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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. 159, September 15, 1920 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Owen Seaman + +Release Date: January 31, 2006 [EBook #17654] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Lesley Halamek and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br />OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>Vol. 159.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2>September 15th, 1920.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page201" id="page201"></a>[pg 201]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p> +Prohibition meetings in Scotland, +says an official, have been attended by +fifty thousand people. We should not +have thought there were so many aliens +in Scotland.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +At an Oldbury wedding the other day +a brick was thrown at the bridegroom. +There is no excuse for this sort of thing +with confetti so cheap.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +One of the Pacific Islands, we read, +is so small that the House of Commons +could not be planted on it. A +great pity.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +"Do hotel chefs use cookery-books?" +asks a home journal. Our own opinion +is that quite a large +proportion of them cook +by ear.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +Fourteen thousand +artificial teeth recently +stolen from premises in +East London have not +been recovered. While +not attempting to indicate +the guilty party, +we cannot refrain from +pointing out that several +Labour leaders have recently +been showing a +good many more teeth +than they were thought +entitled to possess.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +At the Trades Union +Congress a protest was +made against the Unemployment +Insurance +Act. This must not be +confused with the +miners' threat to strike. +That is merely a method of ensuring +unemployment.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +The arrangement by which a hundred-and-fifty +amateur brass bands are to +play at the Crystal Palace on September +25th looks like an attempt to distract +us from the miners' strike fixed +for that day.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +A Ramsgate man charged with shooting +a cat denied that he fired at it. The +animal is said to have dashed at the +bullet and impaled himself upon it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +It has been agreed, says a news item, +that milk shall be tenpence a quart +this winter. Not by us.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +The War Office announces that Arabs +in Southern Mesopotamia have captured +a British armoured train. It should be +pointed out to these Arab rebels that +it is such behaviour as this that discourages +the tourist spirit.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +Upon reading that another lady had +failed in her attempt to swim the +Channel a Scotsman inquires whether +the Cross-Channel steamer rates have +been increased, like everything else.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +We are informed that at a football +match recently played in the Rhondda +Valley the referee won.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +General <span class="sc">Obregon</span>, says an unofficial +message, has been elected President +of Mexico. The startling report that +he has decided to reverse the safe +policy of his predecessors and recognise +the United States requires corroboration.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +Everybody should economise after a +great war, says an American film producer. +We always do our best after +every great war.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +According to an official report only +fifty policemen were bitten by dogs in +London last week. The falling off is +said to be due to the fact that it has +been rather a good year for young and +tender postmen.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +Some highly-strung persons, says a +medical writer, are even afraid of inanimate +objects. This accounts for many +nervous people being afraid of venturing +too near a plumber.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +"I only want the potatoes in the +allotment and not the earth," said a +complainant at Deptford. It is evident +that, if this man is a trade unionist, he +is a raw amateur.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +Doctors at Vicenza have threatened +to strike. This means that people in +that neighbourhood will have to die +without medical assistance.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +"Chief Hailstorm," of the Texas +Rangers, has arrived in London. His +brother, Chief Rainstorm, has, of course, +been with us most of the summer.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +Girls, declares a well-known City +caterer, are acquiring bigger appetites. +We somehow suspected that the demand +for a return of the wasp waist +had influential interests behind it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +The wife of a miner in Warwickshire +has recently presented her husband +with three baby boys. We understand +that Mr. <span class="sc">Smillie</span> is sorry to have missed +three extra strike-votes +which he would have +obtained had the boys +been born a little earlier.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +An extraordinary +story reaches us from +North London. It appears +that during the +building of a house a +brick slipped unnoticed +from a hod and fell into +its correct position, +with the result that the +accountant employed +by the bricklayers could +not balance his books +at the end of the day.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p> +"As science measures +time," declares an eminent +geologist, "the +Garden of Eden was a +thing of yesterday." +All we can say is, +"Where was Councillor +<span class="sc">Clark</span> yesterday?"</p> + + <hr /> + + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/201.png"><img src="images/201-500.png" width="500" height="354" alt="You'll go back by the next train." /></a> + <p> +<i>Special Correspondent.</i> "<span class="sc">When they released me they said that if I +showed my face in Ireland again I should be shot.</span>"</p> +<p> +<i>Editor.</i> "<span class="sc">I'll let these Sinn Feiners see that I'm not to be intimidated. +You'll go back by the next train.</span>"</p></div> + + <hr /> + +<h4>"POLES OVER THE LINE."</h4> +<p class="author"> +<i>Evening Paper.</i></p> +<p> +So <i>that</i> accounts for the weather.</p> + + <hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"Whatever other defects may be alleged +against the scarlet uniform, it certainly makes +for two things—discipline and smartness—and +these two are very important factors in discipline."</p></blockquote> +<p class="author"> +<i>"Civil and Military Gazette," Lahore.</i></p> + +<p> +Especially the former.</p> + + <hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"During the night, she [Mrs. Hamilton, the +Channel swimmer] said, 'I occasionally took +hot drinks and ate cold roast chicken, the +small bones of which I kept chewing, as it +seemed to assist me....'</p> +<p> +A strict vegetarian, Mrs. Hamilton will +sometimes swim five miles before dinner, and +skips for a few minutes every day."</p></blockquote> +<p class="author"> +<i>Scotch Paper.</i></p> + +<p> +She should skip the chicken if she +wants us to be excited about her strict +vegetarianism.</p> + + <hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page202" id="page202"></a>[pg 202]</span> + +<h3>DOGGEREL.</h3> + +<h4><span class="sc">To the Prime Minister's St. Bernard Pup</span>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ere your native country figured as the home of winter sport,</p> +<p>Paradise of spies and agents, and for kings a last resort;</p> +<p>Ere the hospitable chamois lent his haunts to Bolsh and Hun</p> +<p>Or the queue of rash toboggans took the curve of Cresta Run;</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Long before a locomotive climbed the Rigi, cog by cog,</p> +<p>Fame had mentioned your forefathers—such a noble breed of dog,</p> +<p>How they tracked the lonely traveller with their nimble, sleuthy snouts,</p> +<p>Till beneath a billowy snowdrift they remarked his whereabouts.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>How they dug him out of cold-store like a Canterbury sheep,</p> +<p>Took their tongues and kindly licked him where his nose had gone to sleep,</p> +<p>Called attention to the cognac which they wore in little kegs</p> +<p>And remobilised the stagnant circulation in his legs.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>How they lifted up their voices, baying like an iron bell,</p> +<p>Till the monks of good St. Bernard heard the same and ran like hell—</p> +<p>Ran and bore him to their hospice, where they put him into bed</p> +<p>And applied a holy posset stiff enough to wake the dead.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Heir to this superb tradition, born to such a pride of race,</p> +<p>From the doggy <i>flair</i> that tells you what a lineage you can trace</p> +<p>You will draw, I trust, a solace for the strange and alien scene</p> +<p>Where you undergo purgation in a stuffy quarantine.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Further, if a homesick feeling sets you itching in the scalp</p> +<p>With a wave of poignant longing for the odour of an Alp,</p> +<p>Let this thought (a thing of splendour) help to keep your pecker up—</p> +<p>You have had a high promotion; you are now a Premier's pup!</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>You shall guard his sacred portals, you shall eat from off his plate,</p> +<p>Mix with private secretaries, move behind the veil of State,</p> +<p>And at Ministerial councils, as a special form of treat,</p> +<p>You shall sniff at <span class="sc">Winston's</span> trousers, you shall fondle <span class="sc">Curzon's</span> feet.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>You may even serve your master as an expert, one who knows</p> +<p>All the rules regarding salvage in the Great St. Bernard snows,</p> +<p>Do him good by utilising your hereditary gift</p> +<p>To retrieve his Coalition from a constant state of drift.</p></div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i40">O.S.</p> +</div></div> + + <hr /> + +<h3>THE PRODIGIES.</h3> +<p> +We—Great-aunts Emily and Louisa—had in our innocence +been telling a few old fairy stories at bedtime to those +three precocities whom our hosts call their children.</p> +<p> +We knew that they talked Latin and Greek in their sleep +and were too much for their parents in argument, but we +thought that at least, at the story hour——</p> +<p> +We were stopped by Drusilla. "I don't think much of +the moral of that one," she remarked. "It would seem to +illustrate the Evil Consequences of Benevolence!"</p> +<p> +"But she came alive again," said Evadne, the youngest, +in extenuation.</p> +<p> +"And the wolf was killed," we ventured in defence of +our old story.</p> +<p> +"Still," persisted Drusilla, "you couldn't call it encouraging."</p> +<p> +"Then in the other case," went on Claude thoughtfully, +"considering that she had been left in sole charge of the +house and had no business to go out and leave it to the +mercy of burglars, what moral are we to draw from the fact +that she married a Prince and lived happily ever afterwards?"</p> +<p> +"Most of them have that sort of moral," said Drusilla. +"And they are every one of them devoid of humour, except +of the most obvious kind—no subtlety."</p> +<p> +"When <i>I</i> was your age," said poor Louisa gently, "I +used to laugh very heartily over the adventures of <i>Tom +Thumb</i>."</p> +<p> +Claude seemed touched. "There are some capital situations +in certain of them," he conceded, "which might be +quite effectively treated."</p> +<p> +"How?" we asked weakly.</p> +<p> +It was Drusilla, the most alarming of the children, who +finally undertook to sketch us out an example.</p> +<p> +After a short meditation, "Something like this," she said. +"The situation, of course, you have met with before, but as +remodelled you might call it—</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h4>THE TRIUMPH OF VIRTUE;</h4> +<h4><span class="sc">or,</span></h4> +<h4><span class="sc">The Bad Fairy Foiled</span>.</h4> +<p> +A certain King and Queen had one daughter, to whose +christening they invited a large company, forgetting as +usual a particularly important and bad-tempered Fairy, who +signified her annoyance in the usual manner.</p> +<p> +The attendants of the little Princess (having read their +story-books) were preparing dolefully enough to fall asleep +for a hundred years, when the Fairy, with a contemptuous +sniff, remarked that the spell would not take effect for some +time yet.</p> +<p> +They breathed again and had almost forgotten the affair +by the time the Princess had grown up. But the Fairy had +so arranged it that the spell fell upon the Princess at the +time when she was engaged in making her choice of a +husband from among the suitors who had arrived at her +father's Court.</p> +<p> +The Princess was now bewitched in this way—that good +men appeared bad, ugly men handsome, and <i>vice versâ</i>. +The Fairy had hoped that she would thus make a mess of +her matrimonial affairs and live unhappily ever after.</p> +<p> +But she had reckoned without the disposition of the +Princess, a kind good girl with an overpowering sense of +duty. When pressed to choose, she replied firmly, "I will +have no other than Prince Felix."</p> +<p> +To her his ugliness seemed pathetic and his character +evidently needed reformation so urgently that she longed +to be at the job. No one wondered at her choice, for he +was, of course, the most handsome and excellent of men.</p> +<p> +Ultimately the Fairy broke her spell in a fit of exasperation, +but without any gratifying result. The Princess seemed +happier than ever and would sometimes say to a slightly +puzzled friend:—</p> +<p> +"Hasn't Felix improved <i>wonderfully</i> since I married +him?"</p> + + <hr /> +<blockquote><p> +"From 1910 to 1916 he was Viceroy in India, governing the +Dependency through very critical years and enjoying general esteem, +as was made clear in 1912, when an attempt was made to assassinate +him at Delhi."—"<i>Daily Mail" on Lord Hardinge</i>.</p></blockquote> +<p> +It sounds like a <i>succès d'estime</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page203" id="page203"></a>[pg 203]</span> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;"> +<a href="images/203.png"><img src="images/203-360.png" width="360" height="450" alt="The Public Benefactor." /></a> + +<h4>THE PUBLIC BENEFACTOR.</h4> +<p> +<span class="sc">Mr. Smillie</span>. "I CAN'T BEAR TO THINK OF YOUR PAYING SO MUCH FOR YOUR COAL. +I MUST PUT THAT RIGHT; I MUST SEE THAT YOU DON'T GET ANY."</p> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page204" id="page204"></a>[pg 204]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/204.png"><img src="images/204-600.png" width="600" height="405" alt="I wonder if that's true" /></a> + +<p><i>First Tramp</i>. "<span class="sc">In this bit o' noospaper it says: 'The 'ole cause of the world's present disorder is the universal +spirit of unrest. I wonder if that's true</span>?"</p> +<p> +<i>Second Tramp</i>. "<span class="sc">I ain't noticed it</span>."</p></div> + + +<h3>THE COAL CUP.</h3> +<p> +It seems to me that we all take a +great deal of interest in the miners +when they strike, but not nearly enough +when they hew. And yet this business +of hacking large lumps of fuel out of a +hole, since civilisation really depends +on it, ought to be represented to us +from day to day as the beautiful and +thrilling thing that it really is. Yet if we +put aside for a moment Mr. <span class="sc">Smillie's</span> +present demands, we find the main topics +of discussion in the daily Press as I +write are roughly these:—</p> + +<ul> +<li> +(1) The prospects of League Football +and the Cup Ties.</li> +<li> +(2) Ireland.</li> +<li> +(3) The prevalence of deafness +amongst blue-eyed cats.</li> +<li> +(4) Mesopotamia.</li> +<li> +(5) The Fall of Man.</li> +<li> +(6) The sale of <i>The Daily Mail</i>, whose +circulation during the coming winter is +for some reason or other supposed to +be almost as important to the children +of England as their own.</li> +</ul> +<p> +Of all these topics the first is, of +course, by far the most absorbing, and +almost everyone has remarked how the +love of sport, for which Britons are +famous, is growing more passionate than +ever. It is not only cricket and football, +of course; only the other day +there was a shilling sweepstake on the +St. Leger in our office and, from what +I hear of the form of Westmorland in +the County Croquet Championship during +the past season—but I have no +time to discuss these things now.</p> +<p> +The point is that, whilst this excitement +over games grows greater and +greater, the country is suffering, say +the economists, from under-production +and the inflation of the wage-bill. This +means that everyone is trying to do +less work and get more money for it, +a very natural ambition which nobody +can blame the miners from sharing. I +suppose that if they all stopped mining +and we had to depend for warmth on +wrapping ourselves up in moleskins, +the molliers, or whatever they are called, +would strike for a two-shillings rise as +well.</p> +<p> +The worst of it is that under-production, +say the economists again (there is +no keeping anything from these smart +lads), sends prices up. Obviously then +there is only one thing to do: we must +take advantage of the prevailing passion +and make mining (and other industries +too for that matter) a form of sport. +The daily papers should find very little +difficulty in doing this.</p> + +<h5> +WHO HEWS HARDEST?<br /> +CLAIM BY A LANARKSHIRE COLLIER</h5> + +<p> +would do very well for the headings of +a preliminary article; and the claim of +the Lanarkshire collier would, I am +sure, be instantly challenged. After a +few letters we might have a suggestion, +say from Wales, that no team of eleven +miners could hew so hard and so much +as a Welsh one. And from that it +would be only a short step to the formation +of district league competitions +and an international championship. +Or the old-time system under which +cricketers were matched for a stake by +sporting patrons might be revived, and +we should have headlines in the evening +Press after this fashion:—</p> + +<h5> +HUGE HEWING CONTEST.<br /> +NOTTS FOREST v. NEWCASTLE UNITED.<br /> +TREMENDOUS WAGER BETWEEN<br /> +THE DUKES OF PORTLAND AND<br /> +NORTHUMBERLAND</h5> + +<p> +and all the glades of Sherwood and the +banks where the wild Tyne flows would +be glad.</p> +<p> +It will be objected, of course, that the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page205" id="page205"></a>[pg 205]</span> +hewing of coal is not a spectacular +affair. You cannot pack sixty thousand +spectators into a mine to watch a hewing +match, and even if you could the +lighting is bad; but that is just where +the skill of the reporters would come +in. After all, we do not most of us see +the races on which we bet, nor the Golf +Championship, nor even <span class="sc">Beckett</span> and +<span class="sc">Wells.</span> But there would be articles +on the correct swing whilst hewing, and +the proper stance, and how far the toes +should be turned in; the chances of +every team would be discussed; the +current odds would be quoted, and, whoever +won, the consumer would score, +whilst the strongest hewers would become +popular heroes and be photographed +on the back-page standing +beside their hews.</p> +<p> +I admit that the South of England +and London in particular would have +very little share in these competitions, +and we should depend for local interest +mainly upon the promising young colts +from the Kentish nurseries. But we +could find out from our dealers where +our coals came from and follow from afar +the fortunes of our adopted teams; and +Cabinet Ministers, at any rate, could +distribute their patronage and their +presence with tact over the various +areas involved.</p> + +<h5> +MR. BALFOUR HEWS OFF AT<br /> +DURHAM</h5> + +<p> +is another headline which seems to +suggest itself, and I should strongly +urge the <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span>, who has returned, +I hear, with a St. Bernard from +the Alps, to lose no time in selecting a +more appropriate playmate.</p> + +<h5> +PREMIER AT TONYPANDY.<br /> +MR. LLOYD GEORGE PATS PET<br /> +PIT-PONY +</h5> +<p> +is the kind of thing I mean, and very +hard also to say six times quickly without +making a mistake.</p> +<p> +Obviously the result of all this would +be that not only would the miners be +justified in asking for more money, but +that the country would be able to afford +it; and similar competitive leagues, to +supersede trade unions, would soon be +formed by other trades. One seems +to hear faintly the loud plaudits of the +onlookers as two crack teams of West-end +road-menders step smartly into the +arena....</p> +<p class="author"> +<span class="sc">Evoe.</span></p> + + <hr /> + +<h4>Our Bolshevik Colonies.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Married Shepherd, used hilly country and +all farm and station work, desires Situation; +wife would cook one or two men."</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="author"> + "<i>The Press," Christchurch, N.Z</i>.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"Miss ——, a soubrette, whose songs lean +towards the voluptuous, sank 'Somebody's +Baby.' Her encore number, 'You'd be Surprised,' +was even more so."</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="author"> + "<i>The Dominion," Wellington, N.Z</i>.</p> + + <hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<a href="images/205.png"><img src="images/205-349.png" width="349" height="450" alt="Woodland Sprite (from Stepney, to eminent botanist)." /></a> + +<p><i>Woodland Sprite (from Stepney, to eminent botanist).</i> <span class="sc">"Please, Mister, Maggie +wants to know what you charge for taking twins?"</span></p></div> + + <hr /> + +<h3>THE PASSING OF THE CRADLE.</h3> + +<blockquote class="note"><p> +[According to a report which recently appeared +in a daily paper, cradles for infants are +becoming a thing of the past.]</p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Snug retreat for mother's treasure,</p> + <p class="i2">Shall I pine as I repeat</p> +<p>Rumour's strange report, which says you're</p> + <p class="i2">Virtually obsolete?</p> +<p>Shall these lips a doleful lyric</p> + <p class="i2">Proffer at your ghostly bier,</p> +<p>Or compose a panegyric</p> + <p class="i2">Moistened with a minstrel's tear?</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Me the theme leaves too unshaken,</p> + <p class="i2">Though "some" father more or less;</p> +<p>Better 'twere if undertaken</p> + <p class="i2">By my wife (a poetess);</p> +<p>And, if I be asked, Why vainly</p> + <p class="i2">Occupy, then, so much space?</p> +<p>My concern, I'll say, is mainly</p> + <p class="i2">With the woman in the case.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>For, when she and you shall sever</p> + <p class="i2">(Though 'tis early yet to crow),</p> +<p>Your departure may for ever</p> + <p class="i2">Lay her proudest triumph low;</p> +<p>Yes, while men (I'm much afraid) 'll</p> + <p class="i2">Round her fingers still be twirled,</p> +<p>If her hand can't rock a cradle</p> + <p class="i2">It may cease to boss the world.</p> +</div> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<h4>Commercial Candour.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Irate Householders, why be swindled in a +clumsy manner? Fetch your second-hand +clothing to me and be done in the most +approved style."—<i>Daily Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + + <hr /> + +<h4><span class="sc"><b>"More Literary Heredity.</b></span></h4> + +<blockquote><p> +Fresh literary fame seems to be pending for +the Maurice Hewlett family circle.</p> +<p> +Mr. Robin Richards, the son-in-law of the +famous novelist, is about to appeal to fiction +readers with his first novel."—<i>Daily Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +No more of the old-fashioned <span class="sc">Darwin</span> +and <span class="sc">Galton</span> nonsense about fathers +and children.</p> + + <hr /> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page206" id="page206"></a>[pg 206]</span> + +<h3>SEVEN WHITEBAIT.</h3> +<p> +Here and there in the drab routine +of modern existence it is still possible to +catch an occasional glimpse of romance +and courageous living, and in the +volume which lies before us as we +write we are given a generous measure +of peril and adventure in faery seas +forlorn. <i>From Whitebait to Kipper: +The Story of Seven Lives</i>, is the vivid +record of a family of herrings, set down +(posthumously, it would seem) with refreshing +simplicity by Walter Herring, +the youngest and perhaps the most brilliant +of the family. The story begins +with the early childhood of Walter, +John, Isabel, Margaret, Rupert, Stéphanie +and little Foch, the last of whom +was so named because he was born on +the anniversary of the Armistice. (As +a matter of fact they were all born on +the same day, but for some reason which +is not explained only one of them was +called Foch.)</p> +<p> +You, reader, are one of those ignorant +people who do so much discredit to our +Public Schools. You fondly think that +the whitebait is a special kind of fish, +that there are father whitebaits and +mother whitebaits and baby whitebaits. +You are wrong. There are only baby +whitebaits. At least there are baby +herrings and baby pilchards, and these +are called whitebait because they are +eaten by the mackerel and because +they look white when they are swimming +upside down.</p> +<p> +Anyhow Walter and John and Isabel +and Margaret and Rupert and Stéphanie +and little Foch began life as whitebait. +They used to charge about the Cornish +seas with whole platefuls of other whitebait, +millions of them, and wherever they +went they were pursued by thousands +of mackerel, who wanted to eat them. +One day John felt that the moment was +very near when he would be eaten by +a mackerel, and he was quite right. +Isabel felt the same thing, but she was +wrong. She jumped out of the water +and was eaten by a sea-gull. When +the fishermen saw Isabel leaping into +the air they came out and caught the +mackerel in a net. They also caught +Margaret with a lot of other whitebait; +and she was eaten by a barrister at +"Claridge's."</p> +<p> +There were now four of the family +who had not been eaten by anyone. It +is extraordinary when you come to +think of it that any herring ever contrives +to reach maturity at all. What +with the mackerel and the seagulls and +the barristers, everybody seems to be +against it. However, Walter, Rupert +and Foch succeeded. Stéphanie just +missed. Walter and Rupert and Foch +had jolly soft roes, a fact which is +recorded in a cynical little poem by the +precocious Foch, believed to be the +only literary work of a whitebait now +extant. We have only space here to +quote the opening couplet:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The herrings with the nice soft rows</p> +<p>Are gentlemen; the rest are does.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p> +The survivors of the family had now +to choose a career. From the beginning +it seems to have been recognised that +Stéphanie at least would have to be content +with a humbler sphere than her +more gifted brothers. She had a hard +roe and was rather looked down upon. +But she was an independent little thing +and her pride revolted at a life of subjection +at home; so while still a girl she +went off on her own and got mixed up +with some pilchards who were just being +caught in a net. Stéphanie was caught +too and became a sardine. She was +carefully oiled and put in a tin, and she +was eaten at a picnic near Hampton +Court. But there is every reason to +suppose that she was eaten happy, +since in those less exacting circles +nobody seemed to mind about her hard +roe, which had been a perpetual bugbear +to her in the herring world.</p> +<p> +Meanwhile the remaining three had +decided on a career. They were determined +to be fresh herrings. This is +of course the highest ambition of all +herrings, though sadly few succeed in +attaining it. One herring in his time +plays many parts (<span class="sc">Shakespeare</span>); he +can seldom say with confidence what +exactly he will be to-morrow; but he +can be fairly certain that it won't be a +fresh herring. Of our three survivors +Rupert alone was to win the coveted +distinction. He grew to be a fine boy +and was eaten at Hammersmith, where +his plump but delicate roe gave the +greatest satisfaction. It was not eaten +in the ordinary humdrum way, but was +thickly spread on a piece of buttered +toast, generously peppered, and <i>devoured</i>. +And when his "wish" was placed on +the kitchen-range, swelled rapidly and +burst with a loud report, his cup of +happiness was full.</p> +<p> +Little Foch, alas, failed to fulfil his +youthful promise and became a common +bloater. Worse than that, he was +bloated too thoroughly and was almost +impossible to eat. Even his lovely roe, +the pride of his heart, became so salt +that the Rector of Chitlings finally rejected +it with ignominy, though not +before he had consumed so much of it +that he had to drink the whole of his +sermon-water before he began to preach.</p> +<p> +But it was Walter, Walter the +chronicler, Walter the clever, the +daring, the ambitious, leader in every +escapade, adviser in every difficulty, +who was to suffer the crowning humiliation. +Walter became a kipper. If +there is one thing that a herring cannot +stand it is to be separated from his roe. +Walter's roe was ruthlessly torn from +him and served up separate on toast, +with nothing to show that it was the +glorious roe of Walter. It was eaten +at the Criterion by a stockbroker, and +it might have been anybody's roe. +Meanwhile the mutilated frame, the +empty shell of Walter, was squashed +flat in a wooden box with a mass of +others and sold at an auction by the +pound. It broke his heart.</p> +<p class="author"> +A.P.H.</p> + + <hr /> + +<h3>FLOWERS' NAMES.</h3> + +<h4><span class="sc">Lady's Slipper.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Country gossips, nodding slow</p> +<p>When the fire is burning low,</p> +<p>Or chatting round about the well</p> +<p>On the green at Ashlins Dell,</p> +<p>With many a timid backward glance</p> +<p>And fingers crossed and eyes askance,</p> +<p>Still tell about the Midmas Day</p> +<p>When Marget Malherb went away.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"After Midmas Day shall break,</p> +<p>Maidens, neither brew nor bake;</p> +<p>See your house be sanded clean;</p> +<p>Wear no stitch of fairy green;</p> +<p>Go barefoot; wear nor hose nor shoon</p> +<p>From rise of sun to rise of moon;</p> +<p>For the Good People watch and wait</p> +<p>Waiting early, watching late,</p> +<p>For foolish maids who treat with scorn</p> +<p>The mystic rites of Midmas Morn."</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Marget Malherb tossed her head,</p> +<p>"I fear no fairies' charms," she said—</p> +<p>For she'd new slippers she would wear</p> +<p>To show her lad the pretty pair,</p> +<p>Soft green leather, buckled red—</p> +<p>"I fear no fairies' charms," she said.</p> +<p>She drew them on and laughed in scorn,</p> +<p>And out she danced on Midmas Morn.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Nevermore was Marget seen;</p> +<p>But when her lover sought the green</p> +<p>A Fairy Ring was all he found—</p> +<p>A Fairy Ring on the weeping ground;</p> +<p>And by the hedge a flower grew,</p> +<p>Long and slender, filled with dew,</p> +<p>Green and pointed, ribboned red;</p> +<p>And still you'll find them as I've said.</p> +<p>And Marget comes, so gossips say,</p> +<p>To wear her shoes on Midmas Day.</p> +</div> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<h4>The Gladiatorial Spirit.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Crossbie would have done better to have +shot himself, but he gave the ball to his +partner."—<i>Provincial Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + + <hr /> + + +<h4>"MILK PRICES UP.</h4> +<h5>HIGHER CHARGE TO MEET THE COST OF PETROL."</h5> + +<p class="author"> + <i>Daily Paper</i>.</p> +<p> +We always thought it was water that +they used.</p> +<br /><br /> + <hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207" id="page207"></a>[pg 207]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;"> +<a href="images/207.png"><img src="images/207-360.png" width="360" height="450" alt="The Persuasive Power of Beauty in Art." /></a> + +<h4>THE PERSUASIVE POWER OF BEAUTY IN ART.</h4></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208" id="page208"></a>[pg 208]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 320px;"> +<a href="images/208.png"><img src="images/208-316.png" width="316" height="450" alt="'Ere, not so much of the ca-canny." /></a> + +<p> +<i>Bored Spectator</i>. "<span class="sc">'Ere, not so much of the ca-canny.</span>"</p></div> + + <hr /> + +<h3>A DIFFERENCE OF CLASS.</h3> + +<p> +It is without doubt the most expensive +hotel on the front, and the palatial +dining-room in which we have just +lunched is furnished and decorated in +that sumptuously luxurious style to +which only wealth, untrammelled by art, +is able to attain. Personally I cannot +afford to take my meals at such places, +and I know that the same holds good +of my fellow-guest, Charteris. Charteris +was the best scholar of our year at +Oriel, and since his demobilisation he +and his wife have been living in two +rooms, except during the periods +when their son joins them for +his holidays from Winchester. +But our host is still possessed +of an obstinate wealth which +even the War has done little to +diminish, and, as he himself puts +it, is really grateful to those of +his old friends who will help +him in public to support the +ignominy.</p> +<p> +At the moment, having finished +lunch, we have betaken ourselves +to wicker-chairs in the porch, +and Charteris and our host being +deep in a golf discussion I venture +once more to turn a covert +attention to the exceedingly +splendid couple who have just +followed us out from the dining-room. +I noticed them first on +my arrival, when they were just +getting out of their Rolls-Royce, +and the admiration which I +then conceived for them was +even further enhanced during +lunch by a near view of the +lady's diamonds and of the +Cinquevalli-like dexterity shown +by her husband in balancing a +full load of peas on the concave +side of a fork. At present the +man, somewhat flushed with +champagne, is smoking an enormous +cigar with a red-and-gold +band round it, while the lady, her diamonds +flashing in the sunshine, leans +back in her chair and regards with +supercilious eyes the holiday crowds +that throng the pavement below.</p> +<p> +Following her glance my attention is +suddenly arrested by the strange behaviour +of two passers-by, who have +stopped in the middle of the pavement +and, after exchanging some excited comments, +are staring fixedly towards us. +From their appearance they would seem +to be a typical husband and wife of the +working-class on holiday, and it occurs +to me that, given the clothes and the +diamonds, they might well be occupying +the wicker-chairs of the couple opposite. +Evidently the sight of somebody +or something in the hotel porch +has excited them greatly, for they continue +to stare up at us with a hostile +concentration that renders them quite +unconscious of the frantic efforts of +the small child who accompanies them +to tug them towards the beach. After +a moment they exchange a few more +quick words, and the man leaves his +companion and makes his way towards +us. Ascending the hotel steps with an +air of great determination he comes to +a halt before the couple opposite.</p> +<p> +"'Ere, I've bin lookin' for you," he +begins accusingly.</p> +<p> +The Rolls-Royce owner takes the +cigar from his mouth and gazes in astonishment +at the accusing apparition +before him.</p> +<p> +"A hour ago," pursues the newcomer +relentlessly, "you was driving along +the front here in the whackin' great car. +It ain't no good denyin' it, 'cos I took +the number."</p> +<p> +"What d'ye mean—denying it?" exclaims +Rolls-Royce. "Who's denying +anythink?"</p> +<p> +"It ain't no good tryin' to deny it," +retorts the other. "An' it ain't no good +denyin' wot you did neether, 'cos I've +got my missus 'ere to prove it."</p> +<p> +"What I did?" echoes the astonished +man. "What did I do?"</p> +<p> +"Ran over my child's b'loon," states +the accuser, fixing him with a pitiless +eye. For the moment the object of +this serious charge is too taken aback +to be capable of speech.</p> +<p> +"'Ran over my child's b'loon,'" repeats +the other inexorably. "Leastways +your chauffer did. An' when we 'ollered +out to yer to stop you just rushed on +like a runaway railway-train."</p> +<p> +Rolls-Royce, conscious of the curious +gaze of the entire company, pulls himself +together and regards his accuser +unfavourably.</p> +<p> +"First I've 'eard of it," he growls. +"Where was the balloon anyway? In +the road, I s'pose?"</p> +<p> +"Yes, it <i>was</i> in the road," +retorts the other defiantly, +"where it's got every right to +be. Road's there for the convenience +of b'loon-fliers just as +much as for motor-cars. More."</p> +<p> +"Look 'ere, that's enough of +it," says the car-owner harshly. +"If the balloon got run over +it's yer own fault for letting it +go in the road."</p> +<p> +"That's a nice way to talk," +suddenly comes in shrill tones +from the woman below, who +has edged her way to the foot +of the steps. "We don't go +buyin' balloons for you to run +over in yer cars. We're respectable +people, we are, an' we work +for our livin'."</p> +<p> +"Drivin' about in a car like +an express train, runnin' over +other people's b'loons," corroborates +her husband bitterly. +"Wot country d'yer think yer +in? Prussia?</p> +<p> +By this time a small crowd +has gathered on the pavement +and is gazing up at the protagonists +with ghoulish interest. +The lady in the diamonds, a +prey to mingled indignation and +alarm, has leant towards her +spouse and is whispering to him +urgently, but he shakes her off +with an impatient movement.</p> +<p> +"Not on yer life," he snaps. "They +won't get a cent out o' me."</p> +<p> +"Ho, won't we!" exclaims his accuser +hotly. "We'll soon see about that. +We're English people, we are—we +don't allow people to go about destroyin' +our b'loons."</p> +<p> +"No wonder they're so rich," cries +the woman at the bottom of the steps +in satirical tones. "That's the way +to get rich, that is—destroyin' other +people's prop'ty an' then refusin' to +pay for it. Anybody could get rich +that way."</p> +<p> +Reflections on the feasibility of this +novel financial scheme are cut short by +the appearance at the top of the steps +of the hotel porter, who touches the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209" id="page209"></a>[pg 209]</span> +originator of the disturbance on the +shoulder.</p> +<p> +"Come on, you're not allowed up +'ere, you know," he observes.</p> +<p> +"Ho, ain't I?" retorts the man defiantly. +"Is this Buckingham Pallis?"</p> +<p> +"You can't come up 'ere unless you've +got business in the 'otel," states the +porter unmoved.</p> +<p> +"So I 'ave got bisness 'ere," declares +the other. "Bisness c'nected with my +son's b'loon."</p> +<p> +"An' we don't leave 'ere till it's +settled, neither," cries the lady on the +pavement. "'Alf-a-crown that balloon +cost, an' we don't budge from 'ere till +we get it."</p> +<p> +This is altogether too much for the +owner of the Rolls-Royce.</p> +<p> +"'Alf-a-crown?" he explodes and +turns indignantly to the company. +"'Alf-a-crown for a child's balloon, and +<i>then</i> they go on strike."</p> +<p> +Derisive cheers and counter-cheers +go up from the crowd below as the +incensed balloon-owner bursts forth +into an impassioned defence of his inalienable +right as a free-born Briton to +strike or to buy half-crown balloons as +the spirit moves him. Simultaneously +the lady in the diamonds rises and, +producing a coin from her gold bag, +holds it with a superb gesture at arm's +length beneath his nose. For a moment +or two he pays no attention to her, +then takes the coin impatiently with +the air of one brushing aside an irritating +interruption and continues his +harangue.</p> +<p> +"Come on," puts in the porter; +"you've got yer 'alf-crown. S'pose +you move on."</p> +<p> +"Got me 'alf-crown, 'ave I'?" he +retorts. "Wot about my rights as a +man? Does 'alf-a-crown buy them?"</p> +<p> +No one venturing to solve this social +problem he turns slowly and, glaring +over his shoulder at Rolls-Royce, descends +the steps.</p> +<p> +"I'm an Englishman, I am," he concludes +from the pavement. "No one +can't close my mouth with 'alf-crowns."</p> +<p> +For a brief space he stands scowling +up at the porch as though challenging +all and sundry to perform this feat, +then, taking his wife by the arm, moves +off with her and the still insistent +child towards the beach. The crowd +on the pavement, regretfully convinced +that the entertainment is at an end, +disperses slowly. Rolls-Royce, seemingly +unconscious of the interest of +Charteris and our host, who are looking +at him covertly as at some zoological +specimen, relights his cigar and sits +glowering across the road, and silence +falls upon the scene—a silence broken +at last by the lady in the diamonds, +who has resumed her languid pose in +the wicker-chair.</p> +<p> +"'Orrible people!" she observes, addressing +the occupants of the porch +generally. "Nice state o' things when +you can't even be safe from 'em in yer +own 'otel. You don't seem to be able +to get away from these low-class people +hanywhere—you don't reely!"</p> + + <hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/209.png"><img src="images/209-600.png" width="600" height="411" alt="Why the deuce don't you sit still? You'll have us over in a minute." /></a> + +<p><i>Energetic Motor-Cyclist.</i> "<span class="sc">Why the deuce don't you sit still? You'll have us over in a minute.</span>"</p> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<h4>40-1920 A.D.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Caligula</span> the man (quite mad, of course)</p> +<p>Conferred the consulship upon his horse.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Caligula the colt (a trifle saner)</p> +<p>Makes kings of jockey, purchaser and trainer.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Sanity counts; I raise my cup of massic</p> +<p>Not to the earlier but the later "classic."</p> +</div> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<h4>Journalistic Modesty.</h4> +<blockquote><p> +"I was his [Irving's] guest regularly at all +Lyceum first nights for a whole quarter of a +century.... He delighted in the company +of third-rate people."</p> +<p class="author"> +<i>C.K.S. in "The Sphere."</i></p></blockquote> + + <hr /> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page210" id="page210"></a>[pg 210]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px"> +<a href="images/210.png"><img src="images/210-600.png" width="600" height="395" alt="Gladys, what did you do with the bacon we set aside for poisoning the rats?" /></a> + +<p><i>The Master.</i> "<span class="sc">Tcha! This bacon tastes simply beastly.</span>"</p> +<p> +<i>The Mistress.</i> "<span class="sc">Gladys, what did you do with the bacon we set aside for poisoning the rats?</span>"</p> +</div> + <hr /> + +<h3>FASHION AND PHYSIQUE.</h3> +<p> +The heightened stature of women was +a favourite topic in anthropometric +circles long before the War. It seems, +however, that they are not going to +rest content with their present standard +of altitude, but are invoking the resources +of Art to render it even more +conspicuous. We do not speak rashly +or without book. <i>The Evening News</i> +announced on September 8th that +"Women are to be taller this autumn." +Nature may be in the Fall, but women +are on the rise. The mode by which +this effect of elongation—so dear to +Art—is to be attained is described in +detail by the Paris correspondent of +our contemporary as follows:—</p> +<p> +"A fluffy and very high head-dress +will be worn this autumn. The effect is +obtained by the aid of pads, and adds +some inches to a woman's stature.... +Another type of coiffure is being adopted +by some hairdressers, who leave the +hair flat and smooth round the face, +and only make a sort of bird's-nest of +the ends, which stand well up so as to +lengthen the profile in an upward +direction."</p> +<p> +Nothing, however, is said about the +relation of fashion to the physique of the +sterner sex. To correct this omission +Mr. Punch has interviewed a number +of West-End tailors, hatters, hosiers +and bootmakers. The results of this +inquiry may be briefly summarised.</p> +<p> +Heads are to be larger this autumn, +and to keep pace with the extraordinary +development of brain amongst our insurgent +youth, as evidenced by the +correspondence in <i>The Morning Post</i>, +it has been found necessary to make +a radical change in the stock sizes of +hats. But, where there has been no +cranial distension, provision will be +made to remedy the defect by the insertion +of a cork sheath, by the aid of +which a head of undersized circumference +will be able to wear a No. 8 +hat. Again, to meet the needs of customers +in whom the temperature of +the cranial region is habitually high, a +hat has been devised with a vacuum +lining for the insertion of cold water. +The "Beverley" nickel-plated refrigerating +helmet, as it is called, has already +found a large sale amongst Balliol +undergraduates.</p> +<p> +As a result of the revival of the "Apes +<i>v.</i> Angels" controversy, in which Canon +<span class="sc">Barnes</span> has taken so prominent a part, +and Mr. <span class="sc">Bottomley</span> has declared himself +as a whole-hearted supporter of +<span class="sc">Darwin</span> (<i>vide</i> his article in <i>The Sunday +Pictorial</i>), hands will be supple and +boneless this autumn, as in fashionable +portraits. This reversion to the prehensile +type of hand, so noticeable in +the chimpanzee, has its drawbacks, +and the rigidity necessary for certain +manual functions, such as winding up +a motor or opening a champagne bottle, +will be furnished by gloves of a stiffer +and stronger fabric, ranging from simulation +leatherette to chain-mail.</p> +<p> +Owing to the continued over-crowding +of trains, tubes and motor-buses, +elbows will be more prominent and +aggressive than ever, and tailors are +building a type of coat calculated to +relieve the strain on this useful joint +by a system of progressive padding, +soft inside but resembling a nutmeg-grater +at the point of contact with the +enemy.</p> +<p> +It only remains to be added that in +consequence of the publication of the +Jewish Protocol and other documents +pointing to revolutionary and anarchical +Semitic activities, noses will be worn +straighter and <i>à la Grecque</i>, and for +similar reasons feet will be shorter and +with more uplift in the instep.</p> + + <hr /> + +<h4>A Hot Spell.</h4> +<p> +From a story for boys:—</p> +<blockquote><p> +"The heat was so intense that we were +perspiring from every paw."</p> +</blockquote> + + <hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211" id="page211"></a>[pg 211]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 385px"> +<a href="images/211.png"><img src="images/211-383.png" width="383" height="450" alt="Snowed Under" /></a> + +<h3>SNOWED UNDER.</h3> +<p> +<span class="sc">The St. Bernard Pup</span> (<i>to his Master</i>). "THIS SITUATION APPEALS TO MY HEREDITARY +INSTINCTS. SHALL I COME TO THE RESCUE?"</p> + +<h5><span style="font-weight: normal;">[Before leaving Switzerland Mr. <span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> purchased a St. Bernard pup.]</span></h5> +</div> +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213" id="page213"></a>[pg 213]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/213.png"><img src="images/213-600.png" width="600" height="432" alt="This is rather jolly. What a relief it is to get amongst the real jagged stuff." /></a> + +<p><i>Futurist to Brother Brush (after along country walk in search +of a subject).</i> <span class="sc">"This is rather jolly. What a relief it is to +get amongst the real jagged stuff."</span></p></div> + + <hr /> + +<h3>THE OLD WOMAN'S HOUSE ROCK, SCILLY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Old woman, old woman, old woman," said I,</p> + <p class="i2">"'Tis a mighty queer place to be building a home</p> + <p class="i2">In the teeth of the gales and the wash of the foam,</p> +<p>With nothing in view but the sea and the sky;</p> +<p>It cannot be cheerful or healthy or dry.</p> + <p class="i2">Why don't you go inland and rent a snug house,</p> + <p class="i2">With fowls in the garden and blossoming boughs,</p> +<p>Old woman, old woman, old woman?" said I.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> + <p class="i2">"A garden have I at my hand</p> + <p class="i4">Beneath the green swell,</p> + <p class="i2">With pathways of glimmering sand</p> + <p class="i4">And borders of shell.</p> + <p class="i2">There twinkle the star-fish and there</p> + <p class="i4">Red jellies unfold;</p> + <p class="i2">The weed-banners ripple and flare</p> + <p class="i4">All purple and gold.</p> + <p class="i2">And have I no poultry? Oh, come</p> + <p class="i4">When the Equinox lulls;</p> + <p class="i2">The air is a-flash and a-hum</p> + <p class="i4">With the tumult of gulls;</p> + <p class="i2">They whirl in a shimmering cloud</p> + <p class="i4">Sun-bright on the breeze;</p> + <p class="i2">They perch on my chimneys and crowd</p> + <p class="i4">To nest at my knees,</p> +<p>And set their dun chickens to rock on the motherly</p> + <p class="i4">Lap of the seas."</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Old woman, old woman, old woman," said I,</p> + <p class="i2">"It sounds very well, but it cannot be right;</p> + <p class="i2">This must be a desolate spot of a night,</p> +<p>With nothing to hear but the guillemot's cry,</p> +<p>The sob of the surf and the wind soughing by.</p> + <p class="i2">Go inland and get you a cat for your knee</p> + <p class="i2">And gather your gossips for scandal and tea,</p> +<p>Old woman, old woman, old woman," said I.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> + <p class="i2">"No amber-eyed tabby may laze</p> + <p class="i4">And purr at my feet,</p> + <p class="i2">But here in the blue summer days</p> + <p class="i4">The seal-people meet.</p> + <p class="i2">They bask on my ledges and romp</p> + <p class="i4">In the swirl of the tides,</p> + <p class="i2">Old bulls in their whiskers and pomp</p> + <p class="i4">And sleek little brides.</p> + <p class="i2">Yet others come visiting me</p> + <p class="i4">Than grey seal or bird;</p> + <p class="i2">Men come in the night from the sea</p> + <p class="i4">And utter no word.</p> + <p class="i2">Wet weed clings to bosom and hair;</p> + <p class="i4">Their faces are drawn;</p> + <p class="i2">They crouch by the embers and stare</p> + <p class="i4">And go with the dawn</p> +<p>To sleep in my garden, the swell flowing over them</p> + <p class="i4">Like a green lawn."</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i16"><span class="sc">Patlander.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<h4>Labour Leaders on the Links.</h4> +<p> +Under a photograph in a London +evening paper runs the following +legend:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"Mr. John Hodge and another official of the +Iron and Steel Founders Union enjoy a game +of golf after the Trade Union Congress at +Portsmouth adjourns for the day. Our picture +shows Mr. John Hodge Putting."</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Some idea of the forceful and unconventional +methods of our Labour leaders +may be gathered from the attitude of +Mr. <span class="sc">John Hodge</span>, whose club is raised +well over his shoulder.</p> + + <hr /> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page214" id="page214"></a>[pg 214]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/214.png"><img src="images/214-500.png" width="500" height="365" alt="Sorr, I object to Mr. Clancy servin' on the jury." /></a> + +<p><i>Prisoner.</i> "<span class="sc">Sorr, I object to Mr. Clancy servin' on the jury.</span>"</p> +<p> +<i>Mr. Clancy.</i> "<span class="sc">Bedad, an' for why, Michael? I'm <i>for</i> yez!</span>"</p></div> + + <hr /> + +<h3>THE TAXATION OF VIRTUE.</h3> +<p> +"I shall wait," said Peter, "till they +send me the final notice."</p> +<p> +"Being his wife," said Hilda to me, +"I am in a position to know that he +will not. In another week he will pay, +saying that the thought of income-tax +has affected his nerves and that he can +bear it no longer. He wobbles like this +for six weeks twice a year, and meanwhile +his family starves."</p> +<p> +"Under our system of taxation," Peter +retorted, "the innocent must suffer."</p> +<p> +"It falls alike on the just and the +unjust," I interposed. "How else would +you have it?"</p> +<p> +"Naturally I would have it fall on +the unjust alone," he replied.</p> +<p> +"Why not on the just alone?" I +asked, suddenly aware of the birth of +an idea.</p> +<p> +"Of course you want exemption."</p> +<p> +"You miss my point. You grant that +taxation is necessary?"</p> +<p> +"For the sake of argument," said +Peter, "I grant that, with reservations."</p> +<p> +"Since then there must be taxes, why +not have taxes that it would be a pleasure +to pay? The current taxes are +not a pleasure to pay."</p> +<p> +"I grant that," said Peter, "without +reservations."</p> +<p> +"Now there is only one sort of tax +that I can imagine anybody paying +gladly, and that would be a tax on his +virtues."</p> +<p> +"Still hankering after your own exemption," +growled Peter.</p> +<p> +"Leave me out of account. Take, by +preference, yourself. You have virtues +and are proud of them."</p> +<p> +Hilda intervened, as I had anticipated. +"The pride is admitted," said she, "but +as for the assessment value of the +virtues——"</p> +<p> +"Never mind that. You are proud of +your virtues"—I turned to Peter again—"yet +you are sometimes troubled, +like the rest of us, by a fear that you +may not really possess them after all. +But the assessment of your virtues by +the Board of Inland Revenue would +prove their existence to yourself and to +all the world."</p> +<p> +"Except his wife," said Hilda.</p> +<p> +"Her evidence would not be accepted. +If you had paid taxation for the possession +of a virtue, the receipt would be +a guarantee that you did possess that +particular virtue, and it would consequently +be a source of profound moral +satisfaction to you. You would pay +with pleasure. Besides, it is a poor +kind of virtue that will not abide a +test. The tax would be a test. Suppose +that five pounds was levied upon +you for honesty. If you refused to pay +how could you ever again claim to be +honest? You would be marked as not +valuing your honesty at five pounds. +No, you would pay and pay readily."</p> +<p> +My words were addressed to Peter, +but Hilda seemed the more interested. +"It sounds well, but how would you +raise the money?" she asked.</p> +<p> +"That would depend on the virtue," +I replied. "The sobriety tax, for example, +would be levied on anyone who +had not for some years been convicted +of drunkenness."</p> +<p> +"But how about the virtues that you +don't get fined for not having—truthfulness, +unselfishness, kindheartedness +and all those?"</p> +<p> +"I admit that would be difficult. +Can you suggest anything?" I asked +Peter.</p> +<p> +"No," he answered. "I'm not encouraging +your rotten idea anyhow."</p> +<p> +"Could the revenue officials feel people's +bumps?" inquired Hilda reflectively.</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page215" id="page215"></a>[pg 215]</span> +<p> +"I'm afraid," I said, "people wouldn't +stand it. Fancy Peter——"</p> +<p> +"I've got it," said Hilda. "The +revenue officials would attribute a virtue +to the taxpayer, and if he wanted +to escape taxation they would require +him to prove to them that he lacked +the virtue in question."</p> +<p> +"They would like doing that," muttered +Peter.</p> +<p> +"You have found the solution," I +said to Hilda. "If you impute to a +person a virtue he does not possess he +probably denies that he has it, but he +is really flattered and his denial is not +sincere. He would be willing to pay +on it; he would rather pay than not."</p> +<p> +At this point Peter grew tired of refraining +from comment. "I don't want +you to suppose," he said, "that I am taking +any interest in your fatuous scheme, +but doesn't it occur to you that under +your system it would be simply ruinous +to have any virtues at all, and that the +only people who would flourish would +be those who had no virtues and were +not ashamed of it?"</p> +<p> +"For one thing," I replied confidently, +"the taxes would be graduated in the +ordinary way in accordance with means. +The slightest flicker of a conscience +in Park Lane would be more heavily +mulcted than the most blameless life in +Bermondsey. But the main point is +that under my system taxation would +become the measure of a man's moral +worth, and people who did not pay +taxes would be simply out of it. All +the plums would go the highly-taxed +men. Their tax receipts would be certificates +of character, and the more they +earned the more the Treasury would be +able to get out of them. So far from +dodging taxation, people would scramble +to pay it."</p> +<p> +"But how," asked Hilda, "would you +make the tax receipt a trustworthy +testimonial? Your rich man with one +virtue would have a better receipt than +your poor one with ten."</p> +<p> +"The virtues taxed would be shown +on the receipt," I replied. "Besides, +poor and virtuous men would, as I have +suggested, get an abatement on their +virtue taxes, and the amount of the +abatement would be shown on the receipt. +So it could easily be seen what +proportion a man was paying on his +wealth and what on his virtues."</p> +<p> +"Look here," said Peter, aroused at +last, "do you convey that the tobacco +duty would be paid by people who +didn't smoke?"</p> +<p> +"It would amount to that," I answered, +"assuming that abstention from +tobacco were counted a virtue."</p> +<p> +"There may be something in it after +all," said Peter.</p> + + <hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/215.png"><img src="images/215-600.png" width="600" height="402" alt="There are plenty of fish, but you've got to fish dry to catch them." /></a> + +<p><i>Fisherman.</i> "<span class="sc">There are plenty of fish, but you've got +to fish dry to catch them.</span>"</p> +<p> +<i>American Friend.</i> "<span class="sc">Say, you make me real homesick.</span>"</p></div> + + <hr /> + +<h3>NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.</h3> + +<h3><span class="sc">The Chameleon.</span></h3> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> + <p class="i2">The chameleon changes his colour;</p> + <p class="i4">He can look like a tree or a wall;</p> +<p>He is timid and shy and he hates to be seen,</p> +<p>So he simply sits down in the grass and goes green,</p> + <p class="i4">And pretends he is nothing at all.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> + <p class="i2">I wish I could change my complexion</p> + <p class="i4">To purple or orange or red;</p> +<p>I wish I could look like the arm of a chair</p> +<p>So nobody ever would know I was there</p> + <p class="i4">When they wanted to put me to bed.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> + <p class="i2">I wish I could be a chameleon</p> + <p class="i4">And look like a lily or rose;</p> +<p>I'd lie on the apples and peaches and pears,</p> +<p>But not on Aunt Margaret's yellowy chairs—</p> + <p class="i4">I should have to be careful of those.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> + <p class="i2">The chameleon's life is confusing;</p> + <p class="i4">He is used to adventure and pain;</p> +<p>But if ever he sat on Aunt Maggie's cretonne</p> +<p>And found what a curious colour he'd gone,</p> + <p class="i4">I don't think he'd do it again.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i24"> +A.P.H.</p> +</div> + +</div> +<hr /> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216" id="page216"></a>[pg 216]</span> + + +<h3>THAT TEA INTERVAL.</h3> + +<p> +Before the last ball of 1920 is bowled and the last wicket +in a first-class match falls (as will most probably happen at +the Oval this very afternoon, September 15th), I should like +to let the Gods of the Game know how I propose to spend +the following winter in their interests, so that when the +season of 1921 is with us the happiness of the cricket +spectator may be even greater than it has been in the one +now expiring.</p> +<p> +I am going to devote the time to invention. With every +grain of intellect and ingenuity that I can scrape together +I am going to devise a means of humanising the tea +interval.</p> +<p> +Once upon a time I was so rash as to ridicule this interruption. +I drew attention to the fact that the ancient +heroes of the game had been able to dispense with it. +<span class="sc">Alfred Mynn</span> needed no Asiatic stimulant between lunch +and the close of play. Even such wholehearted moderns +as <span class="sc">Hornby</span> and <span class="sc">Shrewsbury</span> and <span class="sc">Grace</span> managed to do +well without the support of Hyson or Bohea. For more +than a century cricket and tea were strangers and cricket +did not suffer. And so on. But the attacks were futile: the +tea interval became an institution; and nothing now, one +realises, can ever occur to separate the gallant fellows from +their cups and saucers.</p> +<p> +That being accepted, the problem is how to make the +interval at once less harmful to the match and more tolerable +to the lover of cricket; and it is on this problem that I have +been working and intend to work through the arid football +months. What has to be done is (<i>a</i>) to get the interval +abbreviated; and (<i>b</i>) to keep the players on the field. It is +the length of it and the empty pitch that are so depressing +to the spectator, and it is the return to the pavilion that is +so detrimental to the rhythm of the game. Neither of the +batsmen ever wants the interruption, and I have often +noticed a reluctance in certain members of the fielding side. +As for the watchers, they never fail to groan.</p> +<p> +Still, as I have said, it is now recognised that the craving +for tea is as much a part of the present-day game as the +six-ball over, and the time has passed for censuring it. +But something can be done to regulate it; and I have based +my efforts towards a solution on the argument that, if a +cricketer is not called in from the game to read his telegram, +but (as we have all seen so often) the telegram is +taken out to him, surely the precious fluid that he so passionately +desiderates can be taken out to him too. At present, +therefore, all my thoughts are turned upon the construction +of some kind of wheeled waggon, such as is in +use at a well-known restaurant in the Strand, on which +fifteen cups (two for the umpires) and an urn and sugar and +milk can be conveyed, with the concomitant bread-and-butter, +or shrimps or meringues, or whatever is eaten with +the tea, on a lower shelf. This could be pushed on to the +ground at 4.15 and pushed back again at 4.20 without any +serious injury to the match. That is my idea at the +moment; but I am a poor mechanic and should be glad +if some properly qualified person—someone with a <span class="sc">Heath +Robinson</span> mind—would take the work over.</p> +<p class="author"> +E.V.L.</p> + + <hr /> + + +<h4>IN THE MOVEMENT.</h4> + +<p> +How I came to be able to understand the language of +trees is a secret. But I do understand it. It is my +peculiar privilege to overhear all kinds of whispered conversation—green +speech in green shades—as I take my +rest underneath the boughs on a country walk. Some day +I shall set down fully the result of these leaves-droppings, +but at the moment I want to tell only of what I heard some +blackberry bushes saying last week.</p> +<p> +"From what I hear," said the first bush, "the cost of +everything's going up by leaps and bounds."</p> +<p> +"How is that?" asked one of its neighbours.</p> +<p> +"It's due, I understand," the first bush replied, "partly +to scarcity of labour and partly to profiteering."</p> +<p> +"I don't see why we shouldn't participate," said another +bush. "Here we are, covered with fruit, and it's all just as +free as ever it was. That's absurd, after a big war. The +duty of a war is to make things dearer and remove freedom."</p> +<p> +"Of course," said the others.</p> +<p> +"'Your blackberries will cost you more'—that should be +our motto," said the first bush. "We must be up to date."</p> + + <hr class="short" /> +<p> +A few days later, after one of our infrequent post-bellum +gleams of sunshine, I met the Lady of the White House +and all her nice children returning from a day's blackberrying. +They showed me their baskets with a proper +pride, and I was suitably enthusiastic and complimentary.</p> +<p> +"But do look at our poor hands and arms and our torn +frocks!" said the lady. "We've picked blackberries here +year after year, but we've never been so badly scratched +before. It's extraordinary. I can't account for it."</p> +<p> +I could, though.</p> + + <hr /> + + +<h3>THE MOON-SELLER.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A man came by at night with moons to sell;</p> + <p class="i2">"Moons old and new," he cried;</p> +<p>I hurried when I heard him call for me;</p> +<p>He set his basket on the wall for me</p> + <p class="i2">That I might see inside</p> +<p>And watch the little moons curl up and hide.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Each one he touched rang softly like a bell;</p> + <p class="i2">He pointed out to me</p> +<p>Great harvest moons with russet light in them,</p> +<p>Pale moons to gleam where snows grow white in them,</p> + <p class="i2">Red moons for victory,</p> +<p>And steadfast moons for men in ships at sea.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The man who came with many moons to sell</p> + <p class="i2">Opened his basket wide;</p> +<p>Showed me the filmy crescent moons in it,</p> +<p>And the piled discs (like silver spoons) in it</p> + <p class="i2">That push and pull the tide,</p> +<p>And small sweet honey-moons to give a bride.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"This moon," he said, "you will remember well;</p> + <p class="i2">Its price is wealth untold;"</p> +<p>Took a camp-moon he vowed he stole for me</p> +<p>And softly wrapped to keep it whole for me.</p> + <p class="i2">I heaped his feet with gold;</p> +<p>He changed, and said the moon might not be sold.</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Then I was angry that with moons to sell</p> + <p class="i2">He thought he had the right</p> +<p>To keep that one. Those who were lent to us</p> +<p>Had written the brief notes they sent to us</p> + <p class="i2">When it shone out at night.</p> +<p>I caught it to my heart and held it tight.</p> +</div> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"Twenty Students Require clean, respectable Board-Residence; +would not object to Share Bed."—<i>Provincial Paper.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p> +They should have lived in the days of Og, the King of +Basan; his bedstead <i>was</i> a bedstead.</p> + + <hr /> + +<blockquote> +<p class="author">"<span class="sc">Calcutta.</span></p> +<p> +During the past few weeks several parties of Afghan merchants and +traders have settled up their affairs and come into India. In order to +avoid being questioned by British poets in the Khyber, they have +entered this country by way of the Sissobi pass."—<i>Indian Paper.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Some of our poets are notoriously curious, and we are +hardly surprised to learn that the Afghans could not "abide +their question."</p> + + <hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217" id="page217"></a>[pg 217]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px"> +<a href="images/217.png"><img src="images/217-342.png" width="342" height="450" alt="A Cock-and-Bull Story" /></a> +<h3>A COCK-AND-BULL STORY.</h3> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page218" id="page218"></a>[pg 218]</span> + + +<h3>THE LANGUAGE DIFFICULTY.</h3> +<p> +"The jolly part about an island +where there are no towns and no railways," +said Willoughby, "is that you +have thrills of excitement as to where +you will sleep next night or eat your +next meal. Now when we land at +Lochrie Bay to-morrow it will be nearly +lunch-time; but shall we get lunch?"</p> +<p> +"I can answer that," replied MacFadden, +whose grandfather was a Scotsman, +and who was once in Edinburgh +for a week; "the map shows it is only +five miles to Waterfoot, and there's +sure to be an hotel there. Those little +Scots inns are all right."</p> +<p> +"Yes," chimed in Sylvia, "and very +likely there'll be nothing to eat when +we get there. I am thinking +of you three men, of +course," she added hastily; +"we girls don't want +much."</p> +<p> +"As for me," said Willoughby, +looking at Sylvia, +whom he has adored +dumbly for years, "very +little satisfies me. I'm +like the fellow who said, 'a +crust of bread, a bottle of +wine and you.' You know +the chap, MacFadden."</p> +<p> +"Isn't it wonderful how +he remembers his <span class="sc">Omar</span>?" +remarked Mac enthusiastically.</p> +<p> +"I don't know much +poetry," said Willoughby, +whose tastes are sporting +rather than literary, "but +I always liked that bit."</p> +<p> +"But lunch," I interposed, +"is the pressing +question. There's sure to +be an hotel at Waterfoot, +as you say. Send a telegram there, +asking for lunch for six. If there's no +hotel, no reply and no lunch. If there +is we get our reply and our lunch. +Willoughby can wire, because he learned +all about telegraphs in the army."</p> +<p> +Within two hours came the reply. I +opened it.</p> +<p> +"Will supply luncheon for six, 1.15 +to-day."</p> +<p> +"Can you remember what your wire +said, Willoughby?" I asked mildly.</p> +<p> +"Rather. 'Can you provide luncheon +for six at 1.15.—Willoughby.'"</p> +<p> +"Exactly. Can't you see, you silly +ass, how you've muffed it? Read this." +Willoughby read, while Sylvia and +Molly looked over and giggled.</p> +<p> +"Hang it all! I suppose I ought to +have said to-morrow," he sighed. "Here, +Thompson, you and Hilda, as the married +couple of the party, ought to deal +with these beastly emergencies."</p> +<p> +"Not I," I replied. "You've got us +in the muddle, now get us out. Wire +and say it's for to-morrow."</p> +<p> +"And then," said my practical wife, +"we shall get to-day's hot lunch cold +to-morrow, and a rapacious Scotch-woman +will charge us for it twice +over."</p> +<p> +"I wish you would say 'Scots,' not +'Scotch,'" complained MacFadden.</p> +<p> +"Sorry, Kiltie," rejoined Hilda; "and +perhaps one of you two will deal with +the Scots woman."</p> +<p> +"Leave her to me and none of you +interfere," answered MacFadden. "Willoughby +is no good at a job that needs +tact. He's not half as lovable as I am +either. Is he, Molly? We'll send the +wire at once. Come on."</p> +<p> +Next day the steamer dropped us +into the ferry-boat off Lochrie Bay, and +our bicycles, more frightened than hurt, +but much shaken, were hurled in after +us. After five miles on a primitive +road we arrived at the hotel very late.</p> +<p> +MacFadden, assuring us that if we +only kept quiet he would see us through +in spite of any Scots innkeeper, led the +way.</p> +<p> +The landlady, a dour woman, appeared.</p> +<p> +"Good morning, Madam," began Mac +politely.</p> +<p> +"Will you be Mr. Willoughby?" she +replied.</p> +<p> +"No," said Mac truthfully, assuming +a puzzled expression.</p> +<p> +"Weel, then," resumed the lady, addressing +Sylvia, who happened to be +close behind, "will you be Mrs. Willoughby?"</p> +<p> +Molly sniggered; Sylvia reddened +and answered hastily, "No, I won't!" +at which Willoughby sighed audibly.</p> +<p> +"What I wanted to ask you was +whether perhaps you could be so kind +as to give us a bit of bread and cheese +or something," said Mac ingratiatingly. +"Of course one doesn't expect a proper +lunch in these places without ordering +it beforehand."</p> +<p> +"And those that order beforehand +dinna come," she replied with some asperity. +"A pairty of six ordered for yesterday +then they telegraphs to say +they mean to-day, and now they're no +here and the time lang gone by. I +thocht ye were the pairty at first."</p> +<p> +"What a shame!" murmured MacFadden +sympathetically.</p> +<p> +"Ay, if they had turned up they should +hae had their lunch, and +paid for it too," said the +good lady grimly. "Twa +days they should hae paid +for. But if ye like ye can +eat their lunch for them; +it's cauld but guid."</p> +<p> +So we ate heartily, paid +reasonably and went away +on good terms with ourselves +and the lady.</p> +<p> +Walking up the steep +hill from the hotel I was +just behind Willoughby +and Sylvia. He was pushing +the two bicycles and +explaining something elaborately.</p> +<p> +"Awfully sorry about +that silly woman, Sylvia," +he said, "but it's only their +rotten way of talking English. +You see, when she +says, '<i>Will</i> you be Mrs. +Willoughby?' she really +means, '<i>Are</i> you?' It's +not the same as when an +Englishman says it. If I said, 'Will +you be Mrs. Willoughby?' that would +be different; it would mean—"</p> +<p> +"Yes," interrupted Sylvia rather +breathlessly, "that, Tommy dear, would +be plain English, to which I could give +a plain answer. I should say—"</p> +<p> +We had reached the brow of the hill. +I mounted my bicycle and hurried on.</p> + + <hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<a href="images/218.png"><img src="images/218-550.png" width="550" height="450" alt="Fifteen, all told, and all told what I thought of 'em." /></a> + +<p><i>Mistress.</i> <span class="sc">"You seem to have been in a good many situations. +How many mistresses have you had, all told?"</span></p> +<p> +<i>Maid.</i> <span class="sc">"Fifteen, all told—and all told what I thought of 'em."</span></p> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<h4>"1,000 EGGS IN ONE WHISKER."</h4> +<blockquote> +<p class="author"> +<i>Daily Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p> +A much worse case than that of <span class="sc">Lear's</span> +old man with a beard, who said it was +just as he feared.</p> + + <hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"For all we know, Helen of Troy's best +friends might have said, 'Helen has style and +knows how to make the most of her good +points; but, honest, now, do you think she +should have got the apple?'"</p> + +<p class="author"> +<i>Evening Paper.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Certainly not. That's why Paris gave +it to Aphrodite.</p> + + <hr /> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page219" id="page219"></a>[pg 219]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/219.png"><img src="images/219-600.png" width="600" height="449" alt="Bain't bin talkin', bin chewin'." /></a> + +<p><i>First Ancient (with morbid fear of growing deaf, breaking long silence).</i> +<span class="sc">"There—it's come at last! You've been talking +all this time and I ain't heard a single word."</span></p> +<p> +<i>Second Ancient.</i> <span class="sc">"Bain't bin talkin'—bin chewin'."</span></p> +</div> + + <hr /> + +<h3>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h3> + +<h4><span style="font-weight: normal;">(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</span></h4> +<p> +Really I think that <i>Rhoda Drake</i> (<span class="sc">Murray</span>) must be the +most preposterously startling story that I have read for +this age. It makes you feel as if you had had a squib +exploded under your chair at a temperance meeting. After +beginning placidly about persons who live in South Kensington +(and are so dull that the author has to fill up with +minute descriptions of their drawing-rooms), somewhere +towards three-quarters through its decorous course it +plunges you head over ears into such tearing melodrama +as is comparable only to Episode 42 of "The Adventures +of the Blinking Eye" at a provincial cinema. I am left +asking myself in bewilderment whether Mr. <span class="sc">C.H. Dudley +Ward</span>, D.S.O., M.C., can have been serious in the affair. +As I say, practically all the early characters are of little +or no account, including <i>Rhoda</i> herself. Indeed, nobody +looks like mattering at all, and the whole tale has, to be +frank, taken on a somewhat soporific aspect, when lo! +there enters a lady with a Russian name, no back to her +gown and green face-powder. If I said of this paragon +that she made the story bounce I should still do less than +justice to her amazing personality. Really, she was a +herald of revolution, whose remarkable method was to +invite anyone important and obstructive to her house and +make them discontented. It was the work of half-an-hour. +Whether the process was hypnotic, or whether she actually +put pepper in the ice-pudding, I could not clearly make out. +But the dreadful fact remained that, let your patriotism be +ever so firm, you had but to accept one of green-powder's +little dinners and next morning you were as like as not to +hurl a stone into 10, Downing Street. As for the end—! +But no, I will stop short of it.</p> + + <hr /> +<p> +Frankly, what pleased me most about <i>Affinities</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder +and Stoughton</span>) was its attractive get-up; pleasant, cherry-pie-coloured +boards, swathed in a very daintily-drawn +pictorial wrapper, the whole, as cataloguers say, forming an +ideal birthday present for a young lady, especially one at all +apt to discover, however harmlessly, the affinities that +give these five tales their title. As for the stories themselves, +really all that need be said is to congratulate Mrs. +<span class="sc">Mary Roberts Rinehart</span> on the ingenuity with which she +can tell what seems an obvious intrigue yet keep a surprise +in reserve. I suppose it is because they come to +us from America that certain of the episodes turn upon +incidents in the Suffrage struggle, tale-fodder that our own +militant novelists have long happily discarded. Of the +others I think I myself would award the palm to one +called "The Family Friend," a genially cynical little comedy +of encouraged courtship, of which the end seems to be +visible from the beginning, but isn't. Altogether, what I +might call a Canute; in other words a book for the deck-chair, +not too absorbing to endanger your shoes, however +close you read it to the advancing wave.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220" id="page220"></a>[pg 220]</span> +<p> +I think I should best describe the characteristic quality +of <i>Four Blind Mice</i> (<span class="sc">Lane</span>) as geniality. The scene of it +is Burmah—astonishing, when you consider the host of +novels about the rest of India, that so few should employ +this equally picturesque setting—and it is quickly apparent +that what Mr. <span class="sc">C.C. Lowis</span> doesn't know at first hand +about Rangoon is not likely to be missed. The tale itself is +a good-humoured little comedy of European and native +intrigue, showing how one section of the populace strove +as usual to ease the white man's burden by flirtation and +gossip, and the other to get the best for themselves by unlimited +roguery and chicane. The whole thing culminates in +a trial scene which is at once a delightful entertainment and +(I should suppose) a shrewdly observed study of the course +of Anglo-Burmese justice. I think I would have chosen +that Mr. <span class="sc">Lowis</span> should base his fun on something a little +less grim than the murder and mutilation of a European, +or at least Eurasian, +lady, even though the +very slight part in +the action played by +<i>Mrs. Rodrigues</i>, when +alive, could hardly be +called sympathetic. +Still we were all so +good-humoured over +her taking-off that +for a long time I +cherished a rather +dream-like faith in +her reappearance to +prove that this attitude +had been justified. +Not that Mr. +<span class="sc">Lowis</span> has not every +right to retort that +he is writing comedy +rather than farce; certainly +he has made +his four blind mice +to run in highly diverting +fashion, very +entertaining to those +of us who see how +they run; and as they +at least save their tails +triumphantly it would perhaps be ungenerous to complain +about one that doesn't.</p> + + <hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/220.png"><img src="images/220-500.png" width="500" height="328" alt="Oh, Professor, can you provide me with a love-potion?" /></a> + +<p> +<i>Damsel.</i> <span class="sc">"Oh, Professor, can you provide me with a love-potion? My +Mother says if I wed not soon I must e'en go forth to earn my living."</span></p> + +<p> +<i>Alchemist.</i> <span class="sc">"That I can, Madam, and of two kinds. First, the slow-working +purple sort is verily cheap, but difficult of administration; for in +water it is plainly visible and easy of discernment in tea. Whereas my +patent potion, bringing love at first sight, closely resembleth the much-desired +whisky. This sort is one guinea per tot."</span></p> +</div> + + <hr /> +<p> +<i>The Story of the Fourth Army in the Battles of the Hundred +Days</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and Stoughton</span>) is printed on pages +the size of a copy of <i>Punch</i>, and with its accompanying case +of maps it costs eighteen-pence to go through the post. It +boasts a hundred full-page photographs, also sketches, +charts, maps, panoramas and diagrams <i>ad lib.</i>, a foreword +by General Lord <span class="sc">Rawlinson</span> and ten appendices; so really +it seems that the much-abused word "sumptuous" may for +once be fairly applied. The author, Major-General Sir <span class="sc">A. +Montgomery</span>, who himself helped to "stage" the battles he +writes about, has built up a record which is in some sense +unique, for I think it is possible from this book to trace +precisely where any unit of the Fourth Army was placed, and +what doing, at any given hour during the whole of the victory +march from Amiens to the Belgian frontier. Apart from anything +else it is pleasant to have a book that deals only with +the days of victory; but it must be admitted that, to gain a +completeness of detail so entirely satisfactory to those most +nearly concerned, the writer has had to sacrifice something +of human interest, for many of his pages are little more than +a bare chronicle of names and places. Undoubtedly his book +should be read with great deliberation, constant reference +to the maps and a lively recollection of personal experiences +on the spot; but the civilian reader may still be content +to skim the text and save himself for the photographs. +These, mostly taken from the air and of exquisite technical +quality, form an amazing series, in themselves worth the +heavy price. And who minds heavy prices when the proceeds +are pledged to the service of wounded officers?</p> + + <hr /> +<p> +"Rather an anti-climax," I thought when I opened <i>The +Happy Foreigner</i> (<span class="sc">Heinemann</span>) and found that it purported +to tell the experiences of an English <i>chauffeuse</i> in France +after the Armistice; but I know now that, in any place +where <span class="sc">Enid Bagnold</span> happened to be, there would not be +any anti-climax about. In a style so daring and vivid that +it could only have been born, I suppose, of fast driving, the +authoress describes a +romantic affair with a +young French officer; +but her real theme is +the suffering of France +bowed down under the +intolerable burden of +so many strangers, +both enemies and +friends. The rich and +well-fed Americans +who will not trouble +to understand, the +grotesque Chinamen +and Annamites, the +starving Russians liberated +from the Germans, +flash by, with +the ruins of villages, +the tangle of wire +and litter of derelict +guns; and even the +romance, intensely +felt though it is, must +be fleeting, like the +rest of the nightmare, +because the Frenchman's +eyes are set +on the future and +the rebuilding of his fortunes. This book is not "about +the War," but all the same it is one of the best books +about the War that I have read.</p> + + <hr /> +<p> +<i>From a Common Room Window</i> (<span class="sc">Owen</span>) will be a slight +refreshment to those who are weary of realistic studies of +schoolmasters and schoolboys. "<span class="sc">Orbilius</span>," during what +I take to have been a long career as a teacher, has not +allowed his sense of humour to wither within him. In a +note to his slender volume of sketches he says, "School-life +is largely a comedy. When a schoolmaster ceases to recognise +this it is time for him to 'bundle and go.'" He has +been in the main a keen and sympathetic observer, and +though his remarks upon headmasters are a little severe—personally +I should hate to be called "a meticulous pedagogue"—I +do not think that a little criticism of these potentates +will do them the smallest harm. In "The Castigator" +"<span class="sc">Orbilius</span>" gives a laughable sketch. The inventor of a +flogging machine is soundly beaten by his own instrument, +and he would be a sombre man indeed who could +read it without a desire to witness such a chastening performance. +By no means the least merit of this book is +that it contains no new theories about education.</p> + +<hr /> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +159, September 15, 1920, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 17654-h.htm or 17654-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/6/5/17654/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Lesley Halamek and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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