), Frankfurt, Berlin, Essen and +Hamburg would do, not to mention other places that I could if I had +an atlas.</p> +<p>And about those pacifists. Just clap the whole lot in gaol. +That's the best place for them. I won't object in the least, even +though I am the apostle of freedom.</p> +<p>Then there are lots and lots of other things you might do. You +might deliver a reasoned manifesto to the Russian people and buck +them up a bit. That won't do anybody any harm, and <i>it'll be +getting on with the War</i>, my little Welshman.</p> +<p>Well, there are a few points for you to go on with. You've got +the brains to think of more, otherwise I wouldn't have helped to +put you where you are to-day. But remember that if you <i>don't</i> +do these things Demos is waiting round the corner for you.</p> +<p>Demos is a good dog—a patient animal. But there's an end +even to his patience. Growl, Demos, and show you're not afraid of +Welshmen!</p> +<p>("Grrr——!" Good dog! Good dog!)</p> +<p>Now then, old boy, I've shown you the way. <i>It's up to +you!</i></p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote>Another powerful article on these lines will appear +next week.<br /> +[But not in <i>Punch</i>.-ED.]</blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page194" id="page194"></a>[pg +194]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/194.png"><img width="100%" src="images/194.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<table width="100%" summary=""> +<tr> +<th width="50%"><i>Caller at the Office of The Inventions +Board.</i> "'DURING WAR PREPARE FOR PEACE'—THAT MUST BE OUR +MOTTO! AND MY SPECIAL PATENT SHELL-CASE IS THE VERY THING. A +SHELL-CASE TO-DAY——</th> +<th width="50%">——AND A BLANC-MANGE MOULD +TO-MORROW."</th> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE ONLY OTHER TOPIC.</h2> +<p>"I shot a marrow into the—I mean I cut a marrow two feet +seven inches long yesterday," said the man in the corner seat.</p> +<p>"What did it weigh?" we asked anxiously. After two months of +them potatoes had somewhat palled. We were growing rather tired of +marrows, but we waited eagerly for his answer,</p> +<p>"Twenty-six pounds nine and three-quarter ounces."</p> +<p>Disappointment again. Our hopes were dashed to the ground. Some +obscure individual, according to the local press, had produced from +his humble cottage garden a marrow weighing thirty-four pounds, and +the thing rankled.</p> +<p>"Mine was a scraggy specimen, more like an Indian club than a +marrow."</p> +<p>"Crossed in love, perhaps," said Dalton.</p> +<p>"What your marrow wanted was nourishment," said the Authority. +"A piece of worsted round its neck, with one end dipped in a jar of +water."</p> +<p>"Excuse me," said Jones, "the very latest is to insert a tube in +the stalk, and the flavour is greatly improved if you add a little +sugar to the water. Almost like a melon."</p> +<p>"Do you take a card out for each marrow, or one for each plant?" +asked Dalton.</p> +<p>The quiet man opposite put his paper down. He was a new-comer in +the district. We liked him, although he had no sense of humour and +did not appreciate Dalton's jokes. He appeared to be interested +only in the startling and the odd.</p> +<p>"That reminds me," he said, "of a most extraordinary experience +I had a few days ago. Of course you all know Enderby?"</p> +<p>None of us knew Enderby, but we I did not like to say so. The +quiet man's anxiety was painful. We felt he could not go on with +his story unless someone knew Enderby.</p> +<p>"He has a little place round at the back of the +Common—quite a nice little place." Freath—that was the +quiet man's name—looked at us reproachfully.</p> +<p>"I think I know Enderby," said Dalton. "Isn't he a heavily-built +man about fifty, with a grey moustache?"</p> +<p>"Yes, yes," said Freath eagerly. "And a curious wart on his left +cheek. Well, I dined with him the other night. His boy was there, +home for the holidays. Very clever boy; his special study is the +biology of plants. They gave me a very good dinner; I didn't notice +very much what I was eating, but I did when the maid helped me to +marrow. It was a deep crimson colour. I tasted it somewhat +nervously, for I felt they were all watching me. It had the taste +of the most exquisite fruit, and the flavour—I am afraid you +won't believe me—was that of the finest port that I ever +drank. 'How did you manage this, Arthur?' said Enderby. +'Grape-juice,' said Arthur. 'Those foreign black grapes are very +cheap just now, so I mixed some with the water that I was feeding +the marrows on.' I can't explain it to you; all I know is that I +had a second helping. I am afraid you don't believe it," said +Freath uneasily.</p> +<p>We assured him that we did, but we did not say it with +conviction.</p> +<p>"Enderby called round to see me a few days afterwards," +continued Freath, "and I walked back with him. As we went along he +told me that a relative was staying with them—an uncle. The +first night, again they had marrow for dinner. This time its +flavour was not port but whisky—Scotch whisky. The old +gentleman was delighted with Arthur and his experiments. Although +an abstainer he had three helpings. This was very pleasing to +Enderby, as the uncle was a man of considerable wealth. But he was +not at all satisfied with his son's explanations, and he thought he +recognised the whisky. Although an abstainer while the War is on, +Enderby keeps a very good cellar, and when he came to look into +things he found that Arthur had been pumping his finest '60 port +and old matured Scotch whisky into the vegetable marrows. Now what +do you think of that?"</p> +<p>We thought it very strange and we said so.</p> +<p>"But the strangest part has yet to come. Of course they had to +keep it quiet—bottle it up, so to speak, from the old +gentleman, and let the marrows down gradually. But when the marrows +were once more on a temperance <i>régime</i> the most +extraordinary thing happened." The train was running into Finsbury +Park. Freath rose and collected his things.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page195" id="page195"></a>[pg +195]</span> +<p>We stared at him, fascinated.</p> +<p>"Enderby took me into the garden to see it. He said it had been +going on for the last week. From all directions, rioting across the +flower-beds, the lawn, down the paths, the marrows were growing +towards the wine-cellar at the rate of twelve feet a day."</p> +<p>Freath hastily left the carriage and jumped into the Broad +Street train.</p> +<p>While we were discussing the story the voice of authority spoke: +"The whole thing's a tissue of falsehood. There's no such man as +Enderby."</p> +<p>"But Dalton knows him," we said.</p> +<p>"I don't know Enderby," said Dalton. "But I wanted to hear the +story."</p> +<hr /> +<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> +<h5>"THE PACIFISTS."</h5> +<p>As a reasonable jusquaboutist I have some misgivings about Mr. +HENRY ARTHUR JONES'S farce—parable, <i>The Pacifists</i>. +Assume <i>Market Pewbury's</i> afflictions to have been as stated: +an intolerable stalwart cad of a butcher fencing-in the best part +of the common, assaulting people's grandmothers, shutting them up +in coal-cellars and eating their crumpets, kissing their wives in +the market square and proposing to abduct them to seaside resorts, +and none so bold to do him violence and make him stop it; the +police being ill or absent, the Mayor and his friend, chief victim +of the butcher's aggression, unwilling on account of principles to +do anything but talk and get up leagues to deal with the trouble in +general, and in a final ecstasy of disapproval to write a strong +letter; only uncle <i>Belcher</i>, a truculent old sea-dog with a +natural lust for whisky and blood, organising an opposition, +valiantly hiring a notable pugilist to deal with the butcher, and +becoming desperately anxious lest the matter should be peaceably +settled because the basher, having been engaged, <i>must</i> find +something to bash or there will be trouble. Well, if we must have +forged for us the sword of a three-Act parable, we should like it +with one edge, not two.</p> +<p>Mr. JONES was evidently bursting with the desire to give some +irritating people a very hard knock—witness the barbed +dedication with which the normally peaceful theatre-announcement +columns have bristled some little time past; and I think I dare say +that we were interested in his first Act. He did really work out +his analogies with some skill. But we soon came to feel that he was +essentially doing something between flogging a dead horse, so far +as we were concerned, and shooting a sitting rabbit. I suspect too +that we realised the issues were too tragic for this kind of +buffoonery. The tribute of our applause was a tribute of loyalty to +one who has often deserved well of the republic, and partly the +desire to show that our hearts were in the right place. I don't see +<i>The Pacifists</i> as a pamphlet making many converts. As a kick +on the shins it has points.</p> +<p>I confess the thing that pleased me most was a gay little piece +of burlesque by Mr. ARTHUR CHESNEY as the red-haired shop assistant +who was <i>not</i> a pacifist. Mr. CHARLES GLENNEY so thoroughly +enjoyed the robustious sea-captain that we had to enjoy it +too—a sound notion of entertainment, that. Mr. SEBASTIAN +SMITH played chief rabbit with considerable skill and point; Mr. +LENNOX PAWLE amused with his plump dundrearyed mayor; Mr. SAM +LIVESEY'S offensive was, I am sure, as Hunnish as its author could +possibly have desired. Miss ELLIS JEFFREYS appeared in the first +Act as a very plausible imitation of a prominent tradesman's wife +in an eighth-rate provincial town, with some quite excellent +moments. But she was evidently labouring under severe strain, and I +amused myself by speculating how long she would keep out of a +really well-cut skirt and a sophisticated air of Mayfair. Just an +Act. And surely she is mistaken in thinking that an effect of +extreme agitation is best conveyed, by very rapid +quasi-cinematographic progression up and down the stage? But I saw +no reason to complain of the bold bad butcher's taste in the matter +of a subject for abduction.</p> +<p>T.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/195.png"><img width="100%" src="images/195.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Sergeant (to Private Simpkins arriving two days late).</i> +WELL, SIMPKINS, SO YOU'VE TURNED UP, HAVE YOU?"</p> +<p><i>Simpkins.</i> "YES, SERGEANT. BUT YOU ARE LUCKY TO GET ME. +WHAT WITH DOMESTIC TROUBLE AND ALL THAT DELUGE OF RAIN I NEARLY +MADE A SEPARATE PEACE."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page196" id="page196"></a>[pg +196]</span> +<h2>BUCEPHALUS AND THE ROAD-HOGS.</h2> +<p>When Miss Ropes asked at breakfast how many of us would like to +watch the very last cricket-match of the season at Lumsdale, +practically the entire hospital held up its hand, and it was found +that the two cars could not accommodate us all. It was therefore +settled that Haynes (who said he knew the moves) should drive +Ansell and me over in the governess-cart.</p> +<p>It was also settled that the crew of the governess-cart should +have an early cold lunch and start an hour before the cars; thus +(it was calculated) we should all arrive at the cricket-ground +fairly well together. This did not take Haynes' driving into +account. We started from the door at a very satisfactory pace, +probably because Bucephalus, the fat pony, objected to the +enthusiasm of our send-off. When we reached the road he dropped +into an amble so gentle that we decided that he had really been +running away in the drive. Next, taking advantage of an almost +imperceptible upward slope, he began to walk. Haynes clucked at him +and flapped the reins, but this had no effect beyond steering +Bucephalus into the left-hand ditch.</p> +<p>"I thought you said you knew the moves," remarked Ansell. +"Surely this is wrong?"</p> +<p>"The bally beast's lopsided," said Haynes with heat. "One side +of his mouth's hard and the other soft."</p> +<p>"The difficulty being," I suggested as we lurched across the +road into the other ditch, "to discover which is which.... Now +you're straight. We'd better trot. It's only a one-day match."</p> +<p>Haynes used the ancient whip, which had as much effect as +tickling a rhinoceros with a feather.</p> +<p>"Goad him with a penknife," suggested Ansell unfeelingly.</p> +<p>"There must be some way," said Haynes. "Because they <i>do</i> +trot, you know."</p> +<p>"Speaking as one ignorant amateur to another," I asked, "isn't +the right thing to pull gently on the reins and then slacken? You +go on doing it till the animal gets your meaning. Try it."</p> +<p>Haynes tried it, and Bucephalus stopped dead. Repetition of the +treatment simply produced a tendency to back.</p> +<p>"For heaven's sake don't lose any of the ground we've gained," +said Ansell. "Let's get on, if only at a walk."</p> +<p>"We shall have to tow him," decided Haynes. He got out and +hauled at the bridle, but Bucephalus refused to budge.</p> +<p>"This," said Ansell, becoming suddenly business-like, "is where +the Boy Hero modestly but firmly takes charge. Jump in."</p> +<p>He picked up the reins and, though he apparently did nothing in +particular with them, Bucephalus came to life at once and broke +into a lumbering trot.</p> +<p>"You silly chump, why didn't you say you could drive?" asked +Haynes.</p> +<p>"Nobody asked me," said the Boy Hero modestly, "and I was +shy."</p> +<p>At the time when we had been scheduled to reach the +cricket-ground we had still a mile to go along a narrow leafy road, +hardly more than a lane. The cars were overdue, and Haynes, whose +haughty spirit could not brook the idea of being passed by jeering +plutocrats, propounded a scheme.</p> +<p>"They can't pass us unless we go into the ditch," he explained. +"So when they come we'll pretend to be asleep, take up the middle +of the road, and simply ignore them. We'll get there first, after +all."</p> +<p>A moment later we heard the buzz of engines. I took a hurried +glance round and saw the sunlight on brasswork as the car came +round a distant corner.</p> +<p>"It's them," I said.</p> +<p>The reins dropped slackly on Bucephalus's back and he slowed to +a walk. Inside the governess-cart all was somnolent peace. Behind +us the car was already beginning to make remarks on one of those +abusive press-the-button horns. "You FOOL! You FOOL! Get OUT o' the +way! Get OUT o' the way!" it said. Then we heard the car slow down +and pandemonium broke loose. The horn was reinforced by an ordinary +hooter, a whistle, several human voices and, lastly, an exhaust +siren. I stole a glance at Ansell and found that he was having a +good deal of surreptitious trouble in restraining our fiery steed +from doing a second bolt.</p> +<p>"I say," whispered Haynes in sudden agitation, "<i>has</i> Miss +Ropes an exhaust siren?"</p> +<p>"No, she hasn't," Ansell replied in tones of horror. "We've held +up the wrong car." He looked round. "Good Lord!" he added softly +and pulled Bucephalus into the ditch. In the car, with a grinning +Tommy at the wheel, sat two apoplectic generals and a highly +explosive brigade-major. They came alongside, and I should never be +allowed to repeat what they said to us. It seemed that by delaying +them we had been hindering the day's work of the entire Home +Forces. We were given to understand that it was only the blue bands +on our arms which saved us from being court-martialled on the spot +and shot by the grinning Tommy at dawn. Then they passed on.</p> +<p>When our cars did appear a minute or two later we pulled meekly +into the ditch to let them pass, and could find no better answer to +the jeers of their occupants than a wan sickly smile apiece.</p> +<hr /> +<h4>THE TEST OF TYPE.</h4> +<blockquote class="note"><i>(Suggested by these adjacent paragraphs +in a daily paper.)</i></blockquote> +<blockquote>"Maj. ——. For conspicuous gallantry and +resource. He rallied his men when the left flank was seriously +threatened, and by his energy and fine example saved the situation. +He subsequently commanded his battalion with great ability. He has +displayed marked gallantry in every action in which he has taken +part."</blockquote> +<blockquote>"A London angler, Mr. ——, has caught a +roach of 2 lb. 1 oz. in the Lark at Barton Mills, the largest fish +of its kind landed from this Suffolk stream for some +years."</blockquote> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Though in these times monopolized by Mars</p> +<p class="i2">There's not a day that passes but one +reads—</p> +<p>Sandwiched between unprofitable "pars"</p> +<p class="i2">And other wholly negligible screeds—</p> +<p>Of decorations, crosses, medals, bars,</p> +<p class="i2">Bestowed for valiant and heroic deeds;</p> +<p>Over these records we must often pass</p> +<p>Unless we've got a magnifying-glass!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But if some member of a fishing club</p> +<p class="i2">In London or the provinces, renowned</p> +<p>For prowess with the lob-worm or the grub,</p> +<p class="i2">Should land a roach of more than half a pound,</p> +<p>Then in the leading papers of the hub</p> +<p class="i2">Full space for that achievement will be found,</p> +<p>And clearest type and unaffected rapture</p> +<p>Will signalize the epoch-making capture!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The moral of the episode is plain:</p> +<p class="i2">If soldiers wish to petrify the nation,</p> +<p>Let them—when leave permits—no more disdain</p> +<p class="i2">To join a Roach or Perch Association,</p> +<p>Cull giant gooseberries, and strive to gain</p> +<p class="i2">Prizes for Blind-fold Pig Delineation.</p> +<p>Thus only—not by cross or golden stripe—</p> +<p>Will they achieve the honour of big type.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page197" id="page197"></a>[pg +197]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/197.png"><img width="100%" src="images/197.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>REPRISALS</h3> +<i>Competitor (in international contest).</i> "THE BLIGHTER'S BIT +ME." <i>Referee.</i> "WELL, AIN'T YER GOT NO TEETH OF YER OWN? BOX +ON."</div> +<hr /> +<h2>SHAKSPEARE AND THE WAR.</h2> +<blockquote class="note">[Since the entry of the United States all +the English-speaking peoples are in alliance for +freedom.]</blockquote> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I think our SHAKSPEARE, gone this many a year</p> +<p class="i2">To some rich haven where the poets throng</p> +<p class="i2">And Ruler of Ten Cities wrought in song</p> +<p>And spired with rhythmic music, high and clear,</p> +<p>Still finds his England something close and dear,</p> +<p class="i2">Rejoicing when her justice baffles wrong</p> +<p class="i2">And willing her to wrestle and be strong.</p> +<p>I think he bides by England and is near.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And, in the purpose of his Overlord,</p> +<p class="i2">His weaving spirit, still in cloudless youth</p> +<p>With minstrelsy made perfect, throws a cord</p> +<p class="i2">That rings the continents in its magic reach</p> +<p class="i2">To gather all who share his English speech</p> +<p>In one firm warrior bond of troth and truth.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>"LET LAWS AND LEARNING...."</h3> +<blockquote>"I should add that Viscount Harberton sees a chance for +his own order in the circumstance that, while the poor man's child +is driven to school by the inspector, the rich man can 'boot the +spy out,' and so confer on his children the priceless boon of +complete illiteracy. Shall we live to see a House of Lords that +makes its mark?"—<i>Observer.</i></blockquote> +<p>Some of them, we believe, are under the impression that they +have done so already.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> +<p>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</p> +<p>Unless you can share with me the sad immunity of the forties, I +must despair of translating for you the emotion raised in my +antique soul by the wrapper of a new RIDER HAGGARD story bearing +the picture of a Zulu and the discovery inside that +<i>Quatermain</i> is come again! The tale that has so excited me is +called, a little ominously, <i>Finished</i> (WARD, LOCK), and I +could have better loved a cheerier title. The matter is, to begin +with, an affair of a shady doctor, of I.D.B. and an abduction; none +of it, I admit, any too absorbing. But about halfway through the +author, as though sharing my own views upon this part of the plot, +exchanges (so to speak) the Shady for the Black, and transports us +all to Zululand. And if you need reminding of what H.R.H. can do +with that delectable country, I can only say I am sorry for you. +Incidentally there are some stirring scenes from certain pages of +history that the glare of these later days has rather +faded—Isandhlwana and Rorke's Drift among them; as well as +the human drama of the feud between CETEWAYO (terror of my +nursery!) and the witch-doctor <i>Zikali</i>. Whether the old +careless rapture is altogether recovered is another matter; at +least the jolly unpronounceable names are still there, and the +picturesque speech. Most of the names, that is; <i>Allan</i> of +course, and others, but I for one should have welcomed rare +<i>Umslopogaas</i>—or however he is rightly spelt—and +<i>Curtis</i>, for personal reasons my favourite of the gallant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page198" id="page198"></a>[pg +198]</span> company that have so often kept secret rendezvous with +me behind the unlifted lid of a desk at preparation time. And now +have we really come at long last to <i>Finished</i>? I can only +hope that Sir H. RIDER HAGGARD doesn't mean it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Mrs. HUMPHRY WARD may be numbered amongst the most indefatigable +of women war-workers. She has now followed up her former success in +<i>England's Effort</i> with a volume carrying on the story of our +part in the War under the title of <i>Towards the Goal</i> +(MURRAY). The book is written in the form of a series of letters +addressed to ex-President ROOSEVELT, as the onlie begetter both of +it and its predecessor. It is further equipped with a preface by +the hand of this same able and clear-sighted gentleman, the chief +drawback of which (from my reviewing point of view) is that it +covers so well the whole ground of appreciation as to leave me +nothing more to add. "Mrs. Ward writes nobly on a noble +theme"—<i>voilà tout!</i> Her theme, as I have hinted, +is a further exposition of Britain's war activities as those have +developed since the former book was published. In its course Mrs. +WARD gives us some vivid experiences of her own as a visitor to the +Western Front: things seen and heard, well calculated (were this +needed) to stiffen the resolution of the great people to whom her +letters are really written. <i>England's Effort</i> was, I +understand, translated into many tongues (with results that can +hardly fail of being enormously valuable); <i>Towards the Goal</i> +should certainly receive the same treatment of which it is well +worthy.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Mr. WILLIAM HARBUTT DAWSON, in his <i>After War Problems</i> +(ALLEN AND UNWIN), covers, under the four headings, Empire and +Citizenship, Natural Efficiency, Social Reform, and National +Finance and Taxation, bewilderingly wide ground, and drives a +perhaps rather mandarinish team of contributors. Lord HALDANE, for +instance, is no longer in the real van of educational endeavour, +and is it wholly insignificant that his chapter on Education +appears in the section headed National Efficiency rather than in +that of Social Reform? It ought not to be difficult to give, in the +light of these last years, a wider interpretation to Patriotism +than that expressed by Lord MEATH on lines familiar to his public. +Sir WILLIAM CHANCE has seen no new sign in the skies in relation to +the problem of poverty. Sir BENJAMIN BROWNE, whose death all those +interested in the settlement of the Capital-Labour quarrel must +deplore, as for all his uncompromising individualism he brought to +it a rare breadth of view, says much that is of real value, but +does not refrain from appealing to the fact that the mutual +confidence of man and officer in battle is a proof of the +possibility of a similar confidence in the workshop. That +confidence must, and can, we dare to believe, eventually be +established. But the men don't go over the top to put money in the +Colonel's pocket, and little good is done by exploiting these loose +analogies and putting on a too easy air of optimism in the face of +desperately serious and complex problems. But enough of +fault-finding, which is a poor reward for the serious and generous +labours of public-spirited men and women. After all, what one +reader calls timidity of outlook another may care to praise as +prudence. Here you will find an abundance of safe analysis, wise +comment and constructive suggestion from a galaxy of accredited +authorities.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>In the early chapters of Mr. WILLIAM HEWLETT'S new story, <i>The +Plot-Maker</i> (DUCKWORTH), we are introduced to a popular and +highly successful novelist, named <i>Coulthard Henderson</i>, in +the emotional crisis produced by a sudden doubt as to whether his +output of best-sellers represented anything in the least +approaching actuality. You will admit a tragic situation. He meets +it by the determination that his next book shall be a veritable +slice of life, and to this end he selects and finances an eligible +young man for the purpose of vicariously experiencing those +emotions, from which age and other causes debar the chronicler; in +other words, he hires a hero. The worst of this excellent idea is +that it can hardly be said to originate either with <i>Mr. +Henderson</i> or Mr. HEWLETT, that credit belonging (I fancy) to +the late HERBERT FLOWERDEW in a too-little-appreciated masterpiece +of sensational burlesque called <i>The Realist</i>. However, <i>The +Plot-Maker</i>, once set going, develops admirably enough on lines +entirely its own. The so-much-an-hour hero turns out an engaging +young gentleman, but a wofully poor protagonist. The situation +where (in the midst of whirling events) he makes the startling +discovery that he himself has been in some way switched on to the +part of villain is one that you can appreciate only at first hand. +Certainly if you want (as who does not in these days?) an +anaesthetic of agreeable nonsense <i>The Plot-Maker</i> is a medium +that I can cordially recommend: one obvious advantage being that +you need not try to believe a single word of it.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF.</h3> +<p>From a publisher's list:—</p> +<blockquote>"Shells as evidence of the Migrations of Early +Culture."</blockquote> +<p>And modern Kultur spreads itself in just the same old way.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Lady Required to Share Rome with another."<br /> +<i>Staffordshire Sentinel</i>.</blockquote> +<p>But what about the King of ITALY, not to mention the POPE?</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/198.png"><img width="100%" src="images/198.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Eastern Potentate (rusticating)</i>. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA, MY +DEAR FRIEND, HOW SOOTHING IT IS TO ME TO GET AWAY FROM THE +LUXURIOUS AND ARTIFICIAL LIFE OF THE COURT AND TO SPEND MY +WEEK-ENDS IN QUIET RETIREMENT HERE IN THE COUNTRY WHERE A FRIEND +MAY DROP IN FOR POT LUCK AND TAKE US IN THE ROUGH."</p> +</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10594 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/10594-h/images/183.png b/10594-h/images/183.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9315341 --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/183.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/185.png b/10594-h/images/185.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..da4730f --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/185.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/186.png b/10594-h/images/186.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e145a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/186.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/187.png b/10594-h/images/187.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2be35d --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/187.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/189.png b/10594-h/images/189.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..35c3678 --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/189.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/190.png b/10594-h/images/190.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d11eb6a --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/190.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/191.png b/10594-h/images/191.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0fd4ebc --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/191.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/193.png b/10594-h/images/193.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2acf18a --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/193.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/194.png b/10594-h/images/194.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8770089 --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/194.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/195.png b/10594-h/images/195.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..17bcb27 --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/195.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/197.png b/10594-h/images/197.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..97ecfe0 --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/197.png diff --git a/10594-h/images/198.png b/10594-h/images/198.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..56a7e4a --- /dev/null +++ b/10594-h/images/198.png |
