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diff --git a/old/10595-h/10595-h.htm b/old/10595-h/10595-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..823e129 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10595-h/10595-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1999 @@ +<!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=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Sept. 19, 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> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, +Sept. 19, 1917, by Various, Edited by Owen Seamen</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Sept. 19, 1917</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Release Date: January 4, 2004 [eBook #10595]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 153, SEPT. 19, 1917***</p> +<br /> +<center><h3>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram,<br /> + Punch, or the London Charivari,<br /> + William Flis,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</h3></center> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>Vol. 153.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>September 19, 1917.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page199" id="page199"></a>[pg +199]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p>There is no truth in the report that one of the most telling +lines in the <i>National Anthem</i> is to be revised so as to read +"Confound their Scandiknavish tricks."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Grave fears are expressed in certain quarters that the Stockholm +Conference has been "<i>spurlos versenkt</i>."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Someone has stolen the clock from St. Winefride's Church, +Wimbledon. We hope that the culprit has responded to the universal +appeals in the newspapers which urged him to put the clock back on +Sunday last.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An Englishwoman living in the East has a servant-girl who, when +told about the War, remarked, "What war?" Another snub for the +KAISER.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"A Vegetarian" writes to accuse Lord RHONDDA of reducing the +price of meat on purpose.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Tube fares are to be raised. An alternative project of issuing +special tickets, entitling the holder to standing room, was +reluctantly abandoned.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Thames, says a contemporary, has come into its own again as +a holiday resort. Many riparian owners, on the other hand, are +complaining that it has come into theirs.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A trades union of undertakers' mutes has been formed. Their +first act, it is believed, will be to strike for a fifty-year +life.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>We have been asked to explain that the Second Division in which +Mr. E.D. MOREL is now serving is not the one that fought at the +battle of Mons.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Two escaped German prisoners have been arrested at Wokingham by +a local grocer. The report that he charged twopence each for +delivery is without foundation.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>At Leith Hill, in Surrey, trees are being felled by a number of +unescaped German prisoners.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"Beans running to seed," says an informative daily paper, +"should be picked and the small beans extracted." But the old +custom of lying in wait for them on the return journey and stunning +them with a flail still retains many adherents in the slow-moving +countryside.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"I am the father of sweeps," declared an elderly employer to the +West Kent Tribunal. He afterwards admitted, however, that the +secret correspondence of Count LUXBURG had not been brought to his +notice.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Acting, explained an applicant to the House of Commons' +Tribunal, is regarded by many as a work of national importance. The +Tribunal have generously arranged for him to storm a few barns in +Flanders.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Sixty-eight thousand persons, it is stated, have visited the +maze at Hampton Court this season. Others have been content to stay +at home and study the sugar regulations.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The admission fee to a concert recently held for the benefit of +the Southwark Military Hospital was one egg. None of the gate +money, it seems, reached the performers.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>According to the Town Crier of Dover, who has just retired after +fifty years' service, town crying isn't what it was before the War. +People <i>will</i> listen to the bombs instead of attending to the +properly constituted official.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A "History of the Russian Revolution" has been published. The +pen may not be mightier than the sword to-day, but it manages to +keep ahead of it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A private in one of the London regiments has translated two +hundred and fifty lines of <i>Paradise Lost</i> into Latin verse +during a sixteen-day spell in the trenches. The introduction of +some counter-irritant into our public school curriculum is now +thought to be inevitable.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The crew of the U-boat interned at Cadiz, says a Madrid +correspondent, have been allowed to land on giving their word of +honour not to leave Spain during the continuance of the War. The +mystery of how the word of honour came into their possession is not +explained.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Further evidence of the success of the U-boat starvation +campaign has been thoughtlessly afforded the German Press by a +London newspaper which has announced that burglars are now using +practically nothing but skeleton keys.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>No one has yet found anything that will conquer the wire-worm, +says Professor J.R. DUNSTAN. We feel that the Professor is unduly +pessimistic. Has he tried the effect of writing a letter to <i>The +Daily Mail</i> about it?</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Things appear to be settling down in Mexico. Last week only one +hundred of General CARRANZA'S men were annihilated by bandits.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Berlin authorities have ordered a "Shaveless day." As a +measure of frightfulness this is doomed to failure against an Army +like ours with tanks which will eat their way through all sorts of +entanglements.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Because an officer omitted to salute him, Field-Marshal VON +HINDENBURG stopped his car and said, "I am HINDENBURG." We +understand that the officer accepted the explanation.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"There is a scarcity of violins," says <i>The Evening News</i>. +Some papers never know how to keep a secret.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Lundy Island has just been purchased by Mr. AUGUSTUS CHRISTIE, +of North Devon. We are relieved to know it is still on the side of +the Allies.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A grocer at Coalville, Leicestershire, riding a motor-bicycle +without lights, is said to have offered two and a half pounds of +sugar to a policeman to say nothing about it. Fortunately the +constable, when he came out of his faint, remembered the number of +the bicycle, and the man was summoned.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/199.png"><img width="100%" src="images/199.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"YOU ON GUARD TO-NIGHT, NOBBY?" "NAW." "WOT YER BIN AN' WASHED +YER FACE FOR, THEN?"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page200" id="page200"></a>[pg +200]</span> +<h2>OFFICIAL RECTITUDE.</h2> +<h3>SWEDEN ON THE LUXBURG INCIDENT.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>We cannot think that we're to blame.</p> +<p class="i2">We took the very natural view</p> +<p>That one who bore a German name</p> +<p class="i2">Would be as open as the blue;</p> +<p>Would bathe in sunlight, like a lark,</p> +<p class="i2">So different from the worm or weevil,</p> +<p>Those crawling things that love the dark</p> +<p class="i2">Because their deeds are evil.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>We thought his cables just referred</p> +<p class="i2">To harmless matters such as crops,</p> +<p>The timber-market's latest word,</p> +<p class="i2">The local fashions in the shops,</p> +<p>To German trade and German bands,</p> +<p class="i2">And how in Argentine and Sweden</p> +<p>And all that's left of neutral lands</p> +<p class="i2">To build a German Eden.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>True he employed a secret code,</p> +<p class="i2">But who would guess at guile in that?</p> +<p>Unless he used the cryptic mode</p> +<p class="i2">He couldn't be a diplomat;</p> +<p>He wished (we thought) to be discreet,</p> +<p class="i2">Telling his friends how frail and fair is</p> +<p>The exotic feminine you meet</p> +<p class="i2">In bounteous Buenos Aires.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Why, then, should mud be thrown so hard</p> +<p class="i2">At Stockholm's faith? She merely meant</p> +<p>To show a neighbourly regard</p> +<p class="i2">Towards a nice belligerent;</p> +<p>For peaceful massage she was made;</p> +<p class="i2">Aloof from martial animosities,</p> +<p>She yearns with fingers gloved in suède</p> +<p class="i2">To temper war's callosities.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Such courtesy (one would have said)</p> +<p class="i2">Amid the waste of savage strife</p> +<p>Tends to maintain—what else were dead—</p> +<p class="i2">The sweet amenities of life;</p> +<p>And seeking ends so pure, so good,</p> +<p class="i2">So innocent, it <i>does</i> surprise her</p> +<p>To be so much misunderstood</p> +<p class="i2">By all—except the KAISER.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>O.S.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE PRUDENT ORATOR.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"The Premier was accompanied by Mrs. Lloyd George and his +laughter."</p> +<p><i>Irish Daily Telegraph</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Our new nippers are beginning to squeeze to some tune in France +and Belgium."</p> +<p><i>Liverpool Daily Post</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Try a little oil.</p> +<hr /> +<p>We print (with shame and the consciousness of turpitude) the +following letter:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"<i>Bed 56, E Block</i>, 11/9/1917.</p> +<p>"DEAR SIR,—This morning I was reading your edition dated +September 5, 1917. In the 'Charivaria' I saw an article in which +you proclaimed the North Pole to be the only territory that has not +had its neutrality violated by the Huns. I beg to draw your +attention to the South Pole.</p> +<p>"I remain, yours sincerely,</p> +<p>"A WOUNDED TOMMY."</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<h2>WASHOUT.</h2> +<p>We had hardly settled down to Mess when an orderly, armed with a +buff slip, shot through the door, narrowly missed colliding with +the soup, and pulled up by Grigson's chair. Grigson is our Flight +Commander—one of those rugged and impenetrable individuals +who seem impervious to any kind of shock. There is a legend that on +one occasion four machine-gun bullets actually hit him and bounced +off, which gave the imitative Hun the idea of armour-plating his +machines.</p> +<p>Grigson took the slip and read, slowly and paraphrastically: +"Night operations. A machine will be detailed to leave the ground +at 10:30 pip emma and lay three fresh eggs on the railway-station +at ——. At the special request of the G.O.C.R.F.C., +Lieutenant Maude, the well-known strafer, will oblige. Co-operation +by B and C Flights."</p> +<p>Lieutenant Maude, commonly known by a loose association of ideas +as Toddles, buried a heightened complexion in a plate of now tepid +soup. Someone having pulled him out and wiped him down, he was +understood to remark that he would have preferred longer notice, as +it had been his intention that night to achieve a decisive victory +in the Flight ping-pong tournament.</p> +<p>"Oh, but, Toddles," came a voice, "think how pleased old Fritz +will be to see you. You'll miss the garden party, but you'll be in +nice time for the fire-works—Verey lights and flaming onions +and pretty searchlights. Don't you love searchlights, Toddles?"</p> +<p>Toddles stretched out an ominous hand towards the siphon, and +was only deterred from his fell intention by the entry of the +C.O.</p> +<p>"Oh, Grigson," said the C.O. pleasantly, "the Wing have just +rung through to say they want that raid done at once, so you might +get your man up <i>toute suite</i>."</p> +<p>Toddles was exactly halfway through his fish.</p> +<p>Now, though Toddles has never to my knowledge appeared before +the C.O. at dead of night attired in pink silk pyjamas, begging +with tears in his eyes to be allowed to perform those duties which +the dawn would in any case impose upon him (this practice is not +really very common in the R.F.C.), he is a thoroughly sound and +conscientious little beggar. And, making allowances for the +fallibility of human inventions, and the fact that two other young +gentlemen were also engaged in the congenial task of making +structural alterations to the railway station at ——, +Toddles comes out of the affair with an untarnished reputation.</p> +<p>Whether it was that his more fastidious taste in architecture +detained him I do not know, but it was fully ten minutes after the +others had landed before we who were watching on the aerodrome +became aware that Toddles was coming home to roost. The usual +signals were exchanged, and Toddles finished up a graceful descent +by making violent contact with the ground, bouncing seven times and +knocking over two flares before finally coming to rest. His machine +appeared to be leaning on its left elbow in a slightly intoxicated +condition.</p> +<p>"Bust the <b>V</b> strut," said Toddles cheerfully. We assured +him that one would hardly notice it. Grigson meanwhile had been +examining the under carriage with scientific care, and turned to +ask him how he had got on.</p> +<p>"Bong," said Toddles, beaming; "absolutely bong. They spotted +us, but Archie was off colour."</p> +<p>"Did you see your pills burst?"</p> +<p>Toddles beamed more emphatically than ever. "One in what I took +to be the station yard, one right on the line, and one O.K. +ammunition truck; terrific explosion—nearly upset me. Three +perfectly good shots."</p> +<p>So far Toddles' account agreed very fairly with the two we +already had.</p> +<p>"Didn't have any trouble with the release gear, I suppose?" said +Grigson. "Nasty thing that. I've known it jam before now."</p> +<p>"Well," answered Toddles, "it did stick a bit, but I just yanked +it over and it worked."</p> +<p>"Splendid!" said Grigson brightly. "A nice bit of work, and very +thoughtful of you to bring home such jolly souvenirs."</p> +<p>"Look here," replied Toddles with warmth, "who the devil are you +getting at?"</p> +<p>"Nothing; oh, nothing at all."</p> +<p>Grigson moved away towards the Mess. "By the way," he said, +"you're quite certain they were your own shots? I should have a +good look at that under carriage if I were you."</p> +<p>We all went down on hands and knees. Lying placidly in the rack +with an air of well-merited ease born of the consciousness that +they had, without any effort of their own, avoided a fatiguing +duty, were three large bombs.</p> +<p>"Er—ah—hum," said Toddles. "Now then, Sergeant, +hurry up and get this machine back into the shed!"</p> +<p>And the Sergeant's face was the best joke of all.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Man, handy at vice, been in motor repair shop."—<i>Daily +Chronicle</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Still, it must not be assumed that life in a garage is +necessarily fatal to virtue.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page201" id="page201"></a>[pg +201]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/201.png"><img width="100%" src="images/201.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h2>PERFECT INNOCENCE.</h2> +<p>CONSTABLE WOODROW WILSON. "THAT'S A VERY MISCHIEVOUS THING TO +DO."</p> +<p>SWEDEN. "PLEASE, SIR, I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS LOADED."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page202" id="page202"></a>[pg +202]</span> +<h2>THE WATCH DOGS.</h2> +<h3>LXV.</h3> +<p>MY DEAR CHARLES,—I feel some hesitation in passing the +following story on to you, less from the fear of what it will +divulge to the enemy than from the fear of what it may divulge to +our own people. As far as the enemy is concerned be it stated +boldly that the train was going to Paris and "I" got into it at +Amiens. Yes, HINDENBURG, there <i>is</i> a place called Paris and +there <i>is</i> a place called Amiong. Now what are you going to do +about it? As far as our own people are concerned it is asked of +them that, if ever they come to read it, they may not inquire too +closely as to who "I" may be.</p> +<p>It is a long train and there is only one dining-car. Those who +don't get into the car at Amiens don't dine; there is accordingly +some competition, especially on the part of the military element, +of which the majority is proceeding to Paris on leave and doesn't +propose to start its outing by going without its dinner. Only the +very fit or the very cunning survive. Having got in myself among +the latter category I was not surprised to see, among the former +category, a large and powerful Canadian Corporal.</p> +<p>If he can afford to pay for his dinner there is no reason, I +suppose, why even a corporal should not dine. If he can manage to +snaffle a seat in the car there is certainly no reason why a French +Commandant should not dine. There is every reason, I imagine, for +railway companies to furnish their dining-cars with those little +tables for two which bring it about that a pair of passengers, who +have never seen each other before and have not elected to meet on +this occasion, find themselves together, for a period, on the terms +of the most complete and homely intimacy. Lastly, the attendant had +every reason to put the Corporal and the Commandant to dine +together, for there was nowhere else to put either of them.</p> +<p>What would have happened if this had taken place ten years ago, +and the French Commandant had been an English Major? The situation, +of course, simply could not have arisen; it would have been +unthinkable. But if it had arisen the train would certainly have +stopped for good; probably the world would have come to an end. As +it was, what did happen? Let me say at once that both the Corporal +and the Commandant behaved with a generosity which was entirely +delightful; the Corporal's was pecuniary generosity, the +Commandant's generosity of spirit. This was as it should be, and +both were true to type.</p> +<p>Quick though the French are at the uptake, it took the good +Commandant just a little while to settle down to the odd position. +This was not the size and shape and manner of man with whom he was +used to take his meals. As an officer one feels one's +responsibilities on these public occasions, and I felt I ought to +intervene and to do something to rearrange the general position. +But at the start I caught the Corporal's eye, and there was in it +such a convincing look of "Whatever I may do I mean awfully well," +that I just sat still and did nothing.</p> +<p>The awkward pause was over before the soup was finished. Rough +good-nature and subtle good sense soon combined to eliminate +arbitrary distinctions. The Commandant won the first credit by +starting a conversation; it was really the only thing to do. Had +the Commandant and I been opposite each other we should probably +have dined in polite silence. But the Corporal was one of those +red-faced burly people with whom you have, if you are close to +them, either to laugh or fight.</p> +<p>The Commandant was not inwardly afraid; he was innately polite. +He talked pleasantly to his <i>vis-à-vis</i>. The Corporal, +a trifle abashed at first, listened deferentially, but as the good +food enlivened him he ceased to be abashed and became cordial. From +cordial he became affable, from affable affectionate, and from +affectionate he passed to that degree of friendship in which you +lean across the dinner-table, tap a man on the shoulder and call +him "old pal." Finally, he insisted upon the Commandant cracking +with him a bottle of champagne. I give the Commandant full marks +for not persisting in his refusal.</p> +<p>A draught or two of champagne has, as you may be aware, the +effect of developing to an extreme any friendly feelings you may at +the moment happen to possess ...</p> +<p>The train chanced to stop just after dinner was finished, and +the Commandant, seizing his opportunity, hurriedly paid his bill +and got into another carriage. My <i>vis-à-vis</i> also left +the car, though I must confess that I had not stood <i>him</i> so +much as a glass of beer. I and the Canadian Corporal were left +facing each other, and the position was such that I couldn't avoid +his eye. I had no feelings with regard to him, but I simply could +not smile at him, since I do not like champagne. So I suppose I +must have frowned at him; anyhow, he came along and sat down at my +table in order to explain at length that he was not drunk.</p> +<p>He wasn't drunk, and I had never said he was, and I was not in +the least interested in his theme, until he got to the point of +what his main reason was for not being drunk. This, I admit, +interested me deeply. "When we get to Parry," said he, "we shall be +met by Military Police, and they will ask to see our papers. And if +my papers weren't in order and if I wasn't in order myself I should +be put under arrest and sent back again. And I don't mean to be +sent back, and I have all my papers in order and I'm in order +myself." And, dash it all, the fellow was right, and when we got to +the Gare du Nord there were the Military Police as large as life, +and clearly there was no avoiding them.</p> +<p>At first I didn't quite know what to <span class= +"pagenum"><a name="page203" id="page203"></a>[pg 203]</span> do +about it, but a little thought decided me. "There are your M.P.," I +said to the Corporal, as we trooped slowly out of the dining-car. +"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come along with me and +interview one of them." Giving him no time to argue, I led him +straight to the Police Sergeant and insisted upon this case being +dealt with before all others. "I must ask you, Sergeant, to make +this man produce his papers. I have reason to doubt whether he is +in order."</p> +<p>The Corporal began to expostulate, but the Sergeant adopted the +none-of-that-I-know-all-about-your-sort attitude which is so +admirable in these officials. The Corporal produced some papers and +tendered them indignantly. The Police Sergeant remained impassively +unconvinced, but gave me one fleeting look, as if he wondered +whether I had put him on to a good thing. "There are papers and +papers," said I, as if I too knew all about the business. "Let us +see if they are in order." The Sergeant's instinct had already told +him that the papers were quite in order, and he was all for cutting +the business short and getting out of it as quickly as he could. +But I insisted upon the most minute examination and would not give +in and admit my mistake until the Sergeant practically ordered us +both off the station.</p> +<p>Having given the Sergeant to understand that he was to blame for +the Corporal's papers being in order, I allowed myself to be passed +on. The Corporal followed me; he wanted an explanation. When we got +outside the station I let him catch me up, because I thought he was +entitled to one.</p> +<p>"Will you allow me to ask why you did that, Sir?" he said very +indignantly but not rudely. "You knew that I had my papers, Sir, +and that they were in order."</p> +<p>"Yes," I said. "But I knew that my own weren't."</p> +<p>His cheeks suffused with the most jovial red I have ever +seen.</p> +<p>"In the very strictest confidence, Corporal," I said, "<i>I</i> +haven't any papers."</p> +<p>I didn't know that a human laugh could be so loud. On the whole +I think it was a good thing that we had arrived in Paris after +closing time, since otherwise, in spite of my dislike of the stuff, +I'm sure that three more bottles of the most expensive brand would +have been cracked. I should have had to stand one; he would have +positively insisted on standing two.</p> +<p>Yours ever, HENRY.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/202.png"><img width="100%" src="images/202.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Skipper of Drifter (who has been fined thirty-five shillings +for losing a pair of binoculars).</i> "PROPER JUSTICE I CALLS IT; +MY BROTHER-IN-LAW LOSES HIS WHOLE BLINKING DRIFTER AND YOU DON'T +FINE 'IM A BLOOMING CENT."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/203.png"><img width="100%" src="images/203.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Tommy.</i> "'E'S A WONDER AN' NO MISTAKE. I CAN'T TEACH MY +OLD DAWG AT HOME TO DO ANYTHINK."</p> +<p><i>Pal.</i> "AH, BUT YER SEE, MATEY, YOU 'AVE TO KNOW MORE 'N A +DAWG, OR YER CAN'T LEARN 'IM NUTHIN."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A SIGN OF THE TIMES.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"YOUNG LADY Wants post as Housekeeper to working +man."—<i>Halifax Evening Courier</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Planers (large letters) Wanted, for machine tool work; good +bonus; war work; permanent job."—<i>Daily Dispatch</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Pessimist!</p> +<hr /> +<h3>"WHAT DISABLED SOLDIERS SHOULD KNOW.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"That there is no such word as 'imossible' in his +dictionary."—<i>Canadian Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Correct.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"M. Polychromads, Green Chargé d'Affaires, has left +London for the Hague."—<i>Sunday Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is an unfortunate colour, but with a name like that he can +always try one of the others.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"The canker of indiscipline and the wine of liberty have shaken +the Russian Army to its foundations."—<i>"Times" Russian +Correspondent</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>While the tide of new life that was kindled by the torch of +revolution seems destined to crumble into dust.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page204" id="page204"></a>[pg +204]</span> +<h2>THE TRIUMPHAL PROGRESS.</h2> +<p>There are few phases of the War—subsidiary phases, +side-issues, marginalia—more interesting, I think, than the +return of the natives: the triumphant progress, through their old +haunts and among their old friends, of the youths, recently +civilians, but now tried and tested warriors; lately so urban and +hesitating and immature, but now so seasoned and confident and of +the world. And particularly I have in mind the return of the +soldier to his house of business, and his triumphant progress +through the various departments, gathering admiration and homage +and even wonder. I am not sure that wonder does not come first, so +striking can the metamorphosis be.</p> +<p>When he left he was often only a boy. Very likely rather a young +terror in his way: shy before elders, but a desperate wag with his +contemporaries. He had a habit of whistling during office hours; he +took too long for dinner, and was much given to descending the +stairs four at a time and shaking the premises, blurring the +copying-book and under-stamping the letters. When sent to the bank, +a few yards distant, he was absent for an hour. Cigarettes and late +hours may have given him a touch of pastiness.</p> +<p>To-day, what a change! Tall, well-set-up and bronzed, he is a +model of health and strength. His eyes meet all our eyes frankly; +he has done nothing to be ashamed of: there is no unposted letter +in his pocket, no consciousness of a muddled telephone message in +his head. To be on the dreaded carpet of the manager's room was +once an ordeal; to-day he can drop cigarette-ash on it and turn +never a hair.</p> +<p>"Oh yes," he says, "he has been under fire. Knows it backwards. +Knows the difference in sound between all the shells. So far he's +been very lucky, but, Heavens! the pals he's lost! Terrible things +happen, but one gets numbed—apathetic, you know.</p> +<p>"What does it feel like to go over the top? The first time it's +a rotten feeling, but you get used to that too. War teaches you +what you can get used to, by George it does! He wouldn't have +believed it, but there—"</p> +<p>And so on. All coming quite naturally and simply; no swank, no +false modesty.</p> +<p>"This is his first leave since he went to France, and he thought +he must come to see the firm first of all. Sad about poor old +Parkins, wasn't it? Killed directly. And Smithers' leg—that +was bad too. Rum to see such a lot of girls all over the place, +doing the boys' jobs. Well, well, it's a strange world, and who +would have thought all this was going to happen?..."</p> +<p>Such is his conversation on the carpet. In the great clerks' +room, where there are now so many girls, he is a shade more of a +dog. The brave, you know, can't be wholly unconscious of the fair, +and as I pass through I catch the same words, but spoken with a +slightly more heroic ring.</p> +<p>"Lord, yes, you get used even to going over the top. A rotten +feeling the first time, but you get used to it. That's one of the +rum things about war, it teaches you what you can get used to. You +get apathetic, you know. That's the word—apathetic: used to +anything. Standing for hours in water up to your knees. Sleeping +among rats." (Here some pretty feminine squeals.) "It is a fact," +he swears to them. "Rats running over you half the night, and now +and then a shell bursting close by."</p> +<p>Standing at his own old desk as he talks, he looks even taller +and stronger than before—by way of contrast, I suppose, and +as I pass out I wonder if he will ever be able to bring himself to +resume it.</p> +<p>Having occasion, a little while later, to go downstairs among +the warehousemen, where female labour has not yet penetrated. I +hear him again, and notice that his language has become more free. +Safely underground he extends himself a little.</p> +<p>"Over the top?" he is saying. "Yes, three blinking times. What +does it feel like the first time? Well—" and he tells them +how it feels, in a way that I can't reproduce here, but vivid as +lightning compared with his upstairs manner. And still he remains +the clean forthright youth who sees his duty a dead sure thing, and +does it, even though he may be perplexed now and then.</p> +<p>"So long!" they say, old men-friends and new girl-acquaintances +crowding round him as at last he tears himself away (and watching +him from the distance I am inclined to think that, if he gets +through, he will come back to us after all). "So long!" they say. +"Take care of yourself."</p> +<p>"You bet!" he replies. "But the question is, Shall I be allowed +to? What price the Hun?" And with a "So long, all!" he is gone.</p> +<p>All over London, in the big towns all over Great Britain, are +these triumphant progresses going on.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Wanted, a good Private Wash; good drying</p> +<p>place."—<i>High Peak News</i>.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>We respect the advertiser's dislike of publicity.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>"JONG."</h2> +<blockquote> +<p><i>(Lines suggested by an Australian aboriginal place-name +commonly known by its last syllable.)</i></p> +</blockquote> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fine names are found upon the map—</p> +<p class="i2">Kanturk and Chirk and Cong,</p> +<p>Grogtown and Giggleswick and Shap,</p> +<p class="i2">Chowbent and Chittagong;</p> +<p>But other places, less renowned,</p> +<p>In richer euphony abound</p> +<p class="i2">Than the familiar throng;</p> +<p>For instance, there is Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In childhood's days I took delight</p> +<p class="i2">In LEAR'S immortal Dong,</p> +<p>Whose nose was luminously bright,</p> +<p class="i2">Who sang a silvery song.</p> +<p>He did not terrify the birds</p> +<p>With strange and unpropitious words</p> +<p class="i2">Of double-edged <i>ontong</i>;</p> +<p>I'm sure he hailed from Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Prince Giglio's</i> bag, the fairy's gift,</p> +<p class="i2">Helped him to right the wrong,</p> +<p>Encouraged diligence and thrift,</p> +<p class="i2">And "opened with a pong;"</p> +<p>But though its magic powers were great</p> +<p>It could not quite ejaculate</p> +<p class="i2">A word so proud and strong</p> +<p>And beautiful as Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I crave no marble pleasure-dome,</p> +<p class="i2">No forks with golden prong;</p> +<p>Like HORACE, in a frugal home</p> +<p class="i2">I'd gladly rub along,</p> +<p>Contented with the humblest cot</p> +<p>Or shack or hut, if it had got</p> +<p class="i2">A name like Billabong,</p> +<p>Or, better still, like Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Sweet is the music of the spheres,</p> +<p class="i2">Majestic is Mong Blong,</p> +<p>And bland the beverage that cheers,</p> +<p class="i2">Called Sirupy Souchong;</p> +<p>But sweeter, more inspiring far</p> +<p>Than tea or peak or tuneful star</p> +<p class="i2">I deem it to belong</p> +<p>To such a place as Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>OUR STYLISTS.</h2> +<blockquote> +<p>"It is the desire of the Management that nothing of an +objectionable character shall appear on the stage or in the +auditorium, and they ask the co-operation of the audience in +suppressing same by apprising them of anything that may escape +their notice."</p> +<p><i>From a provincial Hippodrome programme.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>From the evidence in a juvenile larceny case:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"The Father: Devils seem to be getting into everyone nowadays, +not only in boys, but in human beings."</p> +<p><i>Devon and Exeter Gazette</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A delicate distinction.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page205" id="page205"></a>[pg +205]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/205.png"><img width="100%" src="images/205.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Win-the-War Vice-President of our Supply Depot (doing grand +rounds).</i> "HERE AGAIN IS A FIFTH GLARING EXAMPLE. THE HEM OF +THIS BAG IS AN EIGHTEENTH OF AN INCH TOO WIDE. GET THEM ALL REMADE. +WE CANNOT HAVE THE LIVES OF OUR TROOPS ENDANGERED."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>A MIXED LETTER-BAG.</h2> +<blockquote class="note">(<i>Prompted by "Thrifty Colleen's" letter +in "The Times" of September 12.</i>)</blockquote> +<h3>CRUELTY TO VEGETABLES.</h3> +<p>SIR,—May I be allowed to protest with all the vigour at my +command against the revolting suggestion that, with the view of +making cakes from potatoes they should be first boiled in their +skins. I admit that this is better than that they should be boiled +without them, but that is all. The potato is notoriously a +sensitive plant. Personally I regard it more in the light of an +emblem than a vegetable. That it is not necessary as an article of +food can be conclusively proved from the teaching of history, for, +as a famous poet happily puts it—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"In ancient and heroic days,</p> +<p class="i2">The days of Scipios and Catos,</p> +<p>The Western world pursued its ways</p> +<p class="i2">Triumphantly without potatoes."</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>If, however, the shortage of cereals demands that potatoes +should be used as a substitute for wheat, I suggest that, instead +of being subjected to the barbarous treatment described above, they +should be granted a painless death by chloroform or some other +anæsthetic.</p> +<p>I am, Sir, yours truly,</p> +<p>POTATOPHIL.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>ERIN'S INCUBUS.</h3> +<p>SIR,—A great deal of fuss is being made over Irish +potato-cakes. Why Irish? The tradition that the potato is the Irish +national vegetable is a hoary fallacy that needs to be exploded +once and for all. It is nothing of the sort. The potato was +introduced into the British Isles by Sir WALTER RALEIGH, a +truculent Elizabethan imperialist of the worst type, transplanted +into Ireland by the English garrison, and fostered by them for the +impoverishment of the Irish physique. The deliberations of the +National Convention now sitting in Dublin will be doomed to +disaster unless they insist, as the first plank of their programme, +on the elimination of this ill-omened root. If ST. PATRICK had only +lived a few centuries later he would have treated the potato as he +did the frogs and snakes.</p> +<p>I am, Sir, Yours rebelliously,</p> +<p>SHANE FINN.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>A DANGEROUS DISH.</h3> +<p>SIR,—May I put in a mild <i>caveat</i> against excessive +indulgence in potato-cakes, based on an experience in my +undergraduate days at Trinity College, Cambridge, when WHEWELL was +Master? One Sunday I was invited to supper at the MASTER'S, and a +dish of potato-cakes formed part of the collation. WHEWELL was a +man of robust physique and hearty appetite, and I noted that he ate +no fewer than thirteen, considerably more than half the total. +Whether it was owing to the unlucky number or the richness of the +cakes I cannot say, but the fact remains that the MASTER was +seriously indisposed on the following day and unable to deliver a +lecture on the Stoic Philosophy, to which I had greatly looked +forward. I cannot help thinking that PYTHAGORAS, who enjoined his +disciples to "abstain from beans," would, if he were now alive, be +inclined to revise that cryptic precept and bid us "abstain from +potatoes," or, at any rate, from over-indulgence in hot +potato-cakes.</p> +<p>I am, Sir, Yours faithfully,</p> +<p>CANTAB.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>WANTED—A NEW NAME.</h3> +<p>SIR,—If a thing is to make a success a good name is +indispensable. The potato has been handicapped for centuries by its +ridiculous name, which is almost as cumbrous as "cauliflower" and +even more unsightly to the eye. It is futile to talk of a "tuber" +since that means a hump or bump or truffle. No, if you are to get +people to eat potato-cakes you must devise a more dignified and +attractive name; and it <span class="pagenum"><a name="page206" id= +"page206"></a>[pg 206]</span> would be good policy for the FOOD +CONTROLLER to offer a large prize for the best suggestion, Mr. +EUSTACE MILES, Mr. EDMUND GOSSE and Mr. HALL CAINE to act as +adjudicators.</p> +<p>I am, Sir, Yours obediently,</p> +<p>EARTH-APPLE.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/206.png"><img width="100%" src="images/206.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"HULLO! WHERE'S BABY? I THOUGHT HE WAS WITH YOU." "SO HE IS, +AUNTIE; BUT HE THOUGHT YOU WERE COMING TO FETCH HIM IN, SO HE'S +OVER THERE, CAMMYFLAGING HIMSELF WITH A TOWEL."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THOROUGHNESS.</h2> +<p>It is generally agreed that the War has given women great +chances, and that women for the most part have taken them. Where +they have not, but have preferred frivolity, it is not always their +own fault, but the result of outside pressure. Such a paragraph, +for example, as the following, by "Lady Di," in <i>The Sunday +Evening Telegram</i>, is hardly a clarion call to +efficiency:—</p> +<p>"This recurrence of night raids has made business brisk in the +lingerie salons, especially among flatland dwellers, for it's quite +the thing now to have coffee and cake parties after a raid, with +brandy neat in liqueur glasses for those whose nerves have been +shaken. And such parties do give chances for the exhibition of +those dainty garments that usually you have to admire all by +yourself. Which reminds me. Don't forget an anklet and a wristlet +of black velvet—the wristlet on the right and the anklet on +the left!"</p> +<p>Since "Lady Di" is out for making the most of every opportunity, +and since even she might forget something, I am minded to help her, +two heads being often better than one. Air raids are not the only +unforseen perils. Surely some such paragraph as this would be +useful and indicate zeal:—</p> +<p>The escape of German prisoners being of almost daily occurrence, +it would be well for all women who wish never to be taken unawares +to be prepared to look their best should one of these creatures +meet them. For nothing is lost by looking nice; indeed it is one's +duty to be smart, lest dowdiness should give him the impression +that England really is suffering from the War. A costume which I +have designed to be seen in by escaping German prisoners is a +"simple" one-piece (not peace) frock—which, when built by a +real artist, can be so intriguing. Of ninon, for choice, with a +Duvetyn hat. Carry a gold purse and lift the skirt high enough to +show the finest silk stockings.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>THE CROSSBILLS.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A Northern pinewood once we knew,</p> +<p class="i2">My dear, when younger by some lustres,</p> +<p>Where little painted crossbills flew</p> +<p class="i2">And pecked among the fir-cone clusters;</p> +<p class="i4">They hobnobbed and sidled</p> +<p class="i6">In coats all aflame,</p> +<p class="i4">While young Autumn idled,</p> +<p class="i6">And we did the same.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>They're cutting down the wood, I hear,</p> +<p class="i2">To make it into war material,</p> +<p>And, where the crossbills came, this year</p> +<p class="i2">Their firs are lying most funereal;</p> +<p class="i4">There's steam saw-mills humming</p> +<p class="i6">And engines at haul,</p> +<p class="i4">A new Winter coming</p> +<p class="i6">And more trees to fall.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah, well, let's hope when Peace at length</p> +<p class="i2">Is here, and when our young plantations</p> +<p>In days unborn have got the strength</p> +<p class="i2">And pride of ancient generations,</p> +<p class="i4">The red birds shall show there</p> +<p class="i6">From tree to dark tree,</p> +<p class="i4">If two folk should go there</p> +<p class="i6">As friendly as we!</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207" id="page207"></a>[pg +207]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/207.png"><img width="100%" src="images/207.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h2>RUSSIA FIRST.</h2> +<h4>RUSSIA (<i>to the Spirit of Revolution</i>). "THROW DOWN THAT +TORCH AND COME AND FIGHT FOR ME AGAINST THE ENEMY OF LIBERTY."</h4> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208" id="page208"></a>[pg +208]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/208.png"><img width="100%" src="images/208.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? WE ARE READY FOR YOU TO BEGIN."</p> +<p>"YES, MADAM. WE ARE JUST TUNING UP."</p> +<p>"<i>TUNING UP!</i> WHY, I ENGAGED YOU TWO MONTHS AGO!"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>BELLAIRS ON MAN-POWER.</h2> +<p>MR. BELLAIRS, it will be remembered, was the first to discover +the possibilities of proving (by figures) the dwindling reserves of +hostile man-power. His estimates, based upon pure reason, personal +experience and some two tons of figures, have been carefully +revised and brought to date, more especially for the benefit of +those busy people who cannot take a holiday by the sea, but like to +solace themselves at home with a weekly immersion in <i>Mud and +Water</i>.</p> +<p><i>Germany</i>.</p> +<p>Here Mr. BELLAIRS is the first to admit a slight inaccuracy in +his previous calculations. Germany has now eight men, instead of +four, on the Western Front. It would appear from these numbers that +the enemy attaches greater importance to defending his line on this +Front than on any other.</p> +<p><i>Russia</i>.</p> +<p>There are five (and one in reserve) on the Russian Front. The +Russian retreat is explained to be due to artfully inculcated +Christian Science (made in Germany), which has persuaded the +Russians to entertain the belief that they are being heavily +attacked.</p> +<p><i>Austria</i>.</p> +<p>Austria is reputed on her last legs (three altogether). Her one +man and a boy are fighting with the nonchalance of despair to +resist the Allied pressure. Good news may be expected from this +Front shortly.</p> +<p><i>Bulgaria</i>.</p> +<p>The warfare of attrition has never shown such excellent results +as in the case of Bulgaria. Her army of trained goats is now the +only barrier to the vengeance of the Serbs.</p> +<p><i>Turkey</i>.</p> +<p>According to the latest report the Turkish Army has lost its +rifle. It is hoped that every advantage will be taken of our +momentary superior armament.</p> +<p><i>China</i>.</p> +<p>As a last resort Germany is sending her remaining Hun to attack +the Chinese. What they can hope to achieve by so prodigal a waste +of "cannon-fodder" is difficult to see.</p> +<p><i>Rumania</i>.</p> +<p>There is no news on the Rumanian Front. It is thought that there +is nobody there.</p> +<p><i>Palestine</i>.</p> +<p>In Palestine both sides have withdrawn their troops and the +battle is proceeding without them.</p> +<p>When one realises that against these weakening and ever +decreasing forces our Allies will still have a reserve of +80,000,000 by the Spring of 1925, it is impossible to take an +otherwise than optimistic view of the situation.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>Intensive Rainfall.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"CUMBERLAND and WESTMORELAND.—After a ten weeks' drought +we have had three weeks' rain every day."—<i>Daily +Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Officer's camp kit wanted, in good condition, Sam Browne belt +(5 ft. 7), haversack, &c."—<i>Scotsman</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In readiness for this hero's arrival at the Front the +communication-trenches are being specially widened.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>"I WISH—</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"That it were possible to get frying-pans that would stand LEVEL +when one is cooking in them."—<i>Home Chat</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is so awkward to be tilted out of the frying-pan into the +fire.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209" id="page209"></a>[pg +209]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href= +"images/209.png"><img width="100%" src="images/209.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>C.O. (to sentry).</i> "DO YOU KNOW THE DEFENCE SCHEME FOR +THIS SECTOR OF THE LINE, MY MAN?"</p> +<p><i>Tommy.</i> "YES, SIR."</p> +<p><i>C.O.</i> "WELL, WHAT IS IT, THEN?"</p> +<p><i>Tommy.</i> "TO STAY 'ERE AND FIGHT LIKE 'ELL."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE GREAT OFFENCE.</h2> +<p>As everybody knows, a Gurkha is first of all a rifleman, but +apart from his rifle (which to a hill-man is both meat and raiment) +there are two other treasures very dear to the little man's heart. +These are his kukri and his umbrella—symbols of war and +peace; and, although he knows the weapon proper to each state and +can dispense (none better) with superfluities, there must have been +many times in France when the absence of his umbrella has caused +him a bitter nostalgia. "Battle is blessed by Allah and no man +tires thereof," but trenches are of the Shaitan, and from the same +malevolent one comes the ever-raging bursât, the pitiless +drenching rain, that falls where a man may not strip.</p> +<p>With his kukri he did wonders out there on stilly nights, when +he wriggled "over the top," gripping its good blade in his teeth. +Then No Man's Land became a jungle and the Bosch a beast whose +dispatch was swift and sure under his cunning wrist. Dawn would +find him squatting in the corner of his dug-out sleeping as one who +has sweet dreams—dreams maybe of counting the decapitated +before an admiring crowd in his native city, himself again the +dapper young dog of Darrapore.</p> +<p>No kilted Jock goes with more swagger down Princes Street than +Johnny Gurkha down the bazaar of Darrapore, particularly in the +evening, when he doffs khaki for the mufti suit of his +clan—the spotless white shorts, coat of black sateen, little +cocked cap and brightly bordered stockings—a <i>mode de +rigueur</i> that would be robbed of its final <i>cachet</i> without +the black umbrella, tucked well up under the arm.</p> +<p>A splendid warrior; in private life a bit of a <i>Don Juan</i>, +perhaps; but his womenfolk bear him no grudge on this score, liking +themselves to sail easy through matrimonial seas.</p> +<p>When I returned to the depôt a month ago there were tales, +but, as our old Subadar-Major observed, "War brought little +disturbances. The mischief was unfortunate, perhaps, but not +irremediable," and, as the Subadar had himself been on service in +China for a matter of three years, he knew what he was talking +about.</p> +<p>As for the tales, well, I was reminded of them a few days ago on +making a tour of the lines to see that quarters were clean and +habitable for the next batch of invalids. There would be hospital +for some, for others the sunny little married quarters, and round +there wives were bustling with glee, making no secret of their late +coquetries, but manifestly glad of the return of their former +lords.</p> +<p>Brass pots were being scoured in the doorways; babies sprawled +in the sun; a smell of cooking sweetmeats filled the air; a band of +small urchins in the roadway, wearing the sham accoutrements of +war, was prancing blithely to the song of +"Lang-taraf-Tippalaerlee," and as their leader pulled up to give me +a grave and perfect salute I recognised the son of old Bahadur +Rai.</p> +<p>Now Bahadur Rai would be returning, and, as I recalled the man, +I wondered how he would take the news of Bibi, his capricious wife, +for I had heard (unofficially) that she had no intention of leaving +the lines of the 2nd Battalion, or the dashing young Naik Indrase. +This might be a bit awkward, I mused, remembering the tough little +chap who had been so popular with us all by reason of being the +best <i>shikari</i> in the regiment. His incorrigible love of sport +may have made the defaulter's sheet ugly (and there's no denying +that "Absent with leave" does not lead to quick promotion); but +that was in the good old days. Now he was returning covered with +glory, and I was sorry about Bibi.</p> +<p>The train arrived at noon with what our travelled Babu calls the +"blissies." They were nearly all marked "P.D.", <span class= +"pagenum"><a name="page210" id="page210"></a>[pg 210]</span> and I +hope it may be given to me to look as cheerful when my turn comes +to be Permanently Disabled.</p> +<p>It was worth a week's pay to see the grins on their brown +puckered faces and hear their husky contented salaams as they were +lifted from the train. Blankets, top-coats, pillows, and other +items belonging to the State were gaily abandoned, but every man +clung with tenacity to his tunic and his water-bottle, for was +there not a collection of trophies in those bulging pockets and +sea-water in those battered bottles? Real salt sea-water, for the +taste and enlightenment of incredulous elders.</p> +<p>Outside the station the usual crowd had gathered, where it +disported itself like a herd of wild elephants. Veteran bandsmen +played the regimental march; casual minstrels blew conches or +banged tom-toms; and when at last the ambulance waggons moved off, +drawn by oxen that wore blue bead necklaces, and marigolds over +their ears, one had the proud satisfaction of feeling that the most +perfect organisation in the world could not have given our fine +fellows a reception more after their own hearts.</p> +<p>When we reached the parade-ground the scene was still merry and +bright, for there Gurkha ladies were massed in their many-coloured +<i>saris</i>, chattering for all the world like the parrakeets they +resembled. Dogs barked; pet names were squealed; old men waved +their staffs; children clung to the waggons and whooped, and when +the cortège finally turned into the hospital compound and I +cantered back to the lines I wondered what a London bobby would +have made of the heterogeneous traffic that littered the Darrapore +Road. I had to sit tight in office to get level with work that +evening, and the mess bugle was dwelling maliciously on its top +note when at last I put down my pen.</p> +<p>Then the door opened and with a confederate mysterious air the +orderly announced Bahadur Rai. (Heavens!)</p> +<p>"And the Sahib?" the Bahadur was asking in swift Nepalese after +a wealth of salutations was over. "Can but one arm do all this?" +waving towards my bulging files.</p> +<p>"One does not want two hands to write with, you know, +Bahadur."</p> +<p>"True. But the shooting?" he added sadly.</p> +<p>"We'll have that again too some day. Great things are done in +Vilayat, where I go when peace comes. And you? You have done well, +Bahadur."</p> +<p>"Well enough," he admitted with a trace of pride, Then, after a +pause, "The 2nd Battalion starts on service to-morrow, Sahib?"</p> +<p>"Yes. A few men will be left at the depôt—not those +of any use."</p> +<p>"And Naik Indrase, does he go?"</p> +<p>"No. The Colonel-Sahib put his name down long ago for station +duty."</p> +<p>"Then I desire leave, your Honour. I want to visit 2nd Battalion +lines."</p> +<p>"Ah! Put it off a bit," I urged weakly. "It's rough getting +across the nullah, and with that crutch—"</p> +<p>There was silence. "Your son?" I began irrelevantly.</p> +<p>"My son does well and grows fast, Allah be praised. Later he +will come to the hills to learn the ways of a gun. Even now he has +the heart of a lion," added the proud father with a return of the +old twinkle in his eyes. "But of this other matter. Perhaps the +Sahib has heard what the Naik has done?"</p> +<p>"Yes," I admitted reluctantly. "I visited your house this +morning. All was in order, and I gave instructions about the roof, +which—"</p> +<p>"It is already repaired," interrupted the old fellow quickly, +"and my mother has arranged all things well within. But the Naik, +Sahib. It is necessary that I should beat him. The Sahib has +heard—"</p> +<p>"About Bibi? Yes. But he will give her up," I said +confidently.</p> +<p>"Bibi? He can keep Bibi. She was ever swift with her tongue and +liked not the ways of <i>shikaris</i>. Yes, he can keep Bibi," +added Bahadur Rai without bitterness. "But, Sahib"—and here +the little man's voice rose almost to a scream of +indignation—"that was not the <i>worst</i>. The Naik must be +beaten, and <i>well</i> beaten, for he took, not Bibi +alone—he took <i>my umbrella!</i>"</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/210.png"><img width="100%" src="images/210.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"YOU'VE GOT <i>SOME</i> ROCKERY HERE, DAD, SINCE I LEFT."</p> +<p>"HUSH! NOT A WORD. IT'S COAL, MY BOY, WHITEWASHED! CELLAR'S FULL +UP."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>PROPAGANDA FRIGHTFULNESS.</h2> +<p>(<i>It is reported that the German Minister to Patagonia, with +the assistance of the Swedish Chargé d'Affaires, has caused +the following Proclamation to be distributed, along with a +translation into the vernacular, among the natives; alleging that +it reproduces a leaflet composed by the ALL-HIGHEST and dropped +from a German aeroplane over the London district.</i>)</p> +<p>This is a know-making to my Britisch Underthanes addressed. Be +it known that from to-day on the Britisch Empire my Empire is, and +all Britisch Men, Fraus and Childer are Germans. The folgende are +now rules:—</p> +<p>(1) I make all Laws alone and nobody with me interfere must.</p> +<p>(2) When a Man or Frau or Child a mile from me laughs it is as +when into my All-Highest Face gelaughed is and the Strafe shall the +Death be.</p> +<p>(3) Who me sees shall flat on the Earth fall and shall him there +until I my gracious Hand wave keep.</p> +<p>(4) The German Sprache shall the Britisch Folk's Sprache be and +every Englisch Man who German not sprech kann shall with a +by-Proclamation-to-be-declared-Strafe gestrafed be.</p> +<p>(5) German at the Table Manners shall by all Britisch Childer +gelernt be.</p> +<p>(6) Everyone shall German Soldiers salute. If any one misses +this to do shall the Soldier the Right have him through the body +with a sword to run.</p> +<p>(7) Only German Cigars and Tabak shall gesmokt be.</p> +<p>(8) The Newspapers shall every day print an Artikel me for my +good Heart, my Genius and my Condescension praising.</p> +<p>(9) It shall a Picture of me in every House be.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211" id="page211"></a>[pg +211]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/211.png"><img width="100%" src="images/211.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>AN OPEN-AIR VARIETY ENTERTAINMENT AT THE FRONT</h3> +WITH "OCCASIONAL MUSIC BY THE ANTI-AIRCRAFT SECTION."</div> +<hr /> +<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> +<h3>"THE YELLOW TICKET."</h3> +<p>If Mr. MICHAEL MORTON doesn't mind my not taking his original +play too seriously I don't mind telling him how much I enjoyed it. +It is quite a neat example of the shocker—an agreeable form +of entertainment for the simple and the jaded. The chief properties +are a yellow ticket and a hat-pin. Both belong to the innocent and +beautiful Jewish heroine, <i>Anna Mirol</i>.</p> +<p>It appears that she wanted to leave the pale to go to see her +dying father in Petersburg, and the police, who will have their +grim joke against a Jewess, offer her "the most powerful passport +in Russia"—the yellow ticket of Rahab. She accepts it +desperately, and, to escape its horrible obligations, enters an +English family as governess, under an assumed name. Here the head +of the sinister Okhrana (Secret Police Bureau), a sleek red-haired +sensualist, <i>Baron Stepan Andreyeff</i>, and a chivalrous but +tactless English journalist, <i>Julian Rolfe</i>, become acquainted +with her. The latter wishes to marry her; the former's intentions +are strictly dishonourable, and with the aid of his ubiquitous +secret policemen he persecutes her, using his power to set her free +from the attentions of his detestable minions for bargaining +purposes in a perfectly Hunnish manner. Discreet servants, locked +doors, champagne, a perfectly priceless dressing jacket, a sliding +panel disclosing a luxuriously appointed bedroom—all these +resources are at his disposal.</p> +<p>But he reckons without her hatpin, which in the course of his +deplorably abrupt attempts at seduction she pushes adroitly into +his heart, and next day well-informed St. Petersburg winks +discreetly when it learns that the <i>Baron</i> has died after an +operation for appendicitis.</p> +<p>How that nice young man, <i>Julian</i>, is more than a match for +the forthright methods of the Okhrana is for you to go and find +out.</p> +<p>Mr. ALLAN AYNESWORTH'S finished skill was reinforced by a quite +admirable make-up, though only a policeman of very melodrama could +have missed that brilliant pate as it shone balefully over the +inadequate chair in which he sat concealed while his subordinate +was bullying the hapless <i>Anna</i>. Also I doubt whether so stout +a ruffian would have succumbed so promptly to such a simple +pin-prick. But perhaps the surprise, annoyance and keen +disappointment broke his soldierly heart. Anyway, living or dying, +the <i>Baron</i> was a clever and plausible performance.</p> +<p>You know Mr. WONTNER'S loose-limbed ease of manner and agreeable +voice. He was rather a stock and stockish hero as he left the +author's hands, but Mr. WONTNER put life and feeling into him. Miss +GLADYS COOPER reached no heights or depths of passion, but took a +pleasant middle way, and certainly gets more out of herself than +once seemed likely. I should like to commend to her the excellent +doctrine of the "dominant mood." She was, for instance, just a +little too detached in the recital of that story when playing for +time by the bad <i>Baron's</i> fireside.</p> +<p>Mr. SYDNEY VALENTINE, having happily come by an early death in +another theatre, is able to present us a lifelike portrait of a +really remorseless policeman in our third Act, condemning folk to +Siberia with all the arbitrary despatch of the <i>Red +Queen</i>.</p> +<p>On the whole, then, distinctly good of its +kind—transpontine matter with the St. James's form.</p> +<p>T.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page212" id="page212"></a>[pg +212]</span> +<h2>OUR SOUVENIR UNIT.</h2> +<p>"No," said the Canadian slowly, "organization isn't everything. +Up to a certain point it's necessary, but there must be a latitude. +Give me scope for initiative every time.</p> +<p>"Take an instance. You know our regiments have runners, men who +go to and fro carrying orders and making liaison along the line. In +the regiment I'm telling you about the runners were two smart +chaps—drummers they were before the War—and not having +too much work with their errands they ran a few side lines of their +own, such as shaving and hair-cutting, cobbling and the like. But +of all their side lines souvenir-selling was the most profitable. +In their capacity of runners they could go where they liked and +accompany any of the attacking parties, so they had good chances +for souvenirs.</p> +<p>"One evening they went over into D Company's trench and said, +'Say, you fellows, anybody want souvenirs? Bert's ordered an attack +for daybreak. A, B, and C Companies carry it out. You're not going. +I expect we shall be doing a nice line in tin hats. Any orders? +Helmet for you? Right, that'll be twenty francs, cash on delivery. +Bosch rifle? Yes, if we get any, fifty francs. Bandoliers, same +price. What's that? Iron Cross? Oh, not likely! But we'll do our +best. A hundred francs if we deliver the goods.'</p> +<p>"Well, the next day the attack was made, and at one end of a +Bosch trench there was some pretty hand-to-hand work. An old +Rittmeister held it, his breast covered with decorations, and he +just wouldn't give in. Of course, so long as he stuck it the other +Bosches did too, and there was nothing doing in the Kamerad line. +They fought like fury. So did our men, but we were slightly +outnumbered, and it soon began to be evident that we should have to +retire if we didn't get reinforcements. But, just when things were +looking hopeless, over the top of the parapet leaped the two +runners, unarmed but irresistible. With blazing eyes they flung +themselves on that old Rittmeister, and while one of them downed +him with a blow under the chin we heard the voice of the other +uplifted in a new slogan: 'Give over, will you, old turnip-head! +You've got the goods, and, by Sam Hill, we mean to have 'em!' And +with one hand he held the prisoner down while with the other he +tore the Iron Cross from his tunic.</p> +<p>"After the Bosch officer's fall our men made short work of the +rest, but the runners didn't wait for victory. There was a muttered +counting of the spoils: 'Six helmets for D Company. Two Bosch +rifles. One bandolier. And the Iron Cross. That's the lot. We'd +better git.' And they got."</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"The two British Colossuses, <i>The Tribune</i> says, opened +fire with their 300 five-millimetres guns."—<i>The Post</i> +(<i>Dundee</i>.)</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is the first we have heard of the new naval +pea-shooter.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"The war aims to which Germany and Austria must give assent must +be expressed in unequivocal language and based on the principles of +jujsjtjicjejjjjji."—<i>Evening Echo</i> (<i>Cork</i>).</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We are not quite sure whether our spirited contemporary refers +to justice or ju-jitsu; but, either way, it means to give the Huns +a knock-out.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"For British and Oversea soldiers and sailors who visit Paris a +club is to be opened at the Hotel Moderne, Place de la +République.</p> +<p>"The British Ambassador, Sir Douglas Haig, Sir John Jellicoe, and +Sir William Robertson have become patrons of the club, which will +provide them with comfortable quarters and meals at reasonable +prices, supply guides, and generally fulfil a useful purpose."</p> +<p><i>Evening Standard</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But surely the British Ambassador has already fairly comfortable +quarters in the Rue Faubourg St. Honoré.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>SMALL CRAFT.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When Drake sailed out from Devon to break King PHILIP'S +pride,</p> +<p>He had great ships at his bidding and little ones beside;</p> +<p><i>Revenge</i> was there, and <i>Lion</i>, and others known to +fame,</p> +<p>And likewise he had small craft, which hadn't any name.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Small craft—small craft, to harry and to flout 'em!</p> +<p>Small craft—small craft, you cannot do without 'em!</p> +<p>Their deeds are unrecorded, their names are never seen,</p> +<p>But we know that there were small craft, because there must have +been.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When NELSON was blockading for three long years and more,</p> +<p>With many a bluff first-rater and oaken seventy-four,</p> +<p>To share the fun and fighting, the good chance and the bad,</p> +<p>Oh, he had also small craft, because he must have had.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Upon the skirts of battle, from Sluys to Trafalgar,</p> +<p>We know that there were small craft, because there always +are;</p> +<p>Yacht, sweeper, sloop and drifter, to-day as yesterday,</p> +<p>The big ships fight the battles, but the small craft clear the +way.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>They scout before the squadrons when mighty fleets engage;</p> +<p>They glean War's dreadful harvest when the fight has ceased to +rage;</p> +<p>Too great they count no hazard, no task beyond their power,</p> +<p>And merchantmen bless small craft a hundred times an hour.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In Admirals' despatches their names are seldom heard;</p> +<p>They justify their being by more than written word;</p> +<p>In battle, toil and tempest and dangers manifold</p> +<p>The doughty deeds of small craft will never all be told.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Scant ease and scantier leisure—they take no heed of +these,</p> +<p>For men lie hard in small craft when storm is on the seas;</p> +<p>A long watch and a weary, from dawn to set of sun—</p> +<p>The men who serve in small craft, their work is never done.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And if, as chance may have it, some bitter day they lie</p> +<p>Out-classed, out-gunned, out-numbered, with nought to do but +die,</p> +<p>When the last gun's out of action, good-bye to ship and +crew,</p> +<p>But men die hard in small craft, as they will always do.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, death comes once to each man, and the game it pays for +all,</p> +<p>And duty is but duty in great ship and in small,</p> +<p>And it will not vex their slumbers or make less sweet their +rest,</p> +<p>Though there's never a big black headline for small craft going +west.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Great ships and mighty captains—to these their meed of +praise</p> +<p>For patience, skill and daring and loud victorious days;</p> +<p>To every man his portion, as is both right and fair,</p> +<p>But oh! forget not small craft, for they have done their +share.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Small craft—small craft, from Scapa Flow to Dover,</p> +<p>Small craft—small craft, all the wide world over,</p> +<p>At risk of war and shipwreck, torpedo, mine and shell,</p> +<p>All honour be to small craft, for oh, they've earned it +well!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>C.F.S.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213" id="page213"></a>[pg +213]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/213.png"><img width="100%" src="images/213.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>TRIALS OF A CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER.</h3> +WHEN AN INSPECTING GENERAL MISTAKES A DISGUISED TRENCH FOR SOLID +GROUND.</div> +<hr /> +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> +<p><i>(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)</i></p> +<p>The opening paragraph of Mr. JEFFERY FARNOL'S latest novel, +<i>The Definite Object</i> (LOW, MARSTON), informs us that in the +writing of books two things are essential: to know "when and where +to leave off ... and where to begin." Perhaps without churlishness +I might add a third, and suggest that it is equally important to +know where to make your market. Mr. FARNOL, very wisely, plumps for +America; and the new story is a thing of millionaires, crooks, +graft and the like. But don't go supposing for one moment that +these regrettable surroundings have in the smallest degree impaired +the exquisite and waxen bloom of our author's sympathetic +characters. Far from it. Of the young and oh-so-good-looking +millionaire (weary of pleasures and palaces, too weary even to +dismiss his preposterous and farcical butler—lacking, in +effect, the definite object); of the heroine's young brother, crook +in embryo, but reclaimable by influence of hero; and of the +peach-like leading lady herself, I can only say that each is worthy +of the rest, and all of a creator who must surely (I like to think) +have laughed more than once behind his hand during the progress of +their creation. I expect by now that I have as good as told you the +plot—young brother caught burgling hero's flat; hero, +intrigued by mention of sister, doffing his society trappings, +following his captive to crook-land, bashing the wicked inhabitants +with his heroic fists, and finally, of course, wedding the sister. +So there you are! No, I am wrong. The wedding is not absolute +finality, since the heroine (for family pride, she said, because +her brother had tried to shoot her husband; but, as this reason is +manifestly idiotic, I must suppose her to be acting on a hint from +Mr. FARNOL'S publishers) decreed their union to be in name alone. +Which provides for the extra chapters.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Have you ever imagined yourself plunged (bodily, not mentally) +into the midst of a story by some particular author? If, for +example, you could get inside the covers of a Mrs. ALFRED SIDGWICK +novel, what would you expect to find? Probably a large and +pleasantly impecunious family, with one special daughter who +combines great practical sense with rare personal charm. You would +certainly not be startled to find her brought into contact with +persons of greater social importance than her own; and you would be +excusably disappointed if she did not end by securing the most +eligible young male in the cast. I feel bound to add that a perusal +of <i>Anne Lulworth</i> (METHUEN) has left me with these +convictions more firmly established than ever. The <i>Lulworth</i> +household, from the twins to the practical mother, is Sidgwickian +to its core, though perhaps one can't but regret that the Great +Unmasking has for ever robbed them of the society of those fat and +seemingly kindly Teutons who used to provide such good contrast. +The <i>Lulworths</i> lived at Putney, and never had quite enough +money for the varied calls of clothes and education and sausages +for breakfast. Then <i>Anne</i> went on a visit to ever such a +delightful big house in Cornwall, and there met the only son ... +But then came <span class="pagenum"><a name="page214" id= +"page214"></a>[pg 214]</span> the War and he was reported missing, +so <i>Anne</i> stayed on indefinitely with his widowed mother; and +the unpleasant next-of-kin (Mrs. SIDGWICK never can wholly resist +the temptation of burlesquing her villains) refused to believe that +she had ever been engaged to Victor, and indeed went on indulging +their low-comedy spleen till the great moment, so long and +confidently expected, when—But really I suppose I needn't say +what happens then. Sidgwickiana, in short, seasonable at all times, +and sufficient for any number of persons.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Mrs. A.M. DIXON began her work in October, 1915, as manager of +one of the <i>Cantines des Dames Anglaises</i> established in +France under the ægis of the London Committee of the French +Red Cross. She remained until the beginning of July in the +following year, and in <i>The Canteeners</i> (MURRAY) she gives an +account of her experiences at Troyes, Héricourt and Le +Bourget, where she and her helpers ministered to an almost +unceasing stream of tired-out French soldiers. There is something +remarkably fresh and attractive about this story. It does not aim +at fine writing, but its very simplicity, which is that of letters +written to an intimate friend, carries a reader along through a +succession of incidents keenly observed and sympathetically noted +in the scanty leisure of a very busy life. That she succeeded as +she did is a high tribute to her kindness and tact as well as to +her organising capacity, I cannot forbear quoting from the letter +of a grateful <i>poilu</i>: "DEAR MISS,—I am arrived +yesterday very much fatiguated. After 36 o'clocks of train we have +made 15 kms. You can think then that has been very dur for us, +because in the train we don't sleep many ... We go to +tranchées six o'clocks a day and all the four days we go the +night. I don't see other things to say you for the moment. Don't +make attention of my mistakes, please." The book is well +illustrated with photographs. I recommend it both on account of its +intrinsic merits and because the author's profits are to be given +to the London Committee of the French Red Cross.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>When a penniless but oh, so ladylike "companion" goes to the +Savoy in answer to a "with a view to matrimony" advertisement, what +more natural than that the party of the first part should prove to +be—not a genteel widower in the haberdashery business, but a +handsome super-burglar of immense wealth and all the more refined +virtues. True, he burgles, but his manly willingness to reform in +order to please the lady shows that his heart was always in the +right place, wherever his fingers might be. Then again the actual +pillage occurs "off," as they say, and the gentlemanly burglar, +while not "occupied in burgling," walks the stage a perfect Sir +George Alexander of respectability. Do I hear you, gentle reader, +exclaiming, like the Scotsman when he first saw a hippopotamus, +"Hoots! There's nae sic a animal!" It is simply your ignorance. The +joint authors of <i>This Woman to this Man</i> (METHUEN) have +selected him as the hero of their latest novel, so there he is. His +combined annexation of the penniless beauty's hand and her titled +relatives' <i>objets d'art</i>, her discovery that the splendid +fellow she has idolised—it must be admitted, without any +indiscreet investigation of his past—is a thief, and their +final reconciliation in the rude but honest atmosphere of a New +Mexico cattle ranch, are all included in the modest half-crown's +worth that C.N. and A.M. WILLIAMSON put forward as their latest +effort. And nowadays you can't buy much of anything for +half-a-crown.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>With commendable idealism Mr. SIDNEY PATERNOSTER considers +<i>The Great Gift</i> (LANE) to be Love, and brings a certain +seriousness to bear upon his theme. <i>Hugh Standish</i>, +ex-newsboy, is at the age of twenty-five partner of an important +shipping firm, as well as large holder in a book-selling business, +which, in his leisure, he has so successfully run that it is +"floated with a capital of £100,000 and over-subscribed" +(incidentally rejoice, ye novelists!). At forty-six he is the whole +shipping firm and a Cabinet Minister to boot. I would ask Mr. +PATERNOSTER if such a man, who has, <i>ex hypothesi</i>, been so +busy that he needs the sight of an out-of-work being tended and +caressed by his faithful wife in a London Park to suggest to him +that there exists such a thing as Love, with a capital L; needs +also a later conversation with the same out-of-work to convince him +that there is really something the matter with the industrial +system (and wouldn't it be a good idea to do something about it now +one is a Cabinet Minister?)—I ask Mr. PATERNOSTER, I say, if +this is the sort of man to take it all so sweetly when the girl of +his choice prefers his cousin and secretary to him? I think not. +Our author has woven his story without any reference to the play of +circumstance upon his characters. I am afraid he has shirked the +difficult labour of artistic plausibility, and I leave it to +moralists to decide whether his excellent intentions and sentiments +redeem this æsthetic offence.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p><i>Weird o' the Pool</i> (MURRAY) may be described as a +subterranean book. I mean that its characters are frequently to be +found in secret passages and caves and places unknown to +law-abiding citizens. The scenes of this story of incident are laid +in Scotland at the beginning of last century, and Mr. ALEXANDER +STUART makes things move at such a pace that for a hundred pages or +so I could not keep up with him. Then two kind ladies had a +conversation, and the confusion which had invaded my mind was +suddenly and completely cleared away. The pace after this dispersal +is as brisk as ever, but it is quite easy to keep up with it. All +the same, I cannot help thinking that Mr. STUART has overcrowded +his canvas, and that his tale would be the better for the removal +of a few of his plotters and counter-plotters from it. I have never +yet said a good word for a synopsis, but I do not mind admitting +that I could put up with one here.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/214.png"><img width="100%" src="images/214.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>"Auntie Madge" (who writes the weekly letter to the darling +kiddies in "Mummy's Own Magazine").</i> "NOISY LITTLE BEASTS! I +SHALL NEVER DO ANY DECENT WORK IN <i>THIS</i> ATMOSPHERE."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>Suggested by the Kaiser-Tsar Revelations.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Willy-Nilly</i>. Willingly or unwillingly.</p> +<p><i>Willy-Nikky</i>. Of malice aforethought.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 153, SEPT. 19, 1917***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 10595-h.txt or 10595-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/9/10595">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/9/10595</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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