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diff --git a/10721-0.txt b/10721-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c58816 --- /dev/null +++ b/10721-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1697 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10721 *** + +PUNCH, + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +VOL. 153. + + + +October 10, 1917. + + + + +CHARIVARIA. + +"Of course I cannot be in France and America at the same time," said +Colonel ROOSEVELT to a New York interviewer. The EX-PRESIDENT is a +very capable man and we can only conclude that he has not been really +trying. + + *** + +"The Church of to-morrow is not to be built up of prodigal sons," +said a speaker at the Congregational Conference. Fatted calves will, +however, continue to be a feature in Episcopal circles. + + *** + +A Berlin coal merchant has been suspended from business for being rude +to customers. It is obvious that the Prussian aristocracy will not +abandon its prerogatives without a struggle. + + *** + +The lack of food control in Ireland daily grows more scandalous. A +Belfast constable has arrested a woman who was chewing four five-pound +notes, and had already swallowed one. + + *** + +An alien who was fined at Feltham police court embraced his solicitor +and kissed him on the cheek. Some curiosity exists as to whether the +act was intended as a reprisal. + + *** + +_The English Hymnal_, says a morning paper, "contains forty English +Traditional Melodies and three Welsh tunes." This attempt to sow +dissension among the Allies can surely be traced to some enemy source. + + *** + +Mr. GEORGE MOORE, the novelist, declares that ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON +"was without merit for tale-telling." But how does Mr. GEORGE MOORE +know? + + *** + +"Is Pheasant Shooting Dangerous?" asks a weekly paper headline. We +understand that many pheasants are of the opinion that it has its +risks. + + *** + +Only a little care is needed in the cooking of the marrow, says Mrs. +MUDIE COOKE. But in eating it great caution should be taken not to +swallow the marrow whole. + + *** + +An applicant at the House of Commons' Appeal Tribunal stated that he +had been wrongly described as a Member of Parliament. It is not known +who first started the scandal. + + *** + +HERR BATOCKI, Germany's first Food Dictator, is now on active service +on the Western Front, where his remarks about the comparative dulness +of the proceedings are a source of constant irritation to the Higher +Command. + + *** + +It is rumoured that the Carnegie Medal for Gallantry is to be awarded +to the New York gentleman who has purchased Mr. EPSTEIN'S "Venus." + + *** + +We understand that an enterprising firm of publishers is now +negotiating for the production of a book written by "The German +Prisoner Who Did Not Escape." + + *** + +Four conscientious objectors at Newhaven have complained that their +food often contains sandy substances. It seems a pity that the +authorities cannot find some better way of getting a little grit +into these poor fellows. + + *** + +General SUKHOMLINOFF has appealed from his sentence of imprisonment +for life. Some people don't know what gratitude is. + + *** + +It is good to find that people exercise care in time of crisis. +Told that enemy aircraft were on their way to London a dear old +lady immediately rushed into her house and bolted the door. + + *** + +Owing to a shortage of red paint, several London 'buses are being +painted brown. Pedestrians who have only been knocked down by +red-painted 'buses will of course now be able to start all over again. + + *** + +We think it was in bad taste for Mr. BOTTOMLEY, just after saying +that he had seen Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL at the Front, to add, "I have +Taken Risks." + + *** + +Six little boa-constrictors have been born in the Zoological +Gardens. A message has been despatched to Sir ARTHUR YAPP, urging +the advisability of his addressing them at an early date. + + *** + +To record the effect of meals on the physical condition of children, +Leyton Council is erecting weighing machines in the feeding centres. +Several altruistic youngsters, we are informed, have gallantly +volunteered to demonstrate the effects of over-eating without regard +to the consequences. + + *** + +An allotment holder in Cambridgeshire has found a sovereign on a +potato root. To its credit, however, it must be said that the potato +was proceeding in the direction of the Local War Savings Association +at the rate of several inches a day. + + *** + +We are pleased to say that the Wimbledon gentleman who last week was +inadvertently given a pound of sugar in mistake for tea is going on as +well as can be expected, though he is still only allowed to see near +relations. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _The Grouser_. "JUST OUR ROTTEN LUCK TO ARRIVE 'ERE ON +EARLY-CLOSING DAY."] + + * * * * * + +COMMERCIAL CANDOUR. + + "ANTIQUES.--All Lovers of the Genuine Antiques should not fail to + see one of the best-selected Stocks of Genuine Antique Furniture, + &c., including Stuart, Charles II., Tudor, Jacobean, Queen Anne, + Chippendale, Sheraton, Hepplewhite, Adams, and Georgian periods. + + FRESH GOODS EVERY DAY." + + _Provincial Paper_. + + * * * * * + +A new German Opera that we look forward to seeing: _Die +Gothädummerung_. + + * * * * * + + "A man just under military age, with seven children, is ordered to + join up."--_Weekly Dispatch_. + +Such precocious parentage must be discouraged. + + * * * * * + + "HELSINGFORS, Sept. 28.--The Governor-General of Finland has + ordered seals to be affixed to the doors of the Diet."--_Times_. + +This seems superfluous. Seals have always been attached to a Fin Diet. + + * * * * * + + "A party of the Russians in their natural costumes have come + to Portland to ply their trade as metal workers. They make a + picturesque group, which a Press writer will try to describe + to-morrow morning."--_Portland Daily Press (U.S.A.)_. + +We trust that he did not dwell unduly upon the scantiness of their +attire. + + + * * * * * + +MODEL DIALOGUES FOR AIR-RAIDS. + + [A few specimen conversations are here suggested as suitable for + the conditions which we have lately experienced. The idea is to + discourage the Hun by ignoring those conditions or explaining them + away. For similar conversations in actual life blank verse would + not of course be obligatory.] + + I. + + _A_. Beautiful weather for the time of year! + _B_. A perfect spell, indeed, of halcyon calm, + Most grateful here in Town, and, what is more, + A priceless gift to our brave lads in France, + Whose need is sorer, being sick of mud. + _A_. They have our first thoughts ever, and, if Heaven + Had not enough good weather to go round, + Gladly I'd sacrifice this present boon + And welcome howling blizzards, hail and flood, + So they, out there, might still be warm and dry. + + II. + + _C_. Have you observed the alien in our midst, + How strangely numerous he seems to-day, + Swarming like migrant swallows from the East? + _D_. I take it they would fain elude the net + Spread by Conscription's hands to haul them in. + All day they lurk in cover Houndsditch way, + Dodging the copper, and emerge at night + To snatch a breath of Occidental air + And drink the ozone of our Underground. + + III. + + _E_. How glorious is the Milky Way just now! + _F_. True. In addition to the regular stars + I saw a number flash and disappear. + _E_. I too. A heavenly portent, let us hope, + Presaging triumph to our British arms. + + IV. + + _G_. Methought I heard yestreen a loudish noise + Closely resembling the report of guns. + _H_. Ay, you conjectured right. Those sounds arose + From anti-aircraft guns engaged in practice + Against the unlikely advent of the Hun. + One must be ready in a war like this + To face the most remote contingencies. + _G_. Something descended on the next back-yard, + Spoiling a dozen of my neighbour's tubers. + _H_. No doubt a live shell mixed among the blank; + Such oversights from time to time occur + Even in Potsdam, where the casual sausage + Perishes freely in a _feu de joie_. + + V. + + _J_. We missed you badly at our board last night. + _K_. The loss was mine. I could not get a cab. + Whistling, as you're aware, is banned by law, + And when I went in person on the quest + The streets were void of taxis. + _J_. And to what + Do you attribute this unusual dearth? + _K_. The general rush to Halls of Mirth and Song, + Never so popular. The War goes well, + And London's millions needs must find a way + To vent their exaltation--else they burst. + _J_. But could you not have travelled by the Tube? + _K_. I did essay the Tube, but found it stuffed. + The atmosphere was solid as a cheese, + And I was loath to penetrate the crowd + Lest it should shove me from behind upon + The electric rail. + _J_. Can you account for that? + _K_. I should ascribe it to the harvest moon, + That wakes romance in Metropolitan breasts, + Drawing our young war-workers out of town + To seek the glamour of the country lanes + Under the silvery beams to lovers dear. O.S. + + * * * * * + +FORCE OF HABIT. + +The fact that George had been eighteen months in Gallipoli, Egypt and +France, without leave home till now, should have warned me. As it was +I merely found myself gasping "Shell-shock!" + +We were walking in a crowded thoroughfare, and George was giving all +the officers he met the cheeriest of "Good mornings." It took people +in two ways. Those on leave, blushing to think they had so far +forgotten their B.E.F. habits as to pass a brother-officer without +some recognition, replied hastily by murmuring the conventional "How +are you?" into some innocent civilian's face some yards behind us. +Mere stay-at-homes, on the other hand, surprised into believing that +they ought to know him, stopped and became quite effusive. As far as +I can remember George accepted three invitations to dinner from total +strangers rather than explain, and I was included in one of them. + +We were for the play that night and I foresaw difficulties at the +public telephone, and George's first remark of "Hullo, hullo, is that +Signals? Put me through to His Majesty's," confirmed my apprehensions. + +Half-an-hour of this kind of thing produced in me a strong desire for +peace and seclusion. A taxi would have solved my difficulty (had I +been able to solve the taxi difficulty first), but George himself +anticipated me by suddenly holding up a private car and asking for a +lift. I could have smiled at this further lapse had not the owner, +a detestable club acquaintance whom I had been trying to keep at a +distance for years, been the driver. He was delighted, and I was borne +away conscious of twenty years' work undone by a single stroke. + +Peace and seclusion at the club afforded no relief however. George was +really very trying at tea. He accused the bread because the crust had +not a hairy exterior (generally accumulated by its conveyance in a +blanket or sandbag). He ridiculed the sugar ration--I don't believe he +has ever been short in his life; and the resources of the place were +unequal to the task of providing tea of sufficient strength to admit +of the spoon being stood upright in it--a consistency to which, he +said, he had grown accustomed. When I left him he was bullying the +hall-porter of the club for a soft-nosed pencil; ink, he explained, +being an abomination. + +I also saw him pay 2½d. for a _Daily Mail_. + + * * * * * + +I got a letter from George just before he went back. He patronized me +delightfully--seemed more than half a Colonial already. He said he was +glad to have seen us all again, but was equally glad to be getting +back, as he was beginning to feel a little homesick. He hinted we were +dull dogs and treated people we didn't know like strangers. Didn't we +ever cheer up? He became very unjust, I thought, when he said that +France was at war, but that we had only an Army and Navy. + +Incidentally I had to pay twopence on the letter, the postman +insisting that George's neat signature in the bottom left-hand corner +of the envelope was an insufficient substitute for a penny stamp. + + * * * * * + + "The raiders came in three suctions."--_Evening News_. + +So _that_ was what blocked the Tubes. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: THE LETTER AND THE SPIRIT. + + Air Raid + Reprisals-- + Lloyd George + says + We'll give them + HELL + +PRIME MINISTER. "YOU YOUNG RASCAL! I NEVER SAID THAT." + +NEWSBOY. "WELL, I'LL LAY YER MEANT IT."] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Keeper_. "ANY BIRDS, SIR?" + +_Officer (fresh from France)_. "YES. THREE CRASHED; TWO DOWN OUT OF +CONTROL."] + + * * * * * + +THE WATCH DOGS. + +LXVI. + +MY DEAR CHARLES,--Here is a war, producing great men, and here am I +writing to you from time to time about it and never mentioning one of +them. I have touched upon Commanding Officers, Brigadiers, Divisional, +Corps, even Army Commanders; I have gone so far as to mention the +COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF once and I have mentioned myself very many times. +But the really great men I have omitted. I mean the really, really +great men, without whom the War could not possibly go on, and with +whom, I am often led to suppose, the decision remains as to what day +Peace shall be declared. Take the A.M.L.O. at ---- for example. + +Now, Charles, be it understood that I am not saying anything for or +against the trade of Assisting Military Landing Officers; I have no +feeling with regard to it one way or the other. For all I know it may +require a technical knowledge so profound that any man who can master +it is already half-way on the road to greatness. On the other hand, +it may require no technical knowledge at all, and, the whole of a +Military Landing Officer's duties being limited to watching other +people working, the Assistant Military Landing Officer's task may +consist of nothing more complicated than watching the Military Landing +Officer watching the military land. If this is so, the work may be so +simple that, once a man has satisfied the very rigid social test to be +passed by all aspirants to so distinguished a position, he must simply +be a silly ass if he doesn't automatically become a great man, after +a walk or two up and down the quay. I repeat, I know nothing whatever +of the calling of A.M.L.O., and I could not tell you without inquiry +whether it is an ancient and honourable profession or an unscrupulous +trade very jealously watched by the Law. I have some friends in it and +I have many friends out of it, and the former should not be inflated +with conceit nor the latter unduly depressed when I pronounce the +deliberate opinion that the best known and greatest thing in the +B.E.F. is without doubt the A.M.L.O. at ----. + +Though it is months since I cast eyes on him, I can see him now, +standing self-confidently on his own private quay, with the most chic +of Virginian cigarettes smouldering between his aristocratic lips +and the very latest and most elegant of Bond Street Khaki Neckwear +distinguishing him from the mixed crowd about him. Every one else +is distraught; even matured Generals, used to the simple and +irresponsible task of commanding troops in action, are a little +unnerved by the difficulties and intricacies of embarking oneself +militarily. He on whom all the responsibility rests remains aloof. +A smile, half cynical, plays across his proud face. He knows he has +but to flick the ash from his cigarette and the Army will spring to +attention and the Navy will get feverishly to work. He has but to +express consent by the inclination of his head and sirens will blow, +turbine engines will operate as they would never operate for anybody +else, thousands of tons of shipping will rearrange itself, and even +the sea will become less obstreperous and more circumspect in its +demeanour, adjusting, if need be, its tides to suit his wishes. + +I take it my condition is typical when I am "proceeding" (one will +never come and go again in our time; one will always proceed)--when +I am proceeding to the U.K. The whole thing is too good to believe, +and I don't believe it till I have some written and omnipotent +instructions, in my pocket and am actually moving towards the sea. +The youngest and keenest schoolboy returning home for his holidays +is a calm, collected, impassionate and even dismal man of the world +compared to me. I see little and am impressed by nothing; all things +and men are assumed to be good, and none of them is given the +opportunity of proving itself to be the contrary. As for the A.M.L.O. +at any other port but this one, I remark nothing about him except +his princely generosity in letting me have an embarcation card. He +is just one more good fellow in the long series of good fellows who +have authorised my move. I am borne out to sea in a dream--a dream +of England and all that England means to us, be that a wife or a +reasonable breakfast at a reasonable hour. Not until I am on my way +back does it occur to me that landing and transport officers have +identities, and by that time I have lost all interest in transport +and landing and officers and identities and everything else. + +At the port of ----, however, it is very different. I may arrive on +the quay in a dream, but I'm at once out of it when I have caught +sight of Greatness sitting in its little hut with the ticket window +firmly closed until the arrival of the hour before which he has +disposed that it shall not open. Thoughts of home are gone; I can +think of nothing but Him. When at last I have obtained his gracious, +if reluctant, consent to my obeying the instructions I have, and have +got on to the boat, I deposit my goods hurriedly, anywhere, and fight +for a position by the bulwark nearest the quay, from which I may gaze +at his august Excellency for the few remaining hours during which it +is given us to linger in or near our well-beloved France. + +How came it about, I ask myself, that the Right Man got to be in +the Right Place? It cannot have been merely fortuitous that he was +not thrust away into some such obscure job as the command of an +Expeditionary Force or the control of the counsels of the Imperial +General Staff. It must have been the deliberate choice of a wise +chooser; Major-General Military Landing himself, the SECRETARY OF +STATE FOR WAR on his own, even His MAJESTY in person? Or was a +plebiscite taken through the length and breadth of the British Isles +when I was elsewhere, and did Britain, thrilled to the core, clamour +for him unanimously? + +I watch him keep a perturbed and restless Major from the line waiting +while he finishes his light-hearted badinage with a subordinate. It is +altogether magnificent in its sheer _sangfroid_. Why is it that such +a one is labelled merely A.M.L.O., when he should obviously be the +M.L.O.? He has his subordinate, happily insignificant and obsequiously +proud to serve. Let the subordinate be the a.m.l.o., and let It, +Itself, be openly acknowledged to be It, Itself. + +By the way, where _is_ his M.L.O.? Has anybody ever seen him? I +haven't. Does he exist?... Has he been got rid of? + +There is a convenient crevice between the quay and the boat with a +convenient number of feet of water at the bottom of it. Is the M.L.O. +down there, and is the "A.M.L.O." brassard but the modesty of true +greatness? + +If the M.L.O. has been thrown down there, who threw him? + +Was it my idol, the A.M.L.O., in a moment of exasperation with his +M.L.O.? + +Or was it the M.L.O., in a moment of exasperation with my idol, the +A.M.L.O.? Yours ever, HENRY. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Old Lady_. "IS THIS THE RESULT OF A BOMB, CONSTABLE?" + +_Constable (fed up)_. "BLESS YOU, NO, MA'AM. THE GENT THAT LIVES +HERE'S GOT HAY FEVER."] + + * * * * * + + "Naval Officer's (Minesweeping) Wife would be grateful for the + opportunity of purchasing a Baby's Layette of good quality at a + very reasonable price."--_Morning Post_. + +Our congratulations to the mine sweeping wife upon having captured a +Baby Mine. + + * * * * * + +BEASTS ROYAL. + +III. + +DUKE WILLIAM'S FALCON. A.D. 1065. + + Upon a marsh beside the sea, + With hawk and hound and vassals three, + Rode WILLIAM, Duke of NORMANDY, + The heir of Rover ROLLO; + And ever as his falcon flew + Quoth he: "Mark well, by St. MACLOU, + For where she hovers hasten you, + And where she falls I follow." + + She rose into the misty sky, + A brooding menace hid on high, + Ere she dipped earthward suddenly + As dips the silver swallow; + Then, spurring through the rushes grey, + Cried WILLIAM, "Sirs, away, away! + For where she hovers is the prey, + And where she falls I follow." + + Her marbled plume with crimson dight, + Seaward she soared, and bent her flight + Above the ridge of foaming white + Along the harbour hollow; + Then, looking grimly toward the strait, + Said WILLIAM, "Truly, soon or late, + There where she hovers is my fate, + And where she falls I follow." + + * * * * * + +THE CAVE-DWELLERS. + +"If you please, ma'am, that funny-looking gentleman with the long hair +has brought his jug for some more water. And could you oblige him with +a little pepper?" + +"Certainly not," said my wife. "The man's a nuisance. He is not even +respectable--looks like a gipsy or a disreputable artist. I'll speak +to him myself." And she flounced out of the room. + +I felt almost sorry for the man; but really the thing was overdone +when, not content with overcrowding our village, these London people +took to living in dug-outs on the common. + +Matilda rushed back into the room with a metal jug in her hand. + +"Oscar! It's old Sheffield plate, and there's a coat-of-arms on it. +Turn up the heraldry book; look in the index for 'bears.' Perhaps +they're somebody after all." + +Matilda is a second cousin once removed of the Drewitts--one of the +best baronetcies in England--and naturally we take an interest in +Heraldry. + +"Yes, here it is. A cave-bear rampant! Oscar, it's the crest of the +Cave-Canems, one of the oldest families in Britain, if not the very +oldest! Poor things, I feel so sorry for them. Perhaps I might offer +him some vegetables." + +"And to think of their having to live in a cave again after all these +centuries," said my wife when she returned. "Isn't it pathetic? Oscar, +don't you think we ought to call on them?" + +We agreed that it was our duty to call on the distinguished +cave-dwellers. But what ought we to wear? They dressed very simply; I +had seen him in an old tweed suit and a soft felt hat. + +"And his wife," Matilda said, "is positively dowdy. But that proves +they are somebody. Only the very best people can afford to wear shabby +clothes in these times." + +We decided that in our case it was necessary to recognise the polite +usages of society. So my wife wore her foliage green silk, and I my +ordinary Sabbath attire. + +A fragrant odour of vegetables cooking led us eventually to the +little mound amidst the gorse where our aristocratic visitors were +temporarily residing. There was some difficulty at first in attracting +their attention, but this I overcame by tying our visiting-cards to +a piece of string and dangling it down the tunnel that served as an +entrance. After coughing several times I had a bite, and the cave-man +showed himself. + +"Hallo!" I heard him say, laughing, "it's the kind Philistines who +gave us the vegetables." Then aloud, "Come in. Mind the steps." + +I damaged my hat slightly against the roof, and I am afraid Matilda's +dress suffered a little, but we managed to enter their dug-out. The +place was faintly lighted by a sort of window overlooking the third +hole of the deserted golf course. Our host introduced his wife. + +"We were not really nervous," said the lady, "but a fragment of shell +came through the studio window and destroyed a number of my husband's +pictures. He is a painter of the Neo-Impressionistic School." + +"What a shame!" said Matilda, taking up a canvas. "May I look? Oh! how +pretty." + +"My worst enemy has never called my work that," said the artist. +"Perhaps you would appreciate it better if you held it the other way +up." + +It is at a moment like this that my wife shines. + +"I should like to see it in a better light," she said. "But how +interesting! Everyone paints now-a-days--even Royalty. My cousin, Sir +Ethelwyn Drewitt, has done some charming water-colours of the family +estates. Perhaps you know him?" + +Our host shook his head. + +"A very old family, like your own," said Matilda. "Our ancestors +probably knew each other in the days of Stonehenge. I, of course, +recognised the coat-of-arms on your plate." + +"I am afraid you are in error," said the artist. "My name is Pitts. +And I don't go back beyond my grandfather, who, honest man, kept a +grocer's shop in Dulwich. The jug you've been admiring I bought in +the Caledonian Cattle Market for fifteen shillings." + +Matilda swooned. The air was certainly very close down there. + + * * * * * + +THE WAR-DREAM. + + I Wish I did not dream of France + And spend my nights in mortal dread + On miry flats where whizz-bangs dance + And star-shells hover o'er my head, + And sometimes wake my anxious spouse + By making shrill excited rows + Because it seems a hundred "hows" + Are barraging the bed. + + I never fight with tigers now + Or know the old nocturnal mares; + The house on fire, the frantic cow, + The cut-throat coming up the stairs + Would be a treat; I almost miss + That feeling of paralysis + With which one climbed a precipice + Or ran away from bears. + + Nor do I dream the pleasant days + That sometimes soothe the worst of wars, + Of omelettes and estaminets + And smiling maids at cottage-doors; + But in a vague unbounded waste + For ever hide with futile haste + From 5.9's precisely placed, + And all the time it pours. + + Yet, if I showed colossal phlegm + Or kept enormous crowds at bay, + And sometimes won the D.C.M., + It might inspire me for the fray; + But, looking back, I do not seem + To recollect a single dream + In which I did not simply scream + And try to run away. + + And when I wake with flesh that creeps + The only solace I can see + Is thinking, if the Prussian sleeps, + What hideous visions _his_ must be! + Can all my dreams of gas and guns + Be half as rotten as the Hun's? + I like to think his blackest ones + Are when he dreams of me. + + A.P.H. + + * * * * * + + "Street lamp-posts in Chiswick are all being painted white + by female labour."--_Times_. + +The authorities were afraid, we understand, that if males were +employed they would paint the town red. + + * * * * * + + "Four groups of raiders tried to attack London on Saturday + night. If there were eight in each group, this meant thirty-two + Gothas."--_Evening Standard_. + +In view of the many loose and inaccurate assertions regarding the +air-raids, it is agreeable to meet with a statement that may be +unreservedly accepted. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Lodger (who has numbered his lumps of sugar with lead +pencil)_. "OH, MRS. JARVIS, I AM UNABLE TO FIND NUMBERS 3, 7 AND 18."] + + * * * * * + +THE DOOR. + +Once upon a time there was a sitting-room, in which, when everyone +had gone to bed, the furniture, after its habit, used to talk. All +furniture talks, although the only pieces with voices that we human +beings can hear are clocks and wicker-chairs. Everyone has heard a +little of the conversation of wicker-chairs, which usually turn upon +the last person to be seated in them; but other furniture is more +self-centered. + +On the night with which we are now concerned the first remark was made +by the clock, who stated with a clarity only equalled by his brevity +that it was one. An hour later he would probably be twice as voluble. + +It was normally the signal for an outburst of comment and confidence; +but let me first say that the house in which this sitting-room +was situated belonged to an elderly gentleman and his wife, each +conspicuous for peaceable kindliness. Neither would hurt a fly, but +since they had grandsons fighting for England, honour and the world, +it chanced that they were the incongruous possessors of quite a number +of war relics, which included an inkstand made of a steel shell-top, +copper shell-binding and cartridge-cases; a Turkish dud from Gallipoli +to serve as a door-stop; a pencil-case made of an Austrian cartridge +from the Carso; a cigarette-lighter made of English cartridge-cases; +and several shell-cases transformed into vases for flowers. One of +these at this moment contained some very beautiful late sweet peas, +and the old gentleman had made a pleasant little joke, after dinner, +about sweet peace blossoming in such a strange environment, and would +probably make it again the next time they had guests. + +You may be sure that, with the arrival of these souvenirs from such +exciting parts, the conversation of the room became more interesting, +although it may be that some of the stay-at-homes began after a while +to feel a little out in the cold. What was an ordinary table to say +when in competition with a .75 shell-case from the Battle of the +Marne, or a mere Jubilee wedding-present against an inkstand composed +of articles of destruction from Vimy Ridge, which had an irritating +way of making the most of both its existences--reaping in two +fields--by remarking, after a thrilling story of bloodshed, "But +that's all behind me now. My new destiny is to prove the pen mightier +than the sword"? Even though the Jubilee wedding-present came from +Bond Street, and had once been picked up and set down again by QUEEN +ALEXANDRA, what availed that? The souvenir held the floor. + +Gradually the other occupants of the room had come to let the +souvenirs uninterruptedly exchange war impressions and speculate as +to how long it would last--a problem as to which they were not more +exactly informed than many a human wiseacre. Under cover of this kind +of talk, which is apt to become noisy, the humdrum of the others, the +chairs and the table and the mantelpiece, and the pacific ornaments, +and the mirror, could chat in their own mild way; the wicker-chair, +for example, could wonder for the thousandth time how long it would +be before the young Captain sat in it once more; and the mirror could +remark that that would be a happy moment indeed when once again it +held the reflections of the Lieutenant and his _fiancée_, who was one +of the prettiest girls in the world. + +"Do you think so?" the knob of the brass fender would inquire. "To +me she seemed too fat and her mouth was very wide." + +"But that's a fault," the tongs would reply, "that you find with +every one." + +To return to the night of which I want particularly to speak, no +sooner had the clock made his monosyllabic utterance than "I am +probably unique," the Vimy Ridge inkstand said. + +"How?" the cigarette-lighter sharply inquired, uniqueness being one +of his own chief claims to distinction. + +"Strange," said the inkstand, "the blacksmith who made me was not +blown to pieces. The usual thing is for the shell to be a live one, +and no sooner does the blacksmith handle it than he and the soldiers +who brought it and several onlookers go to glory. The papers are full +of such incidents. But in my case--no. I remember," the inkstand was +continuing-- + +"Oh, give us a rest," said the shell door-stop. "If you knew how tired +I was of hearing about the War, when there's nothing to do for ever +but stop in this stuffy room. And to me it's particularly galling, +because I never exploded at all. I failed. For all the good we are any +more, we--we warriors--we might as well be mouldy old fossils like +the home-grown things in this room, who know of war or excitement +absolutely nothing." + +"That's where you're wrong," said a quiet voice. + +"Who's speaking?" the shell asked. + +"I am," said the door. "You're quite right about yourselves--you War +souvenirs. You've done. You can still brag a bit, but that's all. +You're out of it. Whereas I--I'm in it still. I can make people run +for their lives." + +"How?" asked the inkstand. + +"Because whenever I bang," said the door, "they think I'm an +air-raid." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Butler (the family having come down to the kitchen +during an air-raid)_. "'YSTERIA--WITHIN REASON--I DON'T OBJECT TO. BUT +WHAT I CAN'T STAND IS BRAVADO."] + + * * * * * + +CUSS-CONTROL. + + I found myself, some time ago, + Growing too fond of cuss-words, so + I made a vow to curb my passions + And put my angry tongue on rations. + + As no Controller yet exists + To frame these necessary lists, + I had myself to pick and choose + The words that I could safely use. + + Four verbs found favour in my sight, + _Viz._, "drat" and "dash" and "blow" and "blight"; + While "blithering" and "blinkin'" were + My only adjectival pair. + + I freely own that "dash" and "drat" + At times sound lamentably flat; + And "blight" and "blow" don't somehow seem + Quite adequate to every theme. + + When you are wishful to be withering + 'Tis hard to be confined to "blithering," + And to express explosive thinkin' + One longs for some relief from "blinkin'." + + Still Mr. BALFOUR, so I hear, + Seldom goes further than "O dear!" + While moments of annoyance draw + "Bother" at worst from BONAR LAW. + + Hence, if our leaders in their style + Are able to suppress their bile, + And practise noble moderation + In comment and in objurgation, + + Why should not I, a doggerel bard, + All futile expletives discard, + And discipline my restive soul + With salutary cuss-control? + + * * * * * + +ERRARE EST DIABOLICUM. + +From the Indian author of an Anglo-vernacular text-book:-- + + "As the book had to go through the press in haste I am sorry to + write to you that there are some printers' devils, especially in + English spelling." + + * * * * * + + "Nelson himself being a Suckling on his mother's + side."--_Observer_. + +We cannot know too much about the early history of our heroes. + + * * * * * + + "Captain William Redmond, son of Mr. John Redmond, has been + awarded the D.S.O. He was commanding in a fierce fight and was + blown out of a shell hole, sustaining a sprained knee and ankle. + He rallied his men, and by promptly forming a defensive flank + saved his part of the line."--_Daily Express_. + +This must have been in Sir WALTER SCOTT'S proleptic mind when he wrote +(in _Rokeby_):-- + + "Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood, + Cheering his mates with heart and hand + Still to make good their desperate stand." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A BIRTHDAY GREETING FOR HINDENBURG. + + F.M. SIR DOUGLAS HAIG (_sings_). "O I'LL TAK' THE HIGH ROAD + AN' YE'LL TAK' THE LOW ROAD...." + +{The enemy has been fighting desperately to prevent us from occupying +the ridges above the Ypres-Menin road, and so forcing him to face the +winter on the low ground.}] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: INFORMATION TO THE ENEMY. + +_Wife._ "I CALL IT SIMPLY SCANDALOUS THAT THE PAPERS SHOULD BE ALLOWED +TO PUBLISH THE DATES WHEN THE MOON IS FULL."] + + * * * * * + +OSWALD AND CO. + +We live in a fortress on the crest of a hill overlooking a little +Irish town, a centre of the pig and potheen industries. The fortress +was, according to tradition, built by BRIAN BORU, renovated by Sir +WALTER RALEIGH (the tobacconist, not the professor) and brought up +to date by OLIVER CROMWELL. It has dungeons (for keeping the butter +cool), loop-holes (through which to pour hot porridge on invaders), +an oubliette (for bores) and a portcullis. + +In spite of these conveniences our fortress is past its prime and a +modern burglar would treat it as a joke. It is so weak in its joints +that when the wind blows it shakes like a jelly, and we have to shave +with safety-razors. + +In a small villa opposite lives Freddy, our married subaltern, and +Mrs. Freddy. + +On a patch of turf up a neighbouring lane Oswald and Co. took up their +residence this summer. + +The troopers called him Oswald for some unknown reason, but I doubt if +that was his baptismal name, and I doubt if he was ever baptized. + +Oswald was a tall bony grizzled child of the Open. + +Years ago he would have been dismissed briefly as a tramp, but we know +better now; we have read our Georgian poets and we know that such folk +do not perambulate the country stealing fowls and firing ricks from +any dislike of settled labour, but because they have heard the call of +far horizons, _belles étoiles_ and great spaces. + +The Co. consisted of a woolly donkey which carried Oswald's +portmanteau when he trekked, and a hairy dog which provided him with +company and conversation. + +The donkey browsed, unfettered, about the roadside, taking the weather +as it came; but Oswald and the dog, degenerates, sheltered under a +wigwam of saplings and old sacks. + +The wigwam being four feet long and Oswald six, he had to telescope +like a tortoise to get fully under cover; sometimes he forgot his feet +and left them outside all night in the dew, but, as he had no boots to +spoil, this didn't matter much. + +Not having any business to attend to he lay abed very late. Our +troopers, riding at ease _en route_ to the drill grounds, would toss +their lighted cigarette-ends at the protruding bare feet. A grizzled +head telescoping out of the other end of the wigwam and a husky voice +calling down celestial fury upon them, would signalise a hit. + +The Adjutant was for having Oswald moved on; we should be missing +things presently, he warned--saddle-blankets, rifles, horses, perhaps +the portcullis. However, the O.C. would have none of it; he maintained +that this constant menace at our gates kept the sentries on the _qui +vive_ and accustomed them to practically Active Service conditions. + +So all the summer the wigwam remained on the turf-patch and the +sentries on the _qui vive_. + +How Oswald existed is a mystery--probably on manna, for he toiled not +neither span, and if he stole for a living it was not from us. + +He spent his mornings in bed, his afternoons reclining on the bank +behind his residence, puffing at his dudheen and watching our recruits +going through the hoops with the amused contempt that a gentleman of +leisure naturally feels for the working classes. + +At the end of September, Freddy, the Benedick, finding himself in the +orderly-room and forgetting what had brought him there, applied for +leave as a matter of habit, and, walking out again, promptly forgot +all about it. Freddy is given that way. Apparently the Orderly Room +was finding time heavy on their hands that morning, for machinery was +set in motion, and in due course the astonished Freddy discovered +himself with permission to go to blazes for seven days and a warrant +to London in his pocket. + +He capered whooping home to his villa, told Mrs. Freddy to pack her +toothbrush and come along, and the mail bore them hence. Next day the +weather broke, the sky turned upside down and emptied itself upon us, +the parade ground squelched if you trod on it, the gutters failed to +cope with the rush of business, and the roads ran in spate. + +The post-orderly, splashing back to barracks, reported the +disappearance of Oswald and Co. + +We determined that they must have been washed out to sea and pictured +them astride the wigwam in a beam-roll off Kinsale, keeping a watchful +eye for U-boats. + +We had seven days of unrelieved downpour. On the morning of the +eighth, Freddy and wife returned from leave, and, opening the front +door of the villa--which they discovered they had forgotten to lock in +the delirium of their departure--stepped within. At the same moment, +Oswald, the hairy dog and the woolly donkey heard the call of the +great spaces, and, opening the back door of the villa, stepped without +and departed for haunts unknown. + +Freddy in a high state of excitement came over to the Mess and told us +all about it. + +He himself had been all for slaying Oswald on the spot, he said, but +Mrs. Freddy wouldn't hear of it. + +"She says he hasn't stolen anything," Freddy explained. "She says he +was only _staying_ with us, in a manner of speaking, and was quite +right to take his poor old dog and donkey under cover during that +rotten weather, she says--so that's the end of it." + +But it wasn't the end of it; Freddy had reckoned without his other +O.C. Here was a heaven-sent opportunity of training the men under +practically Active Service conditions, scouring the country after real +game--Ho! toot the clarion, belt the drum! Boot and saddle! Hark away! + +So now we are out scouring the country for Oswald and Co., one hundred +men and horses, caparisoned like Christmas-trees, soaked to the skin, +fed to the teeth. And Oswald and Co.--where are they? We cannot guess, +and we are very very tired of practically Active Service conditions. + +Oyez, Oyez, Oyez! Anyone finding three children of the Open answering +to the description of our friends the enemy, and returning them, dead +or alive, to our little fortress, will he handsomely and gratefully +rewarded. + +PATLANDER. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Earnest Lady_. "OF COURSE I UNDERSTAND MEN MUST DRINK +WHILE DOING SUCH HOT AND HEAVY WORK. BUT MUST IT BE BEER? CAN'T THEY +DRINK WATER?" + +_Mechanic_. "YES, LADY, THEY CAN DRINK WATER, BUT (_confidentially_) +IT MAKES 'EM SO GIDDY."] + + * * * * * + + "Boy, to heat at hearth and to strike occasionally."--_Sheffield + Daily Telegraph_. + +A case for the N.S.P.C.C. + + * * * * * + +Appended to a quotation from _The Globe_ on German intrigues with the +Vatican:-- + + "[NOTE: The above is obviously from the pen of Mr. L.J. Maxse, + the editor of the _National Review_, who, as recently announced, + has become associated with the editorial direction of the + Pope.]"--_Manchester Evening Chronicle_. + +In pursuance of this arrangement His Holiness will in future take the +style of _Pontifex Maxsemus_. + + * * * * * + +JOURNALISTIC CANDOUR. + + "M. Kerensky has announced that all leaders of the revolt will be + tried by court-martial, and has indicated that a determined end + will be put to the present state of affairs by the most drastic + means. Add Russian Fudge matter. utikwtStdheto"--_Adelaide + Register_. + +We have lately read a good deal of "Russian Fudge matter." + + * * * * * + + "PROMENADE CONCERTS, QUEEN'S HALL. + Sir Henry J. Wood, Conductor. + + Mondays--Wagner. ----?----?--?---- + Tuesdays--Russian. cymfwypo---- + Wednesdays--Symphony. cmfwypemfwvfg + Thursdays--Popular. cmfwypemfwycppwf + Fridays--Beethoven. cmfwypemfwyy + Saturdays--Popular. cmfwypemf----" + _The Star_. + +A sporting effort to reproduce the effect of the barrage _obbligato_. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Footpad_. "I HEAR A CYCLIST COMING. I'LL UPSET HIS +BIKE, AND THEN--" + +BUT IT WAS MR. TUBER-CAINE, THE ALLOTMENT ENTHUSIAST, RETURNING FROM +HIS LABOURS.] + + * * * * * + +TO AN INFANT GNU. + + Thomas (that may not be thine actual name + But it will serve as well as any other), + There be coarse souls to whom all flesh is game, + Who do not hail thee as a new-born brother + But merely as a thing at which to aim + Their fratricidal guns; they simply smother + The sense, which I for one cannot eschew, + Of soul relationship 'twixt man and gnu. + + 'Tis not, O surely not, for such as these + Those baby limbs are flung in lightsome capers; + Those puny bleatings were not meant to please + Facetious writers for the daily papers; + Let baser beasts inspire the obvious wheeze, + Wombats and wart-hogs, tortoises and tapirs; + These lack the subtle spell thy presence flings + About the spirit tuned to higher things. + + Well could I picture thee, a dusky sprite, + With Dryad hoofs on Thracian ledges drumming, + When day is slipping from the arms of night + And all the hushed leaves whisper, "Pan is coming!" + And thou before him, leaping with delight, + Stirring all birds to song, all bees to humming + And buds to blossoming--but lo! at hand + A tablet reads, "_C. Gnu. Nyassaland_." + + Thus they've described thy formidable sire, + A whiskered person with a chronic liver. + I feed him biscuits to appease his ire; + He eats the gift but fain would bite the giver. + His eye is red with reminiscent fire, + His thoughts are by the great Zambesi River + Where hides the hippopotam, huge as sin, + And slinking leopards with the dappled skin. + + No couches of the nymph and Bassarid, + Or thymy meadows such as Simois glasses, + Lured his exulting feet, my jocund kid, + But veldt and kloof and waving jungle grasses, + Where lurk the python with unwinking lid, + And the lean lion, growling, as he passes, + His futile wrath against the hoarse baboons + That drape the rocks in chattering platoons. + + Free of the waste he snuffed the breeze at morn, + The fleet-foot peer of sassaby and kudu; + The hunting leopard feared his bristling horn, + The foul hyæna voted him a hoodoo; + Browsing on tender grass and camel-thorn + He roamed the plains, as all right-minded gnu do; + But now he eats the bun of discontent + That once was lord of half a continent. + + And thou, my child, to whom harsh fate has dealt + A captive's birthright--thou wilt never scamper + With wingéd feet across the windy veldt, + Where are no crowds to stare nor bars to hamper; + Thou wilt not ring upon the rhino's pelt + In wanton sport. But there--why put a damper + On thy young spirits by recounting what + Africa is but Regent's Park is not. + + It would but grieve thee, and, moreover, I + Note that thy young attention's growing looser. + A piece of cake? O fie! my Thomas, fie! + The keeper said, "Please not to feed the gnu, Sir." + And yet it seems a shame to pass thee by + Without some slight confectionery douceur; + So here's a bun; and let this thought obtrude: + What matter freedom while there's lots of food! + + ALGOL. + + * * * * * + +PRO-GERMANISM IN KENSINGTON. + + "At St. Mary Abbot's, in Kensington, the organist played hymns + for two hours during the Sunday raid, in which the congregation + joined."--_Daily Mirror_. + + * * * * * + +The rumour that in consequence of the recent invasion of a popular +sea-coast resort by denizens of the East End the local authorities +have decided to change its name to "Brightchapel" is at present +without foundation. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: TRIALS OF A CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER. + +_C. Officer_. "NOW THEN, WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS?" + +_C. Painter_. "I WAS TELLING 'IM 'E DIDN'T KNOW NOTHING ABOUT +CAMERFLARGE, SIR, AND 'E SAYS, 'HO, DON'T I? I'LL SOON SHOW YER. +I'LL MAKE YER SO'S YER OWN MOTHER WON'T KNOW YER'; AN' 'E UPS WITH +THE PAINT-BUCKET ALL OVER ME, SIR."] + + * * * * * + +_L'AGENT PROVOCATEUR._ + +A short while ago the following advertisement appeared in the +"Personal" column of _The Times_:-- + + "Artist (33), literary, travelled, mentally isolated, would + appreciate brilliant, interesting correspondents; writers' + anonymity observed." + +Now thereby hang many tales (none of them necessarily true). Here is +one of them. + +The Colonel of the Blank-blank Blankshires exclaimed (as all proper +Colonels are expected to do), "Ha!" Carefully marking with a blue +pencil a small paragraph on the front page of _The Times_, he threw +it on the table among the attentive Mess and snorted. + +"Ha! A Cuthbert--a genuine shirker! I think some of you might oblige +the gentleman." + +Then he stepped outside and went into the seventh edition of his +impressionist sketch, "Farmyard of a French Farm," with lots of +BBB pencil for the manure heap. He was a young C.O. and new to +the regiment. + +The Mess "carried on" the conversation. + +"_I'll_ write to the blighter," shouted the Junior Sub. "I'll be an +awf'lly 'interesting correspondent.'" + +"And a brilliant one?" queried the Major. + +"A Verey brilliant one, Sir," asserted the Sub., giving a sample. + +"This sort of slacker," said the Senior Captain bitterly, as with +infinite toil he scraped the last of the glaze from the inside of +the marmalade pot, "is the sort that doesn't realise that there's +a war on." + +"Don't you make any mistake," said the Major, "_he_ knows, poor devil! +I'm going to write to him and say, 'When I think of the incessant +strain of the trench warfare carried on with inadequate support by +you civilians of military age against the repeated brutal attacks of +tribunals, I marvel at the indomitable pluck you display. In your +place I should simply jack it up, plead ill-health and get into +the Army." + +"I've got an idea," said the Junior Sub., joyously. + +"Consolidate it quickly," said the Adjutant, "and prepare to receive +counter-attacks. Yes?" + +"I've never yet been allowed to explain _my_ side of that confounded +affair of the revetments. I'll tell it all to Cuthbert. _He_'ll +sympathise with me. I'll tell him all that the C.O. said and all that +I should have _liked_ to say to the C.O. To pour out one's troubles +into a travelled literary bosom--what a relief!" + +"That's rather an idea," said the Senior Captain. "I nurse a private +grief of my own beneath a camouflage of--of persiflage. I think I +shall ask Cuthbert's opinion, as an artist, of a brother artist who +himself does perfectly unrecognisable sketches of farm-yards"--he +waved a golden-syrup spoon towards the Colonel and the +manure-heap--"and yet demands a finnicking and altogether contemptible +realism in the matter of trench maps. Pass the honey, please." + +"It seems to me," said the Major reflectively as he rose from table, +"that 'Artist, 33, literary, travelled, mentally isolated' (one) is +going to be buried beneath the weight of the world's grievances--or +the grievances of this battalion, at any rate." + +"It's the same thing," observed the Senior Captain gloomily. "Isn't +there any preserved ginger? Lord, what a Mess!" + +Weary Williams, a time-expired Second Lieutenant--a ticket-of-leave +man, as it were, without a ticket-of-leave--who had once commanded the +remnants of two companies with honour but not with acknowledgment, +poised a fountain-pen, inquiring casually, "_What_ was it the C.O. +said about the destruction of Ypres? Ah, yes" (and he began to write), +"_a Brobdingnagian act of brachycephalic brutality_...." + + * * * * * + +At breakfast about a week later the Colonel seemed to be enjoying his +immense pile of correspondence so heartily that many of the Mess, +comparatively letterless as they were, directed glances of injured +interest towards him--of rather deeper interest than was warranted by +military discipline or civilian breeding (which are, of course, the +same virtue in different forms). + +Then, presently, as he put down one letter and opened another, the +Major was seen to stiffen and the Junior Sub. to wilt. The attention +of the table became as fixed and frigid as that of the midnight sentry +at a loophole. The Colonel toyed happily with another letter (while +the Senior Captain made a careful census of the grounds at the bottom +of his coffee-cup), took the range of the manure-heap outside the +window from the angles of the table-legs, rose, and departed with his +correspondence, summoning Williams to follow him. + +Outside the Weary One waited respectfully for the Colonel to speak. + +"So you saw through my camouflage?" said the latter thoughtfully. + +"Yes, Sir." + +"How did you do it?" + +"Well, Sir, to mention only the internal evidence--an +'Artist'"--Williams waved his hand expressively towards the +manure-heap; "'thirty-three'--one of the youngest C.O.'s in the Army, +I believe?" He bowed politely. + +"Ha!" said the Colonel. + +"'Literary'--I remember your stopping Captain Jones's leave for a +split infinitive in a ration return. 'Travelled'--you have travelled +in Turkey, I think, Sir?" + +The Colonel, who had been blown out of a trench at Krithia, nodded +shortly. + +"'Mentally isolated'--I'm afraid, Sir, our Mess doesn't afford very +much for a mind like yours to bite on. I'm afraid, too, that such +correspondence as--as mine, for instance--can hardly be called either +brilliant or interesting." + +"I don't know," said the Colonel. "That was a very good bit about the +destruction of Ypres. What was it?--Ha, yes--_A Brobdingnagian act_--" + +"--_of brachycephalic brutality_, Sir. But that was not original." + +"If you can't be original yourself," said the Colonel kindly, "the +next best thing is to quote from those who can." + +"That's what I thought, Sir." + +"Ha! Well, of course the writers' anonymity must be observed--that's +a point of honour. Still, I think, Williams--I have been asked to +recommend an intelligent officer for a staff appointment--that if I +were to name _you_ I should not go far wrong. And--er--if you are ever +asked for an opinion of the destruction of Ypres--" + +"I shall remember to give the reference, Sir. Thank you, Sir." + +W.B. + + * * * * * + +A TROPICAL TRAGEDY. + + On the tesselated slopes + Of the Isle of Tapioca, + Where the azure antelopes + Haunt the valley of Avoca, + Dwelt the maid Opoponax, + Only child of Brex Koax, + Far renowned in song and saga, + Ruler of ten million blacks, + Emperor of Larranaga. + + She could play the loud jamboon + With a fervour corybantic; + She could hurl the macaroon + Far into the mid-Atlantic; + More self-helpful than a SMILES, + She could ride on crocodiles, + Catch the fleetest flying-fishes; + She could cook, like EUSTACE MILES, + Wondrous vegetarian dishes. + + In the cool of eventide, + Gracefully festooned with myrtle, + In her sampan she would glide + Forth to spear the snapping turtle; + And her voice was blinding sweet, + Piercing as the parrakeet, + Fruity as old Manzanilla, + With a _soupçon_ of the bleat + Of the African gorilla. + + Eligible swains in shoals, + Victims to her fascination, + Toasted her in flowing bowls + Far beyond all computation; + There was valorous Hupu, + Xingalong and Timbalu, + And the peerless Popocotl, + Who had gained a triple blue + For his prowess with the bottle. + + But Opoponax, whose mind + Soared above her native tutors, + Imperturbably declined + All these brave and dusky suitors. + Finally she hailed a tramp + And, contriving to decamp + To the shores of Patagonia, + Finding them too chill and damp, + Perished of acute pneumonia. + + In an even darker doom + Tapioca's greatness ended, + For her father to the tomb + By swift leaps and bounds descended; + Xingalong and Timbalu + Both were slaughtered by Hupu, + Who was slain by Popocotl, + Who himself soon after slew + With an empty whisky bottle. + + Every tale, we often hear, + Ought to have a wholesome moral; + And this truth is just as clear + In the land of palm and coral; + For this tragedy in tones + Louder than a megaphone's + Warns us that two things are risky, + If you dwell in torrid zones-- + Change of climate, love of whisky. + + * * * * * + +WHAT TO DO WITH OUR SPARE TEETH. + +From the window of an emporium of ivory articles:-- + + "CUSTOMERS' OWN TUSKS MOUNTED." + + * * * * * + + "Daily morning housework; wanted at once, temporarily respectable + person."--_Middlesex County Times_. + +Everything is temporary in war-time. + + * * * * * + +From a drapery firm's advertisement:-- + + "We are the hub-bub of the Universe." + +A distinct infringement of the KAISER'S prerogative. + + * * * * * + + "The pilot of the Sopwith single-seater aeroplane dropped his + bombs and made off safely through a hail of anti-aircraft shells, + but not before his observer had been wounded in the arm."--_Daily + Express_. + +It is inferred that the observer, in default of other accommodation, +was seated upon the pilot's knee. + + * * * * * + + "Many an Englishman who disliked hunting or shooting in July, + 1914, would have cheerfully pressed a button if he could thereby + kill 100,000 Germans of military age in July, 1915."--_The English + Review_. + +But then, of course, there is no close time for Germans. + + * * * * * + + "We were pleased to meet here lately Captain ----, R.E., who + has been in France since near a couple of years and has seen + considerable service in H.M. forces. He left last week en route + for la belle Francaise. We wish the gallant officer all future + military success."--_Scotch Paper_. + +Our best wishes for the lady, too. + + * * * * * + + "We have sunk more German submarines than ever before. The + Admiralty has begun to see its way to reduce the danger to + proportions, normal and negotiable, like other dangers. If that + is done within the next months the British flee will have gained + the most memorable, though the least evident, victory in all its + annals."--_Observer_. + +Good old insect! But what an odd way to spell it. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A CONSIDERATE FOE. + +"IS IT SAFE NOW, MISTER?" + +"YES--IT WAS ALL CLEAR AT 9.20." + +"GOOD ON 'EM! JEST GAVE MY OLE MAN TIME TO GIT 'IS FINAL."] + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._) + +Mr. STEPHEN McKENNA, with the blushing honours of _Sonia_ still fresh +upon him, has now turned his pen to a tale of farcical adventure, the +result being _Ninety-Six Hours' Leave_ (METHUEN), and I could find +it in my heart to regret it. Because, to speak frankly, the present +volume will do little to add to the reputation so deservedly won by +the other. It is a tangle of complications, which, since they have +nothing solid to rest upon, begin by baffling, and end by boring, the +reader who strives to keep pace with them. A young officer, wishful +to dine at a smart hotel and having no appropriate clothes, is +struck with the idea of pretending to be a foreign royalty, and thus +incapable of sartorial indiscretion. And, as all sorts of assassins +and undesirable aliens happened to be waiting about to kill the man +whose style he borrowed, you can make a fair guess at the subsequent +action. There is much dialogue, most of it sparkling, though even here +I have to report criticism from a young friend to whom I introduced +the story. He said, "People don't talk like that really." Which +happens to be undeniably true. Thus, while giving Mr. McKENNA credit +for an active invention and some really writty turns of phrase, I +fear I must repeat my warning that as a _farceur_ he is below his +best form. + + * * * * * + +The clever lady who elects to call herself "RICHARD DEHAN" has already +secured a deserved reputation as a writer of short stories. Her new +book, _Under the Hermes_ (HEINEMANN), gives us a further selection of +tales of various lengths, from one that is not quite a novel to others +that are as brief as ten pages. The themes and settings are equally +varied; but all--or almost all--show the writer at her best in the +vigorous, swift and exciting development of some dramatic situation. +The exception, I may say at once, is the title-tale, to my mind a +stilted and--in a double sense--obviously "studio piece," quite +unworthy of its position at the opening of so attractive a volume, +where indeed it might easily discourage a questing reader. "Mr. DEHAN" +is far more fairly represented by such brilliant little miniatures +of historical romance as (to select three at random) "A Speaking +Likeness," "A Game of Faro" and "The Vengeance of the Cherry +Stone"--slight sketches ranging from France of the Revolution to +mediæval Bologna, but each most effective in its vivid colouring and +well-handled climax. Since one of these has lingered for many years in +my recollection from some else-forgotten magazine, I suspect that most +of the tales in the volume may be making a second appearance. If so, +it is in every way deserved. + + * * * * * + +_Trench Pictures from France_ (MELROSE) is by the late Major WILLIAM +REDMOND, M.P., and _The Ways of War_ (CONSTABLE) is by the late +Professor T.M. KETTLE, M.P. Both these books are memorials raised to +their authors by the pious zeal of relations and friends who thought +it shame that so much nobility of purpose and generous ardour should +go unrecorded in a tribute more permanent than the fleeting memories +of contemporary survivors. Both WILLIE REDMOND and TOM KETTLE were +Irishmen and members of the Nationalist Party and were to that extent +foes of the British Government; yet, when they were compelled to look +the Prussian menace in the face, neither the older man nor the younger +hesitated for a moment. Each, though there were many reasons that +might have pleaded against such a course, "joined up" in an Irish +regiment, each in due time went to France and each made the supreme +sacrifice, falling with his face to the foe. Neither doubted for a +moment that he was serving the cause of Ireland in fighting against +Prussianism and all that it implies. Their enthusiastic approval of +the justice of our cause should be to us a great assurance. I knew +them both and can say with the most complete sincerity that I never +knew two men better loved by all who had to do with them or more +worthy of this universal affection. It is in every way right that they +should be commemorated for future generations. WILLIE REDMOND'S book +consists of a series of sketches of the War contributed by him to _The +Daily Chronicle_. They are written with great charm and, even in the +gloomiest surroundings, reflect the sunny nature of the man. There is +a most appreciative biographical memoir by E.M. SMITH-DAMPIER, and in +an appendix will be found the memorable and splendid speech delivered +by WILLIE REDMOND in the House of Commons on March 7th of this year--a +true salutation in view of death. KETTLE'S book is in the main a +reprint of articles that reveal a brilliant and versatile mind. Mrs. +KETTLE contributes a very interesting and sympathetic account of her +gallant husband's life. It would have been impossible for such a man +not to have hated the German tyranny. + + * * * * * + +Mr. STACY AUMONIER takes for his theme the development of a clever +neurotic, _Arthur Gaffyn_, who stands, in relation to normal life +and normal feelings, _Just Outside_ (METHUEN)--a common modern type, +perhaps a commoner type in all ages than the obvious records show. The +author handles with real subtlety the phases of Arthur's marriage with +a woman much older than himself, a marriage in which the hunger of +the woman for love was a greater factor than the not deeply stirred +passion of the man. Then, with the appearance of the destined mate, +beauty and youth and desire carry the day against duty, but neither +callously nor flippantly. The insight and sympathy displayed in +the analysis of motive are remarkable. The author has a real gift +for portraiture. In particular he touches in his minor folk with +extraordinarily deft defining lines. Perhaps in general there is +a little hesitancy in craftsmanship, a slight quavering between +the fashionable modern realism and an older romanticism. But the +seriousness of his artistic intention, the solidity of his work (which +is by no means to say stodginess, quite the contrary) will commend Mr. +AUMONIER to all who care to listen to people who have the one thing +necessary, something to say; and the other thing desirable, a pleasant +way of saying it. + + * * * * * + +In its quiet unobtrusive way _When Michael Came to Town_ (HUTCHINSON) +is a most excellent specimen of Madame ALBANESI's art. No sound of +war is to be heard in it, and when I think how completely some of our +novelists have failed when trying to deal with contemporary events +I cannot be too thankful that this novel is laid in a period before +the Germans became an uncivilised nation. _Olive_, the heroine, +a delightful girl, is the supposititious child of _Sir James +Wenborough_, whose wife, in his absence and without his knowledge, +secured her as a substitute for their own child, who died at its +birth. The secret is disclosed by an unscrupulous minx, who uses the +knowledge she has obtained to push her way into the _Wenborough_ +household. Men are not Madame ALBANESI'S strongest points, but in +_Roderick Guye_ and _Michael Wenborough_ we have well-contrasted +characters, and the worst that can be said of them is that they +belong to rather stock types. Altogether a book which many people +will describe as "perfectly sweet;" but, because of its sympathetic +qualities and sound workmanship, it deserves a more distinctive label. + + * * * * * + +When the lean brown hero with the hawk lip extends an arm of steel +from the six-cylinder Rolls-Royce in which he is lounging and snatches +the beautiful mannequin from between the very jaws of an omnibus, we +realise that we are in the presence of Romance in its purest form. +A spin in the Park and a cosy dinner in a Soho restaurant are quite +sufficient to convince hero and heroine that they are each other's +own. Some novelists would let it go at that, but not Mr. ARTHUR +APPLIN, who has only got to chapter II, and wishes to give us value +for our money. What's to come is, as SHAKSPEARE says, still unsure, +but apparently the heroine, who has gone to break the happy news to a +poor but respectable aunt in Devonshire, is met at the country station +by a chauffeur, who calls her "Lady Alice" and waves her towards a +large Limousine. She knows she isn't Lady Alice and has no car to +meet her, but she hops in nevertheless. She doesn't know where she is +going, but she is on her way. There is a smash, and when the heroine +comes to she is being called Lady Alice in an ancestral castle. +Everything has been obliterated from her memory, including her own +identity and that of the hero, and the author can now make a fresh +start. If you wish to know how it all ends you must get _The Woman +Who Was Not_ (WARD, LOCK), but there is no compelling reason why +you should. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "OH, YOU AWFUL BOY--YOU'VE LEFT THE TACKS IN THE ROAD, +AND NOW THE TANK'LL GET A PUNCTURE."] + + * * * * * + +AIR-RAID FASHIONS AT MANCHESTER. + + "Monday commences the final week of Sir Thomas Beecham's SEASON + OF NIGHTY PROMENADE CONCERTS".--_Manchester City Press_. + + * * * * * + + "WENSLEYDALE BLUE-FACED SHEEP-BREEDERS' SHOW." + + _Yorkshire Post_. + +We cannot conceive why these breeders should look blue with prices at +their present height. + + * * * * * + +WAR-TIME FRUGALITY. + + "Before an interested and applauding public on the verandah of the + Club-house Mrs. MacDonald, who had also provided tea, distributed + the cups and other insignia of victory to the successful + competitors."--_Standard (Buenos Aires)_. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +153, Oct. 10, 1917, by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10721 *** |