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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; + } + + hr.pg { width: 100%; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + border: solid black; + height: 5px; } + pre {font-size: 75%;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, +December 15, 1920, by Various, Edited by Owen Seaman</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, December 15, 1920</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Owen Seaman</p> +<p>Release Date: September 19, 2006 [eBook #19334]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 159, DECEMBER 15, 1920***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Lesley Halamek, Jonathan Ingram,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net/)</h4> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page461" id="page461"></a>[pg 461]</span> + +<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>VOL. 159.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h3><span class="sc1">December 15, 1920</span></h3> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<h4>CHARIVARIA.</h4> + + +<p>Apparently the official decision not +to issue Christmas excursion tickets +for journeys of less than one hundred +miles will inflict some inconvenience +on the public. Several correspondents +point out that they will be obliged to +travel further than they had intended.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A newspaper correspondent describes +<span class="sc">Charlie Chaplin</span> as being an amusing +companion in private life. We always +suspect a popular comedian of having +his lighter moments.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"For twenty years," says a contemporary, +"Superintendent Spencer of +Scotland Yard has been watching the +King." We hasten to add that during +all that time <span class="sc">His Majesty</span> +has never done +anything to excite +suspicion.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>This year's Oxford +and Cambridge Rugby +match is said to have +been the most exciting +in the memory of the +oldest undergraduate.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>According to <i>The +Daily Express</i> twenty-five +thousand Government +officials are +on strike in Austria. +People are asking why +we can't have this +sort of thing in England.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Official kissing at +Presidential functions +is now discontinued in +France and visitors must shake hands +in future. These curtailed amenities are +still an improvement on the Mexican +custom of exchanging revolver shots.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"Hats," says <i>The Times</i>' fashion +correspondent, "are worn well on the +head." We have always regarded this +as the best place to wear a hat on.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>White spats are to be fashionable +this winter, we read. In muddy weather, +however, the colour-scheme may be +varied. Only the other day we saw +one gentleman wearing a beautiful pair +of Dalmatians.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>So many singers want to run before +they can walk, says Mr. <span class="sc">Ben Davies</span>. +With some singers whom we have +heard, the ability to dodge as well as +run would be an advantage.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Loud cheers were given, says a +Bolshevist wireless message, when +<span class="sc">Lenin</span> left Petrograd for Moscow. We +can well believe it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The Bolshevists now forbid men to +walk through the streets with their +hands in their pockets. Hands in other +peoples' pockets every time is their +motto.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A palpitating writer in a Sunday +paper asks if the summit of English +life is being made a true Olympus or a +rooting-ground for the swine of <span class="sc">Epicurus</span>. +Judging by the present exorbitant +price of a nice tender loin of +pork, with crisp crackling, we should +say the former.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A West Norwood man who described +himself as a poet told the +magistrate that he had twice been +knocked down by a motor-cyclist. Our +opinion is that he should have given +up poetry when he was knocked down +the first time.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Winston Churchill</span> cannot be +in two places at once, says <i>The Bristol +Evening News</i>. All the same it is a +dangerous thing to put him on his +mettle like that.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Many people remain oblivious of the +approach of Christmas until the appearance +of mistletoe at Covent Garden. +We don't wait for that; we go by the +appearance in <i>The Daily Mail</i> of a +letter announcing the discovery of primroses in Thanet.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Measures to arrest the subsidence of +the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral have +again become imperative. The cause +assigned is the depressing effect of the +<span class="sc">Dean</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Of several hats caught up in a recent +whirlwind it was observed that the +one with the largest circulation was a +"Sandringham."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A judge has decided that it is <i>ultra +vires</i> for a municipal body to run a +public laundry. Apparently this is to +remain a monopoly of the Royal Courts +of Justice.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"The telephone," we are told, "was +cradled in a dead man's ear." As far +as we can ascertain the other end of +ours is still there.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Seventy is suggested by the London +County Council as the +age limit at which +coroners should retire. +Complete justice cannot +be done as long as +there is anything in +the shape of identity +of interest between +the coroner and the +corpse.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"The natural position +of the eyeballs in +sleep," says a correspondent +of <i>The Daily +Mail</i>, "is turned upwards." +The practice +of leaving them standing +in a tumbler of +water all night should +be particularly avoided +by light sleepers.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We are asked to +deny the rumour that +the <span class="sc">Poet Laureate</span> is entitled to draw +the unemployment donation.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/461.png"><img src="images/461-600.png" width="600" height="366" alt="THE POKER-PLAYER'S SECRET MAKE-UP OUTFIT." /></a> +<h4>THE POKER-PLAYER'S SECRET MAKE-UP OUTFIT.</h4> +<p class="center"><i>Disguises your elation when you hold a fat hand</i>.</p> +<p class="center">Only five-and-sixpence post free in plain wrapper.</p> +<p class="center">Will pay for itself many times over.</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Theatre-Fashions in Malta.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"The House was full to its utmost capacity, +the elegant night dresses and toilettes of the +ladies presenting a fine aspect."</p> +<p class="author"> +—<i>Malta Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"Ye Olde —— Hotel. Hot and Cold Sheets."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Daily Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Produced, we assume, by a water-bottle +(h. and c.).</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote> +<h4>"<span class="sc1">The Dry Champaign in Scotland.</span></h4> +<h4><span class="sc">Polling in Edinburgh</span>."</h4> + +<p class="author"><i>Provincial Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Judging by the results, the Scots seem +still to prefer the local vintage.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>There was a young high-brow of Sutton</p> +<p>Who lived on hot air and cold mutton;</p> +<p class="i6">He knew not of <span class="sc">Grock</span>,</p> +<p class="i6">But he idolized <span class="sc">Brock</span></p> +<p>(I don't mean the sculptor, but <span class="sc">Clutton</span>).</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page462" id="page462"></a>[pg 462]</span> + + +<h3>TO THE LION OF LUCERNE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Tino</span>, before you went away</p> +<p class="i2">To crouch behind a sheltering Alp,</p> +<p>How strong the limelight used to play</p> +<p class="i2">About your bald, but kingly, scalp!</p> +<p>And now, emerging from the shelf</p> +<p class="i2">(A site where Kings are seldom happy),</p> +<p>You must be pleased to find yourself</p> +<p class="i2">Once more resilient on the <i>tapis</i>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Over your past (Out, damnéd spots!)</p> +<p class="i2">With lavish bucketfuls you paint</p> +<p>The whitewash on to clean its blots</p> +<p class="i2">And camouflage the Teuton taint;</p> +<p>From <span class="sc">William</span> and the family tie</p> +<p class="i2">Protesting your unbridled freedom,</p> +<p>"I know you not, old man," you cry,</p> +<p class="i2">"Fall to your prayers—you badly need 'em!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>For Athens, to your great content,</p> +<p class="i2">Calls you to be her guiding star</p> +<p>(Only a paltry one per cent</p> +<p class="i2">Wanted to leave you where you are);</p> +<p>And you've agreed to take it on,</p> +<p class="i2">Jumped at the prospect Fate discloses,</p> +<p>And thought, "With <span class="sc">Venezelos</span> gone,</p> +<p class="i2">Life will be one long bed of roses."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But mark the oversight you made,</p> +<p class="i2">Forgetting, while you waxed so fat,</p> +<p>That England, whom you once betrayed,</p> +<p class="i2">Might have a word to say to that;</p> +<p>Might, if for love of your fair eyes</p> +<p class="i2">Greece should decide again to wobble,</p> +<p>Conceivably withdraw supplies</p> +<p class="i2">And cut her off with half an obol.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Roar loud, O Lion of Lucerne!</p> +<p class="i2">But lo, upon Britannia's shore</p> +<p>Another Lion takes his turn</p> +<p class="i2">And gives a rather louder roar;</p> +<p>Meaning, "It doesn't suit my views</p> +<p class="i2">To subsidise two sorts of beano,</p> +<p>And Greece will therefore have to choose</p> +<p class="i2">Between her tummy and her <span class="sc">Tino</span>."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i24">O. S.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>ABOUT GOLF.</h3> + +<p>Golf is obviously the worst game in the world. I doubt +indeed whether it is a game at all.</p> + +<p>It is played with a ball, about which, though I could say +much, I will say little. I will not decide whether it should +have a heart of oak or a heart of gold, whether it should +go through a 1·6-inch ring or a plate-glass window, whether +it should sink like the German Navy or float like the British. +Enough, if not too much, has been said about the +standard ball.</p> + +<p>Golf is also played with a number of striking implements +more intricate in shape than those used in any other form +of recreation except dentistry. Let so much be agreed.</p> + +<p>Now, quite plainly, the essential idea underlying all games +played with a ball, whether a club, stick, mallet, bat or cue +be added or no, is that some interference should take place +with the enemy's action, some thwarting of his purpose or +intent. In Rugby football, to take a case, where no mallet is +used, it is permissible to seize an opponent by the whiskers +and sling him over your right shoulder, afterwards stamping +a few times on his head or his stomach. This thwarts +him badly. The same principle applies, though in a milder +form, to the game of cricket, where you attempt to beat the +adversary's bat with your ball, or, if you have the bat, to +steer the ball between your adversaries, or at least to make +them jolly well wish that you would.</p> + +<p>Even with the baser and less heroic ball games, like +croquet and billiards, where more than one ball is used at +a time, action inimical to the interests of the opponent's +ball is permitted and encouraged. Indeed in the good old +days of yore, when croquet was not so strictly scientific, a +shrewd sudden stroke—the ankle shot, we called it, for, +after all, the fellow was probably not wearing boots—well, I +daresay you remember it; and I have once succeeded in +paralysing the enemy's cue arm with the red; but this +needs a lot of luck as well as strength, and is not a stroke +to be practised by the beginner, especially on public tables.</p> + +<p>We come then again to golf, and see at once that, with +the miserable and cowardly exception of laying the stymie, +there is no stroke in this game that fulfils the proper conditions +which should govern athletic contests involving the +use of spherical objects with or without instruments of +percussion.</p> + +<p>And yet we read column after column about fierce encounters +and desperate struggles between old antagonists, +when as a matter of fact there is no struggle, no encounter +at all. Against no other ball game but golf, unless perhaps +it be roulette, can this accusation be laid. Ask a man what +happened last Saturday. "I went out," he says, rather as +if he was the British Expeditionary Force, "in 41; but +I came home"—he smiles triumphantly; you see the +hospital ship, the cheering crowds—"in 39." Whether he +beat the other fellow or not he hardly remembers, because +there was in fact no particular reason why the other fellow +should have been there.</p> + +<p>Golf matches ought to be arranged, and for my part I +shall arrange them in future, as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><i>He.</i> Can you play on Saturday at Crump?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> No, I'm not playing this week.</p> + +<p><i>He.</i> Next week then?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes, at Blimp.</p> + +<p><i>He.</i> I can't come to Blimp.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Well, let's play all the same. Your score this week +at Crump against mine next week at Blimp, and we'll have +five bob on it.</p></blockquote> + +<p>I'm not quite sure what his retort is, but you take +my point. It is manifestly absurd to drag the psychological +element into this cold-blooded mathematical pursuit. +After all that England has done and come through in the +last few years, is a man in baggy knickerbockers, with tufts +on the ends of his garters, going to be daunted and foiled +just because a man in slightly baggier knickerbockers and +with slightly larger tufts on his garters has hit a small +white pellet a little further than he has? Hardly, I think.</p> + +<p>That is why, when I read long letters in the principal +daily papers about the expense of this so-called game, and +calculations as to whether it can be played for less than +twenty-five shillings a time, I am merely amused. In my +opinion, if the relatives of members of golf-clubs cannot +afford to support them, these institutions should either be +closed or the inmates should be provided with some better +game, like basketball. That is what I feel about golf.</p> + +<p>All the same, if Enderby really thinks and believes that, +because in a nasty cross-wind I happened to be slicing +badly and didn't know the course and lost a ball at the +twelfth, and he holed twice out of bunkers and certainly +baulked me by sniffing on the fifteenth tee, and laid a +stymie, mark you, of all places at the seventeenth, that I +can't beat him three times out of five in normal conditions +and not with that appalling caddy —— well, I suppose +one must do one's best to relieve a fellow-creature of his +hallucinations, mustn't one?</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Evoe</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page463" id="page463"></a>[pg 463]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/463.png"><img src="images/463-375.png" width="375" height="450" alt="THE BOBLET." /></a> +<h4>THE BOBLET.</h4> +<p><span class="sc">Britannia</span> (<i>counting her change</i>). "WHAT'S THIS?"</p> +<p><span class="sc">Our Mr. Chamberlain</span>. "THAT, MADAM, IS THE NEW SHILLING. IT HAS MORE ALLOY +THAN THE OLD, BUT THE SAME PURCHASING POWER."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Britannia</span>. "PURCHASING WEAKNESS, YOU MEAN."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page464" id="page464"></a>[pg 464]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/464.png"><img src="images/464-600.png" width="600" height="431" alt="Astonishing how quickly people have forgotten the War." /></a> +<p><i>Host</i> (<i>by way of keeping his guest's mind off the state of the course</i>). +"<span class="sc">Astonishing how quickly people have forgotten the War</span>."</p> +<p><i>Guest</i>. "<span class="sc">What—with this mud, and you at the slope</span>?"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>OUR HEAVY-WAITS.</h3> + +<p>Our Boxing Correspondent sends us +the following gloomy forecast. We have +pointed out to him that Mr. <span class="sc">Cochran</span> +has recently made a definite contract +for a meeting between <span class="sc">Dempsey</span> and +<span class="sc">Carpentier</span>. Our Correspondent replies +that this does not affect his attitude, +and urges us to publish his predictions +of further delay. We do so under +protest.</p> + +<p><i>Paris, December 22nd, 1920.</i>—M. <span class="sc">Deschamps</span> +(<span class="sc">Carpentier's</span> Manager) denies +all knowledge of any agreement with +Mr. <span class="sc">Cochran</span>.</p> + +<p><i>New York, December 24th, 1920.</i>—Mr. +C. B. <span class="sc">Cochran</span> says that <span class="sc">Deschamps</span> +must be dotty. He (C. B.) is returning +by the <i>Mauretania</i> to-morrow.</p> + +<p><i>London, April 17th, 1923.</i>—As Mr. +<span class="sc">Cochran</span> and M. <span class="sc">Deschamps</span> have not +yet come to an agreement the fight for +the World's Heavy-Weight Championship +is indefinitely postponed. <span class="sc">Joe +Beckett</span> meets Bombardier <span class="sc">Wells</span> +to-night at the Circle.</p> + +<p><i>London, April 18th, 1923.</i>—Since the +days of <span class="sc">Jim Corbett</span> no more polished +exponent of the fistic art has graced +the ring than our Bombardier Billy. +Thunders of applause greeted his appearance +in the "mystic square" last +night. He flashed round his ponderous +opponent, mesmerising him with the +purity of his style, the accuracy of his +hitting, the brilliance of his foot-work. +He held the vast audience spell-bound. +<span class="sc">Beckett</span> won on a knock-out in the +second round.</p> + +<p><i>London, August 11th, 1924.</i>—Mr. +<span class="sc">Lovat Fraser</span> in a powerful article +(written <i>entirely</i> in italics) in <i>The Daily +Mail</i> points out the fearful tension the +peace of Europe is undergoing through +the continued differences between +Messrs. <span class="sc">Cochran</span> and <span class="sc">Deschamps</span>, and +demands to know what the <span class="sc">Premier</span> +is doing about it.</p> + +<p><i>London, August 24th, 1924.</i>—Mr. +<span class="sc">Lloyd George</span>, acting under Mr. <span class="sc">Lovat +Fraser's</span> orders, has gone to Lympne +(kindly lent by Sir <span class="sc">Philip Sassoon</span>), +where he will be joined by Mr. <span class="sc">Cochran</span>, +M. <span class="sc">Deschamps</span> and M. <span class="sc">Millerand</span>.</p> + +<p><i>London, September 30th, 1924.</i>—The +whole civilised world will rejoice to +hear that the differences between Mr. +C. B. <span class="sc">Cochran</span> and M. <span class="sc">Deschamps</span> +have at last been amicably settled. The +great fight for the world's heavy-weight +championship is fixed to take place at +Olympia on November 17th. <span class="sc">Dempsey</span> +is to receive £100,000, <span class="sc">Carpentier</span> +£75,000.</p> + +<p><i>London, October 4th, 1924.</i>—It appears +that Olympia was already booked for +November for <i>The Daily Mail's</i> Ideal +Pyjama Exhibition, and Mr. C. B. <span class="sc">Cochran</span> +has to-day issued a <i>communiqué</i> to +the Press Association to the effect that +the contest will be held definitely in Sark +(Channel Islands) on December 23rd. +He has hired the entire Cunard and +White Star Fleets for the day, and those +who cannot find standing room on the +island will be provided with seats and +telescopes in the ships' riggings. All +will be welcome at fifty guineas a head.</p> + +<p><i>New York, October 6th, 1924.</i>—<span class="sc">Dempsey</span> +denies that he is meeting <span class="sc">Carpentier</span> +on December 23rd. He laughs at +the idea of fighting for £100,000.</p> + +<p>"Heaven knows I am not mercenary," +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page465" id="page465"></a>[pg 465]</span> +he says, "but there's such a thing as +a living wage."</p> + +<p><i>London, October 7th, 1924.</i>—Mr. +C. B. <span class="sc">Cochran</span>, in an interview granted +to our reporter yesterday, says that he +has done with fight-promoting for ever +and will in future concentrate on performing +seals.</p> + +<p><i>London, October 10th, 1924.</i>—A sensation +was caused at the Circle last night +when an old man jumped unannounced +into the ring and offered to fight anyone +living to a finish for five pounds and a +pint of beer for the sheer fun of the +thing. The disturber, who was obviously +out of his senses, was quickly removed. +His identity has not so far been established, +but he is thought to be a fighter of +the old school escaped from confinement.</p> + +<p>No authoritative announcement has +been made as to who will assume +Mr. <span class="sc">Cochran's</span> extensive boxing engagements, +but rumour is busy with +the name of Mr. <span class="sc">Mallaby-Deeley</span>.</p> + +<p><i>New York, January 31st, 1925.</i>—Mr. +W. <span class="sc">Brady</span>, the veteran fight-promoter, +has signed up J. <span class="sc">Dempsey</span> and +<span class="sc">Georges Carpentier</span> to meet at Havana, +Cuba, on Easter Monday, 1925. +<span class="sc">Dempsey</span> will draw £200,000, <span class="sc">Carpentier</span> +£150,000.</p> + +<p><i>New York, February 8th, 1925.</i>—Following +Mr. W. <span class="sc">Brady's</span> announcement, +Mr. <span class="sc">Tex Rickards</span> (promoter of the +<span class="sc">Jeffries-Johnson</span> contest) has now +come forward, stating that <span class="sc">Dempsey</span> +and <span class="sc">Carpentier</span> have signed a contract +with him to fight at Nome, Alaska, on +Shrove Tuesday, for a quarter-of-a-million +each.</p> + +<p><i>New York, February 19th, 1925.</i>—Mr. +C. B. <span class="sc">Cochran</span>, who arrived on the +<i>Aquitania</i> this morning, says that the +two champions have contracted to +meet under his management at Tristan +d'Acunha on Good Friday for half-a-million +each and a percentage on the +popcorn and peanut sales.</p> + +<p><i>New York, March 3rd, 1925.</i>—With +the view of lifting the national depression +consequent on the hitch in the +world's championship arrangements, +Mr. <span class="sc">Henry Ford</span>, whose successes as +a mediator are celebrated, is labouring +to bring about a conciliatory meeting +between the rival promoters.</p> + +<p><i>New York, July 12th, 1925.</i>—Mr. +<span class="sc">Henry Ford's</span> efforts, fortified by the +prayers of the Rev. <span class="sc">William Sunday</span>, +have at length borne fruit. Messrs. +<span class="sc">Brady</span>, <span class="sc">Cochran</span> and <span class="sc">Rickards</span> have +consented to talk matters over. The +White House has been placed entirely +at the disposal of the promoters, their +families, secretaries, legal advisers, etc.</p> + +<p><i>Washington, D.C., July 20th, 1925.</i>—Mr. +<span class="sc">Henry Ford's</span> "Peace Party" has +not proved an unqualified success. +Battle royal broke out among the delegates +at noon yesterday. Messrs. <span class="sc">Brady</span>, +<span class="sc">Cochran</span> and <span class="sc">Rickards</span> have been taken +to hospital, but are not expected to recover. +The White House is in ruins.</p> + + +<h4><span class="sc">The Great Fight.</span></h4> + +<p><i>Geneva, July 4th, 1960.</i>—The fight for +the Heavyweight Championship of the +World, held under the auspices of the +League of Nations, took place yesterday +before a gigantic crowd. <span class="sc">Dempsey</span>, who +now wears a flowing white beard, was +wheeled into the ring in a bath-chair. +<span class="sc">Carpentier</span>, now wholly bald, appeared +on crutches and was seconded by two +trained nurses and his youngest grandson. +Both champions were assisted to +their feet by their supporters, shook +hands and immediately clinched. In this +clinch they remained throughout the +entire round, fast asleep. At the opening +of the second round they attempted +to clinch again, but missed each other, +overbalanced and went to the mat. +Neither could be persuaded to get up, +and consequently both were counted +out.</p> + +<p>It is therefore impossible to say who +won or who lost, and the Heavyweight +Championship of the World remains +as open a question as ever.</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Patlander.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<a href="images/465.png"><img src="images/465-311.png" width="311" height="450" alt="... as soon as the bell goes rush at 'im an' keep flittin' in an' out like bits o' forked lightnin'." /></a> +<p><i>Second</i> (<i>to stout entrant in a Novice Competition</i>). "<span class="sc">Now, don't forget—as soon as +the bell goes rush at 'im an' keep flittin' in an' out like bits o' forked +lightnin'.</span>"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page466" id="page466"></a>[pg 466]</span> + + +<h3>EVE VICTORIOUS.</h3> + +<p>"Aren't girls funny, Uncle Alan?" +said Christopher.</p> + +<p>"Christopher," I answered, "girls +are the very dickens. You can't trust +'em. Never have anything to do with +girls, my boy."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to," said Christopher.</p> + +<p>This is what we said to each other +afterwards. If either of us had thought +of it before—— But that's the usual +way, of course.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Christopher and I were sitting by the +fire. We were very peaceful and happy +together, pretending to look at a book +but really doing nothing at all.</p> + +<p>Then Dorothy came into the room. +Dorothy is Christopher's cousin and six +years old. Not that her age matters—six, +sixteen or sixty, they are all the +same.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" inquired +Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," murmured Christopher +contentedly.</p> + +<p>"I wanted you to come and play with +me."</p> + +<p>Christopher shuffled uneasily and I +came to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"Not now, Dorothy," I said; "we +are too comfortable. Come and have a +look at this book with us."</p> + +<p>Dorothy looked at me as though she +had just realised my presence.</p> + +<p>"I want Christopher to come and +play with me," she repeated.</p> + +<p>Christopher has a fine old-fashioned +idea of a host's duty to his guests. He +stifled a yawn and slid from my knee.</p> + +<p>"All right, Dorothy," he said. "What +shall we play?"</p> + +<p>Dorothy skipped like a young lamb. +"Hide and Seek," she sang. "I'll go +and hide. Don't look till I call."</p> + +<p>She danced gaily and triumphantly +out of the room.</p> + +<p>Now I don't mind being snubbed and +I certainly shouldn't trouble about a +spot of a child who ought to have been +kept in the nursery. Of course it's +ridiculous even to begin explaining, isn't +it? The thing's obvious. No, I felt +that Dorothy should be taught a lesson; +that is all. I thought it would be good +for her.</p> + +<p>"That settles Dorothy," I said deliberately. +"Now we can go on reading."</p> + +<p>"But she wants me to go and look +for her," explained Christopher.</p> + +<p>"Then let her want," I said shortly. +"We can't always be—— Christopher, +we'll have a game with Dorothy. We'll +stop where we are and let her look for +herself."</p> + +<p>Christopher chuckled. "She'll be +awfully angry," he said uncertainly.</p> + +<p>"Good!" said I.</p> + +<p>"Cooee!" came a voice from the +far-away. We laughed guiltily to ourselves +and settled down in the chair. The +scheme proceeded according to plan.</p> + +<p>After sundry shrieks and screeches and +whistles Dorothy grew impatient and +adopted bolder tactics.</p> + +<p>"You can't find me," she called hopefully.</p> + +<p>I felt that it was time for a little encouragement.</p> + +<p>"I wonder where she can be?" I said +loudly.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. At last +Dorothy grew desperate. "Look under +the armchair in the hall," she called.</p> + +<p>Christopher and I smiled to ourselves. +Then suddenly we heard her creeping +towards the door. I blame Christopher +for what followed.</p> + +<p>"She's coming," he whispered excitedly. +"Let's hide."</p> + +<p>There was no time to think. We +slipped rapidly under the table. A ridiculous +thing to do, of course; so undignified. +I kick myself when I think of +it, but at the time—— Well, it was +Christopher's fault for getting excited. +So there we were squashed under the +table when the door opened and Dorothy +appeared.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe——" she began, and +then stopped. "Why, they're not here," +she gasped. And then Christopher spoilt +everything by spluttering. I strangled +him at once and we hoped that +Dorothy hadn't heard. We saw her +legs standing very still by the door. +Then they moved quickly round the +table to the fireplace. Christopher and +I held our breaths and waited. We saw +that Dorothy was pulling our chair +round to face the fire. Then she sat +herself in it and all we could see was +the back of the chair.</p> + +<p>There was a great silence. Christopher +and I looked at each other and +decided that something must be done.</p> + +<p>I cleared my throat quietly. "Cooee!" +I fluted.</p> + +<p>Dorothy began to sing a hymn in a +loud voice.</p> + +<p>And then Cecilia came into the room.</p> + +<p>Now Cecilia is Christopher's mother +and my sister. You will understand that +neither Christopher nor I would care +to appear ridiculous in front of her. So +we kept quiet.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Dorothy," said Cecilia; "all +by yourself? Where's Christopher?"</p> + +<p>"I'm reading Christopher's book," +said Dorothy, ignoring the question. +"May I?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, dear," said Cecilia, sitting +down. There was a lot more silence. +It grew very hot and uncomfortable +under the table.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do, Uncle?" whispered +Christopher.</p> + +<p>"Come on," I said desperately. We +crawled out and stood up.</p> + +<p>"What on earth——" began Cecilia.</p> + +<p>I managed a watery smile. "<i>Here</i> +we are," I said to Dorothy.</p> + +<p>Dorothy looked at us in surprise.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> untidy," she said. "Whatever +have you been doing?"</p> + +<p>Christopher swallowed indignantly. +"We were playing 'Hide and Seek' with +you," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I stopped playing a long time +ago," said Dorothy. "I'm reading +now." She turned to our book again. +Cecilia began to laugh.</p> + +<p>"Come and have a wash, Christopher," +I said in a strangled voice, and +we moved off sheepishly.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"Aren't girls funny, Uncle Alan?" +said Christopher.</p> + +<p>"Christopher," I answered, "girls are +the very——" Well, I told you at the +beginning what we said to each other.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>HIGH EXPLOSIVE ART.</h3> + +<blockquote class="note"><p> +[<i>The Morning Post</i> has been conducting a +vigorous campaign against singers who dispense +with careful and prolonged training, +and by their spasmodic and declamatory style +suggest the title of "gaspers."] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, all young folk of tuneful aims</p> +<p class="i2">And fancy names like Joan and Jasper,</p> +<p>I hope you'll read (and duly heed)</p> +<p class="i2"><i>The Morning Post</i> upon the "gasper."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>'Tis not the "fag" that is turned down,</p> +<p class="i2">Though that often proves a rasper</p> +<p>Upon the larynx; here the noun</p> +<p class="i2">Denotes the human, singing gasper.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Rome was not builded in a day,</p> +<p class="i2">Nor even row-boats (<i>teste</i> <span class="sc">Clasper</span>);</p> +<p>No more are voices which will stay,</p> +<p class="i2">Unlike the organ of the gasper.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Attorneys need, before they start,</p> +<p class="i2">Five years of training, but the grasper</p> +<p>Who grudges one to vocal art</p> +<p class="i2">Will end, as he began, a gasper.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Wherefore, ye men and maids who chant,</p> +<p class="i2">Refrain at all costs from exasper-</p> +<p>ating <i>The Morning Post</i>, which can't</p> +<p class="i2">Abide the methods of the gasper.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Another Impending Apology.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"St. —— Hall was filled last night with +people, with Scottish song—and with fog. +Perhaps nothing but the —— Orpheus Choir +could have done that."</p> +<p class="author"> +—<i>Scottish Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote> +<h4>"<span class="sc1">The Japanese Budget</span>.</h4> + +<h5>Tokio, Tuesday.</h5> + +<p>The Cabinet has approved of the Budget, +which totals 1,562 million yen (about 2s.)."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Jersey Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span>, please copy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page467" id="page467"></a>[pg 467]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/467.png"><img src="images/467-600.png" width="600" height="779" alt="" /></a> +<h4>THE POWER OF SENTIMENT.</h4> + +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page468" id="page468"></a>[pg 468]</span> + + +<h3>LITTLE BITS OF LONDON.</h3> + +<h4><span class="sc1">Bond Street</span>.</h4> + +<p>I find it very difficult to walk slowly +down Bond Street as one ought to do; +I always feel so guilty. Most of the +people there look scornfully at me as +if I belonged to Whitechapel, and the +rest look suspiciously at me as if I +belonged to Bond Street. My clothes +are neither good enough nor bad +enough. So I hurry through with the +tense expression of a man who is merely +using Bond Street as a thoroughfare, +because it is the way to his dentist—as +indeed in my case it is. But recently +I <i>did</i> saunter in the proper way, and I +took a most thrilling inventory of the +principal classes of shops, the results of +which have now been tabulated by my +statistical department.</p> + +<p>For instance, do you know +how many shops in the street +sell things for ladies to wear +(not including boots, jewellery +or shoes)? No? Well, there +are thirty-three. Not many, +is it? But then there are +twenty-one jewellers (including +pearl shops) and eight boot +and/or shoe shops; so that, with +two sort of linen places, which +may fairly be reckoned as +female, the ladies' total is sixty-four. +I only counted a hundred-and-fifty +shops altogether. +Of that total, nine are places +where men can buy things to +wear, and ten are places where +they can buy things to smoke; +I have charitably debited all +the cigarette-shops to the men, +even the ones where the cigarettes +are tipped with rose-leaves +and violet-petals. But +even if I do that and give the +men the two places where you can buy +guns and throw in the one garden-seat +shop, we are left with the +result:—</p> + +<table align="center" summary="list" border="0"> + +<tr> + <td class="left" colspan="2"><span class="sc1" style="font-size: 1.2em">Feminine Shops.</span></td> + + <td class="left" colspan="2"><span class="sc1" style="font-size: 1.2em">Masculine Shops.</span></td> + +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left">Dress</td> + <td class="right">33</td> + <td class="left">Dress </td> + <td class="right">9</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left">Jewellers</td> + <td class="right">21</td> + <td class="left">Tobacco</td> + <td class="right">10</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left">Boots and Shoes</td> + <td class="right">8</td> + <td class="left">Motors</td> + <td class="right">9</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left">Sort of Linen Places</td> + <td class="right">2</td> + <td class="left">Guns</td> + <td class="right">2</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left">Dog Bureau</td> + <td class="right">1</td> + <td class="left">Garden Seats</td> + <td class="right">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left"> </td> + <td class="right">—</td> + <td class="left"> </td> + <td class="right">—</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left"> </td> + <td class="right">65</td> + <td class="left"> </td> + <td class="right">31</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + + + + +<p>From these figures a firm of Manchester +actuaries has drawn the startling +conclusion that Bond Street is +more used by women than by men. It +may be so. But a more interesting +question is, how do all these duplicates +manage to carry on, considering the +very reasonable prices they charge? +At one point there are three jewellers +in a row, with another one opposite. +Not far off there are three cigarette-shops +together, madly defying each +other with gold-tips and silver-tips, +cork-tips and velvet-tips, rose-tips and +lily-tips. There is only one book-shop, +of course, but there are about nine picture-places. +How do they all exist? It is mysterious.</p> + +<p>Especially when you consider how +much trouble they take to avoid attracting +attention. There are still one or +two window-dressers who lower the +whole tone of the street by adhering +to the gaudy-overcrowded style; but +the majority, in a violent reaction from +that, seem to have rushed to the wildest +extremes of the simple-unobtrusive. +They are delightful, I think, those reverent +little windows with the chaste +curtains and floors of polished walnut, +in the middle of which reposes delicately +a single toque, a single chocolate +or a single pearl. Some of the picture-places +are among the most modest. +There is one window which suggests +nothing but the obscure branch of a +highly-decayed bank in the dimmest +cathedral town. On the dingy screen +which entirely fills the window is written +simply in letters which time has almost +erased, "—— —— <span class="sc">Pictures</span>." Nothing +could be less enticing. Yet inside, +I daresay, fortunes are made daily. +I noticed no trace of this method at +the Advertisers' Exhibition; they might +give it a trial.</p> + +<p>Now no doubt you fondly think that +Bond Street is wholly devoted to +luxuries; perhaps you have abandoned +your dream of actually buying something +in Bond Street? You are wrong. +To begin with, there are about ten +places where you can buy food, and, +though there is no pub. now, there is a +café (with a licence). There are two +grocers and a poulterer. There is even +a fish-shop—you didn't know that, did +you? I am bound to say it seemed to +have only the very largest fish, but they +were obviously fish.</p> + +<p>Anyone can go shopping in Bond +Street. I knew a clergyman once who +went in and asked for a back-stud. He +was afterwards unfrocked for riotous +living, but the stud was produced. You +can buy a cauliflower in Bond Street—if +you know the ropes. There is a shop +which merely looks like a very beautiful +florist's. There are potatoes in the +window, it is true, but they are "hot-house" +ones; inside there is no trace +of a common vegetable. But if you +ask facetiously for a cauliflower (as I +did) the young lady will disappear below +ground and actually return with a real +cauliflower (<i>de luxe</i>, of course). +I remember few more embarrassing +episodes.</p> + +<p>And if you like to inquire at +the magnificent provision-merchant's +he too will conjure up +from the magic cellars boot-cream +and metal-polish and all +those vulgar groceries which +make life possible. That is the +secret of Bond Street. Beneath +that glittering display of luxurious +trivialities there are +vast reserves of solid prosaic +necessaries, only waiting to be +asked for. A man could live +exclusively on Bond Street. I +don't know where you would +buy your butchers' meat, but I +have a proud fancy that, if you +went in and said something to +one of those sleek and sorrowful +jewellers, he too would vanish +underground and blandly return +to you with a jewelled +steak or a plush chop.</p> + +<p>Many years ago, they tell me, there +<i>was</i> a butcher in Bond Street. Perhaps +you dealt there. For my part I +was not eating much meat in those +days. But I can imagine his window—a +perfect little grotto of jasper and +onyx, with stalactites of pure gold, and +in the middle, resting on a genuine +block of Arctic ice, an exquisite beef-sausage. +I wish he would come back.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to realise that there is +anything but shop-windows in Bond +Street, but I like to think that, up there +in those upper storeys which one never +sees, there does dwell a self-contained +little community to whom Bond Street +is merely the village street, down which +the housewives pass gossiping each +morning to the greengrocer's or the +fishmonger's and never purchase any +pearls at all.</p> + +<p>When the butcher comes back I think +I shall join them.</p> + +<p class="author">A. P. H.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/468.png"><img src="images/468-500.png" width="500" height="437" alt="Did he? I hope you got on as well as I did." /></a> +<p><i>Father</i>. "<span class="sc">Look here, Billy, Mr. Smith called at the +office this morning about your fight with his boy yesterday</span>."</p> +<p><i>Son</i>. "<span class="sc">Did he? I hope you got on as well as I did</span>."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page469" id="page469"></a>[pg 469]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/469.png"><img src="images/469-600.png" width="600" height="451" alt="I hate this kind; they make my sweets so hairy" /></a> +<p><i>Joan</i> (<i>whose mother has just bought her a pair of woollen +gloves</i>). "<span class="sc">Oh, Mummy, I wish you had got kid. I hate this kind; +they make my sweets so hairy</span>."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SAD CASE OF EL GRECO.</h3> + +<p>It was at the National Gallery, situated +on the north side of Trafalgar +Square, that I first made the acquaintance +of one <span class="sc">Domenico Theotocopuli</span>, +a native of Crete, who—probably because +his own people wanted him to +be a stockbroker or something—set up +as a painter in Spain, and was dubbed +by the Dons "El Greco," as you might +say "Scottie."</p> + +<p>For years I have been rather tickled +by his manner of depicting Popes and +Saints as if they were reflected in elongating +mirrors labelled, "Before Dining +at the Toreador Restaurant." But until +quite lately I hardly ever met anyone +who had even noticed him, so I felt +quite bucked on the old chap's account +when I heard that he was considered +one of the most distinguished of the +Spanish painters, past and present, who +are on view just now at Burlington +House.</p> + +<p>And what surprises me is not that +old <span class="sc">Theotocopuli</span> should attract so +much attention in Piccadilly, but that +such lots of people seem never to have +known that he has been exhibiting himself +all this time in Trafalgar Square.</p> + +<p>I'm sure Mrs. Bletherwood didn't, +for one, when she tackled me at the +Chattertons' the other afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Of course you've been to Burlington +House?" she began, and she was +in such a hurry to get first innings that +she didn't give me time to say that I +hadn't yet, but that I meant to go on +my first free day that wasn't foggy.</p> + +<p>"Don't you <i>love</i> those quaint 'El +Grecos'?" she went on. "He's quite +a discovery, don't you think? My +daughter Muriel, who hopes to get into +the Slade School soon now, says she +doesn't see how anybody <i>can</i> see people +differently from the way 'El Greco' saw +people. And yet I don't know that I +<i>quite</i> like the idea of Muriel seeing <i>me</i> +like that, although she's <i>so</i> clever...."</p> + +<p>I could not help thinking that in +Mrs. Bletherwood's case the "El Greco" +treatment would be an admirable corrective +to a certain lateral expansion.</p> + +<p>"Besides," she continued in a confidential +tone, "I've heard or read somewhere +that there's just a doubt whether +he distorted people on purpose or because +there was something wrong with +his eyes. If I thought it was astigmatism +I would insist on taking Muriel to +an oculist. I wonder what you think."</p> + +<p>I raised my teacup suggestively.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bletherwood gasped. "You +don't mean that he——"</p> + +<p>"Like a fish," I said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how too disgraceful!" she exclaimed. +"Fancy their having his pictures +there at all. Such religious subjects +too. I shall warn Muriel at once. +I'm so thankful you told me...."</p> + +<p>Have I done a wrong to Señor +<span class="sc">Domenico Theotocopuli</span> ("El Greco")? +Perhaps; but I hope it has prevented +Miss Muriel Bletherwood from doing +him a greater.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote> +<table align="center" summary="sunset" border="0"><tr> +<td class="left"> +"Sun Sets This Morning</td><td class="left">8.8</td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left"> Sun Sets To-night</td><td class="left">3.56"</td> +</tr></table><br /> + +<p class="author"><i>Liverpool Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Just as in London last Wednesday.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page470" id="page470"></a>[pg 470]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/470.png"><img src="images/470-600.png" width="600" height="409" alt="Well, you see, it does so cut into one's Sundays." /></a> +<p><i>Vicar's Wife</i>. "<span class="sc">The Vicar was asking only this morning why you +weren't in the habit of attending church</span>."</p> +<p><i>Latest Inhabitant</i>. "<span class="sc">Well, you see, it does so cut into one's Sundays</span>."</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>CURES FOR INSOMNIA.</h3> + +<p>The following correspondence, clearly +intended for the Editor of <i>The Daily +Ailment</i>, has found its way into our +letter-box. Another example of post-office +inefficiency.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Sir</span>,—As a regular reader of your +valuable journal I am always deeply +interested in the views of your readers +as expressed in its columns. The recent +letters on the cure of insomnia have +interested me particularly. Although +I have read your paper for many years, +always eaten standard bread, study +most diligently each morning my lesson +on Government wobble and waste, grow +sweet peas, keep fowls, take my holidays +early (in Thanet) and read the +feuilleton, in short perform all the duties +of an enthusiastic loyal Englishman, I +cannot sleep. Yesterday I decided to +try the remedies suggested by your +readers.</p> + +<p>After inviting sleep with "a dish of +boiled onions" I found that I must go +to bed "without having eaten anything +for five hours or so." This meant sitting +up very late, but I found the time +useful for taking "deep long breaths." +Meanwhile I ran through the names +of my friends alphabetically and emptied +the feathers from my pillow, replacing +them with hops. Sometimes +a hop got mixed up in a "deep long +breath," which was rather pleasant.</p> + +<p>Every few minutes I left my friends' +names to say to myself, "I am terribly +sleepy," or "I am falling asleep;" this +was wrong, as the boiled onions had +not had nearly five hours. "Relaxing +all my muscles" was rather awkward, +as one hand was filling the pillow with +hops and the other was "holding a wet +sponge," which <i>would</i> drip water on +the sheets. Another difficulty was +"wafting myself in an imaginary aeroplane" +to bring about "a state of oblivion +and coma," which I might perhaps +have done more easily by putting +the hops to another use.</p> + +<p>I had to cut out the "recital of the +Litany," partly because my friends' +names had only got as far as George +(Lloyd), and also because, being a Nonconformist, +I don't know it. (I must +learn it now the feuilleton is finishing.)</p> + +<p>But the most annoying part of the +business was to find that, after all this +elaborate preparation for sleep, I was +to "take a brisk walk for half-an-hour" +(whatever the weather conditions). +Even this did not work, for by that +time the milkmen and newsboys were +heralding the dawn and kept my brain +too alert.</p> + +<p>As a final effort, do you think you +could produce a nightcap model of the +Sandringham, or is it quite impossible +for one who reads your paper to be +anything but wideawake?</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PERFECT PARTNER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>There are, my Mabel, men who vow</p> +<p class="i2">The perfect wife is theirs</p> +<p>Because she smoothes the ruffled brow</p> +<p class="i2">And drives away their cares;</p> +<p>While there are others hold the view</p> +<p class="i2">That she is best who'll pay</p> +<p>Some trivial attention to</p> +<p class="i2">Her promise to obey.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Well, let each babble in his turn</p> +<p class="i2">About that spouse of his;</p> +<p>Not knowing you, how could they learn</p> +<p class="i2">What true perfection is?</p> +<p>Of all your sex you stand most high</p> +<p class="i2">By far and very far</p> +<p>Who mid your Christmas gifts can buy</p> +<p class="i2">A smokeable cigar.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page471" id="page471"></a>[pg 471]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<a href="images/471.png"><img src="images/471-383.png" width="383" height="450" alt="THE ECONOMISTS." /></a> +<h4>THE ECONOMISTS.</h4> +<p><span class="sc">Scene</span>.—<i>The Coalition Golf Club de luxe</i>.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Mr. Bonar Law</span>. "DARE WE HAVE CADDIES?"</p> +<p><span class="sc">Mr. Lloyd George</span>. "NO, NO. WE ARE OBSERVED. THE PLACE IS ALIVE WITH +ELECTORS."</p><br /> +<p class="center">["Watch your M.P.!"—<i>Poster of Anti-Waste Press</i>.]</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page473" id="page473"></a>[pg 473]</span> + + +<h3>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<a href="images/473.png"><img src="images/473-600.png" width="600" height="416" alt="THURSDAY." /></a> +<h4>THURSDAY.</h4> +<p class="center">[After the Painting by W. <span class="sc">Dendy Sadler</span>.]</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sir D. Maclean, Mr. Hogge, Mr. G. Lambert, Mr. G. R. Thorne, Mr. Asquith, +Mr. Acland, General Seely</span>.</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<p><i>Monday, December 6th.</i>—"Logic has +never governed Ireland and never will," +said Lord <span class="sc">Midleton</span> to-day. It was +certainly conspicuous by its absence +from a good many of the speeches made +in Committee on the Government of +Ireland Bill. Representatives of Southern +Ireland have been clamouring for +greater financial control, but they quite +changed their tone when Clause 24, enabling +the Irish Parliaments to impose +a surtax upon residents in Ireland, came +up for discussion. While professing the +greatest confidence in the desire of their +fellow-countrymen to treat them fairly, +Lords <span class="sc">Drogheda</span>, <span class="sc">Sligo</span> and <span class="sc">Wicklow</span> +agreed in thinking that this was too +dangerous a power to entrust to them; +it would breed absenteeism and drive +capital out of the country.</p> + +<p>Lord <span class="sc">Finlay</span>, to whom as a Scotsman +logic still makes appeal, was for the +deletion of the whole clause. But the +Irish Peers again objected; for they +desired to preserve for the Irish Parliaments +power to remit Imperial taxes, +on the off-chance that some day it +might be exercised. And they carried +their point.</p> + +<p>According to Lieut.-Colonel <span class="sc">Croft</span> +the pencils used by the British Post-Office +are procured from the United +States. As one who has suffered I can +only hope that Anglo-American friendship, +already somewhat strained by the +bacon episode, will survive this revelation.</p> + +<p>On the strength of a rumour that the +seed of Irish peace had been planted in +Downing Street, Mr. <span class="sc">Hogge</span> promptly +essayed to root it up in order to observe +its progress towards fruition. The <span class="sc">Prime +Minister</span>, however, gave no encouragement +to his well-intentioned efforts. +Nor did he satisfy Lieut.-Commander +<span class="sc">Kenworthy's</span> curiosity as to whether +Father <span class="sc">O'Flanagan</span> was "a Sinn Feiner +on the bridge," beyond saying "that is +what we want to find out."</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday, December 7th.</i>—After a +week's interval for reflection and study +Lord <span class="sc">Lincolnshire</span> moved the rejection +of the Agriculture Bill. Adapting an +old joke of Lord <span class="sc">Spencer's</span>, made in +"another place" a generation ago, he +observed that this was no more an +agricultural Bill than he himself was +an agricultural labourer. He knows +however how to call a spade a spade, +if not something more picturesque, and +he treated the measure and its authors +to all the resources of a varied vocabulary. +Possibly his brother peers, while +enjoying his invective, thought that +it had been a little bit overdone, for +of the subsequent speakers only Lord +<span class="sc">Hindlip</span> announced his intention of +voting against the Bill, the others being +of opinion that parts of it were, not excellent +perhaps, but at least tolerable.</p> + +<p>In the Commons Viscount <span class="sc">Curzon</span> +pressed upon the Government the desirability +of licensing side-car combinations +as taxi-cabs. The idea might, one +feels, appeal to a Coalition Government +but Sir <span class="sc">John Baird</span> for the Home +Office hinted at the existence of "serious +objections."</p> + +<p>Collectively the House has an infantile +mind. It went into kinks of laughter +over a question put by Dr. <span class="sc">Murray</span> +regarding the "daily mail service" +between one of his beloved islands and +the Scottish mainland. The author of +the joke—and small blame to him—quite +failed to appreciate how funny he +had been until his neighbours muttered +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page474" id="page474"></a>[pg 474]</span> +in stage-whispers, "<i>Daily Mail!</i>" +"<i>Daily Mail!</i>" Then a wan smile broke +over his own features.</p> + +<p>It has been stated in certain newspapers +that Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> has refused +the Viceroyalty of India in consequence +of the weak state of his health, +and that for the same cause he is likely +to vacate shortly the Chancellorship of +the Exchequer. All I can say is that +on the Treasury Bench he betrays no +outward sign of this regrettable debility +when dealing with critics of the Treasury. +It is not easy to puncture the <i>æs +triplex</i> of Mr. <span class="sc">Bottomley</span>, but two +words from Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> did it +this afternoon.</p> + +<p>Sir <span class="sc">Robert Horne</span> got a second reading +for the Dyes Bill, a +measure which he commended +as being necessary +to protect what is +a key-industry both in +peace and war. Dye-stuffs +and poison-gas +are, it seems, inextricably +intermingled, and +unless the Bill is passed +we shall be able neither +to dye ourselves nor to +poison our enemies.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, December +8th.</i>—The Agriculture +Bill found one thoroughgoing +supporter in the +Duke of <span class="sc">Marlborough</span>, +an "owner-occupier" +so enamoured of Government +control that +he desires to see the +whole of the ditches +and hedges of England +administered out of +public funds; and a host +of critics, friendly and +otherwise. Lord <span class="sc">Chaplin</span>, +though he thought +the Bill one of the worst ever introduced, +declined to vote against the +Second Reading; Lord <span class="sc">Harris</span> believed +that it would make very little difference +one way or the other; Lord <span class="sc">Ribblesdale</span>, +as an old-fashioned Free Trader, +would have nothing to do with it; Lord +<span class="sc">Lovat</span> was of opinion that as an insurance +for our food supply it would not +compare with a Channel Tunnel; and +Lord <span class="sc">Buckmaster</span> feared that it would +rather strengthen than allay the demand +for land nationalisation. The Government +approached the division in some +trepidation and were the more rejoiced +when, in an unusually big House, the +Second Reading was carried by 123 votes +to 85.</p> + +<p>But for the self-sacrifice of Mr. +<span class="sc">Speaker</span> the Commons would have +made themselves ridiculous this evening. +Major <span class="sc">Archer-Shee</span> wanted to +have up a certain newspaper for breach +of privilege in endeavouring to dictate +to Members how they should vote. He +obtained leave to move the adjournment +and would doubtless have provided the +peccant journal with a valuable free +advertisement had not Mr. <span class="sc">Lowther</span>, +reckless of his reputation for infallibility, +suddenly remembered that motions +for the adjournment were intended +for criticising the Government and not +for rebuking irresponsible outsiders. At +his request the gallant Major withdrew +his motion, and <i>The Daily</i> —— lost +its advertisement.</p> + +<p>Invigorated by this episode the House—or +what was left of it—resumed the +Report stage of the Ministry of Health +Bill. The debate was remarkable for +the brevity of some of the speeches. +Sir <span class="sc">Rowland Blades</span> set a good example +to new Members by making a +"maiden" effort in a minute and a +half. But his record was easily beaten +by Mr. <span class="sc">Sexton</span>, who found ten seconds +sufficient for expressing his opinion that +the fact that the House was trying to +legislate in the small hours was sufficient +proof of the necessity of extending +the laws of lunacy. "<i>Si argumentum +requiris circumspice</i>," he might have +said as he gazed upon the recumbent +and yawning figures around him.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, December 9th.</i>—Mr. <span class="sc">Bonar +Law</span> enumerated a portentous list of +measures which the House of Commons +must pass if it wants to enjoy its +Christmas holidays in peace. Lord +<span class="sc">Hugh Cecil</span> wanted to know what +was the use of passing "all these foolish +little Bills." Mr. <span class="sc">Pemberton Billing</span> +had another solution for the difficulty +and asked, "Why not pass them all +<i>ad hoc</i>?" meaning, it is supposed, "<i>en +bloc</i>."</p> + +<p>Well might the <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span> remark +at Question-time that he welcomed +the attacks of a certain section of the +Press on the "Wastrels" because then +he knew the Government was all right. +Mr. <span class="sc">George Lambert</span> made a lively +speech in support of his proposal to +"ration" the Government to a sum of +£808,000,000—the amount Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> +had said would suffice for a +normal year. But his criticisms were +too discursive to be really dangerous, +and his condemnation of "sloppy Socialism" +put up the backs +of the Labour Party.</p> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Chancellor Of +the Exchequer</span> reminded +the House that +when he talked of a +"normal Budget" he +had been careful to add, +"but not this year, next +year or the year after," +which sounds suspiciously +like the nursery +formula, "This year, +next year, sometime, +<span class="sc">never</span>."</p> + +<p>Still the great majority +of the Members were +only too anxious to be +convinced, and passed +by a huge majority the +"blanketing" amendment +of Sir <span class="sc">Godfrey +Collins</span> in favour of +economy in the abstract. +I don't know how this is +to be squared with the +<span class="sc">Prime Minister's</span> +theory that it is the business +of the Government +"to see that the population is contented." +That sounds a little like <i>panem +et circenses</i>—a policy which did not +work out cheaply.</p> + +<p><i>Friday, December 10th.</i>—With the +air of one who has something fresh and +strange to impart the <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span> +informed the House of Commons to-day +that in regard to Ireland "the Government +are determined on a double policy." +The novelty presumably consists in +putting those old stagers, conciliation +and coercion, hitherto only tried tandem-fashion, +into double harness. Martial +law is to be introduced in certain of +the most disturbed districts, and at the +same time such Sinn Fein M.P.'s as are +not "on the run" are to be called into +conference. On the face of it the prospect +looks unpromising, but happily +Ireland is essentially the place where +nothing happens save the unexpected.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/474.png"><img src="images/474-500.png" width="500" height="401" alt="... on this of all evenings, when the audience threatens to outnumber the cast." /></a> +<p><i>Actor-Manager of Touring Company.</i> "<span class="sc">Confound our luck! The leading +lady has deserted us in our hour of need—eloped with the ostler +from yonder public-house—on <i>this</i> of all evenings, when the audience +threatens to outnumber the cast.</span>"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page475" id="page475"></a>[pg 475]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/475.png"><img src="images/475-600.png" width="600" height="369" alt="" /></a> +<p><i>Macdonald.</i> "<span class="sc">Man Sandy, are ye boggit?</span>" <i>Sandy.</i> "<span class="sc">Ay, +Macdonald, I'm boggit.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Macdonald.</i> "<span class="sc">Ye canna get oot?</span>" <i>Sandy.</i> "<span class="sc">I'm no biding here for +the pleesure o 't!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Macdonald.</i> "<span class="sc">I doot ye'd like fine to come oot?</span>" <i>Sandy.</i> "<span class="sc">Ay, I +would that.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Macdonald.</i> "<span class="sc">Weel, 'twad be a Christian act to pull ye oot, but <i>verra</i> +deefficult—unless ye've no fairther use for your red coo.</span>"</p> + +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>MAKING THE LAW POPULAR.</h3> + +<p>A writer in an evening contemporary +complains that one has some difficulty +in finding the notices to jurors in the +newspapers.</p> + +<p>We have often thought that more +prominence might be given to the +Law Notices generally. Printed in the +smallest type and abbreviated almost +beyond understanding, they are by no +means the brightest item of news.</p> + +<p>Would it not be an advantage to hand +the department over to a smart paragraphist? +Readers might then be +entertained by something like the +following:—</p> + +<p>Visitors to the Law Courts to-day +should on no account fail to look in at +King's Bench XIII., which is one of +the cosiest of our beautiful Courts of +Justice. Here will be continued the +scintillating contest between Sir Anthony +Prius, K.C., and that rising young +barrister, Mr. Terry Blee-Smart, K.C. +It is more than probable that the cross-examination +of the humorous butcher +will continue through most of the day.</p> + +<p>The first case on the list in the +Lord Chief's Court to-day is no other +than <i>The King</i> v. <i>The Dean and Chapter +of Mumborough Cathedral</i>. While it is +not expected that his Majesty's engagements +will permit him to be present, +an action of this character is fraught +with more than common interest, since +it must be seldom that the Royal House +finds itself in such conflict with the +Church as to resort to the arbitrament +of the law.</p> + +<p>We see no reason why some legal +engagements should not be boldly displayed, +the more readily to catch the +reader's eye. Why not the following:—</p> + + +<h4><span class="sc1">Royal Courts of Justice.</span><br /> +<span class="sc1">Royal Courts of Justice.</span><br /> +<span class="sc1">Royal Courts of Justice.</span></h4> +<h3>YOU MUST NOT MISS THIS!</h3> +<h4>Chancery Court No. 29,</h4> + <h5>Before</h5> +<h3>Mr. Justice Howling,</h3> +<h3><i>Binks</i> v. <i>Arcana Cinema Company, Ltd.</i></h3> + +<blockquote> +<p>As one of the leading comedians of +the day Mr. <span class="sc">Tim Binks</span> never fails to +create roars of laughter, and with Mr. +<span class="sc">Justice Howling</span> may be relied upon +to put up a show provocative of never-failing +mirth.</p></blockquote> + + +<h4><span class="sc1">Cheer Yourself Up! Admission Free!</span></h4> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Whether it's wet or whether it's fine,</p> +<p>Visit Chancery Twenty-nine.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.</h3> + +<h4><span class="sc1">The Lobster.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The lobster is an oblong crab</p> +<p class="i2">With one or two antennæ;</p> +<p>I fancy life would be less drab</p> +<p class="i2">If people had as many.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I think he uses them to smell,</p> +<p class="i2">But what he most enjoys</p> +<p>Is rubbing them against his shell;</p> +<p class="i2">It makes a funny noise.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He rubs away like anything,</p> +<p class="i2">And you should see his face!</p> +<p>Alas, he thinks that he can sing;</p> +<p class="i2">But that is not the case.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He's very sensitive and shy;</p> +<p class="i2">At last when he is dead</p> +<p><i>He knows the truth</i>—and that is why</p> +<p class="i2">He goes so very red.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i24"> A. P. H.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +"Your System appealed to me as a rational +means of exercise without undue fatigue, and +I started on the 10th of March, 1920. I was +then in my 75th year, and now within only +two months of completing the 85th."</p> +<p class="author"> +<i>Advt. in Sunday Paper</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>If he keeps it up he should be a centenarian +by about the end of next year. +One seems to age rather rapidly under +this system.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page476" id="page476"></a>[pg 476]</span> + +<h3>THE OTHER HALF.</h3> + +<p>I was sitting by Anderson's fire the +other day when his telephone bell rang. +He made the usual insincere exclamation +of disgust—as insincere as the +horror we simulate when a bundle of +letters is brought into the room, to +have letters and to be called up on the +telephone being really adventures and +therefore welcome; and he then crossed +the room to answer the call.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go?" I asked, thinking that +he might prefer to be alone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," he said, and I remained. +I was not trying to overhear, but it +couldn't be helped.</p> + +<p>This is the conversation (his half) that +I heard:—</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Speaking. Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so glad! I was getting +horribly nervous. How is he?"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! I was afraid he +might be. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I must trust you. But +we must never let my wife know."</p> + +<p>"I'll think about it and let you +know."</p> + +<p>"Quite likely. I'll go into that and +let you know. She can't be absolutely +alone anyway. There must be another +some time."</p> + +<p>"And what do you propose to do +now?"</p> + +<p>"You're sure it will be painless?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have him suffer for anything."</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much. I shall tell +my wife he died in his sleep. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>What, I wonder, would you have +made of that? Some telephone conversations +are easy to construct, but +this to me was a puzzle. What had +Anderson been up to? It must be an +awful moment, I have often thought +as I read divorce and other cases, when +a friend is suddenly turned into a witness; +and I had the feeling that that +might be my lot now. Those clever +cross-examining devils, they can get +anything out of you. If Anderson had +known who was ringing him up he +would probably (so I reasoned) have +got me out of the room; but, having +once started, he decided to brazen it out +as the less suspicious way.</p> + +<p>As so often happens, however, I was +wrong. This is the whole innocent +conversation:—</p> + +<p>"Is that 1260?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Anderson there?"</p> + +<p>"Speaking. Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Harding, the veterinary surgeon."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so glad! I was getting +horribly nervous. How is he?"</p> + +<p>"He's worse."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! I was afraid he +might be. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I think we had better put an end +to him."</p> + +<p>"Of course I must trust you. But +we must never let my wife know."</p> + +<p>"Shall I be looking about for another?"</p> + +<p>"I'll think about it and let you know."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps a totally different breed +would be better; not another Peke. +There'd be fewer unhappy associations +then, don't you see?"</p> + +<p>"Quite likely. I'll go into that and +let you know. She can't be absolutely +alone, anyway. There must be another +some time."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And what do you propose to do +now?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll give him poison."</p> + +<p>"You're sure it will be painless?"</p> + +<p>"Quite."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have him suffer for anything."</p> + +<p>"That will be all right."</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much. I shall tell +my wife he died in his sleep. Good-bye."</p> + +<p class="author">E. V. L.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MOUNTAIN AND THE PROPHETS.</h3> + +<p>My dear Charles,—At Geneva +there is, and was long before the arrival +of the League of Nations, a mountain. +There are many mountains in +Switzerland, but Geneva's private +mountain happens to be in France. It +is called "The Salève," a nasty name, +but not of my choosing. If, being in +Geneva, you want to go up The Salève +(as I personally do not) you have first +to get your passport off the police. The +police are always a little difficult about +passports, but, if you mention the name +of The Salève, you will find them easier. +You have next to obtain the French +<i>visa</i> in order to get out of Geneva; +then the Swiss <i>visa</i> in order to get +back again. Thus provided you have +to compete with a complicated and +long-drawn process of trams and frontier +controls; even so you find yourself +at the bottom and not at the top of The +Salève.</p> + +<p>Being a busy (or shall we say idle?) +man yourself, you will thus understand +the reasons of my policy; if the mountain +will not come to <span class="sc">Mahomed</span> then +<span class="sc">Mahomed</span> and the mountain are best +kept apart.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of Geneva have long +been contriving, intriguing, I will even +say complotting, to get me up The Salève. +My doctor, having made me thoroughly +interested in myself, got on to the subject +of exercise; when my banker passed +from the subject of interest on overdrafts +to the advisability of my seeing +the great Geneva view, it was undoubtedly +blackmail; and as for my +dentist—well, you know what dentists +are and what mean advantages they +take. But this one, I think, over-stepped +the limit when he allowed the +crown of my tooth to remind him of +the crown of Mont Blanc; paused in +fixing the former to descant on the +beauties of the latter; told me that +from The Salève I should get a better +view of the latter than he, where he +was, was getting of the former; asked +me almost simultaneously if he was +hurting me and if I had been up The +Salève, and told me that I must go up +it and (which I took to mean "or") +that he might have to hurt me.</p> + +<p>That was the most critical moment +in the whole Battle of The Salève; the +military critics are unanimous that I +should have then said, "I will go up," +had I been in a position to say anything +at all. Saved by the gag, I have +won the war against the Genevois.</p> + +<p>I have taken the standpoint of the +prophet, who, as you know, is not without +honour abroad—a prophet with the +policy outlined above. When a prophet +of my sort decides on a policy, and that +policy consists of doing nothing, he +takes a lot of shifting, even on the flat. +And there the matter and I remained, +when there arrived from England, on +or about November 15th, a positive +cloud of prophets, intent on the League +of Nations. The busiest figure among +them is the secretary of one of the +delegates. Pretending to be my best +friend he sought the occasion of a +heart-to-heart with me. I took it he +wanted to discuss Nations; it appeared +he wanted to discuss mountains. I hoped +he was considering them generally in +mass, possibly with the view of making +a League of them. He was thinking +in the particular, and you can guess +what particular. He was beginning to +think of wanting to go up It.</p> + +<p>In an effective speech, which brought +tears to my eyes but merely gave him +an opportunity to fill and light his pipe, +I put all the "cons" before him, particularly +the passport part. As a man +speaking with the authority behind him +of a world leagued together, he detailed +all the "pros." We must act together, +he and I; he would assemble the prophets, +I the passports.</p> + +<p>I refused to be bullied by him. He +named some major prophets, whom I +should find it more difficult to withstand. +His propaganda amongst them +apparently began at once. Mark the +sequence of events:—</p> + +<p>On Tuesday, November 16th, His +Majesty's Minister-Plenipotentiary and +Envoy-Extraordinary in Switzerland +assembled the British element to dinner. +I have reason to know that he had already +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page477" id="page477"></a>[pg 477]</span> +been approached by the secretary. +The Crown of Mont Blanc was freely +discussed and curiosity was aroused as +to the identity, the desirability, even +the approachability of the nearer mountain.</p> + +<p>On Wednesday, November 17th, I ran +into Lieut.-Col. His Highness the <span class="sc">Jam +Sahib</span> of <span class="sc">Nawanagar</span>—"<span class="sc">Ranji</span>," in brief. +He was standing at the entrance of his +hotel in significant meditation. The +entrance of his hotel looks upon The +Salève and past it to the Crown of +Mont Blanc. And that was where he +looked.</p> + +<p>On Friday, November 19th, I found +the Right Hon. G. N. <span class="sc">Barnes</span> walking +along the Quai de Mont Blanc in the +fatal direction. His eyebrows pointed +relentlessly upward.</p> + +<p>On Saturday, November 20th, Mr. +<span class="sc">Balfour</span> arrived. The secretary began +to talk about a date for our excursion.</p> + +<p>On Sunday, November 21st, I became +involved in conversation with Lord +<span class="sc">Robert Cecil</span> in his room in his hotel. +He moved towards the window, and as +he did so Armenia, Vilna and all the +Powers that want to come into the +League and all the Powers that want +to stay out of the League faded from +his mind, and he called attention to +the Crown of Mont Blanc and fixed +his eagle eye upon the mole-hill in +between.</p> + +<p>On Monday, November 22nd, the +secretary came to me and ordered me +to provide passports, duly <i>visaed</i>, for +The Salève party—seven in all, myself +included. I told him that I would appeal +direct to the delegates themselves, +with whom I had already done some +defensive propaganda on my own. He +told me it was nothing to do with the +delegates; it was the delegates' ladies. +Fool that I was, I had never thought +of them!</p> + +<p>That night I wrote in my diary: "At +Geneva there is a mountain. It is called +The Salève—a nasty name for a nasty +mountain. On Saturday I shall be on +the top of it. I always knew that +the League of Nations would make +trouble."</p> + +<p>On Tuesday, November 23rd, I sent +an emissary among the ladies to persuade +them that the summit of The +Salève was loathsome. The emissary +succeeded in establishing this point by +contrasting it unfavourably with the +Crown of Mont Blanc. The ladies +thanked the emissary cordially for her +most interesting information and said +they would take steps to see the Crown +of <i>Mont Blanc</i> more nearly, even if those +steps had to be up The Salève.</p> + +<p>That night I wrote in my diary: +"For a year I have fought and won, +but on Saturday the Crown of Mont +Blanc will witness my defeat, and the +whole range of the Alps will look on in +silent contempt."</p> + +<p>On Wednesday morning, November +24th, I met Mr. <span class="sc">Balfour</span> crossing the +Pont du Mont Blanc. He was looking +at It with that dreamy smile of his, +which seems to laugh at the littleness +of man and the futility of his policies. +That finished me.</p> + +<p>On Wednesday night, November 24th-25th +(read your paper to witness if I +lie), the Crown of Mont Blanc fell +off ... I have left The Salève where +it is. What does it matter now?</p> + +<p class="author">Yours ever,</p> +<p class="author">Henry.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<a href="images/477.png"><img src="images/477-318.png" width="318" height="450" alt="How small the world is, to be sure!" /></a> +<p>"<span class="sc">Hullo, Brown! Fancy running up against you. How small the world is, +to be sure!</span>"</p> +<p>"<span class="sc">Y-yes. Terribly small, isn't it?</span>"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Enough Said.</h4> + +<p>"Sir Henry apologised at the close for having +made the lecture somewhat shorter than usual. +Sir Donald —— said that theirs was an unspoken +gratitude to Sir Henry for having done +what he had been able to do."</p> +<p class="author"> +—<i>Scots Paper.</i></p> + +<hr /><br /> + +<blockquote> +<p class="author">"<span class="sc">Madrid</span>, Dec. 8.</p> + +<p>"The Ministry of Public Works has announced +that on January 15 next an opportunity will +be offered to foreign firms to secure orders for +119 railway engines and tenders needed by the +Spanish railway companies. Tenders must be +handed personally by a duly accredited representative +of the firm making the offer."</p> +<p class="author"> +—<i>Times.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The engines may, however, be done up +in a parcel and sent by post in the +usual manner.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page478" id="page478"></a>[pg 478]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/478.png"><img src="images/478-600.png" width="600" height="385" alt="The Sahib is coming very quickly, I tell you." /></a> +<p><i>Indian Servant (as telephone continues ringing).</i> "<span class="sc">Oh, Sar, do not +be so angry. The Sahib is coming very quickly, I tell you.</span>"</p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ARRIVAL OF THE MANX BALLET.</h3> + +<p>The first visit of the Manx Ballet to +London is undoubtedly the most outstanding +feature in the annals of choregraphic +and corybantic realism since +the historic <i>première</i> of the Botocudo +Troupe on September 31st, 1919. And +it is all the more welcome as an indication +of the emergence of a native school, +fully equipped in technique and scenic +resource and, above all, imbued from +start to finish with a high sense of +the paramount importance of psycho-analysis +in eliminating all supra-liminal +elements from the orchestro-mimetic +drama.</p> + +<p>The most ambitious as well as the +most successful item in the programme +presented on Saturday night at the +Colossodrome was <i>The Cat of Ballasalla</i>, +that wonderful old Manx legend +of the Princess who was turned into +a cat by the enchantments of the +Wizard of Dhoon and subsequently +sentenced to decaudation by the cruel +Scandinavian invader, <span class="sc">Magnus Barfod</span>. +The scene of the trial in the +great synclinorium of Greeba Castle—exhibiting +contemporaneous carboniferous +tuffs, soft argillaceous rocks +with choriambic fossils as well as later +dolerite dykes, amid which the feline +amenities of the Princess were illustrated +with miraculous agility by Miss +Agneesh Crannoge—compares favourably +with the most ambitious enormities +ever perpetrated by the genius of +<span class="sc">Bakst</span>, <span class="sc">Diaghilev</span>, or even <span class="sc">Cocodrillo</span>, +the Sardinian neo-Gongorist.</p> + +<p>The music, which is chiefly founded on +Manx folk-songs, developed and adapted +by Mr. Orry Poolvash, is richly suggestive +of the psycho-analytic basic +aroma which pervades the entire scenario. +The absence of a Coda in the +Funeral March which concludes the +ballet is an exquisitely pathetic touch +which could only have occurred to a +composer of genius. The orchestration +is sumptuous and sonorous, the usual +instruments being supplemented by two +Glory Quayle-horns, a quartet of Laxey-phones +with rotating C and C sharp +crooks, a Manx harp with three strings, +and a Miaowola, which gives out the +Death Motive of the Princess at the +various crises of the drama in tones of +sublimated anguish and intensity.</p> + +<p>We have only space in this brief preliminary +notice to remark that the programme +includes a humorous extravaganza +entitled <i>The Quirks of Quilliam</i>, +in which a grotesque <i>pas de quatre</i> for +the <i>Deemster</i>, the <i>Doomster</i>, the <i>Boomster</i> +and the <i>Scrabster</i>, forms the central +episode; and ends with a satiric sketch, +<i>The Golden Calf of Man</i>, apparently +aimed at the extravagance of Lancashire +trippers, who are pursued by demons +into Sulby Glen, and released, to the +sound of sea-trumpets, by the beneficent +intervention of <i>Lord Greeba</i> on their +promising to evacuate the island.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>GOLFING "IFS."</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>If you bring your own lunch</p> +<p>And frugally munch</p> +<p>Your sandwich and cake</p> +<p>For economy's sake;</p> +<p>If you strictly abstain</p> +<p>From sloe-gin and champagne,</p> +<p>Never touching a drop</p> +<p>Save perhaps ginger-pop;</p> +<p>If you're clever enough</p> +<p>To keep out of the rough,</p> +<p>If you don't slice or hook</p> +<p>Into pond, dyke or brook</p> +<p>Your new three-shilling ball,</p> +<p>And, best saving of all,</p> +<p>If you carry your clubs,</p> +<p>You can pay heavy "subs.,"</p> +<p>Fees for entrance and greens,</p> +<p>Without straining your means,</p> +<p>And, though you're a middle-</p> +<p class="i2">Class man, not a peer,</p> +<p>Agree with <span class="sc">Lord Riddell</span></p> +<p class="i2">That golf isn't dear.</p> + </div> </div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page479" id="page479"></a>[pg 479]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/479.png"><img src="images/479-600.png" width="600" height="393" alt="Well, cheer up. Your luck's bound to change soon." /></a> +<p><i>Cheery Sportsman.</i> <span class="sc">"Had six falls in two days, have you? Well, +cheer up. Your luck's bound to change soon. These things always come in cycles."</span></p> +<p><i>Rough Rider.</i> <span class="sc">"Mine seem to come in motor lorries."</span></p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<h3>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</h4> + +<p>The news that Mr. <span class="sc">Stephen Leacock</span> has published a +fresh series of burlesques will, I do not doubt, add to the +Christmas jollity of a vast crowd of laughter-lovers. The +name of it is <i>Winsome Winnie, and other New Nonsense +Novels</i> (<span class="sc">Lane</span>), and I can only describe it in that pet phrase +of the house-agents as "examined and strongly recommended" +for the merriest five-shillings' worth that I have +enjoyed this long time. If ever a volume demanded to be +read aloud over the Yule log here it is. Which of the eight +novels is the most irresistible must remain, I suppose, a +matter of individual taste; for myself I found the opening +chapter in the title-tale the funniest thing in the collection, +and that not forgetting the billiard match in the detective +story, a contest that I defy anyone to follow without +tears. To attempt analysis of such happily unforced +humour would be a dark and dreadful task; but I incline to +think that, more than most, the fun of Mr. <span class="sc">Leacock</span> (to be +accurate one should, I suppose, say Dr. <span class="sc">Leacock</span>) depends +upon the sudden tripping-up of the reader in his moment +of fancied security. The <i>cliché</i>, with its deceptive appearance +of solid and familiar ground, conceals an unexpected +trap. Thus <i>Winnie</i>, the thrown-upon-the-world heroine, +asked by the family lawyer how she proposes to gain a +livelihood, replies in consecrated phrase, "I have my needle." +"<i>Let me see it</i>," says the lawyer. But I grow pedantic; +far more important than the method of this little book is its +gift of seasonable entertainment, for which we need only +wipe our eyes and be grateful.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In <i>The Royal Artillery War Commemoration Book</i> Messrs. +<span class="sc">G. Bell and Sons</span> have produced a noble volume worthy of +the great record of the Royal Regiment. To the energy +and enthusiasm of Mrs. <span class="sc">Ambrose Dudley</span> is largely due +the collection of the fine material which Major-General +Sir <span class="sc">Herbert Uniacke</span> has here set out in fair order and +proportion. Personal diaries dealing with various phases +of the War on all fronts or with the daily routine of batteries +are here interspersed with articles and poems of a more +purely literary quality and with original illustrations, largely +the work of Gunner-officers and extremely well reproduced. +Among the most notable contributors are Brigadier-General +J. H. <span class="sc">Morgan</span>, Major V. R. <span class="sc">Burkhardt</span>, D.S.O., Major The +Master of <span class="sc">Belhaven</span>, Captain <span class="sc">Victor Walrond</span> (the last +two killed in action), Captain <span class="sc">Gilbert Holiday</span>, Captain H. +<span class="sc">Asquith</span>, Lieut. <span class="sc">Robert Nichols</span>, Lieut. <span class="sc">Gilbert Frankau</span>, +Gunner <span class="sc">Mears</span>, the Hon. <span class="sc">Neville Lytton</span>, Mr. <span class="sc">Septimus +Power</span>, Mr. W. <span class="sc">Rothenstein</span>, Miss <span class="sc">Lucy Kemp-welch</span> +and Mr. C. <span class="sc">CLARK</span>. <i>Punch</i> is represented by several +artists, including Captain E. H. <span class="sc">Shepard</span>, M.C., and +Lieut. <span class="sc">Wallis Mills</span> (both of the Regiment), who have +contributed some delightful colour-sketches, very faithfully +observed. Many of the poems, too, that appear in the +volume have been reprinted from the pages of <i>Punch</i>. +There are brief records of those members of the Regiment +who won the V.C., many portraits of "Representative +Artillerymen," and a Roll of Honour of fallen officers, +numbering 3,507. Lack of space alone prevented the inclusion +of the names of the 45,442 Other Ranks who gave +their lives for their country. Every Gunner who does not +possess this splendid memorial work should have it given +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page480" id="page480"></a>[pg 480]</span> +to him this Christmas by some proud relative or friend. +Like the Regiment, it should go <i>Ubique</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When Mr. <span class="sc">Robert Chambers</span> decides to give his neurotic +New York society women a miss, and exploit his more +imaginative and adventurous vein, I always know that I +am in for a late night and an extra large gas bill. Like +the British soldier Mr. <span class="sc">Chambers</span> does not carry the word +"impossible" in his vocabulary. Why should he, since he +can give the semblance of reality to the utterly unbelievable? +Then one mutters, "What utter rubbish!" and sends round +to the bookseller to enquire if by any chance there is a +sequel coming out. In <i>The Slayer of Souls</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and +Stoughton</span>) Mr. <span class="sc">Chambers</span> is at his best and most impossible. +A race of dreadful magicians, the descendants of +the Old Man of the Mountain, who have been multiplying +and acquiring extraordinary psychic powers in the interior +of China for centuries, come forth to do battle with the +United Secret Service for the souls of men. They have +inspired the Hun, and the +Bolshevik has been their +tool. Fortunately a beautiful +young American girl, +who was brought up in +their midst and has learned +all their grizzly powers and +(as it seems) a bit more, is +on the side of the "forces of +law and order." The struggle +is titanic, for these +magicians can slay and be +slain corporeally and incorporeally +with equal ease. I +do not need to tell you who +wins out, but neither will +I intimate how it is done. +I can only say that I +envy anybody who is fortunate +enough to have a +long evening before him +and <i>The Slayer of Souls</i> +at his elbow, still unread.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In <i>Uncle Pierce's Legacy</i> +(<span class="sc">Methuen</span>) Mrs. <span class="sc">Dorothea +Conyers</span> gives us once more all that we have learned +to expect of her novels: the friendly, witty, blundering servants; +the hunting society in which wealth and poverty, +breeding and vulgarity, cheerfully rub shoulders; the descriptions +of the wistful beautiful West of Ireland in autumn +and winter; and above all the horses. Added to all this +there are Sinn Fein raids, real and imaginary, to bring +things up to date. A rather unconvincing plot, with a +dash of <i>Great Expectations</i> in it, yet offers a situation +which has plenty of amusing possibilities. <i>Honor</i> and <i>Evie +Nutting</i>, two middle-aged spinsters, find themselves the +possessors of eight thousand a year, on condition that they +spend it all. That sounds, of course, a very pleasant +arrangement; but they have been struggling for years to +make ends meet and economy has become a habit. The +end of the first quarter finds them sending <i>Harris</i>, the +English manservant, in haste to buy a frying-pan with the +last unspent three shillings and sixpence. That the <i>Uncle +Pierce</i> of the title should be really a brother, that characters +should change their names without rhyme or reason from +paragraph to paragraph, and that inverted commas should +make their appearance just anywhere—all this, I think, +is the author's clever way of suggesting an atmosphere +of Irish irresponsibility, and it is quite successful. <i>Uncle +Pierce's Legacy</i> is a pleasant tale most pleasantly told, and +it is not Mrs. <span class="sc">Conyers</span>' fault, but her misfortune (and ours), +that novels which describe the lighter side of Irish life, +even with the tenderest humour, are more likely just now +to make one sigh than smile.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I do not know whether <i>The Scar</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and Stoughton</span>) +first saw publication in any of our popular dailies, but +from internal evidence I should be strongly inclined to suspect +it. At least Miss <span class="sc">Ruby M. Ayres</span> has written an +admirable example of the class of tale, beloved of our serial +public, in which new every morning are the tribulations of +the elect, only to vanish with startling suddenness in the +last days of June or December. For example, <i>Mark</i>, the +hero, begins as the misunderstood son of one of those +widower-fathers who in such stories dwell for ever behind +the locked doors of studies, leaving in this instance <i>Mark</i> to +be the victim of an aunt whose lack of sympathy approaches +the pantomimic. All the usual results follow, even to the +acquisition by <i>Mark</i> of a +faithful hound, which the +least experience of sentimental +fiction would have +caused any insurance company +to refuse on sight. +When therefore <i>Aunt +Midian</i>, following her appointed +course, effaced +this friend-of-man, I confess +that my grief was to +some extent tempered by +a recognition of the inevitable. +Of course, however, +<i>Mark</i> does not remain +for long in what I +might call these dog-days +of his young affection; +love, strong, passionate +and not too slavishly restricted +to a single object, +soon has his world going +round as fast as the most +exacting reader could desire. +For the decorous +details of this delirium I +need only add that, if you want them, you know where +to go to find them.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Had I been asked to godfather <i>Smith and the Pharaohs</i> +(<span class="sc">Arrowsmith</span>) I should have refused to stand, unless its +name was changed to "Barbara who Came Back," for the +tale of <i>Barbara</i> is by far the best in this book of short +stories. It would be boastful—as well as untrue—to say +that I have read all of Sir <span class="sc">H. Rider Haggard's</span> many +books, but as far as my experience of them goes I find a +delightfully fresh quality in this tale. It may be old-fashioned +and over-sentimental, but in spite of these defects +it has a very definite charm, and its conclusion makes a +curious and legitimate appeal to the emotions. All the +other stories are well up to standard, and it is amazing +that an author who has written so much still shows no +symptoms either of weariness or vain repetition.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Those who appreciate Miss <span class="sc">C. Fox Smith's</span> familiarity +with the ways and moods of sailormen and her flair for the +true sea-tang will welcome the new collection of poems +which she has brought out under the title, <i>Ships and Folks</i> +(<span class="sc">Elkin Mathews</span>). Most of these verses have appeared in +<i>Punch</i>, and no further commendation is here needed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/480.png"><img src="images/480-500.png" width="500" height="407" alt="Good heavens! Can it be possible that such things are?" /></a> +<p><i>Christmas Card Artist (of the Old School).</i> <span class="sc">"Good heavens! Can it +be possible that such things <i>are</i>?"</span></p> +</div><br /><br /> + +<hr /> + +<p> </p> + +<table align="center" summary="note"> +<tr> +<td class="note"> +<h4><span class="sc">Transcriber's Note:</span></h4> + +<p>Page 465: Tristan d'Acunha—this spelling also appears in the next +issue of 'Punch'.</p> + +<p>Page 478: choregraphic is a valid spelling of choreographic.<br /> +(Oxford Dictionary: Cho'regraph etc. See CHOREOGRAPH etc.)</p> + +</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 159, DECEMBER 15, 1920***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 19334-h.txt or 19334-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/3/3/19334">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/3/3/19334</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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