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diff --git a/old/11443-h/11443-h.htm b/old/11443-h/11443-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e28c98 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11443-h/11443-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2007 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Nov. 28, 1917, by Various</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note, + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .author {text-align: right;} + .footnote {font-size: 0.9em; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%;} + + .side { float:right; + font-size: 75%; + width: 25%; + padding-left:10px; + border-left: dashed thin; + margin-left: 10px; + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; + font-weight: bold; + font-style: italic;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, +Nov. 28, 1917, by Various, Edited by Owen Seamen</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Nov. 28, 1917</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Release Date: March 4, 2004 [eBook #11443]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 153, NOV. 28, 1917***</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<center><b>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Andy Jewell,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</b></center> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>Vol. 153.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>November 28, 1917.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page359" id="page359"></a>[pg +359]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p>"How the Germans never got wind of it," writes a correspondent +of the British attack on the HINDENBURG line, "is a mystery." The +failure of certain M.P.'s to ask questions about it in Parliament +beforehand may have had something to do with it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An order has been promulgated fixing the composition of horse +chaff. The approach of the pantomime season is thought to be +responsible for it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"We are particularly anxious," writes the Ministry of Food, +"that Christmas plum-puddings should not be kept for any length of +time." A Young Patriots' League has been formed, we understand, +whose members are bent on carrying out Lord RHONDDA'S wishes at any +cost to their parents.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Another birthplace of ST. GEORGE has been captured in Palestine. +It is now definitely established that the sainted warrior's habit +of trying to carry-on in two places at the same time was the +subject of much adverse criticism by the military experts of the +period.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A Camberley man charged with deserting the Navy and joining the +Army explained that he was tired of waiting for TIRPITZ to come +out. We are informed that Commander CARLYON BELLAIRS, M.P., and +Admiral W.H. HENDERSON have been asked to enlighten the poor fellow +as to the true state of affairs.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A skull of the Bronze Age has been found on Salisbury Plain. +Several hats of the brass age have also been seen in the +vicinity.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Imports of ostrich feathers have fallen from £33,000 in +1915 to £182 in 1917. Ostrich farmers, it appears, are on the +verge of ruin as the result of their inability to obtain scissors +and other suitable foodstuffs for the birds.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"Measures are being taken to check pacifists," says Sir GEORGE +CAVE. Prison-yard measures, we hope.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A Stoke Newington constable has discovered a happy method of +taking people's minds off their food troubles. During the last +month he has served fifty of them with dog-summonses.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Five hundred pounds have been sent to the CHANCELLOR OF THE +EXCHEQUER by an anonymous donor. It is thought that the man is +concealing his identity to avoid being made a baronet.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"What is the use of corporations if they can do nothing useful?" +asks Councillor STOCK, of Margate. It is an alluring topic, but a +patriotic Press has decided that it must be postponed in favour of +the War.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>During trench-digging on Salisbury Plain the skeleton of a young +man, apparently buried about the year 600 B.C., was unearthed. The +skull was partially fractured, evidently by a battle-axe. Foul play +is suspected.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Sugar was sold for half-a-guinea a pound at a charity sale in +the South of England, and local grocers are complaining bitterly of +unfair competition.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A contemporary points out that there is a soldier in the North +Staffordshire Regiment whose name is DOUGLAS HAIG. Riots are +reported in Germany.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"Can Fish Smell?" asks a weekly paper headline. We can only say +that in our experience they sometimes do, especially on a +Monday.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An employer pleading for an applicant before the Egham Tribunal +stated that he had an oil-engine which nobody else would go near. +We cannot help thinking that much might be done with a little tact, +such as going up to the engine quietly and stroking its face, or +even making a noise like a piece of oily waste.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Germany's new Hymn of Hate has been published. To give greater +effect to the thing and make it more fearful, Germans who +contemplate singing it are requested to grow side-whiskers.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>It is rumoured that since his recent tirade at York against +newspapers Dr. LYTTELTON has been made an Honorary Member of the +Society of Correctors of the Press.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p><i>The Evening News</i> informs us that Mr. HENRY WHITE, a +grave-digger of Hellingly, has just dug his thousandth grave. +Congratulations to our contemporary upon being the first to spread +the joyful news.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Unfortunately, says <i>The Daily Mail</i>, Lord NORTHCLIFFE +cannot be in four places at once. Pending a direct contradiction +from the new Viscount himself, we can only counsel the country to +bear this announcement with fortitude.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Only the other day <i>The Daily Chronicle</i> referred to the +Premier as "Mr. George," just as if it had always been a penny +paper.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The rush to a certain Northern suburb has died down. The rumour +that there was a polite grocer there turns out to be cruelly at +variance with the facts.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/359.png"><img width="100%" src="images/359.png" alt= +"" /></a>JOY-RIDING UP-TO-DATE.<br /> +THE UNDEFEATED WAR-PROFITEER.</div> +<hr /> +<h4>Another Sex-Problem.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>"Plaintiff was the daughter of an officer in the Royal Irish +Constabulary, and was a grand-nephew of Dr. Abernethy, the famous +surgeon."—<i>Evening Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>From a recent novel:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"His face was of the good oatmeal type, and grew upon one."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Useful in these days of rations.</p> +<hr /> +From <i>The New Statesman's</i> comment on Mr. LLOYD GEORGE'S Paris +speech.<br /> +<br /> +<blockquote> +<p>"He does try to be Biblical sometimes. In the Paris speech he +used the unnatural word 'yea' twice. Each time it gave one shudders +down the back."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>No doubt next time, in view of our obligations to U.S.A., the +PRIME MINISTER will say "Yep."</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page360" id="page360"></a>[pg +360]</span> +<h2>THE VICTORY.</h2> +<p class="center">[<i>For J.B., with the author's affectionate +pride.</i>]</p> +<p class="center">HINDENBURG TO MACKENSEN.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Dear MAC, in that prodigious thrust</p> +<p class="i4">In which your valiant legions vie</p> +<p class="i2">With HANNIBAL'S renown, I trust</p> +<p class="i4">You go a shade more strong than I;</p> +<p class="i2">Lately I've lost a lot of scalps,</p> +<p class="i4">Which is a dem'd unpleasant thing;</p> +<p class="i2">You may enjoy the Julian Alps—</p> +<p class="i4">I do not like this JULIAN BYNG.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">I find him full of crafty pranks:</p> +<p class="i4">Without the usual warning fire</p> +<p class="i2">He loosed his beastly rows of tanks</p> +<p class="i4">And sent 'em wallowing through my wire;</p> +<p class="i2">For days and days he kept the lid</p> +<p class="i4">Hard down upon his low designs,</p> +<p class="i2">Then simply walked across and did</p> +<p class="i4">Just what he liked with all my lines.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">The fellow doesn't keep the rules;</p> +<p class="i4">Experts (I'm one myself) advise</p> +<p class="i2">That in trench-warfare even fools</p> +<p class="i4">Cannot be taken by surprise;</p> +<p class="i2">It isn't done; and yet he came</p> +<p class="i4">With never a previous "Are you there?"</p> +<p class="i2">And caught me—this is not the game—</p> +<p class="i4">Bending my thoughtful gaze elsewhere.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"><i>Later</i>.—My route is toward the rear.</p> +<p class="i4">Where I shall stand and stop the rot</p> +<p class="i2">Lord only knows; and now I hear</p> +<p class="i4">Your forward pace is none too hot;</p> +<p class="i2">Indeed, with BYNG upon the burst,</p> +<p class="i4">If at this rate I make for home,</p> +<p class="i2">I doubt not who will get there first,</p> +<p class="i4">I to the Rhine, or you to Rome.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="center">O.S.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>THE LITERARY ADVISER.</h2> +<p>No, he does not appear in the <i>Gazette</i>. War establishments +know him not and his appointment throws no additional labour upon +the staff of Messrs. COX AND CO. Unofficially he is known as O.C. +Split Infinitives. His duties are to see that the standard of +literary excellence, which makes the correspondence of the Corps a +pleasure to receive, is maintained at the high level set by the +Corps Commander himself. Indeed the velvety quality of our prose is +the envy of all other formations.</p> +<p>Apart from duties wholly literary, he is also O.C. Code Names. +The stock-in-trade for this skilled labour is an H.B. pencil and a +Webster Dictionary. The routine is simplicity itself. As soon as +anybody informs him of a new arrival in the area he fishes out the +dictionary, plays Tit-Tat-Toe with the H.B., writes out the word +that it lands upon at the end of his rhyme, and, hey presto! there +is another day's work done.</p> +<p>But one day, for the sake of greater secrecy, it became +necessary to rename all the units of the area, and the Literary +Adviser suddenly found himself put to it to provide about three +hundred new Code Names at once. Heroically he set to work with his +dictionary, his H.B. pencil, and his little rhyme. For two days the +Resplendent Ones in the General Staff Office bore patiently with +the muttering madman in the corner. For two days he fluttered the +leaves of his dictionary and whispered hoarsely to himself, +"Tit-tat-toe, my-first-go, +three-jolly-nigger-boys-all-in-a-<i>row</i>," picking out word +after word with unerring accuracy until the dictionary was a waste +of punctures and three generations of H.B.'s had passed away. +Before the second day was out the jingle had done its dreadful +work. It was as much as the clerks could do to avoid keeping step +with it. The climax came when the Senior Resplendent One, looking +down at the telegram he was writing, found to his horror that he +had written, "Situation quiet Tit-Tat-Toe. Hostile artillery +activity normal Tit-Tat-Toe," and so on, substituting this +abomination in place of the official stop, ("Ack-Ack-Ack") +throughout.</p> +<p>It was enough. Still gibbering, the Literary Adviser was hurled +forth from the office and told to work his witchcraft in +solitude.</p> +<p>Paler, thinner and older by years he emerged from his retirement +triumphant, and the new code names went forth to a flourish of +trumpets or rather of the hooters of the despatch-riders.</p> +<p>Then it began. For days he was subjected to rigorous criticisms +of his selection. "Signals" tripped him up first by pointing out +two units with the same name, and they also went on to point out +that the word was spelt "cable" in the first instance and "cabal" +in the second. The gunners, working in groups, complained bitterly +that a babel had arisen through the similarity of the words +allotted to their groups. One infuriated battery commander said it +was as much as he could do to get anyone else on the telephone but +himself.</p> +<p>Touched to the quick by criticism (when was it ever otherwise +amongst his kind?) the Adviser set aside his real work (he was, of +course, writing a book about the War) and applied himself to, the +task of straightening the tangle. Obviously the ideal combination +would be for each unit to have a code name that nobody could +mistake no matter how badly it was pronounced. And to this ideal he +applied himself. Often, on fine afternoons, the serenity of the +country-side was disturbed by the voice of one crying in the +wilderness, "Soap—Silk—Salvage—Sympathy," to see +if any dangerous similarity existed. At dinner a glaze would +suddenly come over his eyes, his lips would move involuntarily and +mutter, as he gazed into vacancy, +"Mustard—Mutton—Meat—Muffin."</p> +<p>Histrionic effort played no small part in these attempts and led +to a good deal of misunderstanding, for he felt it incumbent on him +to try his codes in every possible dialect. Instead of the usual +cheery "Good morning," a major of a famous Highland regiment was +scandalised by an elderly subaltern blethering out, +"Cannibal—Custard—Claymore—Caramel," in an +abominable Scotch accent. Another day (on receipt of written +orders) he was compelled to visit the line to see if things had +been built as reported, or, if it was just optimism again. +Half-an-hour later a sentry brought him down the trench at the +point of the bayonet for muttering as he rounded the traverse, +"Galoot—Gunning—Grumble—Grumpy," in +pseudo-Wessex. Naturally, to Native Yorkshire this sounded like +pure Bosch.</p> +<p>Ah! but he won through in the end. The man who has stood five +years of unsuccessful story-writing for magazines is not the kind +to let himself be beaten easily. There could be no doubt of the +final result. When the revised list was issued the response to the +inquiry, "Hullo, is that Sink?" was met by a "No, this is Smack," +that crashed through the thickest intellect.</p> +<p>But vaulting ambition had o'erleapt itself. As a covering note +to the new issue he had put up the following letter:—</p> +<p>"Ref. G K etc., etc., of 10th inst. On November 3rd all previous +issues of Code Names will be cancelled in favour of the more +euphonious nomenclature which is forwarded herewith."</p> +<p>A shriek of joy echoed through the corps. "Euphonious!" What a +word! What a discovery in a foreign country! The joy of the signal +operators, on whom something of the spirit of the old-time +bus-drivers has descended, was indescribable. You had only to pick +up the receiver at any time and the still small voices of the busy +signal world could be heard chortling, "Hullo-oo? Hullo, +Euphonious! How's your father? Yes, give me Crump." Or, "No, I +can't get the General; he's left his euphonious receiver off."</p> +<p>Poor Euphonious (he has never been called by anything else +since)—they have threatened to make him O.C. Recreations for +Troops.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page361" id="page361"></a>[pg +361]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/361.png"><img width="100%" src="images/361.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>BIRDS OF ILL OMEN.</h3> +<p>MR. PUNCH. "ONLY GOT HIM IN THE TAIL, SIR."</p> +<p>THE MAN FROM WHITEHALL. "YES, BUT I MEAN TO GET THE NEXT ONE IN +THE NECK."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page362" id="page362"></a>[pg +362]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/362.png"><img width="100%" src="images/362.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Mistress</i>. "I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WHAT YOU CAN TO ECONOMISE +THE FOOD."</p> +<p><i>Cook</i>. "OH, YES'M. WE'VE PUT THE CAT ON +MILK-AN'-WATER."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>PARS WITH A PUNCH.</h3> +<p class="center">ALL THE REAL NEWS ABOUT MEN, WOMEN AND +THINGS.<br /> +BY OUR RAMBLING GOSSIP.<br /> +<br /> +<i>(With acknowledgments to some of our contemporaries.)</i></p> +<p><i>A Long-Felt Want.</i></p> +<p>The opening, next week, of a Training School for Bus and Tube +Travellers will, it is hoped, supply a long-felt want in the +Metropolis. I understand that a month's course at the establishment +will enable the feeblest of mortals to hold his own and more in the +fearful mêlée that rages daily round train and +vehicle. I have a prospectus before me as I write; here are some of +its sub-heads: "The Strap-Hanger's Stranglehold," "Foot +Frightfulness," "How to Enter a Bus Secretly," "The Umbrella +Barrage," "Explosives—When their Use is Justified," "What to +do when the Conductor Falls off the Bus." This certainly promises a +speedy amelioration of present-day travelling conditions.</p> +<p><i>Timbuctoo Tosh</i>.</p> +<p>Last week, when all those ridiculous rumours anent Timbuctoo +were flying about, you will remember how I warned you to set no +faith in them. You will admit that I was a good counsellor. Nothing +<i>has</i> happened at Timbuctoo. I doubt very much whether +anything <i>could</i> happen there.</p> +<p><i>Hush!</i></p> +<p>On the other hand, keep your eye on a spot not a thousand miles +away from Clubland. Something will certainly happen there some day, +and, when it does, bear in mind that I warned you.</p> +<p><i>Amazing Discovery.</i></p> +<p>Mr. ROOSEVELT'S discovery that, unknown to himself, he has been +blind in one eye for over a year, is surely surpassed by the +experience of Mr. Caractacus Crowsfeet, the popular M.P. for +Slushington, who has just learnt, as the result of a cerebral +operation, that he possesses no brain whatever. "It is indeed +remarkable," said Mr. C. to me the other day, "for I can truthfully +assert that in all my arduous political labours of the past ten +years I have never felt the need or even noticed the absence of +this organ." He coughed modestly. "I have always maintained that in +politics it is the man, not the mind, that counts."</p> +<p><i>She Has One!</i></p> +<p>Mrs. Zebulon Napthaliski proposes to spend the winter on her +Brighton estate. "Yes—I <i>have</i> received my sugar card," +she told me, in answer to my eager query. "More than that I cannot +say."</p> +<p><i>Fare and Foliage.</i></p> +<p>That charming fashion of decorating the dinner-table with +foliage will be all the rage this winter. Well-known London +hostesses, basket on arm, may daily be seen in Mayfair garnering +fallen leaves from lawn, path or roadside. Some very daring Society +women are dispensing altogether with a cloth, the table being +covered with a complete layer of leaves. I doubt, however, whether +this will become popular, guests showing a tendency to mislay their +knives and forks in the foliage.</p> +<p><i>A Bon Mot.</i></p> +<p>Have you heard the latest <i>bon mot</i> that is going the round +of the clubs? Mrs. Savory Beet, of Pacifist fame, has, as you will +recall, announced her intention of taking up war work. "Ah!" was +the comment of a cynical bachelor, "it was a case of her taking up +something or being <span class="pagenum"><a name="page363" id= +"page363"></a>[pg 363]</span> taken up herself!" His audience +simply screamed with laughter.</p> +<hr /> +<p><i>Watch Out!</i></p> +<p>Don't be surprised if you hear of some sensational political +developments in the near future. The Minister who said recently +that the inevitable sequel to war was peace, was, in the opinion of +those competent to judge but, by reason of their official position, +unable to criticise, hinting at proposals which, if the signs and +portents of the time go for anything, would have far-reaching +effects on the question of Electoral Representation. I will say no +more. Time alone will disclose my meaning.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/363.png"><img width="100%" src="images/363.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Urchin (with an inborn terror of the Force). "OO, MUVVER! +IT WON'T, WILL IT?"</i></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h4>OMINOUS.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>"——went every morning to a firm of sausage-makers by +whom he was employed as a horse-dealer."—<i>Irish +Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p class="author">"Rome, Saturday.</p> +<p>"The announcement is made to-day of the award by the King [of +Italy] of gold medals to Lieutenant Giuseppe Castruccio and I +sentence him to three months' hard."—<i>Manchester Evening +Chronicle</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When will British journalists learn not to interfere with the +internal affairs of friendly nations?</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE LAST MATCH.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">This is the last, the very, very last.</p> +<p class="i2">Its gay companions, who so snugly lay</p> +<p class="i2">Within the corners of their fragile home,</p> +<p class="i2">All, all are lightly fled and surely gone;</p> +<p class="i2">And their survivor lingers in his pride,</p> +<p class="i2">The last of all the matches in the house;</p> +<p class="i2">For Mr. Siftings says he has no more,</p> +<p class="i2">And Siftings is an honourable man,</p> +<p class="i2">And would not state a fact that was not so.</p> +<p class="i2">For now he has himself to do without</p> +<p class="i2">The flaming boon of matches, having none,</p> +<p class="i2">And cannot furnish us as he desires,</p> +<p class="i2">Being a grocer and the best of men,</p> +<p class="i2">But murmurs vaguely of a future week</p> +<p class="i2">When matches shall be numerous again</p> +<p class="i2">As leaves in Vallombrosa and as cheap.</p> +<p class="i2">Blinks, the tobacconist, he too is spent</p> +<p class="i2">With weary waiting in a matchless land;</p> +<p class="i2">What Siftings cannot get cannot be got</p> +<p class="i2">By men like Blinks, that young tobacconist,</p> +<p class="i2">Who tried with all a patriot's fiery zeal</p> +<p class="i2">To join the Army, but was sent away</p> +<p class="i2">For varicose and too protuberant veins;</p> +<p class="i2">And being foiled of all his high intent</p> +<p class="i2">Now minds the shop and is a Volunteer,</p> +<p class="i2">Drilling on Sundays with the rest of them;</p> +<p class="i2">He too, amid his hoards of cigarettes,</p> +<p class="i2">Is void of matches as he's full of veins.</p> +<p class="i2">So here's a good match in a naughty world,</p> +<p class="i2">And what to do with it I do not know,</p> +<p class="i2">Save that somehow, when all the place is still,</p> +<p class="i2">It shall explode and spurt and flame and burn</p> +<p class="i2">Slowly away, not having thus achieved</p> +<p class="i2">The lighting of a pipe or any act</p> +<p class="i2">Of usefulness, but having spent itself</p> +<p class="i2">In lonely grandeur as befits the last</p> +<p class="i2">Of all the varied matches I have known.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h4>OUR SAMSONS.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>"Wanted at once.—Reliable Man for carrying off motor +lorry."—<i>Clitheroe Advertiser</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"To-day the man possesses a second tumb, serviceable for all +ordinary purposes."—<i>Belfast Evening Telegraph</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In these days of restricted rations it seems a superflous +luxury.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Diamond Brooch, 15 cwt., set with three blue white diamonds; +make a handsome present; £9 9<i>s</i>."—<i>Derby Daily +Telegraph</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It seems a lot for the money; but personally we would sooner +have the same weight of coals.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page364" id="page364"></a>[pg +364]</span> +<h2>THE WAY DOWN.</h2> +<p>SYDNEY SMITH, or NAPOLEON or MARCUS AURELIUS (somebody about +that time) said that after ten days any letter would answer itself. +You see what he meant. Left to itself your invitation from the +Duchess to lunch next Tuesday is no longer a matter to worry about +by Wednesday morning. You were either there or not there; it is +unnecessary to write now and say that a previous invitation from +the PRIME MINISTER—and so on. It was NAPOLEON'S idea (or Dr. +JOHNSON'S or MARK ANTONY'S—one of that circle) that all +correspondence can be treated in this manner.</p> +<p>I have followed these early Masters (or whichever one it was) to +the best of my ability. At any given moment in the last few years +there have been ten letters that I absolutely <i>must</i> write, +thirty which I <i>ought</i> to write, and fifty which any other +person in my position <i>would</i> have written. Probably I have +written two. After all, when your profession is writing, you have +some excuse on returning home in the evenings for demanding a +change of occupation. No doubt if I were a coal-heaver by day, my +wife would see to the fire after dinner while I wrote letters. As +it is, she does the correspondence, while I gaze into the fire and +think about things.</p> +<p>You will say, no doubt, that this was all very well before the +War, but that in the Army a little writing would be a pleasant +change after the day's duties. Allow me to disillusion you. If, +three years ago, I ever conceived a glorious future in which my +autograph might be of value to the more promiscuous collectors, +that conception has now been shattered. Three years in the Army has +absolutely spoilt the market. Even were I revered in the year 2,000 +A.D. as SHAKSPEARE is revered now, my half-million autographs, +scattered so lavishly on charge-sheets, passes, chits, +requisitions, indents and applications would keep the price at a +dead level of about ten a penny. No, I have had enough of writing +in the Army and I never want to sign my own name again. "Yours +sincerely, HERBERT ASQUITH," "Faithfully yours, J. +JELLICOE"—these by all means; but not my own.</p> +<p>However, I wrote a letter the other day; it was to the bank. It +informed them that I had arrived in London for a time and should be +troubling them again shortly, London being to all appearances an +expensive place. It also called attention to my new address—a +small furnished flat in which Celia and I can just turn round if we +do it separately. When it was written, there came the question of +posting it. I was all for waiting till the next morning, but Celia +explained that there was actually a letter-box on our own floor, +twenty yards down the passage. I took the letter along and dropped +it into the slit.</p> +<p>Then a wonderful thing happened. It went</p> +<p> +<i>Flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty—FLOP.</i></p> +<p>I listened intently, hoping for more ... but that was all. +Deeply disappointed that it was over, but absolutely thrilled with +my discovery, I hurried back to Celia.</p> +<p>"Any letters you want posted?" I said in an off-hand way.</p> +<p>"No, thank you," she said.</p> +<p>"Have you written any while we've been here?"</p> +<p>"I don't think I've had anything to write."</p> +<p>"I think," I said reproachfully, "it's quite time you wrote to +your—your bank or your mother or somebody."</p> +<p>She looked at me and seemed to be struggling for words.</p> +<p>"I know exactly what you're going to say," I said, "but don't +say it; write a little letter instead."</p> +<p>"Well, as a matter of fact I <i>must</i> just write a note to +the laundress."</p> +<p>"To the laundress," I said. "Of course, just a note."</p> +<p>When it was written I insisted on her coming with me to post it. +With great generosity I allowed her to place it in the slit. A +delightful thing happened. It went</p> +<p><i> +Flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty- +flipperty-flipperty-flipperty—FLOP.</i></p> +<p>Right down to the letter-box in the hall. Two flipperties a +floor. (A simple calculation shows that we are perched on the fifth +floor. I am glad now that we live so high. It must be very dull to +be on the fourth floor with only eight flipperties, unbearable to +be on the first with only two.)</p> +<p>"<i>O-oh!</i> How <i>fas</i>-cinating!" said Celia.</p> +<p>"Now don't you think you ought to write to your mother?"</p> +<p>"Oh, I <i>must</i>."</p> +<p>She wrote. We posted it. It went</p> +<p><i>Flipperty-flipperty</i>——However, you know all +about that now.</p> +<p>Since this great discovery of mine, life has been a more +pleasurable business. We feel now that there are romantic +possibilities about letters setting forth on their journey from our +floor. To start life with so many flipperties might lead to +anything. Each time that we send a letter off we listen in a +tremble of excitement for the final FLOP, and when it comes I think +we both feel vaguely that we are still waiting for something. We +are waiting to hear some magic letter go +<i>flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty</i> ... and behold! +there is no FLOP ... and still it goes +on—<i>flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty</i>—growing +fainter in the distance ... until it arrives at some wonderland of +its own. One day it must happen so. For we cannot listen always for +that FLOP, and hear it always; nothing in this world is as +inevitable as that. One day we shall look at each other with awe in +our faces and say, "But it's still flipperting!" and from that time +forward the Hill of Campden will be a place holy and enchanted. +Perhaps on Midsummer Eve—</p> +<p>At any rate I am sure that it is the only way in which to post a +letter to Father Christmas.</p> +<p>Well, what I want to say is this: if I have been a bad +correspondent in the past I am a good one now; and Celia, who was +always a good one, is a better one. It takes at least ten letters a +day to satisfy us, and we prefer to catch ten different posts. With +the ten in your hand together there is always a temptation to waste +them in one wild rush of flipperties, all catching each other up. +It would be a great moment, but I do not think we can afford it +yet; we must wait until we get even more practised at +letter-writing. And even then I am doubtful; for it might be that, +lost in the confusion of that one wild rush, the magic letter would +start on its way—<i>flipperty-flipperty</i>—to the +never-land, and we should forever have missed it.</p> +<p>So, friends, acquaintances, yes, and even strangers. I beg you +now to give me another chance. I will answer your letters, how +gladly. I still think that NAPOLEON (or CANUTE or the younger +PLINY—one of the pre-Raphaelites) took a perfectly correct +view of his correspondence ... but then <i>he</i> Never had a +letter-box which went</p> +<p> +<i>Flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty-flipperty—FLOP.</i></p> +<p class="author">A.A.M.</p> +<hr /> +<h4>The H.D. and Q. Department.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>"Major-General F.G. Bond is gazetted Director of Quartering at +the War Office."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Pacifists beware!</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p class="center">"DIRTY WORK<br /> +AT<br /> +DOWNING STREET.</p> +<p class="center">BY<br /> +HORATIO BOTTOMLEY."</p> +<p class="author"><i>John Bull.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>They shouldn't have let him in.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page365" id="page365"></a>[pg +365]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/365.png"><img width="100%" src="images/365.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Officer.</i> "WHY WERE YOU NOT AT ROLL-CALL LAST NIGHT?"</p> +<p><i>Defaulter.</i> "WELL, SIR, WITH THIS 'ERE CAMP CAMOUFLAGED SO +MUCH, I COULDN'T FIND MY WAY OUT OF THE CANTEEN."</p> +</div> +<h2>COUNTER TACTICS.</h2> +<p>About a year ago I paid a visit to my hosier and haberdasher +with the intention of purchasing a few things with which to tide +over the remaining months of winter. After the preliminary +discussion of atmospherics had been got through, the usual raffle +of garments was spread about for my inspection. I viewed it +dispassionately. Then, discarding the little vesties of +warm-blooded youth and the double-width vestums of rheumatic old +age, I chose several commonplace woollen affairs and was preparing +to leave when my hosier and haberdasher leaned across the counter +and whispered in my ear.</p> +<p>"If I may advise you, Sir, you would be wise to make a large +selection of these articles. We do not expect to replace them."</p> +<p>He glanced cautiously at an elderly gentleman who was stirring +up a box of ties, then, lowering his voice another semitone, added, +"The mills are now being used exclusively for Government work." He +insinuated the death-sentence effect very cleverly, and at that +moment, coming to his support, as it were, the old gentleman +tottered up, seized upon two garments and carried them off from +under my very fingers. As he went out a middle-aged lady entered +and made straight for the residue upon the counter. A feeling of +panic came upon me. "Right you are," I exclaimed hurriedly, "I'll +take the lot." As a matter of fact she only wanted a pair of gloves +for her nephew in France.</p> +<p>A few days later, still having the wool shortage in mind, I +approached my hosier and haberdasher on the subject of shirts. For +a second or two he looked thoughtfully at the toe of his boot. Then +coming suddenly to a decision he disappeared stealthily into the +back premises, from which he presently emerged carrying a large +bale of flannel, which he cast caber-wise upon the counter.</p> +<p>"There," he said triumphantly, "I don't suppose there's another +piece of flannel like that in the country." He fingered it with an +expert touch.</p> +<p>"You don't say so," I said as I rubbed it reverently between my +finger and thumb, just to show that he wasn't the only one who +could do it.</p> +<p>"I'm afraid it's only too true," he confessed, "and I may add +that, after we have sold out our present stocks, flannel of any +kind will be absolutely unobtainable."</p> +<p>"None at all?" I asked, horror-struck at the vision of my public +life in 1920—a bow cravat over a double-width vestum.</p> +<p>He shook his head and smiled wisely.</p> +<p>I am instinctively against hoarding, but I knew that if I did +not buy it Jones would, and then some fine day, when nobody else +had a shirt left, he would swagger about and make my life +intolerable. This decided me and I bought the piece.</p> +<p>A few days later it occurred to me that it might be advisable to +lay down some socks. My idea was in perfect unison with that of my +hosier and haberdasher. Socks were going to be unprocurable in a +few months. I patted myself on the back and bought up the 1916 +vintage of Llama-Llama <span class="pagenum"><a name="page366" id= +"page366"></a>[pg 366]</span> footwear. The following week +thirty-seven shirts arrived and I had to buy a new +chest-of-drawers.</p> +<p>This, as I have stated before, was about a year ago. Yesterday I +paid my hosier and haberdasher another visit. If all the bone +factories had not been too exclusively engaged, etc., etc., I +wished to buy a collar stud. There was an elderly man standing in +the shop. He was quite alone, contemplating a mountain of garments. +There were little vesties, double-width vestums, and ordinary +woollen affairs.</p> +<p>You could have knocked me over with a dress-sock.</p> +<p>And where was my hosier and haberdasher? Had the +stranger—just awakened to the value of his +possessions—entered the shop and suddenly cast all this +treasure upon the counter? I imagined the shock of this procedure +on a man like my hosier and haberdasher, whose heart was perhaps a +trifle woolly. Had he collapsed? I glanced surreptitiously behind a +parapet of clocked socks.</p> +<p>A moment later, from somewhere in the back premises, he appeared +carrying a large bale of flannel, which he cast caber-wise upon the +counter. I was dumbfounded.</p> +<p>Then I knew the truth.</p> +<p>"Sir," I said, turning to the stranger, "I believe you are about +to make a selection from these articles (I indicated them +individually), which you imagine to be the last of their race?"</p> +<p>He nodded at me in a bewildered sort of way.</p> +<p>"In a few months," I continued remorselessly, "they will be +absolutely unprocurable" (he gave a start of recognition), "and +you, having bought them, will sneak through life with the feelings +of a food-hoarder, mingled with those of the man who slew the last +Camberwell Beauty. I know the state of mind. But you need not +distress yourself. These garments (I indicated them again) will +only be unprocurable because they are in your possession. I have +about half-a-ton myself, which, until a few minutes age, would have +been quite unprocurable. But I have changed my mind and, if you +will come with me, you can take your choice with a clear +conscience, and (I glanced maliciously at my faded hosier and +haberdasher) at the prices which were prevalent a year ago."</p> +<p>I linked my arm with that of the stranger, and together we +passed out of the shop into the unpolluted light of day.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/366.png"><img width="100%" src="images/366.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Mother (to child who has been naughty).</i> "AREN'T YOU +RATHER ASHAMED OF YOURSELF?"</p> +<p><i>Child.</i> "WELL, MOTHER, I WASN'T. BUT NOW THAT YOU'VE +SUGGESTED IT I AM."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>PRETENDING.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">I know a magic woodland with grassy rides that +ring</p> +<p class="i2">To strange fantastic music and whirr of elfin +wing,</p> +<p class="i2">There all the oaks and beeches, moss-mantled to the +knees,</p> +<p class="i2">Are really fairy princes pretending to be trees.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">I know a magic moorland with wild winds drifting +by,</p> +<p class="i2">And pools among the peat-hags that mirror back the +sky;</p> +<p class="i2">And there in golden bracken the fronds that toss and +turn</p> +<p class="i2">Are really little people pretending to be fern.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">I wander in the woodland, I walk the magic moor;</p> +<p class="i2">Sometimes I meet with fairies, sometimes I'm not so +sure;</p> +<p class="i2">And oft I pause and wonder among the green and +gold</p> +<p class="i2">If I am not a child again—pretending to be +old.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="center">W.H.O.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>It is understood that the FOOD-CONTROLLER has protested against +the forcible feeding of hunger-strikers. If they want to commit the +Yappy Dispatch, why shouldn't they?</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page367" id="page367"></a>[pg +367]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/367.png"><img width="100%" src="images/367.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>ST. GEORGE OUT-DRAGONS THE DRAGON.</h3> +[With Mr. Punch's jubilant compliments to Sir DOUGLAS HAIG and his +Tanks.]</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page368" id="page368"></a>[pg +368]</span> +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> +<p><i>Monday, November 19th.</i>—Such a rush of Peers to the +House of Commons has seldom been seen. Lord WIMBORNE, who knows +something of congested districts, arrived early and secured the +coveted seat over the clock. Lord CURZON, holding a watching brief +for the War Cabinet, was only just in time to secure a place; and +Lord COURTNEY and several others found "standing room only." If we +have many more crises Sir ALFRED MOND will have to make provision +for strap-hangers.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:35%;"><a href= +"images/368.png"><img width="100%" src="images/368.png" alt= +"" /></a>"His foil was carefully buttoned."<br /> +<br /> +MR. ASQUITH.</div> +<p>There was very little sign of passion in Mr. ASQUITH'S measured +criticism of the Allied Council and of the PRIME MINISTER'S speech +on the subject in Paris. His foil was carefully buttoned, and +though it administered a shrewd thrust now and again it was not +intended to draw blood.</p> +<p>At first the PRIME MINISTER followed this excellent example, and +contented himself with defending, and incidentally re-composing, +his Paris oration. The Allied Council, as now depicted, was a horse +of quite another colour from what it seemed in Paris. A further +example of <i>camouflage</i>, I suppose.</p> +<p>Only when he came to deal with his Press critics did he let +himself go, to the delight of the House, which loves him in his +swashbuckling mood. As he confessed, however, that he had +deliberately made "a disagreeable speech" in Paris in order to get +it talked about, the Press will probably consider itself +absolved.</p> +<p><i>Tuesday, November 20th.</i>—Like John Bull, as +represented in last week's cartoon, Lord LAMINGTON has arrived at +the conclusion that compulsory rationing must come, and the sooner +the better. Lord RHONDDA, however, is still hopeful that John will +tighten his own belt, and save him the trouble. "More Yapping and +Less Biting" should be our motto. But if we fail to live up to it, +the machinery for compulsory rationing is all ready. Indeed, +according to Lord DEVONPORT, it has been ready since April last, +when an "S.O.S." to the local authorities was on the point of being +sent, but a timely increase in imports stopped it.</p> +<p>Nobody doubts Commander WEDGWOOD'S essential patriotism; he has +proved it like a knight of old on his body; but he is unfortunate +in some of his political associates, who take advantage of his +good-nature. A book with a preface by himself had been seized by +the police on suspicion of being seditious, and he loudly demanded +to be prosecuted. But Sir GEORGE CAVE was not inclined to set up a +legal presumption that the writer of a preface is responsible for +the rest of the book. If he were, a good many "forewords" would, I +imagine, never have been written.</p> +<p><i>Wednesday, November 21st.</i>—By a strange oversight +the Royal Marines were not specifically mentioned in the recent +Vote of Thanks to the Services. Apparently the fact that this +country is proud of them is one of those things that must not be +told to the Marines. But Dr. MACNAMARA assured the House that the +omission should now be repaired.</p> +<p>There has been a shortage of provisions in the city where +<i>Lady Godiva</i> suffered from a shortage of clothes. Mr. CLYNES +was prompt with a remedy. A representative of the FOOD-CONTROLLER +has already been sent to Coventry.</p> +<p>Conscientious Objectors found a doughty champion in Lord HUGH +CECIL. Rarely has an unpopular case been fortified with a greater +wealth of legal, historical and ethical argument. Only once, when +he accused Mr. BONAR LAW of holding the same doctrine as Herr +BETHMANN-HOLLWEG, did he lose, for a moment, the sympathy of his +audience. But he soon recovered himself, and thereafter held the +House rapt with Cecilian harmonies.</p> +<p>To such a lofty plane, indeed, had the debate been lifted that +Mr. RONALD MCNEILL, tall as he is, had some difficulty in bringing +it down to earth again; and when the division was called the spell +was still working, and in a very big House the "Conchies" only lost +their votes by thirty-eight.</p> +<p><i>Thursday, November 22nd.</i>—Pending the introduction +of the promised censorship of Parliamentary Questions, Mr. JOSEPH +KING is working overtime. No story is too fantastically impossible +to find a shelter under his hospitable hat. To-day it was a secret +treaty between the Russian Government (old style) and the French +Republic, by which Belgium was to be compensated at the expense of +Holland. Lord ROBERT CECIL denounced it as an invention of the +enemy. But I don't suppose the denial had the smallest effect upon +Mr. KING, who probably went off and dined heartily on a magnum of +mare's-nest soup.</p> +<p>A tremendous accession to the ranks of the Sinn Feiners has been +narrowly averted. When Members read the menu which, according to +Major NEWMAN, the Irish Government has adopted for political +prisoners—three good square meals a day, including an egg, +ten ounces of meat, a pound and a half of bread, two pints and a +half of milk, and real butter—they were strongly minded to +enlist under Mr. DE VALERA'S banner and get themselves arrested +forthwith. But Mr. DUKE'S emphatic denial shattered their dream of +repletion at the taxpayers' expense.</p> +<p>A final attempt to get proportional representation included in +the Franchise Bill was heavily defeated. In a dashing attempt to +save it Sir MARK SYKES declared that the old Eatanswill methods of +electioneering had gone for ever—"no mouth was large enough +to kiss thirty thousand babies." But the majority of the House +seemed to be more impressed by the self-sacrificing argument of +that eminent temperance advocate, Sir THOMAS WHITTAKER, who feared +that "P.R." would lead to an increase in "milk-and-water +politicians."</p> +<hr /> +<h4>ALWAYS SOMETHING NEW FROM AFRICA.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>"A Belgian East African communiqué says that before the +converging advance of the Anglo-German Belgian columns, the enemy +retired to the south bank of the Kilimbero."—<i>Mombasa +Times.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>We seem to have met some of these Anglo-German columns in the +Pacifist Press.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"Our machines then bombed the General, in which the German +Head-quarters at Constantinople are reported to be +situated."—<i>Times.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>The General must have been stout, even for a German.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"Not having regained consciousness the police are left with +little tangible evidence to work upon."—<i>Daily +Telegraph.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Let us hope they will soon come to.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page369" id="page369"></a>[pg +369]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/369.png"><img width="100%" src="images/369.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>HOW TO UTILISE OUR SKILLED CRAFTSMEN.</h3> +<p><i>First Lieutenant.</i> "WHAT WAS THIS MAN BEFORE HE +JOINED?" <i>Petty Officer.</i> "OPTICIAN, SIR."</p> +<p><i>First Lieutenant.</i> "WHAT HAD WE BETTER GIVE HIM TO +DO?" <i>Petty Officer.</i> "THERE'S THEM PRISMATIC +SPOTTING GLASSES, SIR. THE LEATHER STRAP IS BROKEN OFF THEM. HE +COULD SPLICE IN A PIECE O' COD LINE."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3><i>LE POILU DE CARCASSONNE.</i></h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">THE <i>poilus</i> of France on the Western Front are +brave as brave can be,</p> +<p class="i2">Whether they hail from rich Provence or from ruined +Picardie;</p> +<p class="i2">It's the self-same heart from the lazy Loire and the +busy banks of Seine,</p> +<p class="i2">Undaunted by perpetual mud or cold or gas or +pain;</p> +<p class="i2">And all are as gay as men know how whose wealth and +friends are gone,</p> +<p class="i2">But the gayest of all is a little white dog that came +from Carcassonne.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">He was brought as a pup by a <i>Midi</i> man to a +sector along the Aisne,</p> +<p class="i2">But his man laid the wire one pitch-black night and +never came back again.</p> +<p class="i2">The pup stood by with one ear down and the other a +question mark,</p> +<p class="i2">And at times he licked his dead friend's face and at +times he tried to bark,</p> +<p class="i2">Till the listening sentry heard the sound, and when +the daylight shone</p> +<p class="i2">He looked abroad and cried, "<i>Bon Guieu! C'est le +poilu de Carcassonne!</i>"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">So the dead man's <i>copains</i> kept the dog on the +strength of the company.</p> +<p class="i2">And whoever went short it was not the pup, though a +greedy pup was he;</p> +<p class="i2">They gave him their choicest bits of <i>sinje</i> and +drops of <i>pinard</i> too;</p> +<p class="i2">He was warm and safe when he crept beneath a cloak of +horizon-blue;</p> +<p class="i2">They clipped fresh <i>brisques</i> in his rough white +coat as the weary months dragged on,</p> +<p class="i2">And all the sector knows him now as <i>le Poilu de +Carcassonne</i>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">And in return he keeps their hearts from that +haunting foe, <i>l'ennui</i>;</p> +<p class="i2">He's their plaything, friend, and sentry too, and a +lover of devilry;</p> +<p class="i2">He helps them to hunt out rats or Boches; he burrows +and sniffs for mines,</p> +<p class="i2">And he growls when the murderous shrapnel flies +screaming above the lines;</p> +<p class="i2">His little black nose is a-quiver with glee whenever +a raid is on,</p> +<p class="i2">And they say with pride, "<i>C'est la guerre +elle-même, notre Poilu de Carcassonne!</i>"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">There was none more glad when they went to rest in +their billet, a ruined shack,</p> +<p class="i2">But when they returned to the front-line trench he +was just as pleased to be back;</p> +<p class="i2">He's the spirit of fun itself, and so when other men +feel blue,</p> +<p class="i2">His friends remark, "<i>Le cafard, quoi? On l'connait +pas chez nous!</i>"</p> +<p class="i2">So when you drink to the valiant French and the +glorious fights they've won</p> +<p class="i2">Just raise your glass to a little white dog that came +from Carcassonne.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page370" id="page370"></a>[pg +370]</span> +<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> +<p class="center">"LOYALTY."</p> +<p>If you are a pernickety intellectual (<i>soi-disant</i>) you may +really permit yourself to be faintly amused at the fiery zeal of +the mystery-wrapt author of <i>Loyalty</i> for his (or, quite +possibly, her) country's cause in this difficult hour. If you are +cast in the common human mould that nowadays is seen for the +glorious thing it is, you will respond to many single-minded, +wholesome thoughts in the impassioned statement of his thesis. And +if you happen to belong to that simple discredited breed, the +English, so long overshadowed by the nimbler Britons, you may have +quite a nice little private thrill of your own, a thrill of pride +in your precious stone, and begin to think with seriousness of the +advantages of "home rule all round" in an England-for-the-English +mood, and of the value of a nationalism that is as irrational as +conjugal or mother love—and as fine.</p> +<p>The author's hero is an Englishman of the wandering type, +assistant editor on a crank paper. The play is a protracted debate +in four sessions, June, 1914; July, 1914; August, 1914; September, +1916. And here the author makes his most serious mistake, the +mistake made by Mr. HENRY ARTHUR JONES in his recent squib. If he +had contrived his Little Navy folk, the proprietor, editor and +revolving cranks as something more than mere caricatures, brands of +straw prepared for his consuming bonfires, he would have +strengthened, not weakened, his excellent case. He has quoted his +enemies' mistakes without their excuses, their texts without their +contexts. And that is a form of propaganda which can only touch the +converted, or such of them as are not stirred by a sporting +instinct to a certain mood of protest and a wish that the other +fellow should be given a better start in the heresy hunt.</p> +<p>The <i>dramatis personae</i>, then, divide themselves into the +men of straw and the right sort. Of the former you have first +<i>Sir Andrew Craig</i>, chairman of the party in his constituency +and editor of <i>The New Standard</i> (there were indeed altogether +new standards of efficiency, mentality and hospitality in that +rather imaginative newspaper office of the First Act). Mr. FISHER +WHITE gave us the courtly-obstinate old man to the life (this +player has a way of removing straw). In the dramatic passage in +which, returning after being broken in a German prison, he relates +some of the horrors of which it is good for us to be reminded, he +rose to the height of his fine talent. His exquisite +elocution—a remarkable feat of virtuosity—was in itself +a sheer delight.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Stutchbury</i>, the editor, pacifist and sentimental +democrat, was dealt to Mr. LENNOX PAWLE. He played his hand well. +There was never such an editor outside Bedlam; but Mr. PAWLE is a +resourceful person and by a score of clever tricks of gesture and +business made a reasonable figure of fun for our obloquy. All but +broken in the end, but still claiming that he had "the larger +vision" (as he certainly had the larger diameter), there was a +certain dignity of pathos in his exit, a late <i>amende</i> by an +otherwise remorseless puppet-maker. Mr. SYDNEY PAXTON as a pillar +of Nonconformity offered a clever study in the unctuous-grotesque; +Mr. VINCENT STERNROYD sketched a portrait of a nut-consuming +impenitent disarmamentist. The author is the first, so far as I +know, to give public emphasis to the queer fact of natural history +that there is some connection between extreme opinions and the +prominence of the Adam's apple of the holder of them—a fact +on which I have often pondered.</p> +<p>Mr. M. MORAND, the aggressive Scots member of the election +committee, inspired to great heights of insobriety by the return of +his London-Scottish nephew from the Front, sounded a welcome human +note, as did Mr. SAM LIVESEY, the Labour Member of the committee, +shaken out of his detachment into an extreme explicitness of +language by a Zeppelin raid experience. Mr. GEORGE BELLAMY'S Welsh +Disestablisher and Mr. GRIFFITH HUMPHREYS' exuberant German +press-agent of the pre-war period were both really shrewd +studies.</p> +<p>Of the right sort there were but five—and one of these, +the editor's secretary, at heart an honest patriot, but in fact +eating the bread of shame, was perhaps not altogether of the right +sort. Still he did get off his chest at last the pent-up passion of +years, and very well he did it, with the help of Mr. RANDLE AYRTON, +whose subtle little touches, building up a picture of a +disheartened hack, were very adroit indeed.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/370.png"><img width="100%" src="images/370.png" alt= +"" /></a>THE LIGHTER SIDE OF EDITORIAL LIFE.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Frank Aylett</i> . . . . . . . . MR. C. AUBREY SMITH.<br /> +<i>Anthea Craig</i> . . . . . . . . . . . MISS VIOLA TREE.</div> +<p>Then there was young <i>Henry Craig</i>, at the beginning an +undergraduate in his last term, at the end a V.C. in his last +resting-place. Mr. PERCIVAL CLARKE'S was an adequate pleasant +study. So also was Mr. PHILIP ANTHONY'S of a Canadian, full of +strange idioms, who butted in to just the wrong corner of Fleet +Street to put the editor wise about the intentions of a Germany in +which he had spent his last two years. And then there was +splendidly English <i>Frank Aylett</i>, exile returned, unspoilt by +the cynicism of party and paper, whose fortune came to him just at +the psychological moment, enabling him to give his proprietor +notice and fight and win a by-election in the astonied man's own +constituency, besides carrying off his daughter (Miss VIOLA TREE), +who was the fifth of the right sort. What more plausible English +hero than Mr. C. AUBREY SMITH, except that he had to talk a good +deal more than seemed appropriate to his type? There was a +well-managed post-election scene when he was at his best (as was +the author). And all through there was good and sometimes glorious +sense for those to hear who had ears.</p> +<p>The programme promised us about a month's interval between Acts +I. and II. It was actually less than that; but if Mr. J.H. SQUIRE's +musicianly orchestra had not been there to charm us we might +conceivably have been bored.</p> +<p class="author">T.</p> +<hr /> +<h4>More Commercial Candour.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>"FOR SALE.—A 45 H.P., 6 cyl.—Car, touring body, +fitted with every latest convenience. Exceptionally well sprung. +Just purchased by owner and run under 1,000 miles. Guaranteed over +25-galls. to the mile by Agents. Rs. 11,000."—<i>Indian +Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page371" id="page371"></a>[pg +371]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/371.png"><img width="100%" src="images/371.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>"DIVERSION" IN THE BALKANS.</h3> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>HEROES.</h3> +<p>If the question were put to a company of young women, "What is +the most thrilling experience you can have in a London street?" the +odds are a thousand to one that they would reply that nothing could +be more thrilling than to meet a famous actor in plain clothes and +identify him. I am not a young woman myself, but I should be +inclined to share their opinion. There is something about an actor +in real life, moving along like a human being—one of +us—that always stirs my pulse. It is exciting enough to see +Mr. LLOYD GEORGE or Mr. ASQUITH or Sir OLIVER LODGE; but no one +stirs the imagination like an actor.</p> +<p>That is why I still tremble a little whenever I think of my good +fortune the other afternoon in the Haymarket, and why my pen shakes +as I commit the adventure to paper. For I met face to face two of +the most successful actors in London—at the present moment, +in the world.</p> +<p>I was walking up the Haymarket in the rain, hoping, in spite of +the new prohibitive rates, that I might see an empty cab, when I +met them coming down. They were walking with a man whom I did not +recognise, and, like me, were getting wet. One thinks of successful +actors as riding always in taxis; but taxis are very rare nowadays, +particularly in the wet, and somehow it did not seem unnatural that +they should be on foot. I am glad enough that they were, or I +should have missed my <i>frisson</i>; and others would have +suffered a similar loss, for the recognition was not only on my +part but on that of several passers-by, and it was instantaneous. +Indeed, I heard one lady tell her companion the name of the play +they are in and the extraordinary length of its run, and since she +spoke loudly I thought how delightful it must be to be a theatrical +celebrity and hear cordial things like that as you move about. +Neither of them paid any attention, however, although their friend +showed signs that the flattery had not escaped him; the two +Illustrions (to coin a word) merely walked on, superior to our +homage, and disappeared into Charles Street, where the stage door +of His Majesty's is.</p> +<p>Pouring though it was, and grovelling admirer of footlight +favourites as I am, somehow I never thought to offer either of them +my umbrella. But then one doesn't offer an umbrella to a donkey or +a camel, even though they are two of the stars of <i>Chu Chin +Chow</i>.</p> +<hr /> +<h4>ANOTHER INJUSTICE.</h4> +<p>From a Sinn Fein speech:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"When Ireland was silent England did not hear her cry +out."—<i>Wicklow News-Letter</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"WHY SHOULD A RABBIT COST 2<i>s</i>. 3<i>d</i>.?</p> +<p>"This question from a reader induces me to postpone until next +week my analysis of the high cost of onions."—<i>Empire +News</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On the principle that it is better to make sure of the rabbit +before arranging about the stuffing.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Stockholm, Tuesday.</p> +<p>"News from Finland shows that the Socialist leaders have lost +control of the workmen, and all kinds of excesses are taking place. +The present Commandant at Tornea was a sailor, the head of the +passport office was a tailor, and the chief telegraphic censor a +tinker."—<i>Central News</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We miss the soldier, to say nothing of "apothecary, ploughboy, +thief."</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Scholars and tragedians between them seem to have appropriated +the right to keep Shakespeare's memory green. But there are other +Richmonds in the field, humble Richmonds, not well read ... John of +Gaunt, crying that his England 'never did nor never shall lie at +the proud foot of a conqueror....'"—<i>The Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The writer who thus deprived the <i>Bastard</i> in <i>King +John</i> of his famous lines was, we infer, one of the "other +Richmonds."</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page372" id="page372"></a>[pg +372]</span> +<h3>SUGAR.</h3> +<p class="center">AN ELEGIAC ODE.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Queen of the palate! Universal Sweet!</p> +<p class="i4">Gastronomy's delectable Gioconda!</p> +<p class="i2">Since with submission loyally I greet</p> +<p class="i4">And follow out the regimen of RHONDDA,</p> +<p class="i2">I cannot be considered indiscreet</p> +<p class="i4">If I essay, but never go beyond, a</p> +<p class="i2">Brief elegiac tribute to a sway</p> +<p class="i2">By sterner needs now largely swept away.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Thy candy soothes the infant in its pram;</p> +<p class="i4">Thou addest mellowness to old brown sherry;</p> +<p class="i2">Thou glorifiest marmalade, on Cam</p> +<p class="i4">And Isis making breakfast-tables merry;</p> +<p class="i2">Thou lendest magic to the meanest jam</p> +<p class="i4">Compounded of the most insipid berry;</p> +<p class="i2">And canst convert the sourest crabs and quinces</p> +<p class="i2">To jellies fit for epicures and princes.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Thou charmest unalloyed, in loaf or lumps</p> +<p class="i4">Or crystals; brown and moist, or white and +pounded;</p> +<p class="i2">I never was so deeply in the dumps</p> +<p class="i4">That, once thy fount of sweetness I had sounded,</p> +<p class="i2">Courage returned not; even with the mumps</p> +<p class="i4">I still could view with gratitude unbounded</p> +<p class="i2">The navigators of heroic Spain</p> +<p class="i2">Who found the New World—and the sugar-cane.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Sprinkled on buttered bread thou dost excite</p> +<p class="i4">In human boys insatiable cravings;</p> +<p class="i2">On Turkish (I regret to say) Delight</p> +<p class="i4">Thou lurest them to dissipate their savings,</p> +<p class="i2">Instead of banking them, or sitting tight,</p> +<p class="i4">Or buying useful books and good engravings;</p> +<p class="i2">And lastly, mixed with strawberries and cream,</p> +<p class="i2">Thou art more than a dish, thou art a dream.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Before necessity, that knows no ruth,</p> +<p class="i4">Ordained thy frugal use in tea and coffee,</p> +<p class="i2">Some Stoics banned thee—men who in their +youth</p> +<p class="i4">Showed an unnatural dislike of toffee;</p> +<p class="i2">For sweetness charms the normal human tooth,</p> +<p class="i4">Sweetness inspires the singer's tenderest +strophe,</p> +<p class="i2">Since old LUCRETIUS musically chid</p> +<p class="i2">The curse of life—<i>amari aliquid</i>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"><i>Eau sucrée</i>, I admit, is rather tame</p> +<p class="i4">Compared with beer or whisky blent with soda;</p> +<p class="i2">But gallant Frenchmen, experts at this game,</p> +<p class="i4">Commend it highly either as a <i>coda</i></p> +<p class="i2">Or prelude to their meals, and much the same</p> +<p class="i4">Is sherbet, which the Gaekwar of Baroda</p> +<p class="i2">And other Oriental satraps quaff</p> +<p class="i2">In preference to ale or half-and-half.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Nor must I fail, O potent saccharin!</p> +<p class="i4">Thou chemic offspring of by-products coaly,</p> +<p class="i2">Late comer on the culinary scene,</p> +<p class="i4">To hail thy aid, although it may be lowly</p> +<p class="i2">Even compared with beet; for thou hast been</p> +<p class="i4">Employed in sweetening my roly-poly—</p> +<p class="i2">Thou whom I once regarded as a dose</p> +<p class="i2">And now the active rival of glucose!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">But still I hear some jaundiced critic say,</p> +<p class="i4">Some rigid self-appointed <i>censor morum</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">"Why harp upon the pleasures of a day</p> +<p class="i4">When freely sweetened was each cup and jorum,</p> +<p class="i2">Ere stern controllers had begun to stay</p> +<p class="i4">The genial outflow of the <i>fons leporum?</i></p> +<p class="i2">Now sugar's scarce, and we must do without it,</p> +<p class="i2">Why let regretful fancy play about it?"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">True, yet it greatly goes against the grain,</p> +<p class="i4">Unless one has the patience of Ulysses,</p> +<p class="i2">Wholly and resolutely to refrain</p> +<p class="i4">From dwelling on the memory of past blisses;</p> +<p class="i2">Forbidden fruits allure the strong and sane;</p> +<p class="i4">Joys loved but lost are what one chiefly misses;</p> +<p class="i2">This is my best excuse if I deplore</p> +<p class="i2">"So sad, so <i>sweet</i>, the days that are no +more."</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>'TATERS.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>At "The Plough and Horses</i>."</p> +<p>"You seen Parson lately, George?"</p> +<p>"Not lately I ain't, Luther."</p> +<p>"Not since 'is 'taters be out o' ground?"</p> +<p>"No. Finest crop in village, some do say."</p> +<p>"That be right—sev'ral ton of 'em there be."</p> +<p>"What to goodness do 'e want 'em all for, then? 'Im an' 's wife +an' a maid 'll never eat all them 'taters."</p> +<p>"I'll tell you what 'e says to me, for 'appen 'e'll say it to +you, George, when 'e comes acrost you next. 'E says to me, 'I've +growed as many potatoes as I've had strength to grow, an' they've +prospered exceedin'ly,' 'e says, 'thank God! So if any deservin' +folk in my parish gets through wi' their own crop an' wants more +later on they 'as only to come to me, for I've growed more 'an my +'ouse'old 'll eat if they was to eat all day.'"</p> +<p>"'E be proud o' that?"</p> +<p>"Fine an' proud 'e be."</p> +<p>"An' yet it be some'at unfort'nate too. For all of us as is left +in this 'ere parish 'as growed as many 'taters as they'll be like +to need, same as 'e. So I don't see nought but disappointment for +Parson an' a lot o' good 'taters lyin' to rot in their pies."</p> +<p>"Some there be too fond o' Parson to let that 'appen. Me an' my +wife be sendin' few of ours to London ev'ry week or so. So in due +season we shall be free to go to Parson an' 'elp 'im through wi' +'is, same as 'e wants us to. I 'ears as others is doin' some'at the +same as us—fear is as too many'll tumble to the idea, which +is why I'd 'ave you keep it fro' goin' further, George."</p> +<p>"Silent as th' grave I'll be. So you're givin' your 'taters 'way +to please Parson? Yet I do allus say as 'taters what a man grows +wi' sweat of 'is own brow do beat all others in t' eatin'."</p> +<p>"That may be; but us can't afford to be so mighty pernickerty in +time o' war. Nor we ain't givin' nothin 'way in manner o' speakin'. +Fair market price they gives for 'em in London. So it be somethin' +in 'and in these 'ard times as well as savin' Parson from a bitter +disappointment what 'e ain't done nothin' to deserve, so far as I +can see."</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Two organ grinders, aged 23 and 16, were taken to Charing Cross +Hospital to-day with bad injuries and severe shock, the result of a +barrel organ getting out of control in +Rosebery-avenue."—<i>Evening Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They should try a less dangerous instrument next time.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"'Seed potatoes' means potatoes grown in Scotland or Ireland in +the year 1917, or grown in England or Wales in the year 1917 from +seed grown in Scotland or Ireland in the year 1916, which will pass +through a riddle having a 1-5/8-in. mesh, and will not pass through +a riddle having a 1-5/8-in. mesh."—<i>Journal of the Board of +Agriculture</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We ourselves cannot get through any riddle of this kind.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page373" id="page373"></a>[pg +373]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/373.png"><img width="100%" src="images/373.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Sergeant (instructing squad of volunteers in physical +drill).</i> "THIS 'ERE HEXERCISE IS INTENDED TO 'ARDEN THE MUSCLES +OF THE STUMMICK AND MAKE IT HIMPERVIOUS TO GERMAN BULLETS HIN CASE +OF HINVASION."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> +<p class="center"><i>(By Mr, Punch's Staff of Learned +Clerks.)</i></p> +<p>It is difficult within the ordinary limits of a review in these +columns to say all that one feels or even to express adequately +one's gratitude after reading the two volumes of Lord MORLEY'S +generous and delightful <i>Recollections</i> (MACMILLAN). I seem to +have been sitting with him in a large and comfortable library while +the great Viscount rolled me out his mind, now breaking out into a +glowing eulogy of GEORGE MEREDITH, JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN or LESLIE +STEPHEN, or again dashing off with a few firm and skilful strokes a +portrait of JOHN MILL or HERBERT SPENCER, or some other +intellectual giant of that nineteenth century which Lord MORLEY +nobly defends and of which he himself was <i>grande decus +columenque</i>. The book is crammed with passages that arouse and +maintain pleasure in the reader and clamour for quotation on the +part of the reviewer. "Meredith," we are told, "who did not know +Mill in person, once spoke to me of him, with the confident +intuition proper to imaginative genius, as partaking of the +Spinster. Disraeli, when Mill made an early speech in Parliament, +raised his eye-glass and murmured to a neighbour on the bench, 'Ah, +the Finishing Governess.'" Or we are introduced to SPENCER at +MILL'S table: "The host said to him at dessert that Grote, who was +present, would like to hear him explain one or more of his views +about the equilibration of molecules in some relation or other. +Spencer, after an instant of good-natured hesitation, complied with +unbroken fluency for a quarter-of-an-hour or more. Grote followed +every word intently, and in the end expressed himself as well +satisfied. Mill, as we moved off into the drawing-room, declared to +me his admiration of a wonderful piece of lucid exposition. +Fawcett, in a whisper, asked me if I understood a word of it, for +he did not. Luckily I had no time to answer." Or again: "Another +contributor [to <i>The Saturday Review</i>] was the important man +who became Lord SALISBURY. He and I were alone together in the +editorial anteroom every Tuesday morning, awaiting our commissions, +but he too had a talent for silence, and we exchanged no words, +either now or on any future occasion." How charming a picture is +this of two shy British publicists maintaining towards one another, +against every possible discouragement, an inviolable silence. Not +even the weather could tempt them to break it. Yet the great +characteristic of this book is the large-hearted tolerance of +comment and judgment which makes it emphatically a friendly book. +As such I commend it with all the warmth in my power.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>For her new story, <i>Missing</i> (COLLINS), Mrs. HUMPHRY WARD +has used her knowledge, already proved elsewhere, of two settings, +the English Lakes and a Base Hospital somewhere in France. Also +perhaps her knowledge of human nature, though I like to think that +there are not many elder sisters so calculatingly callous as +<i>Bridget</i>. The bother about her was that she sadly wanted her +attractive younger sister to marry a sufficient establishment, not, +I fear, from wholly altruistic motives. So she was not altogether +sorry when the impecunious soldier-husband, whom <i>Nelly</i> had +personally preferred, was reported missing, thus leaving that to +chance once again open. Then, just as her plans seemed to be +prospering, word came secretly to her that there was a man +shattered and with memory lost in a base hospital who might +possibly be the brother-in-law whom she so emphatically didn't +want. What happens <span class="pagenum"><a name="page374" id= +"page374"></a>[pg 374]</span> upon this you shall find out for +yourself. Mrs. HUMPHRY WARD, as you will notice, has no fear of a +dramatic, even melodramatic, situation; handles it, indeed, with a +skill that the most popular might envy. Thence onwards the story, +perhaps a trifle slow in starting, gathers force. The two visits to +the camp at X—— (a very thin disguise for a place that +no Englishman of our time will ever forget) are admirably vivid; +the last chapters especially being as moving as anything that Mrs. +WARD has given us, whether in her popular, profound or propagandist +manner.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Lately, Mr. E.F. BENSON seems to have been devoting himself +almost wholly to chronicling the short and simple annals of the +middle-aged. With one exception, all his recent protagonists have +been, if not exactly in the sere and yellow, at least ripely +mature. So that such a title as that of his latest novel, <i>An +Autumn Solving</i> (COLLINS), produced in me rather a feeling of +familiar expectancy than of surprise. Also when the wrapper artist +clothes a volume with a picture of an elderly gentleman obviously +giving up an attractive young woman of perhaps one-third his years +it is idle to pretend that the contents retain all the thrill of +the unforeseen. Having said so much, I can let myself go in praise +(as how often before) of those qualities of insight and gently +sub-acid humour that make a BENSON novel an interlude of pure +enjoyment to the "jaded reviewer." In case the indiscreet cover may +happily have been removed before the volume reaches your hands, I +do not propose to give away the plot in any detail. The autumn +sowing of course produces a crop not exactly of wild oats, but of +romantic tares that springs in the hitherto barren heart of one +<i>Keeling</i>, prosperous tradesman, husband, father, mayor, +public benefactor and baronet, by reason of the too sympathetic +damsel who types his letters and catalogues his library. That +library shows Mr. BENSON'S genius; without it I should hardly have +been able to believe in the subsequent happenings, but, given this +"secret garden," all the tragedy is explained. I have left myself +no space in which to do justice to some admirable characterization. +<i>Keeling's</i> wife is worthy of a place in the author's long +gallery of woolly-witted matrons; while in <i>Silverdale</i> he has +given a study of clerical futility and egotism almost savage in its +detestability, a portrait at which one laughs and shudders +together. Of course the book will have, and deserve, a huge +welcome.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The union of scholarship and sympathy, enthusiasm and eloquence, +is rare; yet these qualities are to be found in perfect harmony in +the stately volume on the poets' poet which has just been published +under the style, on the cover, <i>Life of John Keats</i>, and on +the title-page, <i>John Keats, His Life and Poetry, His Friends, +Critics and After-Fame</i> (MACMILLAN)—a volume upon which +Sir SIDNEY COLVIN has been engaged ever since his retirement from +the Print Room of the British Museum, and may be said to have been +preparing to write all his days, ever since, as a boy, he first +opened the "magic casement." A book representing so long and ardent +a devotion, and written by one whose loyalties have always been so +cordially sustained and acknowledged, could not but glow; and it is +its warmth of feeling which, to my mind, peculiarly marks this very +distinguished work. It is more than a life; it is a "companion" to +KEATS so complete and understanding that one can with confidence +apply to it the abused word, "definitive." Critical essays on the +poet no doubt will continue to appear, but this is the last +biographical monument likely to be raised to him.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Your enjoyment of <i>The Head of the Family</i> (METHUEN) may in +a measure depend upon your capacity to appreciate <i>William +Linkhorn</i> and the glory of his "great flaming beard." To me, +unhappily, <i>William</i> was an uncouth rustic, just that and very +little else; but he possessed some mysterious attraction for women; +so, at any rate, Mrs. HENRY DUDENEY tells me, though she does not +explain to my satisfaction what it was. <i>Phoebe-Louisa</i> +married him partly because she wanted a man to help in her +greengrocery; but what charm he had for her soon waned, and she +smote hard when she caught him philandering with <i>Beausire +Fillery</i>. It was all the lady's fault; <i>William</i> had, so to +speak, only to wave his beard and she was at his feet. But if the +hirsute feature of this story leaves me cold it is easy enough to +enjoy and admire the rest. The <i>Firebraces</i>, spoken of here as +"The Family," are most admirably drawn. Never has the condescension +of county people to those less exalted in birth been described with +more delightful irony. True that some of the <i>Firebraces</i> +kicked over the traces and married whom they listed, but the family +as a whole was rooted deep enough to stand shocks which would have +devastated people of less assured position. The scenes of the story +are laid in and around Lewes, a part of England dear to Mrs. +DUDENEY'S heart, and of which she writes with real comprehension +and devotion.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>By a self-denying ordinance Mr. Punch declines, as a general +rule, to review in these columns the work of his Staff. But he may +permit himself to announce to all lovers of the gay humour of +"A.A.M." that Messrs. HODDER AND STOUGHTON have just brought out a +new novel, <i>Once on a Time</i>, by Mr. ALAN A. MILNE, with +illustrations by Mr. H. M. BROCK.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href= +"images/374.png"><img width="100%" src="images/374.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p class="center">A CONSOLING THOUGHT.</p> +<p><i>Belated Traveller (surprised by a bull when taking a short +cut to the station).</i> "BY JOVE! I BELIEVE I SHALL CATCH THAT +TRAIN AFTER ALL."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Alexander had his 'Plutarch' always under his +pillow."—<i>British Weekly.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>This must have been a very early edition.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Colombo is suffering from an attack of rabies and there have +been 38 cases reported so far. In the first six months of the year +1,300 days were destroyed."—<i>Singapore Free Press</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Let us hope that every day had its dog.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 153, NOV. 28, 1917***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 11443-h.txt or 11443-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/4/4/11443">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/4/4/11443</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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