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text-indent: 8em; +} +.figcenter { + margin: auto; +} +.figright { + float: right; +} +.figleft { + float: left; +} + + a:link { + color: #3300ff; + background: #ffffff; + text-decoration: none; + } + + a:visited { + color: #3300ff; + background: #ffffff; + text-decoration: none; + } + + a:active { + color: #3300ff; + background: #ffffff; + text-decoration: none; + } + + +</style> + +<meta content="mshtml 6.00.2800.1515" name="generator" /></head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 159, +December 8, 1920, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 159, December 8, 1920 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Owen Seamus + +Release Date: August 26, 2006 [EBook #19127] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, +Jonathan Ingram 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>December 8th, 1920.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page441" id="page441"></a>[pg 441]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Lord Riddell</span>, in giving his impression +of President <span class="sc">Wilson</span>, says that his +trousers and boots were not in keeping +with the smartness of his appearance +above the table. This is where the +trained habits of journalistic observation +come in.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>In answer to many inquiries we are +unable to obtain confirmation of a +rumour that Mr. <span class="sc">Charlie Chaplin's</span> +contemplated retirement is connected +with an invitation from Mr. <span class="sc">Horatio +Bottomley</span> to enter the arena of British +politics.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>According to an evening paper the +lady who has just become Duchess of +Westminster has "one son, +a boy." On the other hand +the <span class="sc">Duke</span> himself has two +daughters, both girls.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Over two million Chinese +pigtails have been imported +into the United States, +where they will be used for +straining soup, declares a +Washington correspondent. +The wartime curtailment +of the moustache, it +appears, has done away +with the old custom of +straining the soup after +it comes to table.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A police magistrate of +Louisville, Kentucky, has +been called upon to decide +whether a man may marry +his divorced wife's mother. +In our view the real question +is whether, with a +view to securing the sanctity of the +marriage tie, it should not be made +compulsory.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"This morning," says a recent issue +of a Dublin paper, "police visited +<i>Young Ireland</i> office and placed arretssssshrrr +rr rr r h bfad mb shs under +arrest." Suspicion was apparently +aroused by his giving his name in the +Erse tongue.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Enormous damage, says a cable, has +been done by a water-spout which struck +Tangier, Morocco, on Saturday. We +note with satisfaction, on the other +hand, that the water-spout which recently +struck Scotland had no ill effects.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Every hotel in London taken over by +the Government has now been given up. +The idea of keeping one as a memento +was suggested, but Sir <span class="sc">Alfred Mond</span> +decided to throw in his hand.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Asked his profession last week a man +is reported to have answered, "<i>Daily +Mail</i> Reader."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>While a fire was being extinguished +at Boston, Mass., recently the hose +burst into flames. A country where +that sort of thing occurs can afford to +take Prohibition lying down.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A Constantinople message states that +a Turk named <span class="sc">Zorn Mehmed</span> is one +hundred and forty-six years of age. +This is said to be due to the fact that +for the last century or so he has kept a +pet thyroid which he takes about on a +chain.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We have no wish to cast any reflection +on the courage of the Prohibitionists, +but we can draw our own conclusions +from the fact that we haven't +noticed them rushing to Ireland.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A Denver newspaper points out that +the "Wild West bandit" has died out. +Our own impression was that he had +got a job as a waiter in London.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Things are settling down in America. +A news report states that <span class="sc">Willard +Mack</span>, the actor, has only been divorced +three times.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"We have an innate modesty about +advertising ourselves," said Sir <span class="sc">Robert +Horne</span> at the International Advertising +Exhibition. A certain colleague of his +in the Ministry is reported to have said +that Sir <span class="sc">Robert</span> can speak for himself +in future.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We understand that the idea of producing +a filmed version of Mrs. <span class="sc">Asquith's</span> +Diary has been shelved for the present, +owing to the difficulty of procuring +actors for the more dangerously acrobatic +incidents.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>An old lady writes to us with reference +to wild-cat taxation that she has +always advocated it, but that she has +understood that the difficulty was to +determine the ownership of these unfortunate +vagrants.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The new houses when ready, says a +North of England Town Clerk, will only +be let to those people who are married. +We have felt all along that there was +some catch about Dr. <span class="sc">Addison's</span> housing +scheme.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>To a discreditable alien source has +been traced the scandalous +rumour that the disappearance +of the summit of Mont +Blanc is due to certain +admirers of Mr. <span class="sc">Lloyd +George</span>, who wished to +present their hero with +something in the nature +of a permanent peroration.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>As a partial remedy for +the overcrowding at Oxford, +it is suggested that +the University should +come into line with Battersea +by making a rule +that lost causes will not be +kept longer than three days +before being destroyed.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"I was the anonymous +person who walked down +Harley Street and counted +the number of open windows," +confesses Sir <span class="sc">St. +Clair Thomson</span>, M.D. So now we can +concentrate on <span class="sc">Junius</span> and the Man in +the Iron Mask.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Motorists are becoming much more +polite, we read. They now catch pedestrians +sideways, instead of full on.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>According to an official of the +R.S.P.C.A., as <i>Punch</i> informed us last +week, dogs do not possess suicidal +tendencies. Yet the other day we saw +an over-fed poodle deliberately loitering +outside a sausage factory.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"The number of curates who seem +to be able to find plenty of time for +golf is most surprising," writes a correspondent. +We suppose the majority +of them employ vicars.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Spanish toreadors are on strike for a +higher wage. There is talk, we understand, +of a six bull week.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/441.png"><img src="images/441-576.png" width="576" height="450" alt="What is your little brother crying about?" /></a> +<p>"<span class="sc">What is your little brother crying about</span>?"</p> +<p>"<span class="sc">Oh, 'im—'e's a reg'lar pessimist, 'e is</span>."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page442" id="page442"></a>[pg 442]</span> + + +<h4>THE DARK AGES.</h4> + +<h4>(<i>Being reflections on the pre-press period.</i>)</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +[In <i>The Times</i> of December 2nd Lord <span class="sc">Northcliffe</span> traces the +history of the English Press from the appearance of the first newspaper +uttered in English—"A Corrant out of Germany," imprinted +at Amsterdam, December 2nd, 1620—and finds some difficulty in +understanding how civilisation got on as well as it did through all +those preceding centuries.] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>To-day (December 2) we keep, with cheers,</p> +<p class="i2">The Tercentenary of the Press!</p> +<p>Probing the darkness of the previous years</p> +<p class="i2">I try, but try in vain, to guess</p> +<p>How anybody lived before the birth</p> +<p>Of this the Very Greatest Thing on Earth.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You'd say it must have been a savage life.</p> +<p class="i2">Men were content to eat and drink</p> +<p>And spend the intervals in carnal strife</p> +<p class="i2">With none to teach them how to think;</p> +<p>They had no Vision and their minds were dense,</p> +<p>Largely for lack of True "Intelligence."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When a volcano burst or floods occurred</p> +<p class="i2">No correspondent flashed the news;</p> +<p>It came by rumour or a little bird,</p> +<p class="i2">Devoid of editorial views;</p> +<p>No leader let them know to what extent</p> +<p>The blame should lie upon the Government.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And yet, when no one knew in those dumb days</p> +<p class="i2">Exactly what was going on,</p> +<p>Without reporters they contrived to raise</p> +<p class="i2">The Pyramids and Parthenon;</p> +<p><span class="sc">Confucius</span> preached the Truth, and so did <span class="sc">Paul</span>,</p> +<p>Though neither of them got in print at all.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>It sounds incredible that, when in Greece</p> +<p class="i2">The poets sang to lyre or pipe,</p> +<p>When <span class="sc">Homer</span> (say) threw off his little piece,</p> +<p class="i2">Nobody put the thing in type;</p> +<p>Even in days less barbarously rude</p> +<p><span class="sc">Virgil</span>, it seems, was never interviewed.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And how did <span class="sc">Dante</span> manage to indite</p> +<p class="i2">His admirable tale of Hell,</p> +<p>Or <span class="sc">Buonarroti</span> sculp his sombre "Night"</p> +<p class="i2">Without the kodak's magic spell—</p> +<p>No Press-photographer, a dream of tact,</p> +<p>To snap the artist in the very act?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Poor primitives, who groped amid the gloom</p> +<p class="i2">And perished ere the dawn of day,</p> +<p>Ere yet Publicity, with piercing boom,</p> +<p class="i2">Had shown the world a better way;</p> +<p>Before the age—so good for him that climbs—</p> +<p>Now culminating in the <span class="sc">Northcliffe</span> times.</p> + </div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i32">O. S.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h4>How to Brighten the Weather Forecasts.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Mild and hazy conditions with increasing haze and cloudiness for +an unfavourable change in the weather of heliotrope georgette over +pale blue."—<i>New Zealand Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>We commend this to our own Meteorological Office.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Of the Bishop-designate of Manchester:—</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Head master of an important public school while yet in his +teens ... a permanent figure in social and religious movements ... +the author of 'Men's Creatrix.'"—<i>Provincial Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>We knew Canon <span class="sc">Temple</span> had had a remarkable career, but +confess that these details had hitherto escaped us.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>OUR LUCKY DIPPERS.</h3> + +<p>Further and final particulars of the drawings from the +Lucky Bag at the Purple City are replete with illustrations +of the extraordinary congruity between the prizes and +the age, sex and station of the recipients.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sarah Boakes, who received the colossal equestrian +bronze statue of Lord <span class="sc">Thanet</span>, weighing three hundred tons +and valued at five thousand guineas, told our representative +that the idea of getting one of the big prizes never entered +into her head, and added, "I did not sleep a wink last +night; the statue was in my mind the whole time." Mrs. +Boakes, an attractive elderly lady of some seventy-five +summers, is engaged at a laundry at East Putney. The +haulage of the statue to her home at 129, Arabella Road, +S.W. 15, is likely to be a costly affair; but Mrs. Boakes has +made an application for a grant-in-aid to the Ministry of +Health and has received a sympathetic reply from Dr. +<span class="sc">Addison</span>. The cost of reconstructing her house to enable +the statue to be set up in her parlour is estimated at about +£4,500.</p> + +<p>Mr. Jolyon Forsyth, who won the African elephant, is +a stoker on the South Western Railway and lives at Worplesdon. +He applied to the Company for a day's leave in +order to ride his prize home; but his request was most +unwarrantably refused, and the matter is receiving the +earnest attention of the N.U.R. Mr. Forsyth informed our +representative that his wife keeps a small poultry run, and +hopes that she will be able to make room for the new visitor +without seriously incommoding her fowls. Failing that, he +thinks that employment may be found for the elephant on +the Worplesdon Links, either in rolling the greens or +irrigating them with its trunk. The claims of the animal +to an unemployment allowance are being considered by +Dr. <span class="sc">Macnamara</span>.</p> + +<p>Gladys Gilkes, a bright-eyed child of six, living with her +parents at 345, Beaverbrook Avenue, Harringay, who received +a Sandringham opera-hat, is enduring her felicity +with fortitude. "I have never been to the opera yet," she +naïvely remarked to our representative, "but my brother +Bert plays beautifully on the concertina."</p> + +<p>Great interest has been excited in the neighbourhood of +Tulse Hill by the success of Mr. Enoch Pegler, the winner of +the three-manual electric cathedral organ with sixty-four +stops, the most sonorous instrument of its type yet constructed +by Messrs. Waghorn and Fogg, the famous organ-builders +of Penge. A special piquancy is lent to the episode +by the fact that Mr. Pegler, who is seventy-nine years of age +and has long been a martyr to rheumatoid arthritis in both +hands, belongs to the sect of the Silentiary Tolstoyans, +who discountenance all music, whether sacred or profane. +Mr. Pegler, it should be explained, authorised his grandniece, +Miss Hester Wigglesworth, to put in for the Lucky Bag +in his name, but, on the advice of the family physician, Dr. +Parry Gorwick, the result has not yet been broken to him. +Meanwhile, thanks to the tactful intervention of Sir <span class="sc">Eric +Geddes</span>, the instrument has been temporarily housed in the +Zoological Gardens, where daily recitals are given at meal-times +by Dr. <span class="sc">Chalmers Mitchell</span> and other powerful executants. +Unfortunately the organ was not yet installed at +the time of the recent encounter between a lion and a tigress, +otherwise the fatality would, in the opinion of Sir <span class="sc">Frederick +Bridge</span>, have almost certainly been avoided.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When that my Judith sticks her slender nose</p> +<p class="i2">In things whereon a lass doth ill to trench,</p> +<p>An ever-widening breach my fancy shows,</p> +<p class="i2">For this is but the thin end of the wench.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page443" id="page443"></a>[pg 443]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 380px;"> +<a href="images/443.png"><img src="images/443-368.png" width="368" height="450" alt="LABOR OMNIA VINCIT." /></a> +<h3>LABOR OMNIA VINCIT.</h3> +<p>"TURN HIM TO ANY CAUSE OF POLICY, +THE GORDIAN KNOT OF IT HE WILL UNLOOSE, +FAMILIAR AS HIS GARTER."</p> +<p class="author"><i><span class="sc">Henry V</span></i>., I. i. 46.]</p> +</div><br /><br /> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page444" id="page444"></a>[pg 444]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/444.png"><img src="images/444-600.png" width="600" height="433" alt="Why? What's the matter with him?" /></a> +<p><i>The Girl.</i> <span class="sc">"I don't think your friend can be much +class."</span></p> +<p><i>The Boy.</i> <span class="sc">"Why? What's the matter with him?"</span></p> +<p><i>The Girl</i> <span class="sc">"Well, when I introduced him to my friend, she, of +course, said, 'Pleased to meet you,' and he said, +'Granted.'"</span>]</p> +</div><br /><br /> + + +<h3>UNAUTHENTIC IMPRESSIONS.</h3> + +<h4>V.—<span class="sc1">The Sizzles.</span></h4> + +<p>I cannot help it, but this article has +got to begin with a short historical +disquisition. Many people are puzzled +to know why Lord <span class="sc">Hugh Cecil</span> wears +that worried look, and why Lord <span class="sc">Robert</span> +also looks so sad. Yet the explanation +is simple enough. It is because nobody +can pronounce their surname. "Cessil," +says the man in the street (and being +in a street is a thing that may happen +to anybody) as he sees the gaunt careworn +figures going by. And when they +hear it the sensitive ear of the <span class="sc">Cecils</span> +is wrung with torture at the sound. +They wince. They would like to buttonhole +the man in the street and explain +to him, like the <i>Ancient Mariner</i>, all +about David Cyssell, the founder of +their line. David Cyssell, it seems, +though he didn't quite catch the Norman +Conquest and missed the Crusades, +and was a little bit late for the Wars +of the Roses, was nicely in time to get +a place in the train of <span class="sc">Henry</span> VIII., +which was quite early enough for a +young man who firmly intended to be +an ancestor. When he died his last +words were, "Rule England, my boys, +but never never, never let the people +call you 'Cessil,'" and his sons obeyed +him dutifully by becoming Earls and +Marquises and all that kind of thing, +so that the trouble did not arise.</p> + +<p>But, of course, if you don't happen +to be the eldest son, the danger is still +there. And it is this danger which has +led Lord <span class="sc">Hugh Cecil</span> to withdraw +himself more and more into the company +of ecclesiastical dignitaries, who +are accustomed to pronounce quite hard +words, like <i>chrysoprasus</i> and <i>Abednego</i> +without turning a hair, if they have one, +and Lord <span class="sc">Robert Cecil</span> to confine his +attention to the League of Nations, +where all the people are foreigners and +much too ignorant to pronounce any +English name at all.</p> + +<p>Personally I hold that, if it were not +for this trouble about hearing their name +said all wrong by people on omnibuses +and even shouted all wrong by newspaper +sellers, one of the <span class="sc">Cecils</span> might +become Prime Minister some day. As +it is they wear a look of sorrowful +martyrdom, as if they were perfectly +ready for the nearest stake; and this +look, combined with their peculiar surname, +has caused them to be not in-aptly +known as <i>The Sizzles</i>. How very +much better would it have been, my +dear reader, if their great ancestor had +been simply called "David," so that +they could have had a sunny smile and +not so many convictions.</p> + +<p>It is customary in speaking of the +Sizzles to include some mention of their +more famous relative, Mr. <span class="sc">Arthur Balfour</span>. +Very well, then.</p> + +<h4><i><span class="sc1">Mr. Arthur Balfour</span></i>.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>Born in 1873 the future Vice-President +of the Sheffield Chamber of Commerce, +Master Cutler and Chairman of +the High-Speed Alloys Company, Limited, +Widnes——</p></blockquote> + +<p>[<i>Editor.</i> What the deuce are you +talking about?</p> + +<p><i>Author.</i> I like that. It comes straight +out of <i>What's Which?</i></p> + +<p><i>Editor.</i> Well, you must have got the +wrong page.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page445" id="page445"></a>[pg 445]</span> + +<p><i>Author</i>. Why, you don't mean to say +there are two <span class="sc">Arthur Balfours</span>, do +you?</p> + +<p><i>Editor</i>. I do.</p> + +<p><i>Author</i>. Aren't you thinking of the +two <span class="sc">Winston Churchills</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Editor</i>. No, I'm not.</p> + +<p><i>Author</i>. Well, perhaps I'd better +begin again.</p> + +<h4><i><span class="sc1">Mr. Arthur Balfour</span></i>.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>Born, as one might say, with a silver +niblick in his mouth and possessed of +phenomenal intellectual attainments, +Mr. <span class="sc">Arthur Balfour</span> (the one on the +other page) was not long in settling +down to his main life-work, which has +been the laying out of University golf +curricula.</p></blockquote> + +<p>[Is that better?—<i>Editor</i>. Much.]</p> + +<p>In spite of this preoccupation he +has found time for a remarkable number +of hobbies, such as politics, music +and the study of refrigerating machines, +though the effect of all these various +activities is sometimes a little confusing +for those with whom he works. When +consulted on a burning topic of the +hour he may, for instance, be on the +point of inventing a new type of ice-bucket, +so that the interviewer is forced +to go out quickly and fetch his fur +overcoat before he can talk in comfort. +Or he may be playing, like <i>Sherlock +Holmes</i>, on his violin, and say, "Just +wait till I've finished this sonata." +And by the time it's finished the +bother about Persia or Free Trade is +quite forgotten. Or, again, Mr. <span class="sc">Balfour</span> +may be closeted with Professor +<span class="sc">Vardon</span>, Doctor <span class="sc">Ray</span> or Vice-Chancellor +<span class="sc">Mitchell</span> at the very moment when +the Nicaraguan envoy is clamouring at +the door.</p> + +<p>It is for this reason that Mr. <span class="sc">Arthur +Balfour</span> has sometimes been called +Mr. Arthur Baffler. Puzzling, however, +though he may be in many of his political +manifestations, his writings are +like a beacon in the gloom, and some +day these simple chatty little booklets +will surely gain the wide public which +they deserve. "The Foundation of +Bunkers," "A Defence of Philosophic +Divots" and "Wood-wind and Brassies" +should be read by all who are +interested in <i>belles lettres</i>. And his +latest volume of essays deals, I believe, +with subjects so widely diverse and yet +so enthralling as "Booty and the Criticism +of Booty," "Trotsky's View of +Russian World Policy," "Quizzical Research" +and "The Freedom of the Tees."</p> + +<p>The real pity is that with all his +many and wonderful gifts Mr. <span class="sc">Arthur +Balfour</span> has never felt the fiery enthusiasm +of his Hatfield cousins. He remains, +in fact, a salamander among +the Sizzles.</p> + +<p class="author">K.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/445.png"><img src="images/445-341.png" width="341" height="450" alt="Right-o. Now could you do one of me in a reclining position, to match?" /></a> +<p><i>Retired Dealer in Pork.</i> "<span class="sc">How much do you want for it</span>?"</p> +<p><i>Artist.</i> "<span class="sc">Fifty pounds</span>."</p> +<p><i>Retired Dealer.</i> "<span class="sc">Right-o. Now could you do one of me in a +reclining position, to match</span>?"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>TRIUMPHANT VULGARITY.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +[A writer in <i>The Athenæum</i>, discussing +modern songs, observes that in the happy days +of the eighteenth century "even the vulgar +could not achieve vulgarity; to-day vulgarity +is in the air, and only the strongest and most +fastidious escape its taint." The accompanying +lines are submitted as a modest protest +against this sadly undemocratic and obscurantist +doctrine.] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In days of old, when writers bold</p> +<p class="i2">Betrayed the least disparity</p> +<p>Between their genius and an age</p> +<p class="i2">When frankness was a rarity,</p> +<p>An odious word was often heard</p> +<p class="i2">From critics void of charity,</p> +<p class="i2">Simplicity or clarity,</p> +<p class="i2">Or vision or hilarity,</p> +<p>Who used to slate or deprecate</p> +<p class="i2">The vices of vulgarity.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But now disdain is wholly slain</p> +<p class="i2">By wide familiarity</p> +<p>Which links the unit with his age</p> +<p class="i2">In massive solidarity;</p> +<p>No more the word is used or heard,</p> +<p class="i2">No, no, we call it charity,</p> +<p class="i2">Simplicity or clarity,</p> +<p class="i2">Or vision or hilarity,</p> +<p>But never slate or deprecate</p> +<p class="i2">The virtues of vulgarity.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h4>An Object Lesson.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Nothing is so suggestive of a faulty education +than a lack of grammar."</p> +<p class="author">—<i>Fiji Paper</i>.</p></blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p>"The Vicar was born in Ireland, and lived +there many years, and the problems of the +Irish are no difficulty to him."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>New Zealand Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>That's the man we want over here.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page446" id="page446"></a>[pg 446]</span> + +<h3>PRISCILLA PLAYS FAIRIES.</h3> + +<p>Unrehearsed dramatic dialogue +comes quite easily to some people, and +so does a knowledge of the ways of the +fairy world, but I am not one of those +people. Also I was supposed to have +a headache that afternoon and to be +recovering from a severe cold. Also I +was reading a very exciting book. I +cannot help thinking therefore that the +fairy Bluebell was taking a mean advantage +of my numerous disabilities in +appearing at all. She rattled the handle +of the door a long time, and when I had +opened it came in by a series of little +skips on her toes, accompanied by wagglings +of the arms rather in the fashion +of a penguin. Every now and then she +gave a slightly higher +jump and descended +flatly and rather noisily +on her feet. She wore +a new frock, with frills.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> What are you +doing, Priscilla?</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> I'm the Fairy +Bluebell dancing. +Don't you like my +dancing?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> It's beautiful.</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>rapidly</i>). And +you were a very poor +old man who had a lot +of nasty work to do and +you were asleep.</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>feeling it might +have been much worse +and composing myself +to slumber in my chair</i>). +Honk!</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>pinching my ear +and pulling it very hard</i>). +And you woke up and +said, "I do believe +there's a dear little +fairy dancing."</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>emerging from repose</i>). Why, I do +believe I heard a fairy dancing, or (<i>vindictively</i>) +can it have been another ton +of coal coming in?</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>disregarding my malice</i>). And +you said, "Alack, alack! I do want +somefing to eat."</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Alack, alack! I <i>am</i> so hungry.</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>fetching a large cushion from the +sofa and putting it on the top of me</i>). +Lumpetty, lumpetty, lumpetty.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> What's that, Priscilla?</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> Bitatoes pouring out of a sack. +(<i>Fetches another cushion and puts it on +the top of the first.</i>) Lumpetty, lumpetty, +lumpetty.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> And this?</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>opening her eyes very wide</i>). +Red plums. (<i>Fetches another cushion.</i>) +Limpetty, limpetty, limpetty.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> What's that?</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> Lovely honey.</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>affecting to simulate the natural +gratification of a poor old man suddenly +smothered in vegetables, fruit and liquid +preserve</i>). How perfectly delicious!</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> And you want to go to sleep +again. [<i>I go.</i></p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>pulling my ear again</i>). And you +sawed a dragon coming up the drive, +and the sofa was the dragon.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Alack, alack! I see a dragon +coming up the drive. What shall I do? +I must telephone to the police.</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>quickly</i>). Did the police have a +tuncheon?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes, he did.</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> Shall I be the police?</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>cautiously, because a "tuncheon" +necessitates making a long paper roll out +of "The Times"</i>). I am afraid the telephone +had broken down, so the police +didn't hear. How I wish the Fairy +Bluebell was about!</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> And so the Fairy Bluebell came +and cut off the dragon's head and gave +it to you.</p> + +<p>[<i>Fetches a fourth large cushion and +adds it to the pile.</i></p> + +<p><i>I.</i> But why should I have the +dragon's head?</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>enigmatically</i>). You had to have +it.</p> + +<p>[<i>The poor old man resigns himself +to his increasingly glutinous fate.</i></p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>fetching a waste-paper basket +and returning to the sofa</i>). Limpetty, +limpetty, limpetty.</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>faint but inquisitive</i>). Whatever +are you doing now, Priscilla?</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> Poisoning the dragon's body.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Poisoning it?</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> Yes, wiv a can.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> How?</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> Down its neck.</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>feeling that the immediate peril +from the dragon's assault is now practically +over and wishing to return the +fairy's kindness</i>). Shall we pretend that +the sofa is where the Fairy Bluebell +lived, and I built her a little home with +flowers, and these cushions were the +flowers, and (<i>rather basely</i>) she went +to sleep in it?</p> + +<p><i>She</i> (<i>with sparkling eyes</i>). Yes, yes.</p> + +<p>[<i>I remove the potatoes, the plums, +the honey and the head of the +dragon and manufacture a grotto +in which the Fairy Bluebell reclines +with closed eyes. It appears +to be a suitable moment for +returning to my book.</i></p> + +<p><i>She.</i> And suddenly the Fairy Bluebell +woke up, and what +do you think she +wanted?</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>disillusioned</i>). I +can't think.</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> She wanted to +be readen to.</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>resignedly</i>). And +what did I do?</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> You said, "I'll +read about Tom and the +otter."</p> + +<p><i>I</i> (<i>hopefully</i>). I don't +know where it is.</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> I think it's in the +dining-room, and the +Fairy Bluebell couldn't +get it herself because +she was only a <i>little</i> girl +really.</p> + +<p>As I say, there are a +lot of people, and many +of them, doubtless, +readers of this paper, +who understand all +about fairies. I want to +ask them, as one poor old +hard-worked man to another, whether +this is the proper way for a fairy to +behave. There seems to be a lack of +delicacy—and shall I say shyness?—about +it.</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Evoe</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/446.png"><img src="images/446-600.png" width="600" height="437" alt="Found a poun' note in the street, Donal'? That's guid!" /></a> +<p><i>Mrs. McNicol.</i> <span class="sc">"Found a poun' note in the street, +Donal'? That's +guid!"</span></p> +<p><i>Her Husband (sadly.)</i> <span class="sc">"Ay, but McTavish saw me pick it up, an' I +owe him twenty-two an' saxpence."</span></p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Our Tactful Orators.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"At the close they asked President ——, +who was in the chair, to present a very handsome +umbrella to Mr. ——.</p> + +<p>In a few well-chosen words the Chairman +said he trusted that Mr. ——, while journeying +through life, would be successful in warding +off many a shower with his umbrella, but +they all hoped they would be showers of goodwill."</p> +<p class="author">—<i>Trade +Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"This is great fun and mystifies your friends. +Buy a few and you will be the cleverest fellow +in your district.</p> + +<p>Our leaders are 'Stink Bomb' (make bad +smell when broken). Re. 1 a box.</p> + +<p>'Sneeze Powder' (makes everybody sneeze +when blown in the air) Re. 1 a bottle." +</p></blockquote> + +<p class="author"><i>Advt. in Indian Paper.</i></p> + +<p>Who says the East has no sense of +humour?</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page447" id="page447"></a>[pg 447]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/447.png"><img src="images/447-600.png" width="600" height="782" alt="THROUGH THE GOAL-POSTS; OR, THE END OF A PERFECT SCRUM." border="0" /></a> +<h5>THROUGH THE GOAL-POSTS; OR, THE END OF A PERFECT SCRUM.</h5> +</div><br /><br /> + + <hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page448" id="page448"></a>[pg 448]</span> + + +<h3>THE WHITE SPAT.</h3> + +<p>When it is remembered how large a +part has been played in history by +revolutionary and political songs it is +both lamentable and strange that at +the present time only one of the numerous +political faiths has a hymn of its +own—"The Red Flag." The author +of the words owes a good deal, I should +say, to the author of "Rule Britannia," +though I am inclined to think he has +gone one better. The tune is that +gentle old tune which we used to know +as "Maryland," and by itself it rather +suggests a number of tired sheep waiting +to go through a gate than a lot +of people thinking very redly. I fancy +the author realised this, and he has got +over it by putting in some good powerful +words like "scarlet," "traitors," +"flinch" and "dungeon," whenever +the tune is particularly sheepish. The +effect is effective. Just imagine if the +Middle Classes Union could march +down the middle of the Strand singing +that fine chorus:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Then raise the scarlet standard high,</p> +<p>Beneath its shade we'll live and die;</p> +<p>Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer</p> +<p>We'll keep the Red Flag flying here."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Well, I have set myself to supply +some of the other parties with songs, +and I have begun with "The White +Spat," which is to be the party-hymn +of the High Tories (if any). I have +written it to the same tune as "The Red +Flag," because, when the lion finally +does lie down with the lamb, it will +be much more convenient if they can +bleat and roar in the same metre, and +I shall hope to hear Mr. <span class="sc">Robert +Williams</span> and Lord <span class="sc">Robert Cecil</span> +singing these two songs at once one +day. I am not wholly satisfied with +"The White Spat," but I think I have +caught the true spirit, or, at any +rate, the proper inconsequence of these +things:—</p> + +<h4><span class="sc"><b>The White Spat</b></span></h4> + +<h4>Air—<i>Maryland</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The spats we wear are pure as snow—</p> +<p>We are so careful where we go;</p> +<p>We don't go near the vulgar bus</p> +<p>Because it always splashes us.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Chorus.</i></p> +<p>We take the road with trustful hearts,</p> +<p>Avoiding all the messy parts;</p> +<p>However dirty you may get</p> +<p>We'll keep the White Spat spotless yet.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>At night there shines a special star</p> +<p>To show us where the puddles are;</p> +<p>The crossing-sweeper sweeps the floor—</p> +<p>That's what the crossing-sweeper's for.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Chorus.</i></p> +<p>Then take the road, etc., etc.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>I know it doesn't look much, just +written down on paper; but you try +singing it and you'll find you're carried +away.</p> + +<p>Of course there ought to be an international +verse, but I'm afraid I can't +compete with the one in my model:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Look round: the Frenchman loves its blaze,</p> +<p>The sturdy German chants its praise;</p> +<p>In Moscow's vaults its hymns are sung;</p> +<p>Chicago swells the surging throng."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>This is the best I can do:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>From Russia's snows to Afric's sun</p> +<p>The race of spatriots is one;</p> +<p>One faith unites their alien blood—</p> +<p>"There's nothing to be said for mud."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Now we have the song of the Wee +Frees. I wanted this to be rather pathetic, +but I'm not sure that I haven't +overdone it. The symbolism, though, +is well-nigh perfect, and, after all, the +symbolism is the chief thing. This goes +to the tune of "Annie Laurie":—</p> + +<h4><span class="sc"><b>The Old Black Brolly.</b></span></h4> + +<h4>Air—<i>Annie Laurie</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Under the Old Umbrella,</p> +<p class="i2">Beneath the leaking gamp,</p> +<p>Wrapped up in woolly phrases</p> +<p class="i2">We battle with the damp.</p> +<p class="i2">Come, gather round the gamp!</p> +<p>Observe, it is pre-war;</p> +<p class="i2">And beneath the old Black Brolly</p> +<p>There's room for several more.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Shameless calumniators</p> +<p class="i2">Calumniate like mad;</p> +<p>Detractors keep detracting;</p> +<p class="i2">It really is too bad;</p> +<p class="i2">It really is too bad.</p> +<p>To show we're not quite dead,</p> +<p class="i2">We wave the old Black Brolly</p> +<p>And hit them on the head.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Then we have the National Party. +I am rather vague about the National +Party, but I know they are frightfully +military, and they keep on having Mass +Rallies in Kensington—complete with +drums, I expect. Where all the masses +come from I don't quite know, as a +prolonged search has failed to reveal +anyone who knows anyone who is +actually a member of the party. Everybody +tells me, though, that there is at +least one Brigadier-General (Tempy.) +mixed up with it, if not two, and at +least one Lord, though possibly one of +the Brigadiers is the same as the Lord; +but after all they represent the Nation, +so they ought to have a song. They +have nothing but "Rule Britannia" +now, I suppose.</p> + +<p>Their song goes to the tune of "The +British Grenadiers." I have written it +as a duet, but no doubt other parts +could be added if the occasion should +ever arise.</p> + +<h4><span class="sc"><b>The National</b></span>.</h4> + +<h4>Air—<i>The British Grenadiers</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Some talk of Coalitions,</p> +<p class="i2">Of Tories and all that;</p> +<p>They are but cheap editions</p> +<p class="i2">Of the one and only Nat.;</p> +<p>Our Party has no equals,</p> +<p class="i2">Though of course it has its peers,</p> +<p>With a tow, row, row, row, row, row,</p> +<p class="i2">For the British Brigadiers.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>You have no idea how difficult it +is to write down the right number of +<i>rows</i> first time; however I daresay the +General wouldn't mind a few extra +ones.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>We represent the Nation</p> +<p class="i2">As no one else can do;</p> +<p>Without exaggeration</p> +<p class="i2">Our membership is two.</p> +<p>We rally in our masses</p> +<p class="i2">And give three hearty cheers,</p> +<p>With a tow, row, row, row, row, row</p> +<p class="i2">For the National Brigadiers.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>There could be a great deal more of +that, but perhaps you have had enough.</p> + +<p>Of course, if you don't think the +poetry of my songs is good enough, I +shall just have to quote some of "The +International" words to show you that +it's the <i>tune</i> that matters.</p> + +<p>Here you are:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Arise! ye starvelings from your slumbers,</p> +<p class="i2">Arise! ye criminals of want,</p> +<p>For reason in revolt now thunders,</p> +<p class="i2">And at last ends the age of cant."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>If people can get excited singing that, +my songs would send them crazy.</p> + +<p>Then there is the Coalition. I have +had a good deal of difficulty about this, +but I think that at last I have hit the +right note; all my first efforts were too +dignified. This goes to a darkie tune:—</p> + +<h4><span class="sc"><b>The Piebald Mare</b></span>.</h4> + +<h4>Air—<i>Camptown Ladies</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Down-town darkies all declare,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah,</p> +<p>There never was a hoss like the piebald mare,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah day!</p> +<p>One half dark and the other half pale,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah,</p> +<p>Two fat heads and a great big tail,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah day!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Chorus.</i></p> +<p>Gwine to run all night,</p> +<p class="i2">Gwine to run all day!</p> +<p>I put my money on the piebald mare</p> +<p class="i2">Because she run both way.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Little old <span class="sc">Dave</span> he ride dat hoss,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah,</p> +<p>Where'll she be if he takes a toss?</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah day!</p> +<p>De people try to push him off,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah,</p> +<p>De more dey push de more he scoff,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah day!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Chorus.</i></p> +<p>Gwine to run, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Over the largest fence they bound,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah,</p> +<p>Things exploding all around,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah day!</p> +<p>One fine day dat hoss will burst,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah,</p> +<p>But little old <span class="sc">Dave</span> he'll <i>walk</i> in first,</p> +<p class="i2">Doo-dah, doo-dah day!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Chorus.</i></p> +<p>Gwine to run, &c.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Once again, merely written down, +the words do <i>not</i> thrill, but I hope none +of the parties will definitely reject these +hymns till they have heard them actually +sung; if necessary I will give a +trial rendering myself.</p> + +<p>The other day, when we were playing +charades and had to act L, we +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page449" id="page449"></a>[pg 449]</span> +did <i>Lloyd George and the Coalition</i>; +and the people who were acting the +Coalition sang the above song with +really wonderful effect. It is true that +the other side thought we were acting +<i>Legion and the Gadarene Swine</i>, but +that must have been because of something +faulty in our make-up. The sound +of this great anthem was sufficiently +impressive to make one long to hear +the real Coalition shouting it all along +Downing Street. It is a solo with +chorus, you understand, and the Coalition +come in with a great roar of excitement +and fervour on <i>Doo-dah! Doo-dah!</i></p> + +<p>Yes, I like that.</p> + +<p class="author">A. P. H.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/449.png"><img src="images/449-600.png" width="600" height="360" alt="Wot d'yer think of my oaks?" /></a> +<p><i>Profiteer Host.</i> "<span class="sc">Wot d'yer think of my oaks?</span>"</p> +<p><i>Profiteer Guest.</i> "<span class="sc">Bit of all right. Where d'yer get 'em</span>?"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"<span class="sc">More than Million Sale</span>.</p> +<p>Waste! Waste! Waste!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="author"><i>Newspaper Poster.</i></p> + </div> </div> + +<p>In mercy we suppress the title of our +contemporary.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"The man in custody has been identified +as the result of the efforts of the Birkenhead +detective stag."</p> +<p class="author">—<i>Liverpool Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>A variation on the old-fashioned sleuth-hound.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>From the report of a speech by Admiral +Sir <span class="sc">Percy Scott</span>:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"He might say that when the Germans +were demolarised at the Battle of Jutland ..."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Scottish Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>This confirms our impression that, +whatever happened at Jutland, we certainly +drew the German Navy's teeth.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>QUESTIONS.</h3> + +<p>How did mankind get to all corners +of the earth? and what is the cause of +exploding suns? These are among the +questions put by Professor A. W. <span class="sc">Bickerton</span>, +of the London Astronomical +Society, and they would be solved, it +seems, if our learned men would only +band themselves together. I have no +wish to hamper the good work, but a +moment's reflection suggests a number +of other questions simply asking to be +answered.</p> + +<p>For instance, what happens when an +irresistible force meets Sir <span class="sc">Eric Geddes</span>?</p> + +<p>And why is it that while we hear of +thousands of people losing their umbrellas +we have never yet heard of a +single case where a man openly admitted +that he had found one?</p> + +<p>And is there any reason why the +modern novel should not end happily, +instead of the hero and heroine always +marrying at the last moment.</p> + +<p>And how does it happen that Thanet +is the best holiday-place in this country +and enjoys more sunshine than any +other resort?</p> + +<p>And could not <i>The Daily Mail</i> extend +the same sunshine privilege to +other parts?</p> + +<p>And what makes a music-hall audience +laugh when a comedian changes +his hat and mutters the mystic word, +"Winston"?</p> + +<p>And who is the gentleman referred to?</p> + +<p>And why is it that nine-tenths of the +coon-singers on the halls are always +wanting to get back to their dear old +homes? And who is stopping them in +their noble desire? And is there any +explanation why all these singers seem +to have their homes in distant Alabam, +where the roses keep on climbing round +the door, just close to where the cotton +and the corn are growing all the year +round, only later in life to leave the dear +old place to take up music-hall work +here, and then spend the remainder of +their lives telling us of their passionate +determination to get away back to the +old folks?</p> + +<p>And would I be right in my surmise +that very few homes in Wigan have +roses round the door or stand in fields +of growing cotton and corn or reek of +new-mown hay?</p> + +<p>And why is it that, when you tell a +man there are so many million stars in +the skies, he will believe you, but the +moment he sees a notice on a gate +bearing the words "Wet Paint" he +puts his finger upon it just to find out +for himself?</p> + +<p>And why did Mrs. <span class="sc">Asquith</span>——But +perhaps that will be enough for the +Professor to be going on with.</p> + +<hr /> + + +<h4>Commercial Candour.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"My Studio is the most up-to-date and my +methods of photography just a little bit +different."</p> +<p class="author">—<i>Canadian Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page450" id="page450"></a>[pg 450]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/450.png"><img src="images/450-600.png" width="600" height="414" alt="'What, going already? Why, it's only three o'clock'." /></a> +<p><i>Hostess.</i> "<span class="sc">What—going already? Why, it's only three o'clock</span>."</p> +<p><i>Guest.</i> "<span class="sc">I know. But I'm dead tired, and I've got to be up early +for a '<i>déjeuner dansant</i>.</span>'"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<hr /> + + +<h3>A NOTE ON THE DRAMA.</h3> + +<p class="center">["<i>Hamlet</i> was not a business man."—Mr. A. B. <span class="sc">Walkley</span>.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Had he but learned the useful knowledge</p> +<p class="i2">And that essential grasp of things</p> +<p>Which training at a business college</p> +<p class="i2">(If diligently followed) brings,</p> +<p class="i4">We should have had, no doubt,</p> +<p>A <i>Hamlet</i> with the "moody" Dane left out.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He'd not have stalked in gloomy fashion</p> +<p class="i2">Nor wanted to soliloquise,</p> +<p>But rather, undisturbed by passion,</p> +<p class="i2">He would have sat Napoleon-wise,</p> +<p class="i4">Chewing an unlit weed</p> +<p>And talking down the telephone (full speed).</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Planning a "book" to suit his players,</p> +<p class="i2">He would have sought a theme less grim,</p> +<p>For tragedies are doubtful payers;</p> +<p class="i2">Revue would be the stuff for him,</p> +<p class="i4">Scanty in dress and plot,</p> +<p>With dancers featuring the Hammy Trot.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He missed one glorious proposition—</p> +<p class="i2">The money would have come in stacks</p> +<p>If he had shown the Apparition</p> +<p class="i2">For half-a-crown (including tax),</p> +<p class="i4">And, though 'twas after eight,</p> +<p>Added a side-line trade in chocolate.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>At other stunts we find him lacking;</p> +<p class="i2">Thus, when he met <i>Laertes</i>, he</p> +<p>Did not secure a proper backing</p> +<p class="i2">Nor nominate the referee;</p> +<p class="i4">And, what was even worse,</p> +<p>Did no finessing for a bigger purse.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Had <i>Hamlet</i> made it his endeavour</p> +<p class="i2">To seize each chance of lawful gain,</p> +<p>Certain it is that there would never</p> +<p class="i2">Have been a doubt that he was sane;</p> +<p class="i4">And then perhaps Act Five</p> +<p>Had left some people—one or two—alive.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>Christmas and the Children.</h3> + +<p>With the approach of a Festival that is dedicated to the +joy of children, Mr. Punch makes bold to plead the cause +of the less fortunate among them. The Queen's Hospital +for Children, once known as the North-Eastern Hospital +for Children, is the only one of its kind in this part of +London and serves a poor district with a population of half-a-million. +Its claim upon the generosity of more favoured +Londoners is as strong as its lack of funds at the present +moment is serious. It has one hundred-and-seventy beds, +and during the last year has cared for eighteen hundred +in-patients and sixty thousand out-patients. Mr. Punch is +certain that, if the children of the West-end understood the +suffering and needs of these other children of Bethnal Green, +they would want to help them by forgoing some of their +Christmas toys. Gifts should be addressed to the Secretary, +T. <span class="sc">Glenton-Kerr</span>, Esq., Queen's Hospital for Children, +Hackney Road, Bethnal Green, E.2.</p> + + <hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page451" id="page451"></a>[pg 451]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/451.png"><img src="images/451-363.png" width="363" height="450" alt="THE ROAD TO ECONOMY." /></a> +<h3>THE ROAD TO ECONOMY.</h3> +<p><span class="sc">The Shepherd</span>. "I WONDER IF ANY OF YOU SHEEP COULD SHOW ME THE +WAY."</p> +<p>("Let the Nation set the example [in economy] to the Government."—<i>Mr. +<span class="sc">Lloyd George</span></i>.)</p> +</div><br /> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page453" id="page453"></a>[pg 453]</span> + +<h3>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h3> + +<p><i>Monday, November 29th.</i>—Some time +ago Lord <span class="sc">Newton</span> was appointed Chairman +of a Committee on Smoke Abatement. +It took enough evidence to fill +a Blue-book a couple of inches thick, +and, at the request of the Government, +furnished an interim report. Supposing, +not unnaturally, that its valuable recommendations +would be adopted in the Government's +housing schemes the Committee +was disgusted to find that, save +for an emasculated summary in "a dismal +journal called <i>Housing</i>," no notice +was taken of its report. Lord <span class="sc">Newton</span> is +not a man who can safely be invited to +consume his own smoke, and he made +indignant protest this afternoon. A +soft answer from Lord <span class="sc">Sandhurst</span>, who +assured him that the Government, far +from being unmindful of the Committee's +labours, had already equipped some +thousands of houses with central heating, +temporarily diverted his wrath.</p> + +<p>Thanks to the Sinn Feiners, the +Public Galleries of the House of Commons +were closed. Thus deprived of all +audience save themselves and the reporters +the most loquacious Members +were depressed. <i>Bombinantes in gurgite +vasto</i>, their arguments sounded +hollow even to themselves. With an +obvious effort they tried to carry on +what the <span class="sc">Speaker</span> described—and deprecated—as +"the usual Monday fiscal +debate." This time it turned upon the +large imports from Russia in 1913. +One side seemed to think that similar +imports would be forthcoming to-day +but for the obstructiveness of the +British Government, while the other +was confident that Russia had nothing +to export save propaganda. The controversy +was beginning to pall when +by a happy inspiration Mr. <span class="sc">Ronald +McNeill</span>, with mock solemnity, inquired +if the last egg in Russia had not +been eaten by a relation of the <span class="sc">Secretary +of State for War.</span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 275px;"> +<a href="images/453-1.png"><img src="images/453-1-200.png" width="200" height="270" alt="Sir J. T. Agg-Gardner." /></a> +<p>"His conscience now quite clear."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sir J. T. Agg-Gardner.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>A long-standing Parliamentary tradition +enjoins that the reply to any Question +addressed to the <span class="sc">Chairman of the +Kitchen Committee</span> should be greeted +with laughter. By virtue of his office +he holds, as it were, the "pass-the-mustard" +prerogative. Members laughed +accordingly when he replied to a question +relating to the number of ex-Service +men employed by his Committee; but +they laughed much more loudly when +the hon. Member who put the original +Question proceeded to inquire "if his +conscience is now quite clear," and +Sir J. T. <span class="sc">Agg-Gardner</span>, looking as respectable +as if he were <i>Mrs. Grundy's</i> +second husband, declared, hand on heart, +that it was.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 275px;"> +<a href="images/453-2.png"><img src="images/453-2-200.png" width="200" height="298" alt="Sir Charles Townshend." /></a> +<p>THE DEFENDER OF KUT—WITH ESCORT.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sir Charles Townshend</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>The House gave a rather less stentorian +welcome than might have been +expected to Sir <span class="sc">Charles Townshend</span>, +who was escorted up to the Table by +Mr. <span class="sc">Bottomley</span> and Colonel <span class="sc">Croft</span>. +Perhaps it was afraid that cheers +intended for the defender of Kut might +be appropriated by the Editor of <i>John +Bull</i>.</p> + +<p>Encouraged, I suppose, by the emptiness +of the Ladies' Gallery, it then proceeded +with great freedom to discuss a +proposal for the employment of women +and young persons "in shifts."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 275px;"> +<a href="images/453-3.png"><img src="images/453-3-200.png" width="200" height="270" alt="Sir Frederick Hall." /></a> +<p>THE FAT BOY OF DULWICH.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sir Frederick Hall.</span></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Tuesday, November 30th.</i>—The <span class="sc">ex-Crown +Prince of Prussia</span> will be tremendously +bucked when he reads the +report of to-day's proceedings, and discovers +that there is one person in the +world who takes him seriously. Sir +<span class="sc">Frederick Hall</span> has been much disturbed +by the reports of Hohenzollern +intrigues for a restoration, and begged +the Government to send a protest to +the Dutch Government. But the Fat +Boy of Dulwich quite failed to make +Mr. <span class="sc">Bonar Law's</span> flesh creep.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Baldwin</span> is the least perturbable +of Ministers. Even when Major +<span class="sc">Edwards</span> invited him to elucidate the +phrase "a working knowledge of the +Welsh language"—"Does it mean having +an intimate acquaintance with the +literary works of <span class="sc">Dafydd Ap Gwilym</span> +or the forgeries of 'Iolo Morganwg'?"—he +never turned a hair.</p> + +<p>Modesty not having hitherto been +regarded as one of Mr. <span class="sc">Churchill's</span> +most salient characteristics I feel it +my duty to record that, on being asked +when he would introduce the Supplementary +Army Estimates, he replied, +"I am entirely in the hands of my +superiors."</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, December 1st.</i>—That +Hebrew should be one of the official +languages of Palestine seems, on the +face of it, not unreasonable. But, +according to Lord <span class="sc">Treowen</span>, to compel +the average Palestinian Jew, who speaks +either Spanish or Yiddish, to use classical +Hebrew, will be like obliging a +user of pidgin English to adopt the +language of <span class="sc">Addison</span>. He failed, however, +to make any impression upon +Lord <span class="sc">Crawford</span>, who expressed the +hope that the Government's action +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page454" id="page454"></a>[pg 454]</span> +would help to purify the language. +Sir <span class="sc">Herbert Samuel</span> is determined, I +gather, to make Palestine a country fit +for rabbis to live in.</p> + +<p>The Government of Ireland Bill had +a very rough time in Committee. The +<span class="sc">Lord Chancellor</span> managed to ward +off Lord <span class="sc">Midleton</span>'s proposal to have +one Parliament instead of two—"a +blow at the heart of the Bill"—but +was less successful when Lord <span class="sc">Oranmore +and Browne</span> moved that the +Southern Parliament should be furnished +with a Senate. The Peers' +natural sentiment in favour of Second +Chambers triumphed, and the Government +were defeated by a big majority.</p> + +<p>The Office of Works has been lending +a hand to local authorities in difficulties +with their housing schemes. But when +Sir <span class="sc">Alfred Mond</span> brought up a Supplementary +Estimate in respect of these +transactions he met with a storm of +indignation that surprised him. "The +road to bankruptcy," "Nationalisation +in the building trade," "Socialistic proposals"—these +were some of the phrases +that assailed his ears. Fortified, however, +by the support of the Labour Party—Mr. +<span class="sc">Myers</span> declared that his action +had been "the one bright spot in the +whole of the housing policy"—Sir +<span class="sc">Alfred</span> challenged his critics to go +and tell their constituents that they +had voted to prevent houses being +built, and got his Estimate through by +190 to 64.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, December 2nd</i>.—Thanks +to the free-and-easy procedure of the +House of Lords the Government began +the day with a victory. Lord <span class="sc">Shandon</span> +had moved an amendment, to which the +<span class="sc">Lord Chancellor</span> objected. But he +did not challenge a division when the +question was put. Lord <span class="sc">Donoughmore</span>, +most expeditious of Chairmen, announced +"the Contents have it," and +the matter seemed over. But then the +<span class="sc">Lord Chancellor</span> woke up, and said +he had meant to ask for a division. +"All right," said the <span class="sc">Chairman</span>; "clear +the Bar," and when the white-wanded +tellers had counted their flocks it appeared +that the Government had a +majority of three.</p> + +<p>I do not suppose anyone will say of +Lord <span class="sc">Birkenhead</span>, as a celebrated +judge is reported to have said of one of +his predecessors, "'Ere comes that 'oly +'umbug 'umming 'is 'orrid 'ymns;" but +he is evidently a student of hymnology, +for he referred to the Government victory +as this "scanty triumph" and for +a long time did not challenge any more +divisions.</p> + +<p>In the House of Commons an attack +upon the new liquor regulations—"pieces +of gross impertinence" according +to Mr. <span class="sc">Macquisten</span>—found no +favour with the <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span>. Mr. +<span class="sc">McCurdy</span> announced that he had reduced +the price of wheat to the millers +and hoped that "in a few weeks" the +consumer might begin to receive the +benefit. The <span class="sc">Chancellor of the Exchequer</span> +excused the delay in publishing +the Economy Committee's reports on +the ground that the <span class="sc">Minister of Munitions</span> +was "at sea," and elicited the +inevitable gibe that he was not the +only one. Sir <span class="sc">Eric Geddes</span>, with a +judicious compliment to the motorists +for setting "an extraordinary example +of voluntary taxation," got a Second +Reading for his Roads Bill; and Sir +<span class="sc">Gordon Hewart</span> with some difficulty +induced the House to accept his assurance +that the Official Secrets Bill was +meant for the discomfiture of spies and +not the harassing of honest journalists.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<a href="images/454.png"><img src="images/454-600.png" width="600" height="414" alt="Have you ever seen a worse player?" /></a> +<p><i>Golfer</i>. "<span class="sc">Have you ever seen a worse player</span>?" +[No answer.] "<span class="sc">I said, 'Have you ever seen a worse player</span>?'"</p> +<p><i>Aged Caddie</i>. "<span class="sc">I heerd ye verra weel the furrst time. I was jest thenkin' aboot it</span>."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page455" id="page455"></a>[pg 455]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/455.png"><img src="images/455-600.png" width="600" height="391" alt="Mummy, is this Gladys" /></a> +<p><i>Margaret</i> (<i>not satisfied with the parental +explanation of the recent disappearance of a pet rabbit</i>). "<span class="sc">Mummy, +is—is <i>this</i> Gladys</span>?"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>TO A CLERICAL GOLFING FRIEND.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Fine is your temper as your hand-forged iron!</p> +<p class="i2">Even should you hack the ball from out the spherical,</p> +<p>Or find it near the pin with lumps of mire on,</p> +<p class="i2">Your language is not otherwise than clerical.</p> +<p>Once only, when your toe received the niblick,</p> +<p>The word I saw your lips frame was not biblic.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Upon the links as perfect in address</p> +<p class="i2">As in the pulpit, just as you are seen</p> +<p>In life to play according to the Book,</p> +<p class="i2">So too, mid all the hazards of the green,</p> +<p>You teach us by example not to press</p> +<p>And how to shun the faults of slice and hook.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Treating the ball as if it had a soul,</p> +<p>Imparting safe direction, you determine</p> +<p class="i2">How best it may keep up its given <i>rôle</i>;</p> +<p>Indeed your daily round's a model sermon.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>So, till life's course is traversed, I'll await</p> +<p class="i2">Your well-timed counsel. If I have you by me</p> +<p>I'll laugh at all the baffling strokes of Fate</p> +<p class="i2">And lay the bogie of Despair a stymie.</p> + </div> </div> + + +<hr /> + +<h3>TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGONE.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,—You are fond, in +"Charivaria," of poking some of your +gentle fun at the leisurely bricklayer, +and indeed at all the "ca-canny" brigade; +but the bricklayer has come in +for the thickest of your fire. I hope, +however, that you don't think you have +discovered his and his fellow-workers' +deliberate processes yourself. If so, +permit me to draw your attention to +<span class="sc">Ned Ward's</span> <i>London Spy</i>, which was +published as long ago as 1699. In that +work is the description of a visit to St. +Paul's Cathedral when it was building. +A passage in this description runs thus:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"We went a little further, where we +observed ten men in a corner very busie +about two men's work, taking so much +care that everyone should have his due +proportion of the labours as so many +thieves in making an exact division of +their booty. The wonderful piece of +difficulty the whole number had to perform +was to drag along a stone of about +three hundredweight in a carriage, in +order to be hoisted upon the moldings +of the cupola, but they were so fearful +of despatching this facile undertaking +with too much expedition that they +were longer in hauling about half the +length of the church than a couple of +lusty porters, I am certain, would have +been carrying it to Paddington without +resting of their burthen." +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Shall I refrain from remarking that +there is nothing new under the sun? +I will.</p> + +<p class="author">Yours, etc., L. V. E.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.</h3> + +<h4><span class="sc1">The Barnacle</span>.</h4> + +<p class="center">(<i>A Sort of Sea Shanty</i>.)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Old Bill Barnacle sticks to his ship,</p> +<p>He never is ill on the stormiest trip;</p> +<p>Upside down he crosses the ocean—</p> +<p>If you do that you <i>enjoy</i> the motion.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Barnacle's family grows and grows;</p> +<p>Little relations arrive in rows;</p> +<p>And the quicker the barnacles grow, you know,</p> +<p>The slower the ship doth go—yo ho!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Thousands of barnacles, small and great,</p> +<p>Stick to the jolly old ship of State;</p> +<p>So we mustn't be cross if she seems to crawl—</p> +<p>It's rather a marvel she goes at all.</p> + </div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i32">A. P. H.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"Priests preach the want of brotherhood in +the Anglican Church, but many, I am sorry +to say, do not practise what they preach."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Letter to Daily Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Is not this carrying the reactionary +spirit a little too far?</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page456" id="page456"></a>[pg 456]</span> + +<h3>AT THE PLAY.</h3> + +<h4>"<span class="sc1">The Dragon</span>."</h4> + +<p>Some day, no doubt, plays like <i>Mr. +Wu</i> and <i>The Dragon</i> (by <span class="sc">R. E. Jeffrey</span>) +will be forbidden by the League of +Nations. Meanwhile let us allow ourselves +to be diverted by the motiveless +villainies of crooked cruel "Chinks" +like <i>Wang Fu Chang</i>, who sold opium +at a terrific profit in Mayfair, hung his +servants up by their thumbs and belonged +to a Society of Elder Brethren, +as to whose activities we were given +no clue, unless indeed their job was +the kidnapping of Younger Sisters for +Wicked Mandarins.</p> + +<p>For <i>Jack Stacey</i>, who opened the +Prologue in Loolong with head in hands +and moaned invocations of the Deity +(a version doubtless of the well-known +gambit, "'Hell!' said the Duchess"), +had his little daughter kidnapped at +birth or thereabouts (by <i>Wang Fu</i>, as it +happened), and never saw her again till, +after eighteen years of opium-doping—between +the Prologue and the First Act—he +called upon the same <i>Wang Fu</i> (just +before dinner) with a peremptory message +from a very bad and powerful +mandarin that if little Miss <i>Che Fu</i> +were not packed off to China by eleven +that same evening the Elder Brethren +would be one short by midnight. <i>Che +Fu</i>, I ought to say, passed as <i>Wang's</i> +daughter, but was so English, you know, +to look at that nobody could really believe +it.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"> +<a href="images/456.png"><img src="images/456-250.png" width="250" height="333" alt="THE MODEL FLAPPER" /></a> +<p>THE MODEL FLAPPER (<span class="sc">Chinese style</span>).</p> +<p><i>Wang Fu Chang</i><span class="sc">Mr. D.L. Mannering</span>.</p> +<p><i>Che Fu</i><span class="sc">Miss Christine Silver</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>Of course <i>Jack</i> didn't recognise her as +his own daughter, but equally of course +we did, and knew that she would be +rescued by her impetuous boy-lover and +restored to her real father; but not +before great business with opium pipes, +pivoting statues of goddesses, inoperative +revolvers, gongs, strangulations +(with gurgles), detectives, rows of +Chinese servants each more rascally +(and less Chinese, if possible) than the +last, and over all the polished villainy +of the inscrutable <i>Wang Fu Chang</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Jeffrey's</span> technique was quite +adequate for this ingenuous kind of +thing. He achieved what I take to be +the supreme compliment of noisy hushings +sibilated from the pit and gallery +when the later curtains rose. Perhaps +action halted a little to allow of rather +too much display of pidgin-English +and (I suppose) authentic elementary +Chinese and comic reliefs which filled the +spaces between the salient episodes of +the slender and naïve plot. I couldn't +help wondering how <i>Jack Stacey</i>, whom +we left at 10.45 in a horrible stupor, shut +away in a gilded alcove of <i>Wang Fu's</i> +opium den, could appear at 11.30 at +<i>Lady Handley's</i> in immaculate evening +dress and with entirely unruffled hair, +having in the meantime cut down and +restored to consciousness two tortured +Chinese and heard the true story of his +daughter's adventures. This seems to +be overdoing the unities. And I wondered +whether the puzzled look on +young <i>Handley's</i> face was due to this +same wonder or to the reflection that +if he had shed one undesirable father-in-law +he had let himself in for another. +For, needless to say, they had all met +in the famous opium scene when <i>Stacey</i> +was naturally not at his best.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">D. Lewin Mannering</span> was suitably +sinister as <i>Wang Fu</i>; Mr. <span class="sc">Tarver +Penna's</span> <i>Ah Fong</i>, the heroine's champion, +made some very pleasant faces and +gestures and was less incurably Western +than some of his colleagues; Mr. <span class="sc">Cronin +Wilson's</span> <i>Jack Stacey</i> seemed a meritorious +performance. The part of <i>Che +Fu</i> made no particular demand on Miss +<span class="sc">Christine Silver's</span> talent, and Miss +<span class="sc">Evadne Price</span> faithfully earned the +laughter she was expected to make as +<i>Sua Se</i>, the opium-den attendant. Leave +your critical faculty at home and you +will be able to derive considerable entertainment +from this unambitious +show.</p> + +<p class="author">T.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Fashions in Hand-wear.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Amusing contrast is seen in the Riviera +and winter sports outfits now on view, with +filmy lace, shimmering silks, and glowing +velvets on the one hand and thick wool and +the stoutest of boots on the other."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Weekly Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p>From a <i>feuilleton</i>:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"... She was startled by a low sibilant +whisper, 'I've caught you, my girl!'"</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Daily Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Try and hiss this for yourself.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BARREL OF BEEF.</h3> + +<p>We were dawdling home from the +westward on the flood. Astern of us, +knee-deep in foam, stood the slim +column of the Bishop lighthouse, a +dark pencil mark on the cloudless sky. +To the south the full Atlantic piled the +black reefs with hills of snow. Ahead +the main islands humped out of the +blue sea like a school of basking whales. +I had the tiller and Uncle Billy John +Polsue was forward picking up the +marks and carrying on a running commentary, +punctuated by expectorations +of dark fluid. Suddenly something +away on the port bow attracted his +attention. He rolled to his feet, stared +for some seconds and shouted, "Hold +'er on the corner o' Great Minalte!" +a tremor of excitement in his voice.</p> + +<p>I did as I was bid and sheeted home.</p> + +<p>Billy John fished the conger gaff +from under the blue and silver heap of +mackerel in the well and climbed laboriously +on to the little half-deck. So +we were after some sort of flotsam, I +could not see what, because Billy John's +expansive back-view obscured the prospect +ahead, but from his tense attitude +I judged that it appeared interesting. +He signed to me to come up another +couple of points, took a firm grasp of +the gaff and leaned over the bows. +Then with a creak of straining tackle +and a hiss of riven water a gig was on +us. She swooped out of the blue, +swept by not two fathoms to windward +and with a boat-hook snapped up +the treasure trove (it looked suspiciously +like a small keg) right under our very +noses as adroitly as a lurcher snaps a +hare. She ran on a cable's length, +spun on her heel and slipped away +down the sound, a long lean craft, +leaping like a live thing under her press +of canvas. She seemed full of redheaded +men of all ages and was steered +by a brindled patriarch who wagged +his vermilion beard at us and cackled +loudly. I roared with laughter; I had +seldom seen anything so consummately +slick in my life.</p> + +<p>Billy John roared too, but from other +influences. He bellowed, he spat, he +danced with rage. He cursed the gig's +company collectively and singly, said +they were nothing better than common +pirates and that they lured ships to destruction +and devoured the crews—raw.</p> + +<p>The gig's company were delighted; +they jeered and waved their caps. Billy +John trembled with passion.</p> + +<p>"Who stole the bar'l o' beef?" he +trumpeted through his palms. "Who—stole—the—bar'l—o'—beef? +Hoo hoo!"</p> + +<p>This last sally had a subduing effect +on the gig's company; they turned +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page457" id="page457"></a>[pg 457]</span> +their faces away and became absorbed +in the view ahead.</p> + +<p>Billy John sat down with a grunt of +satisfaction. "That settled 'em," he +grinned. "They dunno who did steal +the bar'l to this day, and each wan do +suspect t'other."</p> + +<p>"St. Martin's islanders?" I queried.</p> + +<p>Billy John shook his head. "Naw, +from St. Helen's, o' course; deddn' you +see their red 'eads? They 're all red-'eaded +over on Helen's—take after their +great-grandfather the Devil."</p> + +<p>"They're pretty smart, anyhow," +said I.</p> + +<p>Billy John threw up both hands. +"Smart! By dang you've said it! Anythin' +in the way o' honest work they +do leave to us poor mainland grabbers; +they don't unnerstand it; but come a +bit o' easy money in the way of wreckage +and we might as well stop bed as +try to compete with they; we eddn but +children to 'em."</p> + +<p>"What about this barrel of beef?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>Billy John chuckled. "Comed to pass +years ago, Sir. There was a party of +us over 'ere crabbin'. My brother +Zackariah 'ad married a Helen's wumman, +and a brear great piece she were +too. They was livin' on Helen's upon +Lower Town beach, and we lodged with +'em.</p> + +<p>"Wan mornin' before dawn along +comes great Susan in her stockined feet. +'Whist!' says she, 'rouse thee out an' +don't make no noise; I think I heerd +a gun from Carnebiggal Ledges.'</p> + +<p>"We sneaked out like shadows, got +the boat afloat and pulled away, mufflin' +the oars with our caps. We got a fair +start; nobody heerd us go. It weren't +yet light and the fog were like a bag, +but we got there somehow, and sure +enough there were a big steamer fast +on the rocks. Great Susan were right. +Oh, I tell you t'eddn guesswork with +they St. Helen's folk; male or female +they got a nose for a wreck, same as +cats for mice. There was a couple o' +ship's boats standing by on her port +side full o' men.</p> + +<p>"'Where in 'ell are we?' shouts 'er +skipper as we comed nosing through +the fog. 'I ain't seen the sun for two +days.'</p> + +<p>"We told en and lay by chattin' and +wonderin' 'ow we was to plunder she, +with them in the road. Time went by +and there we was still chattin' about +the weather an' suchlike damfoolery. +Every minute I was expectin' to see +the Helen's gigs swarmin' out, and then +it wouldn't be pickin's we'd get but +leavin's.</p> + +<p>"''Ere,' whispers I to Zakky, 'scare +'im off for God's sake.'</p> + +<p>"'I'll 'ave a try,' says 'e. 'Say, +Mr. Captain, the tide's makin'. She +do come through 'ere like a river and +you'll be swamped for certain. Pull +for the shore, sailor.'</p> + +<p>"'Will you pilot me in?' says the +captain.</p> + +<p>"'Naw,' says Zakky. 'I got to be +after my crab-pots; but I'll send my +nephew wid 'e.'</p> + +<p>"'Keep 'em lost out in the Sound for +a couple of hours, son,' he whispers to +the boy, and the lad takes 'em off into +the fog. 'Now for the plunder, my +dears,' says Zakky; and we makes for +the ship.</p> + +<p>"But Lor' bless you, Sir, she were +already plundered. While we was +chattin' away on her port side four +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page458" id="page458"></a>[pg 458]</span> +Helen's gigs' crews had boarded her +quietly from starboard and was eatin' +through her like a pest o' ants. They'd +come staggering on deck—fathers, sons +and grandfathers—with bundles twice +as big nor themselves, toss 'em into the +gigs and go back for more. As for us, +we stood like men mazed. I tell you, +Sir, a God-fearing man can't make a +livin' 'mong that lot; they'll turn a +vessel inside out while he's thinkin' +how to begin.</p> + +<p>"By-'m-by they comed on the prize o' +the lot—a bar'l o' beef. My word, what +an outcry! 'I seed 'en first!' 'Naw, +you deddn': hands off!' 'Leggo; +'s mine!' Quarrellin' 'mong themselves +now, mark you, beef bein' as +scarce as diamonds in them hard times. +Old Hosea—the old toad that you seed +steerin' that gig just now—he puts a +stop to et.</p> + +<p>"'Avast ragin', thou fools,' says 'e; +"coastguards will be along in a minute +and then there'll be nothin' for nobody. +Set en in my boat an' I'll divide it up +equal on the beach.'</p> + +<p>"They done as they were told, and +away goes old Hosea for the shore, followed +by the other gigs loaded that +deep they could hardly swim. Seein' +they hadn't left us nothin' but the bare +bones we pulled in ourselves shortly +after, and my dear life what a sight we +did behold! Fellows runnin' about in +the fog on the beach, for all the world +like shadows on a blind, cursin', shoutin', +fightin', tumblin' over each other, +huntin' high and low, and in the middle +of 'em all old Hosea crying out for +his bar'l o' beef like a wumman after +her first-born. Somebody'd stole it! +Mercy me! we mainlanders lay on our +oars and laughed till the tears rolled +out of us in streams."</p> + +<p>"Who did steal it? Do you know?" +I asked.</p> + +<p>Billy John nodded. "I do, Sir. Why, +great Susan, o' course. They'd forgotten +she, livin' right upon the beach—wan +o' their own breed. Susan stalked en +through the fog an' had en locked in +her own house before they could turn +round. And many a full meal we poor +honest mainlanders had off it, Sir, take +it from me."</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Patlander</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/457.png"><img src="images/457-600.png" width="600" height="400" alt="CHILDREN'S PRESENTS. CHRISTMAS, 1920." /></a> +<h5>CHILDREN'S PRESENTS. CHRISTMAS, 1920.</h5> +<p><i>Mother.</i> "<span class="sc">Isn't it a perfect gem, darling?</span>"</p> +<p><i>Son.</i> "<span class="sc">Wouldn't be seen dead with it. I ask you, where's the h.p. +cylinder that drives the crank-pins on the +trailing wheels</span>?"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Our Cynical Municipalities.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Schemes for the relief of the unemployed at +—— include the extension of the cemetery."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Daily Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"The constable went to the warehouse +doorway and found two men, who, when asked +to account for their movements, suddenly +bolted in different directions, pursued by the +constable."</p> +<p class="author">—<i>Welsh Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>A worthy colleague of the Irish policeman +who in a somewhat similar dilemma +"surrounded the crowd."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>VIGNETTES OF SCOTTISH SPORT.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>By a Peckham Highlander</i>.)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O brawly sklents the break o' day</p> +<p>On far Lochaber's bank and brae,</p> +<p>And briskly bra's the Hielan' burn</p> +<p>Where day by day the Southron kern</p> +<p>Comes busking through the bonnie brake</p> +<p>Wi' rod and creel o' finest make,</p> +<p>And gars the artfu' trouties rise</p> +<p>Wi' a' the newest kinds o' flies,</p> +<p>Nor doots that ere the sun's at rest</p> +<p>He'll catch a basket o' the best.</p> +<p>For what's so sweet to nose o' man</p> +<p>As trouties skirrlin' in the pan</p> +<p>Wi' whiles a nip o' mountain dew</p> +<p>Tae warm the chilly Saxon through,</p> +<p>And hold the balance fair and right</p> +<p>Twixt intellect and appetite?</p> +<p>But a' in vain the Southron throws</p> +<p>Abune each trout's suspectfu' nose</p> +<p>His gnats and coachmen, greys and brouns,</p> +<p>And siclike gear that's sold in touns,</p> +<p>And a' in vain the burn he whups</p> +<p>Frae earliest sunrise till the tups</p> +<p>Wi' mony a wean-compelling "meeeh!"</p> +<p>Announce the punctual close of day.</p> +<p>Then hameward by the well-worn track</p> +<p>Gangs the disgruntled Sassenach,</p> +<p>And, having dined off mountain sheep,</p> +<p>Betakes him moodily to sleep.</p> +<p>And "Ah!" he cries, "would I micht be</p> +<p>A clansman kilted to the knee,</p> +<p>Wi' sporran, plaid and buckled shoe,</p> +<p>And Caledonian whuskers too!</p> +<p>Would I could wake the pibroch's throes</p> +<p>And live on parritch and peas brose</p> +<p>And spurn the ling wi' knotty knees,</p> +<p>The dourest Scot fra Esk tae Tees!</p> +<p>For only such, I'll answer for 't,</p> +<p>Are rightly built for Hielan' sport,</p> +<p>Can stalk Ben Ledi's antlered stag</p> +<p>Frae scaur to scaur and crag tae crag,</p> +<p>Cra'ing like serrpents through the grass</p> +<p>On waumies bound wi' triple brass;</p> +<p>Can find themselves at set o' sun,</p> +<p>Wi' sandwiches and whusky gone,</p> +<p>And twenty miles o' scaur and fell</p> +<p>Fra Miss McOstrich's hotel,</p> +<p>Yet utter no revilin' word</p> +<p>Against the undiminished herd</p> +<p>Of antlered monarchs of the glen</p> +<p>That never crossed their eagle ken:</p> +<p>But a' unfrettit turn and say,</p> +<p>'Hoots, but the sport's been grand the day!'</p> +<p>For none but Scotsmen born and bred,</p> +<p>When ither folk lie snug in bed,</p> +<p>Would face yon cauld and watery pass,</p> +<p>The eerie peat-hag's dark morass,</p> +<p>Where wails the whaup wi' mournful screams,</p> +<p>Tae wade a' day in icy streams</p> +<p>An' flog the burn wi' feckless flies</p> +<p>Though ilka trout declines tae rise,</p> +<p>Then hameward crunch wi' empty creel</p> +<p>Tae sit and hark wi' unquenched zeal</p> +<p>Tae dafties' tales o' lonesome tarns</p> +<p>Cramfu' o' trout as big as barns."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>E'en thus the envious Southron girds</p> +<p>Complainin' fate wi' bitter words</p> +<p>For a' the virtues she allots</p> +<p>Unto the hardy race o' Scots.</p> +<p>And when the sun the brae's abune</p> +<p>He taks the train to London toun,</p> +<p>Vowing he ne'er again will turn</p> +<p>Tae Scottish crag or Hielan' burn,</p> +<p>But hire a punt and fish for dace</p> +<p>At Goring or some ither place.</p> + </div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i24"><span class="sc">Algol</span>.</p> +</div> </div> +<hr /> + +<h3>EFFECT AND CAUSE.</h3> + +<p>The bell was knelling: dong, dong, +dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong.</p> + +<p>Inside the Hall there was nothing +but gloom.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the echoes were startled by +a loud knocking on the door: rat, tat, +tat, tat, tat, tat, ratta, tatta, tatta, +tatta, tat, tat.</p> + +<p>Who could it be?</p> + +<p>The old servitor shambled to undo +the bolts. As he opened the door the +wind rushed in, carrying great flakes of +snow with it and an icy blast penetrated +to every corner of the house.</p> + +<p>There followed a man muffled up to +the eyes in a vast red scarf—or not so +much red as pink, salmon colour—which +he proceeded gradually to unwind, revealing +at length the features of Mr. +James Tod Brown, the senior partner +of the firm of Brown, Brown & Brown, +of Little Britain. Save for a curious +nervousness of speech which caused +him to repeat every remark several +times, Mr. James Tod Brown was a +typical lawyer, in the matter of ability +far in advance of either of his partners, +Brown or Brown.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," he said, "dear me, dear +me! This is very sad, very sad—very +sudden too, very sudden. And what—tut, +tut, dear, dear, let me see—what +was the cause of—ah! What was the +cause—what was it that occasioned the—how +did your master come to die? +Yes, how did your master come to die?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"What is it all about?" asks the reader.</p> + +<p>Well, it is not quite so meaningless +as it may appear; there is method in +the madness; for this is a passage from +a story by one of the most popular +English authors in America, to whom +an American editor has offered twenty +cents a word. At the present rate of +exchange such commissions are not to +be trifled with.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"Wanted, experienced Parlourmaid for a +good home, where the household does not +change."—<i>Local Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Apparently "no washing."</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page459" id="page459"></a>[pg 459]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/459.png"><img src="images/459-600.png" width="600" height="419" alt="Hullo, Padre! I see your late colleague has gone on ahead." /></a> +<p><i>Cheerful Sportsman.</i> "<span class="sc">Hullo, Padre! I see your late +colleague has gone on ahead</span>."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks</i>.)</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Mr. Joseph Hergesheimer</span>, for whose work as a novelist +I have more than once expressed high admiration, has +now brought together seven long-short stories under the +collective title of <i>The Happy End</i> (<span class="sc">Heinemann</span>). Lest +however this name and the little preface, in which the +writer asserts that his wares "have but one purpose—to +give pleasure," should lead you to expect that species of +happy ending in which Jack shall have Jill and naught +shall go ill, I think a word of warning may not be wasted. +In only three of the tales is the finish a matter of conventional +happiness. Elsewhere you have a deserted husband, +who has tracked his betrayer to a nigger saloon in Atlantic +City, wrested from his purpose of murder by a revivalist +hymn; a young lad, having avenged the destruction of his +home, returning to his widowed mother to await, one supposes, +the process of the law; or an over-fed war profiteer +stricken with apoplexy at sight of a boat full of the starved +victims of a submarine outrage. You observe perhaps that +the epithet "happy" is one to which the artist and the casual +reader may attach a different significance. But let not anything +I have said be considered as reflecting upon the tales +themselves, which indeed seem to me to be masterpieces +of their kind. Personally my choice would rest on the +last, "The Thrush in the Hedge," a simple history of how +the voice of a young tramp was revealed by his chance +meeting with a blind and drug-sodden fiddler who had once +played in opera—a thing of such unforced art that its concluding +pages, when the discovery is put to a final test, +shake the mind with apprehension and hope. A writer who +can make a short story do that comes near to genius.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>If you wish to play the now fashionable game of +newspaper-proprietor-baiting you can, with Miss <span class="sc">Rose Macaulay</span>, +create a possible but not actual figure like <i>Potter</i> and, using +it for stalking-horse, duly point your moral; or, with Mr. +<span class="sc">W. L. George</span> in <i>Caliban</i> (<span class="sc">Methuen</span>), you can begin +by +mentioning all the well-known figures in the journalistic +world by way of easy camouflage, so as to evade the law +of libel, call your hero-villain <i>Bulmer</i>, attach to him all the +legends about actual newspaper kings, add some malicious +distortion to make them more exciting and impossible, and +thoroughly let yourself go. Good taste alone will decide which +is the cleaner sport, and good taste does not happen to be +the fashion in certain literary circles at the moment. Of +course Mr. <span class="sc">George</span>, being a novelist of some skill, has provided +a background out of his imagination. The most +interesting episode, excellently conceived and worked out, +is the only unsuccessful passage in <i>Lord Bulmer's</i> life, the +wooing of <i>Janet Willoughby</i>. The awkward thing for Mr. +<span class="sc">George</span> is that he has so splashed the yellow over <i>Bulmer</i> +in the office that there is no use in his pretending that the +<i>Bulmer</i> in <i>Mrs. Willoughby's</i> drawing-room is the same +man in another mood. He just isn't. Incidentally the author +gives us the best defence of the saffron school of journalism +I've read—a defence that's a little too good to believe; and +some shrewd blows above (and, as I have hinted, occasionally +below) the belt.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page460" id="page460"></a>[pg 460]</span> + +<p>I want to give the epithet "lush" to <i>The Breathless +Moment</i> (<span class="sc">Lane</span>), and, although the dictionary asks me as +far as in me lies to reserve that adjective for grass, I really +don't see why, just for once, I shouldn't do what I like +with it. Lush grass is generally long and brightly coloured—"luxuriant +and succulent," the dictionary says—and that +is exactly what <span class="sc">Miss Muriel Hine's</span> book is. She tells +the story of <i>Sabine Fane</i>, who, loving <i>Mark Vallance</i>, +persuaded +him to pass a honeymoon month with her before he +went to the Front, though his undesirable wife was still +alive. In allowing her heroine to suffer the penalty of this +action Miss <span class="sc">Hine</span> would appear, as far as plot is concerned, +to discourage such adventures. But <i>Sabine</i> is so charming, +her troubles end so happily and the setting of West +Country scenery is so beautiful that, taken as a whole, I +should expect the book to have the opposite effect. The +picture of a tall green wave propelling +a very solid rainbow, +which adorns the paper wrapper +and as an advertisement +has cheered travellers on the +Tube for some weeks past, has +no real connection with the +story, but perhaps is meant +to be symbolical of the book, +which, clever and well written +as it is, is almost as little like +what happens in real life.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>The Uses of Diversity</i> (<span class="sc">Methuen</span>) +is the title of a little +volume in which Mr. <span class="sc">G. K. +Chesterton</span> has reprinted a +selection of his shorter essays, +fugitive pieces of journalism, +over which indeed the casual +reader may experience some +natural bewilderment at finding, +what is inevitable in such +work, the trivialities of the day +before yesterday treated with +the respect of contemporary +regard. Many of the papers are +inspired by the appearance of a +particular book or play. I can +best illustrate what I have said +above by a quotation from +one of them, in which the +author wrote (<i>à propos</i> of the silver goblets in <i>Henry VIII</i>. +at His Majesty's) that he supposed such realism might be +extended to include "a real Jew to act <i>Shylock</i>." For those +who recall a recent triumph, this flight of imagination will +now have an oddly archaic effect. It is by no means the only +passage to remind us sharply that much canvas has gone +over the stage rollers since these appreciations were written. +Unquestionably Mr. <span class="sc">Chesterton</span>, with the unstaled entertainment +of his verbal acrobatics, stands the ordeal of such +revival better than most. Even when he is upon a theme +so outworn as the "Pageants that have adorned England +of late," he can always astonish with some grave paradox. +But for all that I still doubt whether journalism so much +of the moment as this had not more fitly been left for the +pleasure of casual rediscovery in its original home than +served up with the slightly overweighting dignity of even +so small a volume.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In <i>A Tale That Is Told</i> (<span class="sc">Collins</span>), Mr. <span class="sc">Frederick +Niven</span> +throws himself into the personality of <i>Harold Grey</i>, who +is the youngest son of an "eminent Scottish divine," and +constitutes himself the annalist of the family, its private +affairs and its professional business in the commerce of +literature and art. The right of the family to its annals, +notwithstanding that its members are little involved in +furious adventures or thrilling romance, is established at +once by the very remarkable character of the <i>Reverend +Thomas Grey</i>. The duty upon you to read them depends, +as the prologue hints, upon whether you are greatly +interested in life and not exclusively intent on fiction. +When I realised that I must expect no more than an +account, without climax, of years spent as a tale that is +told, I accepted the conditions subject to certain terms of +my own. The family must be an interesting one and not +too ordinary; the sons, <i>Thomas</i> (whose creed was "Give +yourself," and whose application of it was such that it +usually wrecked the person to whom the gift was made), +<i>Dick</i> the artist, and <i>John</i> the +novelist, must be very much +alive; if the big adventures +were missing the little problems +must be faced; the question +of sex must not be overlooked; +and of humour none +of the characters must be devoid, +and the historian himself +must be full. Mr. <span class="sc">Niven</span> failed +me in no particular.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Miss <span class="sc">F. E. Mills Young</span>, +in <i>Imprudence</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and +Stoughton</span>), is not at the top +of her form, but a neat and +effective finish makes some +amends for a performance +which is, like the wind in a +weather report, mainly moderate +or light. The heroine, <i>Prudence +Graynor</i>, was the child of +her father's second marriage, +and she was afflicted with a +battalion of elderly half-sisters +and one quite detestable half-brother. +This battalion was +commanded by one <i>Agatha</i>, and +it submitted to her orders and +caprices in a way incomprehensible +to <i>Prudence</i>—and incidentally +to me. The <i>Graynors</i> +and also the <i>Morgans</i> were of "influential commercial stock," +and both families were so essentially Victorian in their outlook +and manner of living that I was surprised when 1914 +was announced. The trouble with this story is that too +many of the characters are drawn from the stock-pot. But +I admit that, before we have done with them, they acquire +a certain distinction from the adroitness with which the +author extricates them from apparently hopeless situations.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/460.png"><img src="images/460-452.png" width="452" height="450" alt="Well, I'm the late gamekeeper. You see, old Bilks the sorcerer took to poaching lately, and I was fool enough to catch him at it" /></a> +<h4>MORE WORRIES OF THE MIDDLE AGES.</h4> +<p><i>The Goat.</i> "<span class="sc">Who are you</span>?"</p> +<p><i>The Man</i> (<i>greatly disturbed</i>). "<span class="sc">Who? Me? I—I'm the new +gamekeeper</span>."</p><p><i>The Goat.</i> "<span class="sc">Well, I'm the late gamekeeper. You see, +old Bilks the sorcerer took to poaching lately, and I +was fool enough to catch him at it</span>."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Praise from "The Times."</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"The Chancellor of the Exchequer, with that absence of commercial +training which is essential to one occupying such a position..." +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Another Sex-Problem.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"<span class="sc">Wanted</span>.—Six White Leghorn Cockerels; 6 Black Minorca +Cockerels. Must lay eggs."</p> +<p class="author">—<i>Times of Ceylon.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"A dreamy professor in a dim romantic laboratory may light upon +a placid formula and, like Aladdin, roll back the portals of the +enchanted fastness with a tranquil open sesame."</p> +<p class="author"> +—<i>Magazine.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>But why should his laboratory be dim when he has <i>Ali +Baba's</i> wonderful lamp to light it?</p> + +<hr /> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume +159, December 8, 1920, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 19127-h.htm or 19127-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/2/19127/ + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, +Jonathan Ingram 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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