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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:48:18 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:48:18 -0700 |
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diff --git a/22313-h/22313-h.htm b/22313-h/22313-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6129728 --- /dev/null +++ b/22313-h/22313-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1999 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 14 June 2007), see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=us-ascii" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 150, February 2, 1916, by Various</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ +<!-- +body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +p {text-align: justify;} +p.ccap {text-align: center;} +p.author {margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 5%; text-align: right;} +blockquote {text-align: justify;} +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} +hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} +html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} +hr.full {width: 100%;} +html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} +hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} +html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} +span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal;} +.poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} +.poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} +.poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} +.poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} +.poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} +.figcenter {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; + margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figright {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; + margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figleft {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; + margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figcenter img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; + border-bottom-style: none;} +.figright img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; + border-bottom-style: none;} +.figleft img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; + border-bottom-style: none;} +.figcenter p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} +.figright p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} +.figleft p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} +.figcenter {margin: auto;} +.figright {float: right;} +.figleft {float: left;} +--> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 150, +February 2, 1916, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 150, February 2, 1916 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Owen Seaman + +Release Date: August 14, 2007 [EBook #22313] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, VOL 150 *** + + + + +Produced by Stephen Blundell, Jonathan Ingram and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>Vol. 150.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>February 2, 1916.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>[pg +81]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p>According to the Correspondent of <i>The Daily Mail</i> who +described the festivities at Nish, the King of <span class= +"smcap">Bulgaria</span> "has a curious duck-like waddle." This is +believed to be the result of his effort to do the Goose-Step while +avoiding the Turkey-Trot.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Owing to the extraction of benzol and toluol from gas for the +purpose of making high-explosives it is stated that consumers may +have to put up with some decrease in illuminating power. It is +expected, in view of the good object involved, that the +announcement will be received in a spirit of toluoleration.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>We cannot agree with the actor who complains that his manager +forbids him to wear his armlet on the stage. The sympathies of the +audience might be entirely deranged by the discovery that the +elderly villain was an attested patriot while the young and +beautiful hero was either ineligible or a slacker.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Describing the depressed condition of the laundry trade a +witness at the Clerkenwell County Court said, "We are eight million +double collars short every week." It is shrewdly conjectured that +they are in the neighbourhood of the Front.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Nothing in the course of his Balkan pilgrimage is reported to +have pleased the <span class="smcap">Kaiser</span> so much as a +steamer-trip on the Danube. It was looking so sympathetically +blue.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Government is going to close Museums and Picture-galleries +to the public. No one shall accuse us of being Apostles of +Culture.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>It is said that the Australian and New Zealand soldiers now in +London are very fond of visiting the British Museum, and take a +particular interest in the Egyptian antiquities. But it is not true +that they now refer to England as "The Mummy Country."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Austrians and Hungarians are said to be quarrelling as to +whether the occupied Serbian territory should eventually belong to +the Monarchy or the Kingdom, and the jurists on either side are +ransacking the history of the past for arguments to support their +respective cases. Here we have another instance of the fondness of +learned men for disputing about purely academic questions. Serbia +will belong to the Serbians.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An American gentleman, who started out to visit his wife when +she was staying with her mother and failed to find her after three +days' search, excuses himself on the ground that he had forgotten +her maiden name. He puts it down to absence of mind; and his +mother-in-law is inclined to agree with him.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Soap is the latest article to be placed on the list of absolute +contraband; and it is now more certain than ever that the Germans +will not come out of the War with clean hands.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>In view of the impending paper-famine a widely-circulated +journal announces its readiness to receive back from the public any +parcels of old copies marked "waste paper." In the opinion of its +trade-rivals the inscription is superfluous.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A suggestion has been made by a Registrar in Bankruptcy that the +Tercentenary of <span class="smcap">Shakspeare's</span> death +should be celebrated by the performance in every large town of one +of the Bard's plays; and some regret has been expressed that +anybody should take advantage of a national celebration to boom his +own business.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"'How many of us realise that, were it not for America, the War +to-day in Europe, as fought, could not even exist?'" is the +question put, according to a New York correspondent, "by Mr. Gutzon +Borglum, the great American sculptor." Still the War has its +compensations. But for its existence we might never have heard of +Mr. <span class="smcap">Gutzon Borglum</span>, the great American +sculptor.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A correspondent, describing the recent food riots in Berlin, +says that they were chiefly due to "women who were fed up with the +difficulty of providing meals for their families."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The following notice was found affixed to a building somewhere +near the Front: "<span class="smcap">Sir Officers</span>,—Ask +the bathroom's key to the office. The bathroom shall be wash by the +servant after bath. Sir Officer without servant shall not have the +key." It sounds rather abrupt.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Owing to the Government demand that nothing in the way of +unnecessary expenditure should be allowed, it is expected that all +paid lecturers on War Economy and National Thrift will be given a +week's notice.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Opposing a suggestion of the Wandsworth Borough Council to +discontinue the issue of fiction from the free libraries, a member +of the Women's Freedom League said that a novel was to a woman what +a pipe was to a man. Well, not quite, perhaps. We never saw a man +begin a pipe at the wrong end.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:300px;"><a href= +"images/81.png"><img width="300" src="images/81-300.png" alt="" /></a> +<p>"<span class="smcap">They ought to be at the Front. That's the +sort they want there.</span>"</p> +<p>"<span class="smcap">They won't go, Sir. They're conscientious +objectors</span>."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>From an article by Mr. <span class="smcap">Austin +Harrison</span> in <i>The Sunday Pictorial</i>:—</p> +<blockquote>"A few strange gentlemen attitudinise in Westminster on +principle, but these men would cut capers of principle in any case, +like Mr. Snodgrass when he went skating."</blockquote> +<p>Or <i>Mr. Winkle</i> when he wrote verses.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"In the Continental boat-trains the warning, '<i>Licht +linauslehnen</i>,' has not been removed from the windows.... +Occasionally you see that '<i>Nicht linauslehnen</i>' has been +indignantly pasted over."—<i>Provincial +Paper.</i></blockquote> +<p>The latter is certainly a little more German than the other.</p> +<hr /> +<p>After a description of the new lighting order:—</p> +<blockquote>"The regulations will impose a great deal of work on +the police, and it is the duty of the public to make it as light as +possible."—<i>Hampshire Observer.</i></blockquote> +<p><i>Lux</i>, in fact, <i>a non lucendo</i>.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A Lonely Life.</h3> +<blockquote>"Nothing but margarine has entered my door since the +War began."—<i>Dr. <span class="smcap">C. W. Saleeby</span> +in "Daily Chronicle."</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>[pg +82]</span> +<h2>THE WATCH DOGS.</h2> +<h3>XXXIV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Charles</span>,—We're having a +great time with our new arrival, one of those confounded civilians, +who are only let into the business because the business, in these +modern and highly complicated days, cannot be carried on without +them. He's a jolly old Lieutenant of about fifty years; he has a +concentrated experience of the world but doesn't remember having +been mixed up in a big European war before. At first I kept on +telling him that business is one thing and war is another, but he +wouldn't see it and persisted in doing and saying and thinking +things which were bound to land us in a national disaster. He had +no respect whatever for the Pass Memo., his central and sole idea +being to push along with the elimination of the Bosch. When he +wanted something done, he just went to the Top-man of the +department, called him "I say," and went straight to the point. The +Top-man had never been asked to do business this way before.</p> +<p>He put up with it a dozen times or so, but finally he had to +take steps. So he wrote a little note on a Buff slip and addressed +it, very rightly of course, to the Top-man but one; and the Top-man +but one read it and passed it very carefully to the Top-man but +two; and so, with that inevitability which is the hall-mark of the +system, it was passed and passed and passed until it came (in less +than a week) to the office of the ancient Lieutenant on the +opposite side of the street. And it ran: "Lieutenant So-and-So +should be notified that it is neither necessary nor desirable that +he should call personally at this office to transact his business. +Matters should be put forward by him through the usual course of +correspondence." The ancient Lieutenant, who wouldn't hurt +anybody's feelings for the world, felt that it was up to him to put +the matter right. So he stepped across to the Top-man's office, and +when the Top-man asked him, somewhat pointedly, if he had received +his note, the Ancient very genially replied, "Yes, thank you," and +explained that he had just looked in personally to acknowledge +receipt of same.</p> +<p>It sounds as if a dreadful quarrel would be raging between the +Ancient on one side and on the other the Top-man, the whole series +of under-Top-men and all persons in any way representing the +military system. You'd expect to hear that the Ancient's +conversation at mess is insubordinate, rebellious, or at least +bitterly sarcastic. No such thing; the old gentleman becomes a more +ardent militarist every day; wants to see once for all an end of +all lawyer-politicians, and all so-called "business-men." "We have +made a poor show of being civilians," is his point; "let's try +being soldiers for a generation or two."</p> +<p>On the whole he thinks we should find it easier to carry on as a +British Empire in uniform than as a German province in mufti. He +says that what's wrong with Prussian Militarism is that it is +Prussian; to succeed, the thing has to be run by gentlemen.</p> +<p>A Top-man honoured our mess the other night. Under the mellowing +influence of our Curried Bully he unbent somewhat and encouraged +the Ancient on his pet subject. Under the influence of the latter's +theories he unbent still further. He discoursed upon the true +inwardness of the military method of running an office, pausing at +last for the Ancient to say a few words. "Oh," said he, "I don't +allow myself to be put off by a trifle like that. There's many a +kind heart behind a Buff slip, and we all have our little +weaknesses." The idea of having a little weakness was so novel to +the Top-man that it caused him to choke and to be led from the +mess, eventually, in a state of nervous exhaustion.</p> +<p>The latest information from the trenches goes to support the +maxim that all one requires to wage war is a bold face and a gas +helmet. A very distinguished O.C. went up the other day to inspect +the trenches of his command and to express such views of their +faults and the faults of their inmates as might occur to him from +time to time. He had progressed some way up the communication +trench, when it struck him that, whereas his recent order had been +particularly menacing to everyone of whatever rank who was +discovered there or thereabouts without a gas helmet, nevertheless +he himself was at that moment innocent of such furniture. +Fortunately there came from the opposite direction an odds-and-end +private, with nothing in his favour except the wearing of the +well-known satchel so much in vogue in Flanders society for the +carrying of gas helmets. That was enough for the Commander; this +was essentially one of those privates to be called "My man," and +treated as such. Politely but firmly he was requested to part with +his satchel as a temporary loan to his General. Firmly, if +respectfully, he refused to comply. Them was his orders. The +Commander congratulated him on his very proper attitude, explained +to him the nature of the higher commands and demanded the satchel. +The man looked like being stony about it, but the Commander became +irresistibly commanding and got the satchel at last. He buckled it +on, and the party proceeded, characterising the reluctance of the +private to part with his treasure as almost an exaggerated sense of +obedience to printed orders.</p> +<p>Gas helmets always exercise a peculiar fascination for people +who inspect trenches, and the matter was now especially prominent +in the mind of the Commander as he marched along, outwardly +appearing to be at his happiest here, inwardly thanking goodness +that his home was elsewhere. Conceive his delight to discover a +subaltern, fresh from ablutions, with no satchel upon him! The +subaltern, distinctly aware of this amongst his many failings, was +all for being passed by as insignificant; the Commander was all for +a scene. Everybody halted, and the air became pregnant with +possibilities.... It was a nicely calculated speech, leading up +gradually to the pointed contrast between (<i>a</i>) overworked +Commander, weighed down with responsibilities, absorbed day and +night in momentous matters of large principle, nevertheless +infallible on smallest detail and now in possession of gas helmet, +one, and (<i>b</i>) very junior subaltern, free to enjoy the +open-air irresponsible life of the trenches, yet neglecting even +the few small matters entrusted to him, without same.</p> +<p>"And what's more, Sir," he concluded, "I doubt very much +whether, if someone gave you a helmet now, you'd know what to do +with it. Here, take mine." (The attendant Brass-hats liked the +"mine," but very discreetly kept their emotions to themselves.)</p> +<p>It was not a peculiarly clean or remarkably well-packed satchel +which the trembling hand of the disgraced subaltern took from the +Commander, and the latter did not intend to let attention dwell too +long upon the grimy details of its exterior. Fixing the steel eye +of conscious rectitude on his victim, he leant slightly towards him +and very unmistakably shouted at him the one dread word, +"<span class="smcap">Gas!</span>".... Unfortunately for the +Commander the subaltern not only knew what to do next, but also had +just the physical strength remaining in his fingers to start doing +it. With the eyes of all upon him (and by this time there had +gathered round quite a nice little crowd, thoroughly conversant +with the event in progress), the subaltern opened the satchel +alleged to belong to the Commander and took from it—no, +Charles, not a gas helmet, but a pair of socks—and +<i>such</i> socks too!</p> +<p class="author">Yours ever, <span class="smcap">Henry</span>.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>[pg +83]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:600px;"><a href= +"images/83.png"><img width="600" src="images/83-600.png" alt="" /></a> +<h2>SINKING.</h2> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" id="page84"></a>[pg +84]</span> +<h2>ON BELLONA'S HEM.</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Misfire.</span></h3> +<p>When I entered the third smoker there was, as there now always +is, a soldier in one corner.</p> +<p>Just as we were starting, another soldier got in and sat in the +opposite corner. The freemasonry of Khaki immediately setting to +work, within two minutes they knew all about each other's camp, +destination and regiment, and had exchanged cigarettes.</p> +<p>The first soldier had not yet left England and was stolid; the +newcomer had been in the trenches, had been wounded in the leg, had +recovered, was shortly going back, and was animated. His leg was +all right, except that in wet weather it ached. In fact he could +even tell by it when we were going to have rain. His "blooming +barometer" he called it. Here he laughed—a hearty laugh, for +he was a genial blade and liked to hear himself talk.</p> +<p>The first soldier did not laugh, but was interested. He thought +it a convenient thing to have a leg that foretold the weather.</p> +<p>"Which one is it?" he asked.</p> +<p>"The left."</p> +<p>The first soldier was disproportionately impressed.</p> +<p>"The left, is it?" he said heavily, as though he would have +understood the phenomenon in the right easily enough. "The +left."</p> +<p>Completely unconscious of the danger-signals, the second soldier +now began to unload his repertory of stories, and he started off +with that excellent one, very popular in the early days of the War, +about the wealthy private.</p> +<p>For the sake of verisimilitude he laid the scene in his own +barracks. "A funny thing happened at our place the other day," he +began. He had evidently had great success with this story. His +expression indicated approaching triumph.</p> +<p>But no anticipatory gleam lit the face of his new friend. It was +in fact one of those faces into which words sink as into a +sandbank—a white, puffy, long face, with a moustache of +obsolete bushiness.</p> +<p>"I thought I should have died of laughing," the other resumed, +utterly unsuspicious, wholly undeterred.</p> +<p>In the far corner I kept my eye on my book but my ears open. I +could see that he was rushing to his doom.</p> +<p>"We were being paid," he went on, "and the quartermaster asked +one of the men if he did not wish sixpence to be deducted to go to +his wife. The man said, 'No.' 'Why not?' the quartermaster asked. +The man said he didn't think his wife would need it or miss it. +'You'd better be generous about it,' the quartermaster said; 'every +little helps, you know.'"</p> +<p>He paused. "What do you think the man said to that?" he asked +his new friend. "He said," he hurried on, "'I don't think I'll send +it. You see, I allow her four thousand a year as it is.'"</p> +<p>The <i>raconteur</i> laughed loudly and leaned back with the +satisfaction—or at least some of it—of one who has told +a funny story and told it well.</p> +<p>But the other did not laugh at all. His face remained the dull +thing it was.</p> +<p>"You see," said the story-teller, explaining the point, "there +are all sorts in the Army now, and this man was a toff. He was so +rich that he could afford to allow his wife four thousand pounds a +year. Four thousand pounds! Do you see?"</p> +<p>"Oh, yes, I see that. He must have been very rich. Why was he +just a private?"</p> +<p>"I don't know."</p> +<p>"Funny being a private with all that money. I wonder you didn't +ask him."</p> +<p>"I didn't, anyway. But you see the point now. No end of a joke +for the quartermaster to try and get a man who allowed his wife +four thousand a year to deduct sixpence a week to send to her! I +thought I should have died of laughing."</p> +<p>The first soldier remained impassive. "And what happened?" he +asked at last.</p> +<p>"What happened?"</p> +<p>"Yes, what was done about it? The sixpence, I mean. Did he agree +to send it?"</p> +<p>The second soldier pulled himself together. "Oh, I don't know," +he said shortly. "That's not the point."</p> +<p>"After all," the other continued, "the regulations say that +married men have to deduct sixpence for their wives, don't +they?"</p> +<p>"Yes, of course," the other replied. "But this man, I tell you, +already gave her four thousand a year."</p> +<p>"That doesn't really touch it," said the first soldier. "The +principle's the same. Now——"</p> +<p>But I could stand the humiliation of the other honest fellow, so +brimming with anecdote and cheerfulness, no longer; and I came to +his rescue with my cigarette case. For I have had misfires myself +too often.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:300px;"><a href= +"images/84.png"><img width="300" src="images/84-300.png" alt="" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">In the trenches the coster +dreams of happy days to come.</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Mrs. Ruth Roberts, of Folkestone, celebrates the +completion of her 103rd year to-day. She is one of a family of +twenty-two, and her father fought with two of her sons at +Waterloo."—<i>Irish Times.</i></blockquote> +<p>She seems to have been very young for a mother when these family +dissensions occurred.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"Will you allow me to give a warning to Ford owners +who, like myself, jack up to obtain an easy start. A few days ago I +was doing so as usual with only one scotch. The car jumped the +jack, went over the scotch, knocked me down, ran over me, tore my +clothes to rags, bruised me all over, tore my flesh and broke my +collar-bone, and I think I got off very lightly. Of course that +will not happen to me again."—<i>The Motor.</i></blockquote> +<p>He will either drink the Scotch first or not have one at +all.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>[pg +85]</span> +<h2>THE FAUNA OF THE FRONT.</h2> +<p>Chief among the fauna of the Front is, of course, the Bosch, a +subterranean animal of unpleasant habits, which is now classed as +vermin. He has been so thoroughly dealt with elsewhere that I shall +leave him on one side, and confine my few observations to smaller +and pleasanter creatures. The remaining fauna of the Front are (1) +mice; (2) rats; with a few interesting extras, furred and +feathered, which deserve more serious treatment than I can give +them.</p> +<p>At home the mouse is regarded with contemptuous annoyance as a +petty but persevering thief; while the rat commits his grosser +depredations in an atmosphere tinged with horror. Out here it is +different, for we are perforce neighbours. Indeed, we bipeds are in +a sense trespassers upon the domain of the subterranean peoples. At +home one seldom sees a rat or mouse save from above, and to look +down upon anything is invariably to misjudge it. But here we share +the hospitality of the underground and meet its freehold tenants on +a level.</p> +<p>From the earth walls of the sanctuary where this small tribute +is written mice look down upon our table with its newspaper cover, +diffidently waiting for us to finish our meal and permit them to +dine. We regard them as shy visitors—though are we not +billeted on them?—not as sneaking thieves, and by the light +of our candles perceive how sleek, bright-eyed, neat-handed and +agile they are. In one dug-out I know a certain mouse who will drop +on your shoulder and sit there a while in the friendliest manner, +trying in his tiny modest way to play the host. Up above, in the +open air, they are to be seen in swarms sharing our watchfulness. +This gun-shaken valley is honeycombed with their little round +funk-holes, into which they flash at any sudden noise. It is merely +going downstairs where we are all at home.</p> +<p>The social instincts of the rat are less highly developed. His +visible visits to the mess are rarer, but we overhear his +conversation in his tunnels that open on our shelves, the patter of +his pink feet across the canvas overhead, and the muscular +squirming of his body in some tight place about the sandbag +wainscot. Like a friendly dog he trots about your dug-out by night, +bumping with trustful carelessness against the fragile legs of your +rustic bed. You hear him crooning to himself or a pal, in his +content—a placid, complacent little sound very different from +the grating squeak or squeal of the unhappy Ishmaels you used to +know. Certainly he will help himself to a little cake, if such a +thing is to be had, for he feels at home, as he doubtless wishes +you to do. If you do not care to share your dainties, you can hang +them from the roof.</p> +<p>In the trenches themselves the rat is almost a domestic animal. +Town rats are lean, persecuted and vicious; nobody loves them. But +those who hobnob with us here are fed, like our Army, on Army +rations, together with more than their share of private luxuries, +and consequently are stout and contented-looking, and display none +of the ill-bred and disconcerting haste of the hereditary fugitive +of our drains and cellars. If you happen to stand still and silent +for a few moments, you will hear some cheery old rascal come +sniffing and grunting along the parapet, not so much in search of +food as to enjoy the air—or so his manner would indicate.</p> +<p>Between the Army and these other dwellers in earths and burrows +there must henceforth be a bond of true sympathy.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:400px;"><a href= +"images/85.png"><img width="400" src="images/85-400.png" alt="" /></a> +<p><i>Customer.</i> <span class="smcap">"I say, this chicken's a +bit tough. Where did you get it?"</span></p> +<p><i>Manager.</i> <span class="smcap">"They come up in fresh lots +from the country three times a week, Sir."</span></p> +<p><i>Customer.</i> "<span class="smcap">Well, this must belong to +Group 45!"</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<p><i>La Grèce Antique</i>: Hellas. <i>La Grèce +Moderne: Hélas!</i></p> +<hr /> +<p>To be added to our collection "Glimpses of the +Obvious":—</p> +<blockquote>"We feel more than ever that the Past is all behind us +and the Future all in front."—<i>Reading +Standard.</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>From a trade circular:—</p> +<blockquote>"We are installing 15 of our largest size Patent +Fool-proof Steam Kettles at Woolwich Arsenal."</blockquote> +<p>Zeppelin crews please note.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>[pg +86]</span> +<h2>LAST THOUGHTS ON GALLIPOLI.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Once more sits Mahomet by Helles' marges</p> +<p class="i2">And smokes at ease among his cypress-trees,</p> +<p>Nor snipes from scrubberies at British targes</p> +<p class="i2">Nor views them wallowing in sacred seas,</p> +<p>But cleans his side-arms and is pleased to prattle</p> +<p class="i2">Of that great morning when he woke and heard</p> +<p>That in his slumbers he had fought a battle,</p> +<p class="i2">A bloody battle, and a little bird</p> +<p>Piped (in the German) at his side, and said,</p> +<p>"The something infidels have been and fled."</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Cautious he crept from out his mountain-ditches,</p> +<p class="i2">Down the long gully, past the Water Towers;</p> +<p>By Backhouse Point he nosed among the niches,</p> +<p class="i2">But they were hushed, and innocent of Giaours;</p> +<p>Still fearful found the earthy homes we haunted,</p> +<p class="i2">Those thirsty stretches where the rest-camps +were,</p> +<p>Then to the sea slunk on, a trifle daunted</p> +<p class="i2">By wreathéd wires and every sort of snare,</p> +<p>And came at last, incredulous, to find</p> +<p>The very beach all blasphemously mined.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Now on each hand he eyes our impious labels,</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="smcap">Bond Street</span> and +<span class="smcap">Regent Street</span>, those weary ways;</p> +<p>Here stands the <span class="smcap">Pink Farm</span>, with the +broken gables,</p> +<p class="i2">Here <span class="smcap">Oxford Circus</span> marks a +winding maze;</p> +<p>But most, I ween, in scarred grave-ridden regions</p> +<p class="i2">O'er many a battle-scene he loves to brood,</p> +<p>How Allah here was gracious to his legions,</p> +<p class="i2">How here, again, he was not quite so good,</p> +<p>Here by the <span class="smcap">Brown House</span>, when the +bombs began,</p> +<p>And they—don't mention it—they turned and ran.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And we no more shall see the great ships gather,</p> +<p class="i2">Nor hear their thundering on days of state,</p> +<p>Nor toil from trenches in an honest lather</p> +<p class="i2">To magic swimmings in the perfect Strait;</p> +<p>Nor sip Greek wine and see the slow sun dropping</p> +<p class="i2">On gorgeous evenings over Imbros' Isle,</p> +<p>While up the hill that maxim will keep popping,</p> +<p class="i2">And the men sing, and camp-fires wink awhile,</p> +<p>And in the scrub the glow-worms glow like stars,</p> +<p>But (hopeless creatures) will not light cigars;</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Nor daylong linger in our delvéd lodges,</p> +<p class="i2">And fight for food with fifty thousand flies,</p> +<p>Too sick and sore to be afraid of "proj's,"</p> +<p class="i2">Too dazed with dust to see the turquoise skies;</p> +<p>Nor walk at even by the busy beaches,</p> +<p class="i2">Or quiet cliff-paths where the Indians pray,</p> +<p>And see the sweepers in the sky-blue reaches</p> +<p class="i2">Of Troy's own water, where the Greek ships lay,</p> +<p>And touch the boat-hulks, where they float forlorn,</p> +<p>The wounded boats of that first April morn;</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Nor wake unhappily to see the sun come</p> +<p class="i2">And stand to arms in some Cimmerian grot—</p> +<p>But I, in town, well rid of all that bunkum,</p> +<p class="i2">I like to think that Mahomet is not;</p> +<p>He must sit on, now sweltering, now frozen,</p> +<p class="i2">By many a draughty cliff and mountain holt,</p> +<p>And, when rude fears afflict the Prophet's chosen,</p> +<p class="i2">Gird on his arms and madly work his bolt,</p> +<p>While round the heights the awful whispers run,</p> +<p>"<i>The bard of <span class="smcap">Punch</span> is landing with +his gun.</i>"</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>Condescension.</h3> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Through stress of war</span> Baronet's +Niece will <span class="smcap">order</span> a Gentleman's +<span class="smcap">Household</span>."—<i>The Times.</i></p> +<hr /> +<h2>UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.</h2> +<h3>No. XXXIV.</h3> +<h4>(<i>From the Frau Professor <span class= +"smcap">Tintenklecks</span>.</i>)</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">All-Mightiest Kaiser</span>,—With the +humblest assurance of my everlasting respect I desire to lay bare +to you, since you are without doubt the Father of your People, my +inmost thoughts as to this terrible War in which we have now for +eighteen months been engaged. I have some right, I think, for my +husband is that same Professor Tintenklecks whose <i>opusculum</i> +on "International Law in Relation to World Power" was received with +special favour by your Majesty, who summoned the beloved writer to +your Palace, and with your own gracious right hand were pleased to +beat him with some force on his back, saying that "this +Tintenklecks is a tremendous fellow, and there should be more such +in the world." How well I remember that evening—it was a year +before the War—and how in honour of the Professor we had a +Poetry supper, at which each guest recited some verses of praise, +and at the end little Amalie Siegeltisch, the daughter of our +colleague, placed on the brows of the Professor a laurel-wreath +which, however, pricked his with-much-hair-unadorned head, and had +therefore, after a great deal of pleasant witticisms, to be taken +off.</p> +<p>So when the War at last broke out my husband and I were amongst +the loudest Hosannah-shouters and singers of true German patriotic +songs, for we believed then that the War would be a short one, and +that after a few great victories we should make a brilliant peace +on our own terms, having utterly smashed all our enemies and having +taken England's war-ships and her colonies for our own. "Long he +cannot last," said my Professor, speaking of the War. "The French +are a degenerate race, and we shall be in Paris in a month. The +English are given up to games, and their mercenary army—I +have it on the highest authority—cannot for a moment stand +against our German heroes. The Russians are slow and disorganised +and useless for war. For me you need not be afraid, my dear. In +this war a man of my age will not be required." So he spoke; and +now where is he and what has become of him? He has lost a leg, his +right hand has been shot through, and he is in a hospital in +Poland. Shall I ever see him again, I wonder.</p> +<p>Well, we have had victories in plenty, according to the +Generals. Every time we move from one place to another we gain, it +seems, an overwhelming triumph and cause to fly every one who is +opposed to us. Twice already your Majesty has announced that before +the leaves fell from the trees there would be peace, and our brave +soldiers would return safely to their homes; but, alas, it has not +so happened, and the dreadful fighting still goes on, and many +thousands of our women lose their fathers, their husbands, and +their sons. With every victory (as they call it) peace, which +should be nearer at hand, seems to retire further and further away, +and only sorrow and wretchedness come close to us. And that is not +all. Our food, like everything else we have to buy, is so dear that +we women find it above all things difficult to provide ourselves +with what we need for our daily life, and the worst of it, they +say, has not yet come. I could understand that if we had been +defeated; but we have been ever victorious and yet we are in want. +It is useless for Pastor Hassmann to tell us on Sundays that we +must endure to the end. We are prepared to do what we can, but we +think, too, that since we have been so magnificently victorious we +should have peace quickly, so that we may all once more try to have +some happiness in this world.</p> +<p>I remain, in the deepest devotion,</p> +<p class="author">Your loyal, <span class="smcap">Kunegunde +Tintenklecks</span>.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" id="page87"></a>[pg +87]</span> +<h2>MR. PUNCH'S POTTED FILMS. THE DOMESTIC DRAMA.</h2> +<h3>WHAT A LITTLE CHILD CAN DO.</h3> +<div class="figleft" style="width:45%;"><a href= +"images/87-1.png"><img width="300" src="images/87-1-300.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">"Mummy, where does Daddy go +every night after dinner?"</span></p> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"><a href= +"images/87-2.png"><img width="300" src="images/87-2-300.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">Alas! he goes to the Elysian +Club—Number 301a, Soho Square.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="figleft" style="width:45%;"><a href= +"images/87-3.png"><img width="300" src="images/87-3-300.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">"Hullo, Daddy! I'se come to see +'oo."</span></p> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"><a href= +"images/87-4.png"><img width="300" src="images/87-4-300.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">The Club is surrounded by the +police.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="figleft" style="width:45%;"><a href= +"images/87-5.png"><img width="300" src="images/87-5-300.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">"We are the caretaker's little +children."</span></p> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"><a href= +"images/87-6.png"><img width="300" src="images/87-6-300.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">What a little child can +do.</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>[pg +88]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:600px;"><a href= +"images/88.png"><img width="600" src="images/88-600.png" alt="" /></a> +<p><span class="smcap">"Wot's come over young Ginger?"</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">"Ow! There's no torkin' to 'im since 'is +bruvver took up wiv Lord Durby."</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>MEDITATIONS OF MARCUS O'REILLY.</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">Lucy.</span></h3> +<p>We called her Lucy because she came from the country and "dwelt +on a wide moor." We never knew her real name.</p> +<p>She came like a ray of sunlight into our dull sordid town once a +week with immaculate white apron, wearing a cap of an older, +honester world, carrying a basket of delicious country butter made +up in appetising rolls. On the clean napkin which covered the top +of the basket always reposed a huge door-key, "to keep," she said, +"the butter from turning." And the white hair of her and those +wonderful blue eyes which looked you through and through! No wonder +my wife was in love with her and refused from that time to eat the +dull town-grocer's wares.</p> +<p>My wife often muses as to the real cause of the general +superiority of dwellers in the country over the apologies for +humanity who live in towns. She says it is moral fibre. She comes +from the country herself and is quite unbiassed. For me I think it +must be living so much amongst sheep and lambs and woolly +things.</p> +<p>I shouldn't have said myself that our town butter was without +fibre, but this is a matter of taste.</p> +<p>My wife would often close her eyes when eating Lucy and conjure +up pictures of her own simple girlhood days, of the country +rectory, of the rooks singing matins and vespers in the trees. +Country people often get like this over an egg at breakfast. I +didn't eat Lucy myself, as my taste is ruined by my vicious town +breeding; besides, Lucy was a luxury in war-time, and Dossett's +Genuine Creamery has for me a meatier savour.</p> +<p>Cecilia always gave Lucy more than the market value for her +butter and a cup of tea besides, while they chatted occasionally +over things dear to rural hearts, accidents by flood and field, +turnips and parochial vestries. My wife used to marvel at the +superior firmness of Lucy's butter, which was ever the same, Lucy's +explanation being that she had a wonderfully cool hand.</p> +<p>Our local inspector, a man of the latest and most scientific +knowledge, confirmed this statement. In introducing Lucy to our +resident magistrate he said she was the coolest hand he had ever +known. It was a bad case. It had ten per cent. too much of this, +and fifteen per cent. too much of that, and the rest was the +cheapest margarine and stirring. There wasn't a cow within five +miles of her place and he didn't believe she had ever seen one.</p> +<p>We haven't met Lucy since. My wife says that <span class= +"smcap">Wordsworth</span> was often taken in, just like that. And +she has heard, anyhow, that Lucy was born in Bradford. So that it +proves nothing.</p> +<hr /> +<p>Hymn for Volunteer Corps digging trenches for the defence of +London:—</p> +<blockquote>"O Parados! O Parados! 'tis weary working +here!"</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"The baby should go out every day, except when it is +storming."—<i>New York Sunday Herald.</i></blockquote> +<p>In that case try a wind-pill.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"To-day's Russian communiqué +says:—</blockquote> +<blockquote>In Persia, on the road to Kermanshah, we have occupied +the town of Kangavar.</blockquote> +<blockquote>Note.—Kangavar is a town of 15¾¾ +inhabitants in the Province of Ardilan."—<i>Aberdeen Evening +Express.</i></blockquote> +<p>This is carrying accuracy to an extreme, even for Scotland.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>[pg +89]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:600px;"><a href= +"images/89.png"><img width="600" src="images/89-600.png" alt="" /></a> +<h2>THE CHALLENGE.</h2> +<h3>"HALT! WHO COMES THERE?" "NEUTRAL." "PROVE IT!"</h3> +<p>["What I would say to Neutrals is this: Do they admit our right +to apply the principles which were applied by the American +Government in the War between North and South—to apply those +principles to modern conditions and to do our best to prevent trade +with the enemy through neutral countries? If the answer is that we +are not entitled to do that, then I must say definitely that it is +a departure from neutrality."—<i>Sir <span class= +"smcap">Edward Grey</span>.</i>]</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>[pg +90]</span> +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> +<h3>(<span class="smcap">Extracted from the Diary of Toby, +M.P.</span>)</h3> +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, January 24th.</i>—At Question +time House crowded in response to urgent Whip issued in +anticipation of division on Third Reading of Military Service Bill. +Members ready to vote; disinclined to remain to hear speeches, +delivered on Second Reading and Committee stages, reiterated by +small minority on Report. Thus it came to pass that when on stroke +of half-past nine this milestone passed, Benches were almost +empty.</p> +<p>Filled up when Third Reading moved, and debate lamely set on +foot again. <span class="smcap">Walter Long</span>, who has greatly +helped <span class="smcap">Bonar Law</span> in his successful +management of Bill, set good example by moving Third Reading +without additional word of comment or argument. Example thrown +away. More last words spoken under embarrassing accompaniment of +private conversation and other signs of impatience.</p> +<p>Shortly after eleven o'clock division taken, revealing existence +of solid minority of three dozen. Oddly enough, whilst rattling +majority on Second Reading was hailed with enthusiastic cheering, +that on Third Reading was heard in silence, Members hurrying off in +search of taxis.</p> +<p><i>Business done.</i>—By majority of 347, in House of 419 +Members, Military Service Bill read a third time and passed on to +Lords.</p> +<p><i>House of Lords, Tuesday.</i>—Military Service Bill +turned up for Second Reading. Full attendance and a gathering of +Commoners in their pen above Bar seemed to indicate important +debate. Turned out to be only less dull than that which slumbered +round closing stage in the Commons. <span class= +"smcap">Lansdowne</span> pluckily endeavoured to give note of +novelty to topic by saying "not what the Bill was but what it was +not." Even this ingenious device did not succeed in investing +proceedings with anything approaching animation.</p> +<p>The <span class="smcap">Weary Weardale</span>, who through long +public life has tried in succession both branches of the +Legislature and found them equally withered, was doubtful whether +the measure would appreciably affect its avowed purpose of +increasing number of men with the Colours. With instinct of good +Liberal—in his time <span class="smcap">Philip +Stanhope</span> was known in the Commons as an almost dangerous +Radical—he turned and rent "certain leaders who have +surrendered a precious principle and in so doing are undermining +the authority and existence of the whole Liberal Party." Still, +though prospect was gloomy, he would not despair.</p> +<p>"The Liberal Party," he said, "will rise again" (<span class= +"smcap">Halsbury</span> shook his head doubtfully) "and will shed +the leaders who have deserted it."</p> +<p>Having thus delivered his soul <span class="smcap">Weary +One</span> did not challenge a division.</p> +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Military Service Bill read second +time without division.</p> +<p><i>House of Commons, Wednesday.</i>—Once more, the last +time in history of session of unparalleled length and importance, +House crowded. Peers' Gallery full. From Diplomatic Gallery the +United States, Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Holland, represented by +their Ministers, looked on, eagerly listening.</p> +<p>Resolution, moved by <span class="smcap">Shirley Benn</span>, +urged Government to enforce against enemy a blockade as effective +as possible. In one of his comprehensive, quietly delivered and +powerful speeches <span class="smcap">Edward Grey</span> showed +that situation is not so easily managed as amateur diplomatists +below the Gangway believe, or as fractious newspapers, bent on +damaging the Government even if the Empire falls, assert. Explained +in detail steps taken by Foreign Office to deal with it. House +listened critically but approvingly. Took note of fact that +<span class="smcap">First Lord of Admiralty</span> emphatically +cheered denial of one of the malicious rumours current—that +in the task of preventing supplies reaching the enemy the Foreign +Office spoils the work of the Navy.</p> +<p>Sharp, almost angry burst of cheering greeted passage towards +close of speech in which <span class="smcap">Foreign +Secretary</span> declared that maximum effort in this country, +whether military, naval or financial, is at the disposal of our +Allies in carrying on the War against Prussian militarism.</p> +<p>"With them," he confidently but still quietly said, "we will see +it through to the end."</p> +<p>Speeches following expressed general satisfaction with this +statement, supplemented by one addressed to neutrals. Courteously +assured them of desire not to make things unnecessarily irksome. +But pointed out that in the matter of preventing supplies reaching +the enemy by circuitous routes Great Britain has her own work to do +and means to do it thoroughly.</p> +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Resolution advocating effective +blockade talked out.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Thursday.</span>—Parliament prorogued. +Reversing <span class="smcap">Charles Lamb's</span> conscientious +habit at the India Office, where, having arrived late, he made up +for it by going away early, Parliament, having toiled through +exceptionally long Session, treats itself to briefest possible +recess. Reassembles 15th February.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:300px;"><a href= +"images/90.png"><img width="300" src="images/90-300.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>REDUCED IMPORT OF PAPER: WHAT WE MAY COME TO.</h3> +<p><i>Mr. Runciman.</i> <span class="smcap">"Ah, well, one misses +the old wealth of flattery; still, one must make sacrifices for +one's country!"</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>Diana Up to Date.</h3> +<blockquote>"<span class="smcap">Manageress</span> (35), thorough +business woman, accustomed to control stag."—<i>Women's +Employment.</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>From an account of the reception of British soldiers in +Rome:—</p> +<blockquote>"As the hour for departure approached the band played +alternately the 'Marcia Reale' and 'Rule, Britannia,' while our men +sang 'Tipperary.'"—<i>The Times.</i></blockquote> +<p>We fear the proceedings were not so harmonious as we had been +led to suppose.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"<span class="smcap">Gentleman's Shooting Estate</span> +for Sale, 240 acres, or would Let on Lease; near London +Bridge."—<i>Advt. in "The Standard."</i></blockquote> +<p>Shooting the arches is splendid sport.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"2.45 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>—When +Grossmith lit a cigarette someone said, 'This is all right. We +bring a civilian here, and he lights up within hailing distance of +the Germans.'</blockquote> +<blockquote>2.46 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>—Grossmith +put out his cigarette."—<i>Daily Mirror.</i></blockquote> +<p>Now that tobacco is going up again it would be a boon to smokers +if Mr. <span class="smcap">Grossmith</span> would tell us how he +keeps a cigarette going for twelve hours.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"The fire which broke out at Bergen on Saturday was +mastered by three o'clock on Sunday morning. About 400 buildings, +mostly very valuable property, were destroyed. The value of the +houses which were burnt down is about £1,111,111, and the +total damage is estimated at £5,555,555."—<i>Edinburgh +Evening News.</i></blockquote> +<p>The exactitude of these figures would convince even an insurance +company.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>[pg +91]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:600px;"><a href= +"images/91.png"><img width="600" src="images/91-600.png" alt="" /></a> +<p><i>First Lady.</i> <span class="smcap">"That's one of them +Australian soldiers."</span></p> +<p><i>Second Lady.</i> <span class="smcap">"How do you +know?"</span></p> +<p><i>First Lady.</i> <span class="smcap">"Why, can't you see the +kangaroo feathers in his hat?"</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE PLEA OF THE HOMELESS.</h2> +<p>Most of the petitions from natives which find their way into +print for the removal of the white man's gravity hail from our +Indian Empire. But the Babu's monopoly can be assailed. The +following recent and genuine example is from West +Africa:—</p> +<blockquote><i>"To Sir —— ——, Commander of +the New Work Shops.</i></blockquote> +<blockquote>"Sir, read to the end!</blockquote> +<blockquote>"<span class="smcap">Dear British Commander of +Influence</span>,—I am with cordial gratitude to put this pen +before you, saying since I came down from my native land I had been +trie for a house, even by rentable, but none for me in that +village, where I lieve still. But a certain friend of mine do +advice me to stay with him, during the last December up to now. And +yet that young man's wife has come from his native land, with these +there is no room before me at all. Therefore I wish with my lowly +voice to beg your honour to find me even a half house of your +kitchen at any place where you like, or either the same place where +I am. By your own desire. Please Sir if not! try and get me a +boards such as a glass packing cases and a few planks for poles. +But Sir I know myself very well, that it will be very difficulty +before you, simple because you have none of carpenters. Therefore +do try by your own authority to supply me those boards and planks, +and I shall find myself a joiner as a day contract to build it for +me! because my elder brother also shall help. Therefore dear Lord I +hope you shall give ear for my lowly speak and then have mercy on +your meekly servant with good reply. I have the most honour to be +Sir</blockquote> +<p class="author">"Your humble Clerk."</p> +<hr /> +<h3>For "Ineligibles" only.</h3> +<blockquote>"<span class="smcap">Wanted</span>, Bricklayers for +pointing 12 houses at Belvedere; peacework."—<i>Provincial +Paper.</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<h3>Commercial Modesty.</h3> +<p class="ccap">"M. JACOB & CO.,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Confectioner and Glacier.</span><br /> +Pastry of sorts."</p> +<p class="author"><i>Madras Mail.</i></p> +<hr /> +<h3>The Zeal of the Convert.</h3> +<p>Sir <span class="smcap">Thomas Whittaker, M.P.</span>, as +reported by <i>The Yorkshire Evening Post</i>:</p> +<blockquote>"Objection to compulsion on principle was all nonsense. +Compulsion was the only safe-guard we had against anarchy, +barbarism, law, order, justice, and freedom."</blockquote> +<hr /> +<h3>Cromwelliana.</h3> +<blockquote>"On Friday last a centenarian passed away at Whithall, +Galway, in the person of Mrs. Catherine Hynes, who had attained the +remarkable age of 102. The old lady had a remarkably retentive +memory, recalling with ease incidents which occurred three +generations ago. Her recollection of Cromwell's campaign was +particularly clear."—<i>Connacht Tribune.</i></blockquote> +<blockquote>"The other alien peer is the twelfth Viscount Taaffe, +of the Irish peerage, an Austrian subject, as his predecessors have +been since their estates were confiscated by Cromwell after the +Battle of the Boyne."—<i>Sunday Times.</i></blockquote> +<p>The late Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hynes</span> was perhaps the +authority for this statement.</p> +<hr /> +<p class="ccap">"ALLIES' WARSHIPS<br /> +<span class="smcap">Keep Turks on Tender Hooks at +Gallipoli</span>."</p> +<p class="author"><i>Express and Echo (Exeter).</i></p> +<p>This is rather hard on the enemy, who thought the Allies had +taken their hook long ago.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>[pg +92]</span> +<h2>AT THE FRONT.</h2> +<p>Home again! The base softened its heart on the very morning on +which I had practically decided to attend a parade next day if I +were called in time, and released me with an enormous command to +conduct to the War. I told the senior N.C.O. at the station of +entrainment that I would regard him as personally responsible if he +dropped any of the men on the line or under the engine on the way +up, and was just off to look for food when the R.T.O. told me the +train was due out in two minutes. After making quite sure that he +wasn't a Major I reminded him that for that matter the War had been +due to be over last September; also that I had used some of his +trains before and that he couldn't teach me two-pennyworth about +them I hadn't known from childhood. This I said courteously but +firmly, and thereafter felt better and bought eight boiled eggs, a +ham sandwich made so hastily that the ham came to be altogether +omitted, three oranges, and a large mineral-water. The train was in +the station for three-quarters-of-an-hour after I returned. I +passed the time pleasantly by walking up and down in front of the +R.T.O.</p> +<p>And now I am here. Glory apart, I could think for a long time +without hitting on anywhere beastlier to be except perhaps just the +other side of a breastwork thirty yards off where the Bosch has +been dropping heavy crumps in threes with monotonous regularity +since an indecent hour this morning. I have been partly asleep, +partly waiting for one to drop thirty yards short. There is no one +to talk to except a chaffinch, who thinks of nothing but his +appearance. If I thought of mine I should go mad. I am wet under +and through and over everything—wet, not with rain, but with +mud. You have heard that there is mud in Flanders?</p> +<p>But the worst part really is the number of hours in a day; we +have as many as ten nowadays in which movement is simply not done. +Where dawn finds you, dusk releases you. That is here; I believe we +have some real trenches somewhere behind. But we of the ten hours' +stretch run out of employment early in the morning and remain there +the rest of the day. Of course you can eat—if your rations +really came up last night—but not, I think, continuously for +ten hours. A very inferior officer—not I—has invented a +recipe for the ten-hour day which may appeal to some similarly +loose-ended officer. You take an air-pillow and lie with your +gum-booted feet on it till the position becomes intolerable; then +you remove the pillow, sit up and pick the mud off it. When it's +clean you do the same thing again. One tour of this duty will take +an hour if you are conscientious. Its inventor claims that it makes +the sun fairly bustle down the sky.</p> +<p>There are advantages in solitary feeding. Haven't you ever +wanted, when confronted with a lunch tongue, to hack out all the +nice tonguey bits for yourself and leave the bully beef parts to be +used for soup or some other domestic economy? Well, I hack out the +tonguey bits every day. True, I usually have to eat the bully beef +parts next meal, but—<i>à la guerre comme à la +guerre</i>—I always might have been casualtied between meals, +and then think what a fool I'd feel over my failure to make the +most of the first.</p> +<p>I've come to the conclusion that this Army isn't really fair. +Some regiments I've met always seem to be doing three weeks' rest +down Boulogne or Nice or somewhere like that. Thrice and four times +have I come and come back to this battalion, and every blessed time +they've been either in trenches when I arrived, or situated +directly behind the trenches and going up, it might be, to make +some more.</p> +<p>Sometimes we go up to dig, sometimes to carry, sometimes both. +On the night of my re-arrival I went up with the digging party, and +have the honour to report the following conversation between a +certain one of our diggers and a friend who loomed up carrying +about four engineer dug-outs, two coils of barbed wire, and a maul. +You could just make out the man under it all as he stumbled +erratically along a mud-ridden track.</p> +<p>"'Ello, Steve," says the digger, "wot's yer game to-night?"</p> +<p>Steve stopped for a second to look at his interrogator and then +observed genially as he moved on,</p> +<p>"Oh, just killin' time, you know."</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:300px;"><a href= +"images/92.png"><img width="300" src="images/92-300.png" alt="" /></a> +<p><i>Officer.</i> <span class="smcap">"Why do you think he +wouldn't make a good corporal?"</span></p> +<p><i>Sergeant (indicating sentry).</i> <span class= +"smcap">"<i>'Im</i> a corporal! Lor lumme! why, 'is name's +Clarence!"</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>TERCENTENARY TWITTERINGS.</h2> +<p>The letters that follow are only a small selection from those +that have been inadvertently forwarded to us in response to the +appeal of <i>The Westminster Gazette</i> for suggestions as to the +most appropriate method of celebrating <span class= +"smcap">Shakspeare's</span> tercentenary:—</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">A Hint to Greater Britain.</span></h3> +<p>The name of the new capital of the Australian Commonwealth is +not irrevocably fixed, and it seems to me that a splendid +opportunity is now offered our brethren overseas to commemorate the +genius of the foremost British man of letters by linking his name +with the new Antipodean metropolis. I should not venture to dictate +the exact form which it should take, but "Willshake" seems to me to +meet the requirements of the case very happily, though the claims +of "Avonbard" also deserve consideration.</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Phillibert Harker.</span></p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Bird and Bard.</span></h3> +<p>As <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span> overtopped all other +men, so should his memorial tower over all other monuments. I +cannot help thinking that the re-erection of the Wembley Tower in +the form of a gigantic swan soaring into the empyrean to the height +of say two or three thousand feet would prove a satisfactory +solution of the problem. Whether it should be black or white is a +question which might be referred to a small committee of experts, +such as Sir <span class="smcap">Sidney Lee</span>, Sir <span class= +"smcap">Herbert Tree</span> and Miss <span class="smcap">Marie +Corelli</span>.</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Mile End.</span></p> +<p>P.S.—A good alternative method of celebrating the +tercentenary of <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span> would be the +execution on Shakspeare Cliff, at Dover, of a colossal portrait of +the immortal dramatist, somewhat on the scale of the famous "White +Horse." Once the outline had been marked out by a competent artist +the rest of the work could be easily <span class="pagenum"><a name= +"page93" id="page93"></a>[pg 93]</span> completed <i>gratis</i> by +the Volunteers, and the total cost would be negligible.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">A Frugal Suggestion.</span></h3> +<p>I venture to think that no better way of paying homage to the +genius of <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span> could be devised +than for all the newspapers throughout the country to devote their +best pages on the day to suitable extracts from his works. This +arrangement has the extra inducement of being economical as well as +appropriate.</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Reginald Jobson</span>,<br /> +<i>Registrar in Bankruptcy</i>.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">A Great Scientist Speaks Out.</span></h3> +<p>What we want is to convert <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span> +into a genuine educational instrument, and that is impossible so +long as he is only available in his present archaic form. A new +edition of the Plays, purged of their classicism and romanticism +and expressed in language of scientific accuracy, is peremptorily +demanded in the interests of national efficiency.</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">X. Ray, F.R.S.</span></p> +<h3><span class="smcap">A Fastidious Critic.</span></h3> +<p>You ask me, "What are my own personal plans in connection with +the anniversary?" It is on record that a very distinguished divine +stayed in bed on the day following the announcement of the death of +Lord <span class="smcap">Beaconsfield</span>, so as to avoid the +horrid temptation of reading what was said about him in the +newspaper, which was the divine's pet aversion. I propose to follow +this excellent example on Shakspeare Day.</p> +<p class="author">T. H.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">America's greatest Poet sends +Greeting.</span></h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>From across the stormy ocean,</p> +<p>Prompted by a deep emotion,</p> +<p class="i2">I despatch my salutation on a card;</p> +<p>For although I cannot meet thee</p> +<p>In the flesh, I still can greet thee,</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="smcap">William Shakspeare</span>, as a +worthy brother bard.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In these times of stress and passion,</p> +<p>When the sword is all the fashion,</p> +<p class="i2">Only minstrelsy can keep the world in tune;</p> +<p>For the poet is a healer,</p> +<p>And both <span class="smcap">Will</span> and <span class= +"smcap">Ella Wheeler</span></p> +<p class="i2">Are a blessing and a comfort and a boon.</p> +</div> +</div> +<h3><span class="smcap">A Cemeterial Celebration.</span></h3> +<p>No memorial to <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span> can be +adequate which does not express in some concrete shape the +universality of his appeal. This end might be attained by erecting +a cenotaph in his honour in every churchyard and cemetery in +England. I admit that such a scheme would cost money and so might +be contrary to the spirit of economy which ought to animate +everyone at this hour. But a beginning might be made even now, and +I have composed a Funeral March in <i>Hamlet</i> the proceeds of +which I would gladly devote to the purpose,</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Algernon +Brookwood.</span></p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:600px;"><a href= +"images/93.png"><img width="600" src="images/93-600.png" alt="" /></a> +<h2>HOW TO TALK TO THE WOUNDED.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">"What the Bosches can't stand, you know, +Ma'am, is cold steel."</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">"Yes, I suppose it gets <i>very</i> cold +this time of year."</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A Short Way with Lecturers.</h3> +<blockquote>"To-morrow the Central Methodist Mission will celebrate +the anniversary of its rescue and social work. The Sisters of the +people are to take part in the morning service, and in the +afternoon Mr. —— is killed for an address on 'The +Social Outlook.'"—<i>Sydney Daily Telegraph.</i></blockquote> +<hr /> +<p>The <span class="smcap">Kaiser</span> to <span class= +"smcap">Ferdinand</span>:—</p> +<blockquote>"I have begged your Majesty to accept the dignity of +Prussian Field-Marshal, and I am with my Amy happy that you, by +accepting it also in this sense, have become one of +us."—<i>Irish Paper.</i></blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">German Empress</span>, to her husband: "And +who is Amy?"</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>[pg +94]</span> +<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">"Please Help Emily."</span></h3> +<p>The date at which <i>Emily</i> needed so much assistance was +clearly <i>ante bellum</i>, for there is no mention of hostilities, +no gun-fire is heard from the direction of Westende, and Belgium is +still bathing. But it must have been only just before the War, for +the emancipation which the female sex here enjoys is marked by an +extreme modernity. A decade or two ago we might have been shocked +at the spectacle of a young lady turning up at a bachelor's flat at +9 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> on a Sunday in a ball-frock, +after a night out at a dancing-club. Lately we have learnt to bear +such escapades without flinching. But it was not so with +<i>Emily's</i> guardian, <i>Sir Samuel Lethbridge</i>, very +Victorian in his stuffy prejudice in favour of the decencies; and +it was necessary to put him off with a tale of her sudden departure +to Brussels to render first aid to an aunt stricken with mumps. In +order to give colour to this fabrication <i>Emily</i> urges <i>Dick +Trotter</i>, the bachelor of the flat (as soon as he returns from +his own night out), to conduct her to the alleged invalid. He +consents, but not without protest, for he is a <i>roué</i> +of the old school and cannot approve of these platonic adventures; +besides, he is about to <i>se ranger</i> by marriage with somebody +else and (a matter of detail, but most inconvenient) is under +contract to take her to Brighton for the day.</p> +<p>A fairly preposterous start, you will say; yet the delightful +naturalness which Miss <span class="smcap">Gladys Cooper</span> and +Mr. <span class="smcap">Charles Hawtrey</span> bring to the +situation gives it almost an air of possibility. But, once we are +at Ostend, and have been introduced to <i>Trotter's</i> incredibly +inappropriate fiancée (she is a niece of the same aunt and +has followed under protection of a tame escort), we are prepared to +launch freely and fearlessly into the rough and tumble of +farce.</p> +<p>It is in vain that Miss <span class="smcap">Gladys +Cooper</span>, over her <i>petit déjeuner</i>, preserves a +natural demeanour, even to the point of talking with her mouth +full; the light humour of the First Act declines to the verge of +buffoonery. The devastating confusions which ensue in the matter of +identity and relationship (in our author's Ostend you assume, till +corrected, that all couples are married); the intervention of the +local gendarmerie, headed by a British detective; the arrest of +half the party (including the aunt, arrived in perfect health and +ignorance <i>en route</i> for England) on a nameless charge in +connection with <i>Emily's</i> suspected abduction—all this +is in the best Criterion manner.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:33%;"><a href= +"images/94.png"><img width="200" src="images/94-200.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>EMILY GIVES DICK THE GLADYS EYE.</h3> +<p><i>Richard Trotter</i> Mr. <span class="smcap">Charles +Hawtrey</span>.</p> +<p><i>Emily Delmar</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Gladys +Cooper</span>.</p> +</div> +<p>In the Third Act, though we never recover the rapture of the +First, the humour touches a higher level; but what it gains in +<i>finesse</i> it loses in spontaneity. Here we meet <i>Emily's</i> +father, returned from lecturing in the States on social ethics. The +scandal of his daughter's conduct leaves him indifferent, for a +long and varied experience of the morals of many lands, in the +course of which he has married as many as eighteen wives, having +made a point of adopting for the time being the +system—polygamous or other—of the country in which he +happens to find himself, has taught him that nothing is right or +wrong except as local opinion makes it so. We are allowed to gather +that heredity may have had some influence in the moulding of +<i>Emily's</i> character; and if we may hope for its continuance +into the next generation there seems every prospect that the +children she may bear to <i>Trotter</i> (now released from +<i>Julia</i> and free to marry the right woman) will not have their +development hampered by excess of prudery.</p> +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Charles Hawtrey</span> as <i>Trotter</i> +played with his old easy skill and seemed to take a more than usual +interest in the play. He was supported (as they say) by a +particularly brilliant cast, including Miss <span class= +"smcap">Lottie Venne</span> as the aunt, Mr. <span class= +"smcap">Eric Lewis</span> as <i>Emily's</i> father, Mr. +<span class="smcap">Frederick Kerr</span> as <i>Sir Samuel</i>, +Miss <span class="smcap">Helen Haye</span> in the thankless part of +<i>Julia</i>, and Mr. <span class="smcap">Nigel Playfair</span> as +a self-effacing phantom of a lover. All were in great form; but, +next to Miss <span class="smcap">Gladys Cooper</span>, whose +natural charm and ingenuous <i>espièglerie</i> were a +perpetual delight, I offer my profoundest compliments to the short +but extraordinarily clever performance of Mr. <span class= +"smcap">H. R. Hignett</span> as <i>Trotter's</i> man +<i>Francis</i>. This is the day of stage valets, but he was an +exceptional treasure. To a quiet taste for philosophy he added an +infinite tact; and by the lies which he poured into the telephone +to cover his master's breach of engagement to <i>Julia</i> he moved +<i>Emily</i>, herself a gifted artist, to admiration.</p> +<p>The author, Mr. <span class="smcap">H. M. Harwood</span>, must +be congratulated on a farce that at its best was really excellent +fun. And he may take it for flattery, if he likes, when I say that +a good deal of his dialogue might be adapted into the French +without offending our gallant Allies on the ground of a too insular +squeamishness.</p> +<p class="author">O. S.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE INDURATION.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Think not, dear love, because my cheek</p> +<p class="i2">With grief grows neither grey nor hollow,</p> +<p>Because no pharmacist I seek</p> +<p class="i2">In quest of arsenic to swallow,</p> +<p>Because I do not wince and weep</p> +<p class="i2">By day and night for cardiac pains,</p> +<p>That my fond passion falls on sleep,</p> +<p class="i2">Or, secondly, my worship wanes.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>For these are strenuous days of strife</p> +<p class="i2">That steel the soul of every Briton;</p> +<p>Sterner and stronger grows our life</p> +<p class="i2">Till simple bards become hard-bitten;</p> +<p>So when, each Thursday, I propose</p> +<p class="i2">(As usual) to wed my fair,</p> +<p>I frankly find her changeless "No's"</p> +<p class="i2">Not half so poignant as they were.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>From an almanack of appropriate quotations:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">"<span class="smcap">January 27.</span></p> +<p class="i10">Thursday.</p> +<p class="i4"><i>German Emperor born</i>, 1859.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>O welcome, pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope,</p> +<p>Thou hovering angel, girt with golden +wings.—<i>Milton.</i>"</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"If men well up in years would cultivate a habit of +breathing properly and always holding themselves erect when walking +and sitting, we would find fewer elderly people bent double when we +do."—<i>Daily Express.</i></blockquote> +<p>Our gay contemporary has been caught bending on this +occasion.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"He asked the Government not to muzzle the ox that laid +golden eggs."—<i>The Daily Argosy +(Demerara).</i></blockquote> +<p>It wasn't really an ox; it was a bull.</p> +<hr /> +<p>From a country retail chemist's appeal to the Local Tribunal for +his son's exemption from Military Service:</p> +<p>"I cannot dispense with him"—or, presumably, without +him.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>[pg +95]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:600px;"><a href= +"images/95.png"><img width="600" src="images/95-600.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>ONCE BIT, TWICE SHY.</h3> +<p><i>Sporting Lawyer.</i> <span class="smcap">"If you'll take my +advice you'll come to the bridge!"</span></p> +<p><i>Old Farmer.</i> <span class="smcap">"Na fear! +Six-and-eightpence for t' advice? I'd rather chance a +duckin'."</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> +<h3>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</h3> +<p>When <i>Hargrave Ladd</i>, who was a solicitor in a very fair +way of business, with an agreeable but unemotional wife, happened +to be getting into an omnibus at the moment when <i>Stella +Rayne</i> fell off the top of it, he unconsciously put himself in +the way of a lot of bother. Naturally, as a gentleman and the male +protagonist of a novel—<i>Let Be</i> (<span class= +"smcap">Methuen</span>)—he could do no less than pick the +girl out of the mud and see her home in a cab. Whether, quite +strictly speaking, he need have called next day to see how she was +getting over the accident is another matter. Certainly his +interfering aunt, <i>Mrs. Dering</i>, was of the opinion that +<i>Hargrave</i>, as a married man, was displaying an excess of +courtesy towards the pretty tumbler. As for Miss <span class= +"smcap">Sybil Campbell Lethbridge</span>, who has written the tale, +she gives no indication of her views one way or the other. Indeed +this attitude of humorous tolerance for humanity is Miss +<span class="smcap">Lethbridge's</span> most striking +characteristic. It is at once a source of strength and weakness to +the book, making, on the one hand, for the reality of the +characters, and, on the other, for a certain non-conductiveness of +atmosphere that robs their emotions of warmth. Anyhow, the +inevitable happens, and <i>Hargrave</i> falls in love with +<i>Stella</i>, who in turn reciprocates his passion up to almost +the last page in the book, when, having come to the edge of the +precipice and made every preparation for her leap into the gulf of +elopement, she does a mental quick-change and walks away as the +contented betrothed of Another. So <i>Hargrave</i>, making the best +of a good job, rejoins <i>Mrs. H.</i>; and one may suppose that, if +any more distressed damsels fall off omnibuses in his presence, he +will prudently "let be." You may think with me that this abrupt +finish lessens the effect of an otherwise well-written and +entertaining story.</p> +<hr /> +<p>Miss <span class="smcap">Muriel Hine</span> in <i>The +Individual</i> (<span class="smcap">Lane</span>), essaying a +problem novel, does not disdain the old-fashioned way of the woven +plot and the dramatic incident. Her hero, <i>Orde Taverner</i>, +surgeon by trade and eugenist by profession, falls in love with +<i>Elizma</i>, a Cornish beauty and rare fiddler. His inquiries as +to her eugenical fitness having been answered satisfactorily but +inaccurately, he marries, to find that <i>Elizma's</i> mother +really died insane. His principles conquer his desire for children, +and his decision is communicated to the fiery <i>Elizma</i>, who, +fierce maternalist that she is and coming of a wild stock that +never stuck at anything, undertakes a desperate flirtation by way +of solving the difficulty in her own heroic way—at least you +will certainly make this kind of a guess, but on investigation you +may find that you've been wrong! Happily in the end a deathbed +confession proves the second version of her birth as inaccurate as +the first. She really comes of quite untainted stock, so the +eugenist is satisfied and husband and wife reconciled. That is to +say the author runs away from her problem, which was perhaps, all +things considered, the wisest thing to do. She has some eye for +character and has made a good thing of her <i>Elizma</i>, but has +let herself scatter her energies over a team too large to be driven +with a sure hand. And why, oh why did she drag in the War? Or call +her butler <i>Puffles</i>? But she keeps the interest of her story +going, and you mustn't skip or you may be set off on a hopelessly +wrong tack.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>[pg +96]</span> +<p>So great is my admiration for the humorous gifts of Mr. +<span class="smcap">William Caine</span> and so strong my gratitude +to him for such books as <i>Boom</i> and <i>Old Enough to Know +Better</i>, that I have decided to erase from my memory with all +possible speed his latest effort, <i>Bildad the Quill-Driver</i> +(<span class="smcap">Lane</span>.) A man with so many bull's-eyes +to his credit may be forgiven an occasional miss; and, to be +candid, <i>Bildad the Quill-Driver</i> seems to me to come nowhere +near the target. Most of Mr. <span class="smcap">Caine's</span> +work would be the better for a certain amount of condensation, but +this is the only occasion on which he has really lost control of +his pen. He has had the unfortunate idea of writing a comic +<i>Arabian Nights</i> in close imitation of the style of the +original translation, even to the insertion of short poems at every +possible opportunity. Now, this is one of those ideas which at +first blush would seem to contain all the elements of delightful +humour; but it has the deadly flaw that it involves a monotony +which becomes after a few pages more than irritating. For a while +the novelty is entertaining, and then the reader becomes crushed by +the realisation that he has got to rely for his amusement on the +same sort of joke repeated over and over again for more than three +hundred pages. And, once that happens, the doom of the book is +sealed, for the adventures of <i>Bildad</i> are not in themselves +diverting—his love-affair with the giantess is as unfunny a +thing as ever I yawned over—and if you cease to chuckle at +the burlesque pomposity of the style there is nothing left. There +are some things which do not lend themselves to sustained parody, +and the manner of the <i>Arabian Nights</i> is one of them. But, as +I say, I am not going to allow this book to shake my opinion that +Mr. <span class="smcap">Caine</span> is one of our most engaging +humorists.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:300px;"><a href= +"images/96.png"><img width="300" src="images/96-300.png" alt="" /></a> +<p class="ccap"><span class="smcap">How a Prussian St. George would +have done it.</span></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>I recommend, absolutely without reserve, a war book entitled +<i>Day by Day with the Russian Army</i> (<span class= +"smcap">Constable</span>). It is written by Professor <span class= +"smcap">Bernard Pares</span>, the Official British Observer with +the Russian Armies in the Field, and is the real thing. Although +incidentally it is to be praised as a modest and lucid piece of +writing, well in keeping with the character of an author whose +habit of viewing an action from the most dangerous, because the +most interesting, point can be discovered only by reading between +the lines, primarily it is to be prescribed as a sovereign tonic +against German-made depression. The writer, after being present at +the conquest of Galicia and the triumphant advance to the top of +the Carpathians, after witnessing much of the historical Russian +retreat under pressure of overwhelming artillery superiority, and +after conversing freely with his friends of all ranks on different +sectors of the Front whilst offering greetings in the name of their +English comrades in arms, announces finally, in a wholly +satisfactory fashion, his unalterable conviction as to the +unqualified supremacy of our Allies when on anything like equal +terms with their opponents as regards munitions of war. And that is +a matter which, though never in doubt, it is pleasant to hear again +in tones of authority at a time when we believe the Russian lack of +supplies is at last being made good. The evidence is the more +complete because not only do we learn of the interrogation of many +prisoners, but because a long extract from the diary of one of +them, an Austrian officer, is included, to point the difference in +spirit between the two armies. The demoralisation of the Austrian +forces, even when advancing, is so strikingly presented that one +cannot doubt their dependence on German domination and German +batteries to hold them together at all. Although Professor +<span class="smcap">Pares</span> attaches several excellent maps, +he is not really much concerned with questions of strategy, but has +devoted himself to just two points—<i>moral</i> and +munitions.</p> +<hr /> +<p>I am afraid that Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hodgson Burnett</span> +is in a little danger of overdoing it. She knows (who better?) the +briskness of the popular demand for long-lost heirs; and she may +well have argued that the longer he has been lost, the more squalid +his present environment, and the more brilliant his heritage, the +more assured would be the heir's welcome. Perhaps indeed this may +be so in America; but for this side, as I say, I have my doubts. I +daresay your own intuition will tell you that the hero of <i>The +Lost Prince</i> (<span class="smcap">Hodder and Stoughton</span>) +is a prince who has been lost. In fact so effectually had the +branch of the regal house to which <i>Prince Ivor</i> belonged been +mislaid that the story opens upon him dwelling in a London slum +with no companions but a mysterious father and a crippled +playfellow (called <i>The Rat</i>). All sorts of mysterious things +are constantly happening just out of sight; and presently the +dynastic intrigues of Mrs. <span class="smcap">Burnett</span> +launch the two boys upon a secret journey through Europe, to convey +to a number of pleasantly melodramatic conspirators the message +that "The Lamp is Lighted!" As their object is expressly stated to +be protection for a small principality, the fact that the +interviews include one with Emperor of <span class= +"smcap">Austria</span> has in these days a quaintly anachronistic +effect, and at least serves to emphasise the neutral origin of the +story. However, they are of course successful; and in the last +chapter <i>Prince Ivor</i> manages to be enormously astonished at +finding that the mysterious monarch of Samavia, for whom he has +been working, is none other than his own father—an obvious +fact that, with truly royal tactfulness, he had contrived to ignore +throughout the story. My advice to the author is to write up her +villains (at present they haven't a chance) and make the whole +thing into a film play. The wanderings of the two boys offer a fine +opportunity for scenic variety; while the sentiment is of precisely +the nature to be stimulated by a pianoforte accompaniment. As a +three-reel exclusive, in short, I can fancy <i>The Lost Prince</i> +entering triumphantly into his appropriate kingdom.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote>"<span class="smcap">Unfurnished Room</span> to Let in +Clyde Road; quiet house; convenience for washing once a week if +necessary; rent 3s."—<i>Hastings and St. Leonards +Observer.</i></blockquote> +<p>It sounds dirt-cheap.</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume +150, February 2, 1916, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, VOL 150 *** + +***** This file should be named 22313-h.htm or 22313-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/3/1/22313/ + +Produced by Stephen Blundell, Jonathan Ingram and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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