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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153,
+Oct. 10, 1917, by Various
+
+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 www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Oct. 10, 1917
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Owen Seamen
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2005 [EBook #10721]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and Project
+Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+***** This file should be named 10721-8.txt or 10721-8.zip *****
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153,
+Oct. 10, 1917, by Various
+
+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 www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Oct. 10, 1917
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Owen Seamen
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2005 [EBook #10721]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and Project
+Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<h1>PUNCH,<br />
+OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1>
+<h2>Vol. 153.</h2>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>October 10, 1917.</h2>
+<hr class="full" />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page247" id="page247"></a>[pg
+247]</span>
+<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2>
+<p>"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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>"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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p><i>The English Hymnal</i>, 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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>Mr. GEORGE MOORE, the novelist, declares that ROBERT LOUIS
+STEVENSON "was without merit for tale-telling." But how does Mr.
+GEORGE MOORE know?</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>"Is Pheasant Shooting Dangerous?" asks a weekly paper headline.
+We understand that many pheasants are of the opinion that it has
+its risks.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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."</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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."</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>General SUKHOMLINOFF has appealed from his sentence of
+imprisonment for life. Some people don't know what gratitude
+is.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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."</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href=
+"images/247.png"><img width="100%" src="images/247.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<i>The Grouser</i>. "JUST OUR ROTTEN LUCK TO ARRIVE 'ERE ON
+EARLY-CLOSING DAY."</div>
+<hr />
+<h3>COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.</h3>
+<blockquote>
+<p>"ANTIQUES.&mdash;All Lovers of the Genuine Antiques should not
+fail to see one of the best-selected Stocks of Genuine Antique
+Furniture, &amp;c., including Stuart, Charles II., Tudor, Jacobean,
+Queen Anne, Chippendale, Sheraton, Hepplewhite, Adams, and Georgian
+periods.</p>
+<p>FRESH GOODS EVERY DAY."</p>
+<p class="author"><i>Provincial Paper</i>.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>A new German Opera that we look forward to seeing: <i>Die
+Goth&auml;dummerung</i>.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>
+<p>"A man just under military age, with seven children, is ordered
+to join up."&mdash;<i>Weekly Dispatch</i>.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Such precocious parentage must be discouraged.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"HELSINGFORS, Sept. 28.&mdash;The Governor-General of
+Finland has ordered seals to be affixed to the doors of the
+Diet."&mdash;<i>Times</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>This seems superfluous. Seals have always been attached to a Fin
+Diet.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"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."&mdash;<i>Portland Daily Press
+(U.S.A.)</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>We trust that he did not dwell unduly upon the scantiness of
+their attire.</p>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page248" id="page248"></a>[pg
+248]</span>
+<h2>MODEL DIALOGUES FOR AIR-RAIDS.</h2>
+<blockquote class="note">[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.]</blockquote>
+<h4>I.</h4>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><i>A</i>. Beautiful weather for the time of year!</p>
+<p><i>B</i>. A perfect spell, indeed, of halcyon calm,</p>
+<p class="i4">Most grateful here in Town, and, what is more,</p>
+<p class="i4">A priceless gift to our brave lads in France,</p>
+<p class="i4">Whose need is sorer, being sick of mud.</p>
+<p><i>A</i>. They have our first thoughts ever, and, if Heaven</p>
+<p class="i4">Had not enough good weather to go round,</p>
+<p class="i4">Gladly I'd sacrifice this present boon</p>
+<p class="i4">And welcome howling blizzards, hail and flood,</p>
+<p class="i4">So they, out there, might still be warm and dry.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<h4>II.</h4>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><i>C</i>. Have you observed the alien in our midst,</p>
+<p class="i4">How strangely numerous he seems to-day,</p>
+<p class="i4">Swarming like migrant swallows from the East?</p>
+<p><i>D</i>. I take it they would fain elude the net</p>
+<p class="i4">Spread by Conscription's hands to haul them in.</p>
+<p class="i4">All day they lurk in cover Houndsditch way,</p>
+<p class="i4">Dodging the copper, and emerge at night</p>
+<p class="i4">To snatch a breath of Occidental air</p>
+<p class="i4">And drink the ozone of our Underground.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<h4>III.</h4>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><i>E</i>. How glorious is the Milky Way just now!</p>
+<p><i>F</i>. True. In addition to the regular stars</p>
+<p class="i4">I saw a number flash and disappear.</p>
+<p><i>E</i>. I too. A heavenly portent, let us hope,</p>
+<p class="i4">Presaging triumph to our British arms.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<h4>IV.</h4>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><i>G</i>. Methought I heard yestreen a loudish noise</p>
+<p class="i4">Closely resembling the report of guns.</p>
+<p><i>H</i>. Ay, you conjectured right. Those sounds arose</p>
+<p class="i4">From anti-aircraft guns engaged in practice</p>
+<p class="i4">Against the unlikely advent of the Hun.</p>
+<p class="i4">One must be ready in a war like this</p>
+<p class="i4">To face the most remote contingencies.</p>
+<p><i>G</i>. Something descended on the next back-yard,</p>
+<p class="i4">Spoiling a dozen of my neighbour's tubers.</p>
+<p><i>H</i>. No doubt a live shell mixed among the blank;</p>
+<p class="i4">Such oversights from time to time occur</p>
+<p class="i4">Even in Potsdam, where the casual sausage</p>
+<p class="i4">Perishes freely in a <i>feu de joie</i>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<h4>V.</h4>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><i>J</i>. We missed you badly at our board last night.</p>
+<p><i>K</i>. The loss was mine. I could not get a cab.</p>
+<p class="i4">Whistling, as you're aware, is banned by law,</p>
+<p class="i4">And when I went in person on the quest</p>
+<p class="i4">The streets were void of taxis.</p>
+<p><i>J</i>.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And to what</p>
+<p class="i4">Do you attribute this unusual dearth?</p>
+<p><i>K</i>. The general rush to Halls of Mirth and Song,</p>
+<p class="i4">Never so popular. The War goes well,</p>
+<p class="i4">And London's millions needs must find a way</p>
+<p class="i4">To vent their exaltation&mdash;else they burst.</p>
+<p><i>J</i>. But could you not have travelled by the Tube?</p>
+<p><i>K</i>. I did essay the Tube, but found it stuffed.</p>
+<p class="i4">The atmosphere was solid as a cheese,</p>
+<p class="i4">And I was loath to penetrate the crowd</p>
+<p class="i4">Lest it should shove me from behind upon</p>
+<p class="i4">The electric rail.</p>
+<p><i>J</i>.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Can you account for that?</p>
+<p><i>K</i>. I should ascribe it to the harvest moon,</p>
+<p class="i4">That wakes romance in Metropolitan breasts,</p>
+<p class="i4">Drawing our young war-workers out of town</p>
+<p class="i4">To seek the glamour of the country lanes</p>
+<p class="i4">Under the silvery beams to lovers dear. O.S.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>FORCE OF HABIT.</h2>
+<p>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!"</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;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&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>I also saw him pay 2&frac12;<i>d.</i> for a <i>Daily
+Mail</i>.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>I got a letter from George just before he went back. He
+patronized me delightfully&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr />
+<blockquote>
+<p>"The raiders came in three suctions."&mdash;<i>Evening
+News</i>.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>So <i>that</i> was what blocked the Tubes.</p>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249" id="page249"></a>[pg
+249]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/249.png"><img width="100%" src="images/249.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<h3>THE LETTER AND THE SPIRIT.</h3>
+<p>PRIME MINISTER. "YOU YOUNG RASCAL! I NEVER SAID THAT."</p>
+<p>NEWSBOY. "WELL, I'LL LAY YER MEANT IT."</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page250" id="page250"></a>[pg
+250]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/250.png"><img width="100%" src="images/250.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<p><i>Keeper</i>. "ANY BIRDS, SIR?"</p>
+<p><i>Officer (fresh from France)</i>. "YES. THREE CRASHED; TWO
+DOWN OUT OF CONTROL."</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>THE WATCH DOGS.</h2>
+<h3>LXVI.</h3>
+<p>MY DEAR CHARLES,&mdash;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 &mdash;&mdash; for example.</p>
+<p>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 &mdash;&mdash;.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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)&mdash;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 <span class="pagenum"><a name="page251" id=
+"page251"></a>[pg 251]</span> 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&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>At the port of &mdash;&mdash;, 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.</p>
+<p>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?</p>
+<p>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
+<i>sangfroid</i>. 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.</p>
+<p>By the way, where <i>is</i> his M.L.O.? Has anybody ever seen
+him? I haven't. Does he exist?... Has he been got rid of?</p>
+<p>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?</p>
+<p>If the M.L.O. has been thrown down there, who threw him?</p>
+<p>Was it my idol, the A.M.L.O., in a moment of exasperation with
+his M.L.O.?</p>
+<p>Or was it the M.L.O., in a moment of exasperation with my idol,
+the A.M.L.O.?</p>
+<p class="author">Yours ever,<br />HENRY.</p>
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/251.png"><img width="100%" src="images/251.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<p><i>Old Lady</i>. "IS THIS THE RESULT OF A BOMB, CONSTABLE?"</p>
+<p><i>Constable (fed up)</i>. "BLESS YOU, NO, MA'AM. THE GENT THAT
+LIVES HERE'S GOT HAY FEVER."</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<blockquote>"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."&mdash;<i>Morning
+Post</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>Our congratulations to the mine sweeping wife upon having
+captured a Baby Mine.</p>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252" id="page252"></a>[pg
+252]</span>
+<h2>BEASTS ROYAL.</h2>
+<h3>III.</h3>
+<h3 class="sc">Duke William's Falcon. A.D. 1065.</h3>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Upon a marsh beside the sea,</p>
+<p>With hawk and hound and vassals three,</p>
+<p>Rode WILLIAM, Duke of NORMANDY,</p>
+<p class="i2">The heir of Rover ROLLO;</p>
+<p>And ever as his falcon flew</p>
+<p>Quoth he: "Mark well, by St. MACLOU,</p>
+<p>For where she hovers hasten you,</p>
+<p class="i2">And where she falls I follow."</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>She rose into the misty sky,</p>
+<p>A brooding menace hid on high,</p>
+<p>Ere she dipped earthward suddenly</p>
+<p class="i2">As dips the silver swallow;</p>
+<p>Then, spurring through the rushes grey,</p>
+<p>Cried WILLIAM, "Sirs, away, away!</p>
+<p>For where she hovers is the prey,</p>
+<p class="i2">And where she falls I follow."</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Her marbled plume with crimson dight,</p>
+<p>Seaward she soared, and bent her flight</p>
+<p>Above the ridge of foaming white</p>
+<p class="i2">Along the harbour hollow;</p>
+<p>Then, looking grimly toward the strait,</p>
+<p>Said WILLIAM, "Truly, soon or late,</p>
+<p>There where she hovers is my fate,</p>
+<p class="i2">And where she falls I follow."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>THE CAVE-DWELLERS.</h2>
+<p>"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?"</p>
+<p>"Certainly not," said my wife. "The man's a nuisance. He is not
+even respectable&mdash;looks like a gipsy or a disreputable artist.
+I'll speak to him myself." And she flounced out of the room.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Matilda rushed back into the room with a metal jug in her
+hand.</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>Matilda is a second cousin once removed of the
+Drewitts&mdash;one of the best baronetcies in England&mdash;and
+naturally we take an interest in Heraldry.</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>"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?"</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>"Hallo!" I heard him say, laughing, "it's the kind Philistines
+who gave us the vegetables." Then aloud, "Come in. Mind the
+steps."</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>"What a shame!" said Matilda, taking up a canvas. "May I look?
+Oh! how pretty."</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>It is at a moment like this that my wife shines.</p>
+<p>"I should like to see it in a better light," she said. "But how
+interesting! Everyone paints now-a-days&mdash;even Royalty. My
+cousin, Sir Ethelwyn Drewitt, has done some charming water-colours
+of the family estates. Perhaps you know him?"</p>
+<p>Our host shook his head.</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>Matilda swooned. The air was certainly very close down
+there.</p>
+<hr />
+<h2>THE WAR-DREAM.</h2>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I Wish I did not dream of France</p>
+<p class="i2">And spend my nights in mortal dread</p>
+<p>On miry flats where whizz-bangs dance</p>
+<p class="i2">And star-shells hover o'er my head,</p>
+<p>And sometimes wake my anxious spouse</p>
+<p>By making shrill excited rows</p>
+<p>Because it seems a hundred "hows"</p>
+<p class="i6">Are barraging the bed.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I never fight with tigers now</p>
+<p class="i2">Or know the old nocturnal mares;</p>
+<p>The house on fire, the frantic cow,</p>
+<p class="i2">The cut-throat coming up the stairs</p>
+<p>Would be a treat; I almost miss</p>
+<p>That feeling of paralysis</p>
+<p>With which one climbed a precipice</p>
+<p class="i6">Or ran away from bears.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Nor do I dream the pleasant days</p>
+<p class="i2">That sometimes soothe the worst of wars,</p>
+<p>Of omelettes and estaminets</p>
+<p class="i2">And smiling maids at cottage-doors;</p>
+<p>But in a vague unbounded waste</p>
+<p>For ever hide with futile haste</p>
+<p>From 5.9's precisely placed,</p>
+<p class="i6">And all the time it pours.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Yet, if I showed colossal phlegm</p>
+<p class="i2">Or kept enormous crowds at bay,</p>
+<p>And sometimes won the D.C.M.,</p>
+<p class="i2">It might inspire me for the fray;</p>
+<p>But, looking back, I do not seem</p>
+<p>To recollect a single dream</p>
+<p>In which I did not simply scream</p>
+<p class="i6">And try to run away.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And when I wake with flesh that creeps</p>
+<p class="i2">The only solace I can see</p>
+<p>Is thinking, if the Prussian sleeps,</p>
+<p class="i2">What hideous visions <i>his</i> must be!</p>
+<p>Can all my dreams of gas and guns</p>
+<p>Be half as rotten as the Hun's?</p>
+<p>I like to think his blackest ones</p>
+<p class="i6">Are when he dreams of me.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="author">A.P.H.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<blockquote>"Street lamp-posts in Chiswick are all being painted
+white by female labour."&mdash;<i>Times</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>The authorities were afraid, we understand, that if males were
+employed they would paint the town red.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"Four groups of raiders tried to attack London on
+Saturday night. If there were eight in each group, this meant
+thirty-two Gothas."&mdash;<i>Evening Standard</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page253" id="page253"></a>[pg
+253]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/253.png"><img width="100%" src="images/253.png" alt=
+"" /></a><i>Lodger (who has numbered his lumps of sugar with lead
+pencil)</i>. "OH, MRS. JARVIS, I AM UNABLE TO FIND NUMBERS 3, 7 AND
+18."</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>THE DOOR.</h2>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;reaping in two fields&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;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 <i>fianc&eacute;e</i>, who was one of the prettiest girls
+in the world.</p>
+<p>"Do you think so?" the knob of the brass fender would inquire.
+"To me she seemed too fat and her mouth was very wide."</p>
+<p>"But that's a fault," the tongs would reply, "that you find with
+every one."</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>"How?" the cigarette-lighter sharply <span class=
+"pagenum"><a name="page254" id="page254"></a>[pg 254]</span>
+inquired, uniqueness being one of his own chief claims to
+distinction.</p>
+<p>"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&mdash;no. I
+remember," the inkstand was continuing&mdash;</p>
+<p>"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&mdash;we warriors&mdash;we might as well
+be mouldy old fossils like the home-grown things in this room, who
+know of war or excitement absolutely nothing."</p>
+<p>"That's where you're wrong," said a quiet voice.</p>
+<p>"Who's speaking?" the shell asked.</p>
+<p>"I am," said the door. "You're quite right about
+yourselves&mdash;you War souvenirs. You've done. You can still brag
+a bit, but that's all. You're out of it. Whereas I&mdash;I'm in it
+still. I can make people run for their lives."</p>
+<p>"How?" asked the inkstand.</p>
+<p>"Because whenever I bang," said the door, "they think I'm an
+air-raid."</p>
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/254.png"><img width="100%" src="images/254.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<i>Butler (the family having come down to the kitchen during an
+air-raid)</i>. "'YSTERIA&mdash;WITHIN REASON&mdash;I DON'T OBJECT
+TO. BUT WHAT I CAN'T STAND IS BRAVADO."</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>CUSS-CONTROL.</h2>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I found myself, some time ago,</p>
+<p>Growing too fond of cuss-words, so</p>
+<p>I made a vow to curb my passions</p>
+<p>And put my angry tongue on rations.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>As no Controller yet exists</p>
+<p>To frame these necessary lists,</p>
+<p>I had myself to pick and choose</p>
+<p>The words that I could safely use.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Four verbs found favour in my sight,</p>
+<p><i>Viz.</i>, "drat" and "dash" and "blow" and "blight";</p>
+<p>While "blithering" and "blinkin'" were</p>
+<p>My only adjectival pair.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I freely own that "dash" and "drat"</p>
+<p>At times sound lamentably flat;</p>
+<p>And "blight" and "blow" don't somehow seem</p>
+<p>Quite adequate to every theme.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>When you are wishful to be withering</p>
+<p>'Tis hard to be confined to "blithering,"</p>
+<p>And to express explosive thinkin'</p>
+<p>One longs for some relief from "blinkin'."</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Still Mr. BALFOUR, so I hear,</p>
+<p>Seldom goes further than "O dear!"</p>
+<p>While moments of annoyance draw</p>
+<p>"Bother" at worst from BONAR LAW.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Hence, if our leaders in their style</p>
+<p>Are able to suppress their bile,</p>
+<p>And practise noble moderation</p>
+<p>In comment and in objurgation,</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Why should not I, a doggerel bard,</p>
+<p>All futile expletives discard,</p>
+<p>And discipline my restive soul</p>
+<p>With salutary cuss-control?</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h3>ERRARE EST DIABOLICUM.</h3>
+<p>From the Indian author of an Anglo-vernacular
+text-book:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote>"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."</blockquote>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"Nelson himself being a Suckling on his mother's
+side."&mdash;<i>Observer</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>We cannot know too much about the early history of our
+heroes.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"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."&mdash;<i>Daily Express</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>This must have been in Sir WALTER SCOTT'S proleptic mind when he
+wrote (in <i>Rokeby</i>):&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood,</p>
+<p>Cheering his mates with heart and hand</p>
+<p>Still to make good their desperate stand."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255" id="page255"></a>[pg
+255]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/255.png"><img width="100%" src="images/255.png" alt="" /></a>
+<h3>A BIRTHDAY GREETING FOR HINDENBURG.</h3>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>F.M. SIR DOUGLAS HAIG (<i>sings</i>). "O I'LL TAK' THE HIGH ROAD</p>
+<p class="i10">
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;AN' YE'LL TAK' THE LOW ROAD...."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>[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.]</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page256" id="page256"></a>[pg
+256]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/256.png"><img width="100%" src="images/256.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<h3>INFORMATION TO THE ENEMY.</h3>
+<i>Wife.</i> "I CALL IT SIMPLY SCANDALOUS THAT THE PAPERS SHOULD
+BE ALLOWED TO PUBLISH THE DATES WHEN THE MOON IS FULL."</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>OSWALD AND CO.</h2>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>In a small villa opposite lives Freddy, our married subaltern,
+and Mrs. Freddy.</p>
+<p>On a patch of turf up a neighbouring lane Oswald and Co. took up
+their residence this summer.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Oswald was a tall bony grizzled child of the Open.</p>
+<p>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, <i>belles &eacute;toiles</i>
+and great spaces.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Not having any business to attend to he lay abed very late. Our
+troopers, riding at ease <i>en route</i> 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.</p>
+<p>The Adjutant was for having Oswald moved on; we should be
+missing things presently, he warned&mdash;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 <i>qui vive</i> and accustomed them to
+practically Active Service conditions.</p>
+<p>So all the summer the wigwam remained on the turf-patch and the
+sentries on the <i>qui vive</i>.</p>
+<p>How Oswald existed is a mystery&mdash;probably on manna, for he
+toiled not neither span, and if he stole for a living it was not
+from us.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page257" id="page257"></a>[pg
+257]</span> 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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The post-orderly, splashing back to barracks, reported the
+disappearance of Oswald and Co.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;which they discovered they had forgotten to
+lock in the delirium of their departure&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>Freddy in a high state of excitement came over to the Mess and
+told us all about it.</p>
+<p>He himself had been all for slaying Oswald on the spot, he said,
+but Mrs. Freddy wouldn't hear of it.</p>
+<p>"She says he hasn't stolen anything," Freddy explained. "She
+says he was only <i>staying</i> 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&mdash;so that's the end of
+it."</p>
+<p>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&mdash;Ho! toot the clarion, belt the drum! Boot and
+saddle! Hark away!</p>
+<p>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.&mdash;where are
+they? We cannot guess, and we are very very tired of practically
+Active Service conditions.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p class="author sc">Patlander.</p>
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/257.png"><img width="100%" src="images/257.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<p><i>Earnest Lady</i>. "OF COURSE I UNDERSTAND MEN MUST DRINK
+WHILE DOING SUCH HOT AND HEAVY WORK. BUT MUST IT BE BEER? CAN'T
+THEY DRINK WATER?"</p>
+<p><i>Mechanic</i>. "YES, LADY, THEY CAN DRINK WATER, BUT
+(<i>confidentially</i>) IT MAKES 'EM SO GIDDY."</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<blockquote>"Boy, to heat at hearth and to strike
+occasionally."&mdash;<i>Sheffield Daily Telegraph</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>A case for the N.S.P.C.C.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>Appended to a quotation from <i>The Globe</i> on German
+intrigues with the Vatican:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote>"[NOTE: The above is obviously from the pen of Mr. L.J.
+Maxse, the editor of the <i>National Review</i>, who, as recently
+announced, has become associated with the editorial direction of
+the Pope.]"&mdash;<i>Manchester Evening Chronicle</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>In pursuance of this arrangement His Holiness will in future
+take the style of <i>Pontifex Maxsemus</i>.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<h3>Journalistic Candour.</h3>
+<blockquote>"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"&mdash;<i>Adelaide Register</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>We have lately read a good deal of "Russian Fudge matter."</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">"PROMENADE CONCERTS, QUEEN'S HALL.</p>
+<p class="i2">Sir Henry J. Wood, Conductor.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">
+Mondays&mdash;Wagner.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&mdash;&mdash;?&mdash;&mdash;?&mdash;?&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Tuesdays&mdash;Russian.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;cymfwypo&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Wednesdays&mdash;Symphony.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;cmfwypemfwvfg</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Thursdays&mdash;Popular.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;cmfwypemfwycppwf</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Fridays&mdash;Beethoven.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;cmfwypemfwyy</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Saturdays&mdash;Popular.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;cmfwypemf&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+<p class="i10">
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>The Star</i>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>A sporting effort to reproduce the effect of the barrage
+<i>obbligato</i>.</p>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page258" id="page258"></a>[pg
+258]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/258.png"><img width="100%" src="images/258.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<table width="100%">
+<tr>
+<td width="40%"><i>Footpad</i>. "I HEAR A CYCLIST COMING. I'LL
+UPSET HIS BIKE, AND THEN&mdash;"</td>
+<td width="4%"></td>
+<td width="56%">BUT IT WAS MR. TUBER-CAINE, THE ALLOTMENT
+ENTHUSIAST, RETURNING FROM HIS LABOURS.</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>TO AN INFANT GNU.</h2>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Thomas (that may not be thine actual name</p>
+<p class="i2">But it will serve as well as any other),</p>
+<p>There be coarse souls to whom all flesh is game,</p>
+<p class="i2">Who do not hail thee as a new-born brother</p>
+<p>But merely as a thing at which to aim</p>
+<p class="i2">Their fratricidal guns; they simply smother</p>
+<p>The sense, which I for one cannot eschew,</p>
+<p>Of soul relationship 'twixt man and gnu.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>'Tis not, O surely not, for such as these</p>
+<p class="i2">Those baby limbs are flung in lightsome capers;</p>
+<p>Those puny bleatings were not meant to please</p>
+<p class="i2">Facetious writers for the daily papers;</p>
+<p>Let baser beasts inspire the obvious wheeze,</p>
+<p class="i2">Wombats and wart-hogs, tortoises and tapirs;</p>
+<p>These lack the subtle spell thy presence flings</p>
+<p>About the spirit tuned to higher things.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Well could I picture thee, a dusky sprite,</p>
+<p class="i2">With Dryad hoofs on Thracian ledges drumming,</p>
+<p>When day is slipping from the arms of night</p>
+<p class="i2">And all the hushed leaves whisper, "Pan is
+coming!"</p>
+<p>And thou before him, leaping with delight,</p>
+<p class="i2">Stirring all birds to song, all bees to humming</p>
+<p>And buds to blossoming&mdash;but lo! at hand</p>
+<p>A tablet reads, "<i>C. Gnu. Nyassaland</i>."</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Thus they've described thy formidable sire,</p>
+<p class="i2">A whiskered person with a chronic liver.</p>
+<p>I feed him biscuits to appease his ire;</p>
+<p class="i2">He eats the gift but fain would bite the giver.</p>
+<p>His eye is red with reminiscent fire,</p>
+<p class="i2">His thoughts are by the great Zambesi River</p>
+<p>Where hides the hippopotam, huge as sin,</p>
+<p>And slinking leopards with the dappled skin.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>No couches of the nymph and Bassarid,</p>
+<p class="i2">Or thymy meadows such as Simois glasses,</p>
+<p>Lured his exulting feet, my jocund kid,</p>
+<p class="i2">But veldt and kloof and waving jungle grasses,</p>
+<p>Where lurk the python with unwinking lid,</p>
+<p class="i2">And the lean lion, growling, as he passes,</p>
+<p>His futile wrath against the hoarse baboons</p>
+<p>That drape the rocks in chattering platoons.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Free of the waste he snuffed the breeze at morn,</p>
+<p class="i2">The fleet-foot peer of sassaby and kudu;</p>
+<p>The hunting leopard feared his bristling horn,</p>
+<p class="i2">The foul hy&aelig;na voted him a hoodoo;</p>
+<p>Browsing on tender grass and camel-thorn</p>
+<p class="i2">He roamed the plains, as all right-minded gnu do;</p>
+<p>But now he eats the bun of discontent</p>
+<p>That once was lord of half a continent.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And thou, my child, to whom harsh fate has dealt</p>
+<p class="i2">A captive's birthright&mdash;thou wilt never
+scamper</p>
+<p>With wing&eacute;d feet across the windy veldt,</p>
+<p class="i2">Where are no crowds to stare nor bars to hamper;</p>
+<p>Thou wilt not ring upon the rhino's pelt</p>
+<p class="i2">In wanton sport. But there&mdash;why put a damper</p>
+<p>On thy young spirits by recounting what</p>
+<p>Africa is but Regent's Park is not.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>It would but grieve thee, and, moreover, I</p>
+<p class="i2">Note that thy young attention's growing looser.</p>
+<p>A piece of cake? O fie! my Thomas, fie!</p>
+<p class="i2">The keeper said, "Please not to feed the gnu,
+Sir."</p>
+<p>And yet it seems a shame to pass thee by</p>
+<p class="i2">Without some slight confectionery douceur;</p>
+<p>So here's a bun; and let this thought obtrude:</p>
+<p>What matter freedom while there's lots of food!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="sc author">Algol.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h3>PRO-GERMANISM IN KENSINGTON.</h3>
+<blockquote>"At St. Mary Abbot's, in Kensington, the organist
+played hymns for two hours during the Sunday raid, in which the
+congregation joined."&mdash;<i>Daily Mirror</i>.</blockquote>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page259" id="page259"></a>[pg
+259]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/259.png"><img width="100%" src="images/259.png" alt="" /></a>
+<h3>TRIALS OF A CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER.</h3>
+<p><i>C. Officer</i>. "NOW THEN, WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS?"</p>
+<p><i>C. Painter</i>. "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."</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h2><i>L'AGENT PROVOCATEUR.</i></h2>
+<p>A short while ago the following advertisement appeared in the
+"Personal" column of <i>The Times</i>:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote>"Artist (33), literary, travelled, mentally isolated,
+would appreciate brilliant, interesting correspondents; writers'
+anonymity observed."</blockquote>
+<p>Now thereby hang many tales (none of them necessarily true).
+Here is one of them.</p>
+<p>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 <i>The
+Times</i>, he threw it on the table among the attentive Mess and
+snorted.</p>
+<p>"Ha! A Cuthbert&mdash;a genuine shirker! I think some of you
+might oblige the gentleman."</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The Mess "carried on" the conversation.</p>
+<p>"<i>I'll</i> write to the blighter," shouted the Junior Sub.
+"I'll be an awf'lly 'interesting correspondent.'"</p>
+<p>"And a brilliant one?" queried the Major.</p>
+<p>"A Verey brilliant one, Sir," asserted the Sub., giving a
+sample.</p>
+<p>"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."</p>
+<p>"Don't you make any mistake," said the Major, "<i>he</i> 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."</p>
+<p>"I've got an idea," said the Junior Sub., joyously.</p>
+<p>"Consolidate it quickly," said the Adjutant, "and prepare to
+receive counter-attacks. Yes?"</p>
+<p>"I've never yet been allowed to explain <i>my</i> side of that
+confounded affair of the revetments. I'll tell it all to Cuthbert.
+<i>He</i>'ll sympathise with me. I'll tell him all that the C.O.
+said and all that I should have <i>liked</i> to say to the C.O. To
+pour out one's troubles into a travelled literary bosom&mdash;what
+a relief!"</p>
+<p>"That's rather an idea," said the Senior Captain. "I nurse a
+private grief of my own beneath a camouflage of&mdash;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"&mdash;he waved a golden-syrup spoon towards
+the Colonel and the manure-heap&mdash;"and yet demands a finnicking
+and altogether contemptible realism in the matter of trench maps.
+Pass the honey, please."</p>
+<p>"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&mdash;or the grievances of this battalion, at any
+rate."</p>
+<p>"It's the same thing," observed the Senior Captain gloomily.
+"Isn't there any preserved ginger? Lord, what a Mess!"</p>
+<p>Weary Williams, a time-expired <span class="pagenum"><a name=
+"page260" id="page260"></a>[pg 260]</span> Second
+Lieutenant&mdash;a ticket-of-leave man, as it were, without a
+ticket-of-leave&mdash;who had once commanded the remnants of two
+companies with honour but not with acknowledgment, poised a
+fountain-pen, inquiring casually, "<i>What</i> was it the C.O. said
+about the destruction of Ypres? Ah, yes" (and he began to write),
+"<i>a Brobdingnagian act of brachycephalic brutality</i>...."</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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&mdash;of rather deeper
+interest than was warranted by military discipline or civilian
+breeding (which are, of course, the same virtue in different
+forms).</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Outside the Weary One waited respectfully for the Colonel to
+speak.</p>
+<p>"So you saw through my camouflage?" said the latter
+thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>"Yes, Sir."</p>
+<p>"How did you do it?"</p>
+<p>"Well, Sir, to mention only the internal evidence&mdash;an
+'Artist'"&mdash;Williams waved his hand expressively towards the
+manure-heap; "'thirty-three'&mdash;one of the youngest C.O.'s in
+the Army, I believe?" He bowed politely.</p>
+<p>"Ha!" said the Colonel.</p>
+<p>"'Literary'&mdash;I remember your stopping Captain Jones's leave
+for a split infinitive in a ration return. 'Travelled'&mdash;you
+have travelled in Turkey, I think, Sir?"</p>
+<p>The Colonel, who had been blown out of a trench at Krithia,
+nodded shortly.</p>
+<p>"'Mentally isolated'&mdash;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&mdash;as mine, for instance&mdash;can
+hardly be called either brilliant or interesting."</p>
+<p>"I don't know," said the Colonel. "That was a very good bit
+about the destruction of Ypres. What was it?&mdash;Ha,
+yes&mdash;<i>A Brobdingnagian act</i>&mdash;"</p>
+<p>"&mdash;<i>of brachycephalic brutality</i>, Sir. But that was
+not original."</p>
+<p>"If you can't be original yourself," said the Colonel kindly,
+"the next best thing is to quote from those who can."</p>
+<p>"That's what I thought, Sir."</p>
+<p>"Ha! Well, of course the writers' anonymity must be
+observed&mdash;that's a point of honour. Still, I think,
+Williams&mdash;I have been asked to recommend an intelligent
+officer for a staff appointment&mdash;that if I were to name
+<i>you</i> I should not go far wrong. And&mdash;er&mdash;if you are
+ever asked for an opinion of the destruction of Ypres&mdash;"</p>
+<p>"I shall remember to give the reference, Sir. Thank you,
+Sir."</p>
+<p class="author">W.B.</p>
+<hr />
+<h2>A TROPICAL TRAGEDY.</h2>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>On the tesselated slopes</p>
+<p class="i2">Of the Isle of Tapioca,</p>
+<p>Where the azure antelopes</p>
+<p class="i2">Haunt the valley of Avoca,</p>
+<p>Dwelt the maid Opoponax,</p>
+<p>Only child of Brex Koax,</p>
+<p class="i2">Far renowned in song and saga,</p>
+<p>Ruler of ten million blacks,</p>
+<p class="i2">Emperor of Larranaga.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>She could play the loud jamboon</p>
+<p class="i2">With a fervour corybantic;</p>
+<p>She could hurl the macaroon</p>
+<p class="i2">Far into the mid-Atlantic;</p>
+<p>More self-helpful than a SMILES,</p>
+<p>She could ride on crocodiles,</p>
+<p class="i2">Catch the fleetest flying-fishes;</p>
+<p>She could cook, like EUSTACE MILES,</p>
+<p class="i2">Wondrous vegetarian dishes.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>In the cool of eventide,</p>
+<p class="i2">Gracefully festooned with myrtle,</p>
+<p>In her sampan she would glide</p>
+<p class="i2">Forth to spear the snapping turtle;</p>
+<p>And her voice was blinding sweet,</p>
+<p>Piercing as the parrakeet,</p>
+<p class="i2">Fruity as old Manzanilla,</p>
+<p>With a <i>soup&ccedil;on</i> of the bleat</p>
+<p class="i2">Of the African gorilla.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Eligible swains in shoals,</p>
+<p class="i2">Victims to her fascination,</p>
+<p>Toasted her in flowing bowls</p>
+<p class="i2">Far beyond all computation;</p>
+<p>There was valorous Hupu,</p>
+<p>Xingalong and Timbalu,</p>
+<p class="i2">And the peerless Popocotl,</p>
+<p>Who had gained a triple blue</p>
+<p class="i2">For his prowess with the bottle.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>But Opoponax, whose mind</p>
+<p class="i2">Soared above her native tutors,</p>
+<p>Imperturbably declined</p>
+<p class="i2">All these brave and dusky suitors.</p>
+<p>Finally she hailed a tramp</p>
+<p>And, contriving to decamp</p>
+<p class="i2">To the shores of Patagonia,</p>
+<p>Finding them too chill and damp,</p>
+<p class="i2">Perished of acute pneumonia.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>In an even darker doom</p>
+<p class="i2">Tapioca's greatness ended,</p>
+<p>For her father to the tomb</p>
+<p class="i2">By swift leaps and bounds descended;</p>
+<p>Xingalong and Timbalu</p>
+<p>Both were slaughtered by Hupu,</p>
+<p class="i2">Who was slain by Popocotl,</p>
+<p>Who himself soon after slew</p>
+<p class="i2">With an empty whisky bottle.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Every tale, we often hear,</p>
+<p class="i2">Ought to have a wholesome moral;</p>
+<p>And this truth is just as clear</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of palm and coral;</p>
+<p>For this tragedy in tones</p>
+<p>Louder than a megaphone's</p>
+<p class="i2">Warns us that two things are risky,</p>
+<p>If you dwell in torrid zones&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Change of climate, love of whisky.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h3>What to do with our Spare Teeth.</h3>
+<p>From the window of an emporium of ivory articles:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote class="sc">"Customers' Own Tusks Mounted."</blockquote>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"Daily morning housework; wanted at once, temporarily
+respectable person."&mdash;<i>Middlesex County
+Times</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>Everything is temporary in war-time.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>From a drapery firm's advertisement:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote>"We are the hub-bub of the Universe."</blockquote>
+<p>A distinct infringement of the KAISER'S prerogative.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"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."&mdash;<i>Daily Express</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>It is inferred that the observer, in default of other
+accommodation, was seated upon the pilot's knee.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"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."&mdash;<i>The English Review</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>But then, of course, there is no close time for Germans.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"We were pleased to meet here lately Captain
+&mdash;&mdash;, 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."&mdash;<i>Scotch
+Paper.</i></blockquote>
+<p>Our best wishes for the lady, too.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote>"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."&mdash;<i>Observer</i>.</blockquote>
+<p>Good old insect! But what an odd way to spell it.</p>
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page261" id="page261"></a>[pg
+261]</span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/261.png"><img width="100%" src="images/261.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<h3>A CONSIDERATE FOE.</h3>
+<p>"IS IT SAFE NOW, MISTER?"</p>
+<p>"YES&mdash;IT WAS ALL CLEAR AT 9.20."</p>
+<p>"GOOD ON 'EM! JEST GAVE MY OLE MAN TIME TO GIT 'IS FINAL."</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2>
+<h4>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</h4>
+<p>Mr. STEPHEN McKENNA, with the blushing honours of <i>Sonia</i>
+still fresh upon him, has now turned his pen to a tale of farcical
+adventure, the result being <i>Ninety-Six Hours' Leave</i>
+(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 <i>farceur</i> he is below his
+best form.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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, <i>Under the Hermes</i> (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&mdash;or almost
+all&mdash;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&mdash;in a double sense&mdash;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"&mdash;slight sketches ranging from France of the
+Revolution to medi&aelig;val 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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p><i>Trench Pictures from France</i> (MELROSE) is by the late
+Major WILLIAM REDMOND, M.P., and <i>The Ways of War</i> (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 <span class="pagenum"><a name=
+"page262" id="page262"></a>[pg 262]</span> 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 <i>The Daily Chronicle</i>. 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&mdash;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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>Mr. Stacy Aumonier takes for his theme the development of a
+clever neurotic, <i>Arthur Gaffyn</i>, who stands, in relation to
+normal life and normal feelings, <i>Just Outside</i>
+(METHUEN)&mdash;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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>In its quiet unobtrusive way <i>When Michael Came to Town</i>
+(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. <i>Olive</i>, the heroine, a delightful girl, is the
+supposititious child of <i>Sir James Wenborough</i>, 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 <i>Wenborough</i> household. Men are not
+Madame ALBANESI'S strongest points, but in <i>Roderick Guye</i> and
+<i>Michael Wenborough</i> 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.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<p>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 <i>The Woman Who Was Not</i>
+(WARD, LOCK), but there is no compelling reason why you should.</p>
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/262.png"><img width="100%" src="images/262.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+"OH, YOU AWFUL BOY&mdash;YOU'VE LEFT THE TACKS IN THE ROAD, AND
+NOW THE TANK'LL GET A PUNCTURE."</div>
+<hr />
+<h3>Air-Raid Fashions at Manchester.</h3>
+<blockquote>"Monday commences the final week of Sir Thomas
+Beecham's<p/><p class="sc">Season of Nighty Promenade Concerts."</p>
+<p class="author"><i>Manchester City Press</i>.</p></blockquote>
+<hr class="short" />
+<blockquote><p class="sc">"Wensleydale Blue-Faced Sheep-Breeders' Show."</p>
+<p class="author"><i>Yorkshire Post</i>.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>We cannot conceive why these breeders should look blue with
+prices at their present height.</p>
+<hr class="short" />
+<h3>War-time Frugality.</h3>
+<blockquote>"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."&mdash;<i>Standard (Buenos
+Aires)</i>.</blockquote>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
+153, Oct. 10, 1917, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,2088 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153,
+Oct. 10, 1917, by Various
+
+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 www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Oct. 10, 1917
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Owen Seamen
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2005 [EBook #10721]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and Project
+Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+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
+Gothaedummerung_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "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 21/2d. 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 _fiancee_, 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 etoiles_ 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 hyaena 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 winged 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 _soupcon_ 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
+mediaeval 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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+***** This file should be named 10721.txt or 10721.zip *****
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