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diff --git a/23815-h/23815-h.htm b/23815-h/23815-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8175ced --- /dev/null +++ b/23815-h/23815-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3251 @@ +<!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 http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, April 22, 1914, by Various</title> +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .wide {margin-left: 3.9em;} + .wid {margin-left: 2.5em;} + .widd {margin-left: 1.5em;} + .widdd {margin-left: .5em;} + .wider {margin-left: 16em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note, .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 86%; text-align: right;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .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.i3 {margin-left: 1.5em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} +.poem p.i12 { + margin-left: 6em +} +.poem p.i18 { + margin-left: 9em +} + .drama {margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .drama p {margin: 1em 0em 0em 0em;; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + .drama p.i2 {margin: 0; margin-left: 1em;} + .drama p.i4 {margin: 0; margin-left: 2em;} + .drama p.i6 {margin: 0; margin-left: 3em;} + .drama p.i8 {margin: 0; margin-left: 4em;} + .drama p.i10 {margin: 0; margin-left: 5em;} + + .bnote {border: solid 1px; margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 35%;padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + +sup, sub {line-height: .2em;} + frac {font-size: 7em;} + +td { + font-size: 0.9em; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; +} + +td.left { + font-size: 0.9em; + text-align: left; + padding: 1em; +} + p.author {text-align: right;} + hr.pg { width: 100%; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + border: solid black; + height: 5px; } + pre {font-size: 85%; } + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, +April 22, 1914, 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. 146, April 22, 1914</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Owen Seaman</p> +<p>Release Date: December 11, 2007 [eBook #23815]</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. 146, APRIL 22, 1914***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Matt Whittaker, Malcolm Farmer,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>VOL. 146.</h2> + + + + +<h2>APRIL 22, 1914.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> + +<p>Says <i>The Times</i>:—"It used to be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page301" id="page301"></a>[pg 301]</span> + +tradition of British Liberal statesmanship +to support, without prospect of +immediate advantage, the cause of +nationality and freedom abroad.... It +would at least be showing some interest +to send a minister to Durazzo." +Here, perhaps, is a post for poor Mr. +<span class="sc">Masterman</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>The Kerry News</i> states that it prefers +pigs to Englishmen. This +seems a queer—almost an +ungracious—way of expressing +its desire for a Home +Rule Government.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Oil has been discovered in +Somaliland, and it is +rumoured that the Government +is at last about to +realise that its obligations +to our friendlies demand a +forward move against the +<span class="sc">Mullah</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Futurism is apparently +spreading to the animal +world. The following advertisement +appeared in a recent +issue of <i>Lloyd's</i>:—</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Dyer</span>—Fancy Color Dyer +for Ostrich required."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>There is a dispute, we see, +as to who invented Revues. +But, even if the responsibility +be fixed, the guilty party, +we have no doubt, will go +scot-free.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The inhabitants of Bugsworth +in Derbyshire, are, +<i>The Mail</i> tells us, dissatisfied +with the name of their village. +A former parish councillor +has suggested that it +shall be changed to Buxworth, +on the ground that it was once a great +hunting centre, and took its name from +the buck, which used to be found in +great numbers there. The present +name has also a distinct suggestion of +the chase about it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Extract, from a speech by Colonel +<span class="sc">Seely</span> on the recent Army crisis:—"The +only difference is that I am +£5,000 a year poorer.... I am not +less Liberal but more Liberal after +what has happened." To be more +liberal after suffering financially does +the ex-War Minister credit.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The fees charged by beauty doctors +are tending to become more exorbitant +than ever. To have his eyes darkened, +Mr. <span class="sc">George Mitchell</span>, of Bolton, had +to pay <span class="sc">M. Carpentier</span>, of Paris, no +less than £100.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Old horse tramway-cars are being +offered by the London County Council +for sale at from £3 to £5 each. They +are suitable for transformation into +bungalows, tool-sheds, sanatoria and +the like.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Last week, at Bristol, eleven brothers +named <span class="sc">Hunt</span>, of Pucklechurch, played +a football match against a team composed +of the <span class="sc">Miller</span> family, of Brislington. +We are always pleased to see +these practical object-lessons in the +advantage of having large families—a +custom which is in danger of falling +into desuetude.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"The Liberal Party, the Tory Party, +and the House of Lords are nothing +against the united intelligence of democracy," +said Mr. <span class="sc">Ramsay MacDonald</span> +at a meeting to celebrate the +"coming of age" of the Independent +Labour Party. We are of the opinion +that Mr. <span class="sc">Ramsay MacDonald</span> should +know better than to impose upon +youth like that. <i>Maxima debetur pueris +reverentia.</i></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>According to <i>The Evening News'</i> +critique of the exhibition of the International +Society:—"Two statues by +Rodin dominate the gallery. One, +'Benediction,' is in his early manner, +but by Lord Howard de Walden." We +suspect that there was division of +labour here. <span class="sc">Rodin</span> sculped it (in his +early manner) and Lord <span class="sc">Howard de +Walden</span> said, "Bless you" (probably +in his later manner).</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>New York Suffragettes have been +discussing the question, +"Ought women to propose?" +and one of them has stated, +"I am seriously thinking of +proposing to a man"—and +now, we suspect, she is wondering +why her male acquaintances +are shy about stopping +to talk to her. We ought +to add that her name, as +reported, is Miss <span class="sc">Bonnie +Ginger</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We hear that, as a result +of a contemporary drawing +attention to Chicago's +leniency towards women murderers, +ladies whose hobby is +homicide are now flocking to +that city and it is becoming +uncomfortably overcrowded.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"Frau Krupp von Bohlen," +we are told, "is the largest +payer of war tax in Germany. +Her contribution amounts to +£440,000." We have a sort +of idea, however, that she gets +some of this back.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Sir John Collie ridiculed the +present system by which 22,000 +doctors depend for an income on +their capacity to please their +parents."—<i>Labour Leader.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>And not only doctors. The +Temple is full of people in +the same ridiculous position.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/301.png"><img width="100%" src="images/301.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>The Younger Brother</i> (<i>in an awestruck whisper</i>). "<span class="sc">Say, 'Orace, +are you <i>sure</i> we're right for the gallery? There's a gent +behind wiv spats on</span>!"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Mathilde explained (her name, of course, +was Mathilde really but peasants in Normandy, +and for that matter all over France, are +curiously inaccurate with names, and often +misplace letters in this manner)."</p> + +<p><i>"Evening News" Feuilleton.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The printer of the above must be careful +when he crosses the Channel, or he +may pick up this bad habit.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Tonight and tomorrow they will play a +matched game of 1,500 points—750 each +night. A local billiard enthusiast has offered +$100 to either of the players who scores a 00 +break or better. This to the average billiard +player seems a tremendous break."</p> + +<p><i>Vancouver Daily Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>But not to us.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page302" id="page302"></a>[pg 302]</span><h2>POLITICS ON THE LINKS.</h2> + +<p>I put down my morning paper as I +left the train for the golf club. It contained +the interesting news that the +Parliamentary Golf Handicap had been +postponed lest fiery politicians should +run amok with their clubs. I sighed, for +the spectacle of <span class="sc">Bonar</span> v. <span class="sc">Bogey</span> (The +<span class="sc">Chancellor</span>) would have beaten the +<span class="sc">Mitchell-Carpentier</span> fight. Then it +came home to me that I, a golfer, a citizen, +a voter, was taking no part in the +great political struggle of the day. I +had not even declined to deal with my +butcher because he was a Conservative, +or closed my wife's draper's account +because he was a Liberal. It is a curious +fact, worthy the serious attention +of political philosophers, that butchers +are always Conservative and drapers +always Liberal.</p> + +<p>I reached the club-house, and the first +man I saw was Redford. Now Redford +is a scratch player and a vice-president +of a Liberal Association. He has a +portrait of <span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> in his dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Play you a round, old man, and give +you ten," he said cheerfully.</p> + +<p>I had to do something for my country. +"Never," I replied sternly. "I do not +play with homicides."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" asked +Redford, who is an estate agent when +he isn't golfing.</p> + +<p>"I merely say," I replied, "that I +will play with no man who deliberately +connives at the slaughter of his fellow-citizens. +Every Liberal vote is a vote +for civil war."</p> + +<p>"Man, this is a golf links, not Hyde +Park."</p> + +<p>"I regret the course I have to take, +but my conscience is imperative. Away! +your clubs are blood-stained."</p> + +<p>Redford shrugged his shoulders and +went off to get the professional to go +round with him.</p> + +<p>The next man to drop in was Pobson. +He is a Grand Knight Imperial (or +something similar) of the Primrose +League, and makes speeches between +the ventriloquist and the step-dancer at +their meetings. He has signed the +Covenant, and reads every column +Mr. <span class="sc">Garvin</span> writes. In fact, I attribute +it entirely to Mr. <span class="sc">Garvin's</span> effect +on the nerves that his handicap has +been increased from plus two to +scratch.</p> + +<p>"Want a round? Give you eight +strokes," he began.</p> + +<p>"No, Sir; not with a man, who tampers +with the Army."</p> + +<p>"You're either mad," said Pobson, +"or else you've been reading <i>The Daily +News</i>."</p> + +<p>I will say this for Pobson—he seemed +inclined to believe in my madness as the +more credible alternative.</p> + +<p>"Enough of this. Do you think I will +be seen playing with a man who ruins +our noble Army to gratify petty political +spite? Every Conservative vote means +an Army mutineer."</p> + +<p>"Mad," said Pobson, still charitable, +as he left me.</p> + +<p>Then there entered a dear old stranger +and my heart opened to him at once.</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether you're waiting +for a game, Sir," he began.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," I said. "I'm an awfully +rotten player. Ashamed to mention my +handicap."</p> + +<p>"Can't be worse than I am, Sir. +There'll be a pair of us. What shall +we play for? I like to have something +on it."</p> + +<p>"What you like," I replied. "Box +of balls if you wish."</p> + +<p>"Right."</p> + +<p>And away we went. I beat him by +eight up and seven to play and was +marching triumphantly up to the club-house +when Redford intercepted me.</p> + +<p>"What's your game?" he said. "You +wouldn't play with me and now you've +played a round with our Candidate."</p> + +<p>"Redford," I said, "when that dear +old gentleman came along I felt that I +had acted improperly in introducing +political acerbity on the links. I was +wrong, and as a proof of it I am willing +to play level with any politician in the +club for the same stakes—providing that +his handicap is over twenty."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"<i>PEREANT QUI ANTE NOS....</i>"</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">["Before the Love of Letters, overdone,</p> +<p class="i8">Had swamped the sacred poets with themselves."—<span class="sc">Tennyson.</span>]</p> +</div> </div> + + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"The poets of an older time,"</p> +<p class="i2">Grumbled <span class="sc">Rossetti Jones</span> one day,</p> +<p>"Have used up every blessed rhyme</p> +<p>And collared every thought sublime,</p> +<p class="i2">Leaving us nothing new to say.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"They've sung the Game of War as played</p> +<p class="i2">By gods and men, heroic peers;</p> +<p>They've sung the love of man and maid,</p> +<p>To Life their laughing tribute paid,</p> +<p class="i2">Nor grudged grim Death his toll of tears.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"What <i>can</i> a modern poet sing,</p> +<p class="i2">Describe, imagine or invent?</p> +<p>They've been before, they've tapped the spring,</p> +<p>They've laid their hands on everything,</p> +<p class="i2">Staked out the spacious firmament.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Last week, a line that did me proud</p> +<p class="i2">Flashed on me, strolling down the Strand:—</p> +<p>'I wandered lonely as a cloud;'</p> +<p>Then conscience suddenly avowed</p> +<p class="i2">The simile was second-hand.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Take birds, for instance. No remark</p> +<p class="i2">Of mine on birds could but be stale;</p> +<p><span class="sc">Shelley</span> and <span class="sc">Wordsworth</span> own the lark</p> +<p>(Which <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span> too had bid us hark),</p> +<p class="i2">While <span class="sc">Keats</span> has bagged the nightingale.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"With rose and lily surfeited,</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Burns</span> sang the daisy. Here's a fraud</p> +<p>Of <span class="sc">Tennyson's</span>: <i>I</i> might have said</p> +<p>How daisies crimson 'neath the tread</p> +<p class="i2">Of more attractive girls than <i>Maud</i>!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"You think you've something up to date?</p> +<p class="i2">You'll find it's been already done;</p> +<p>I'd like to clean the blooming slate;</p> +<p>Their footprints I'd obliterate;</p> +<p class="i2">I want my corner in the sun."</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>He ceased. "Yet your revenge," I said,</p> +<p class="i2">Taking a classic from his shelves,</p> +<p>"Is ample, surely"; there I read</p> +<p>How moderns vex the sacred dead,</p> +<p class="i2">Swamping old poets with themselves.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CAUTIOUS CONCLUSIONS.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a Westministering Angel.</i>)</p> + +<blockquote><p>["Looking back at what has been achieved, +we can gain fresh courage for the perplexities +of the moment, in the sure and certain hope +that with energy and goodwill the task of +social amelioration will be safely accomplished, +if never finished."</p> + +<p><i>"Westminster-Gazette" leading article.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<p>While then we admit that President +<span class="sc">Wilson's</span> technical violation of his +policy of non-intervention is fraught +with possibilities of difficulty if not of +actual danger for the United States, we +can at least fortify ourselves with the +reassuring consolation that, where +righteous intentions are backed by a +strong arm, the odds are generally in +favour of their prevailing, even though +they may never be victorious.</p> + +<p>The prospects of a pacific solution +of the Ulster problem, though they +have not visibly improved in the last +week, at least cannot be said to have +substantially altered for the worse. +But the atmosphere, though no longer +electric, is not yet unclouded. All that +can be safely said is that, if only the +Government continue to play the game with +the same forbearance, tenacity, +and transparent honesty that they have +shown in the past, the gulf that yawns +between the extremists on either side +must one day be filled up, though never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page303" id="page303"></a>[pg 303]</span> +bridged.</p> + + + + +<p>As we reflect on the happenings of +the last year, we cannot but be sensible +of a salutary <i>détente</i> in the relations of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page304" id="page304"></a>[pg 304]</span>Germany and Great Britain. That +this should lead to a closer understanding, +and ultimately to an alliance, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page305" id="page305"></a>[pg 305]</span>between the two Powers must be the +heartfelt prayer of every patriotic +Liberal. But good wishes are seldom +operative unless they are backed by +action. It is the duty of every lover of +his country to labour unremittingly to +promote this object, and at the same +time to resign himself to the conviction +that he may not live to see his +aim realised, though his descendants +may witness its translation into actuality, +even if its consummation is +indefinitely postponed.</p> + +<p>The vagaries of feminine fashion +are undoubtedly a source of misgiving +and disquietude to those, like ourselves, +who favour the extension of civil rights +to women. But, amid all the evidences +of frivolity and extravagance +which pain the judicious, we need +never relinquish the hope that, once the +pendulum swings backwards into the +direction of sanity, its retrogression +will probably be beneficial, even though +we cannot pronounce it satisfactory.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">President Huerta</span>: "Morituri te +salutamus? I <i>don't</i> think."</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/303.png"><img width="100%" src="images/303.png" alt="" /></a><h3>A PENULTIMATUM.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">President Huerta.</span> "AMERICAN FLEET TO VISIT ME AND EXCHANGE COMPLIMENTS? +WELL, IT'S NICE TO BE 'RECOGNISED,' ANYHOW."</p></div> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>EASY FRUIT.</h2> + +<p>He got in at Peterborough; I spotted +him at once by the way he talked to the +porter.</p> + +<p>He sat down heavily and looked round +the carriage for victims. I was doomed. +The only other passenger in it had been +asleep since Grantham.</p> + +<p>I snatched up my paper and buried +my head in it and shut my eyes. Ten +seconds elapsed.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Sir——"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I said gruffly.</p> + +<p>"But your paper's upside down."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I always read papers upside +down. I'm ambidextrous."</p> + +<p>Ten seconds more silence.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of this weather +we're having?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," I said curtly. I gave up +the paper in despair and looked hard +out of the window. I knew the man +was staring at me and compassing a +new attack.</p> + +<p>He leant over at last.</p> + +<p>"Now, what are your views on +Ulster?"</p> + +<p>I couldn't say "Nothing" again; but, +even so, I retained some presence of +mind.</p> + +<p>"I am a convinced Home Ruler, and +I never argue," I snapped.</p> + +<p>"I happen to have gone into the +question pretty thoroughly," he began.</p> + +<p>About ten minutes later he stopped +talking and looked at me triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Now, what answer have you to +that?" he said.</p> + +<p>"None," I admitted.</p> + +<p>"But you said——"</p> + +<p>"I'm a convinced Anti-Home Ruler."</p> + +<p>"But just now you said——"</p> + +<p>"I know. But you've convinced +me."</p> + +<p>He snorted violently and relapsed +into a moody silence until the other man +awoke at Finsbury Park.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/305.png"><img width="100%" src="images/305.png" alt="" /></a><h3>TYPICAL SPRING BLOSSOMS IN OUR GARDEN SUBURB.</h3></div> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Vicar of St. John's, Carlisle (<i>The +Carlisle Journal</i> tells us), in moving the +adoption of the past year's accounts, +said:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"About £9 was saved through not paying +the choir-boys, and the result had been most +satisfactory."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The note of satisfaction in the choir-boys' +voices is said to be very touching.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page306" id="page306"></a>[pg 306]</span><h2>THE SLUGGARD.</h2> + +<p>My Uncle James, whose memoirs I +am now preparing for publication, was +a many-sided man; but his chief +characteristic, I am inclined to think, +was the indomitable resolution with +which, disregarding hints, entreaties +and even direct abuse, he would lie in +bed of a morning. I have seen the +domestic staff of his hostess day after +day manœuvring restlessly in the passage +outside his room, doing all those +things which women do who wish to +rout a man out of bed without moving +Uncle James an inch. Footsteps might +patter outside his door; voices might +call one to the other; knuckles might rap +the panels; relays of shaving-water +might be dumped on his wash-stand; +but devil a bit would Uncle James +budge, till finally the enemy, +giving in, would bring him +his breakfast in bed. Then, +after a leisurely cigar, he +would at last rise and, having +dressed himself with care, +come downstairs and be the +ray of sunshine about the +home.</p> + +<p>For many years I was +accustomed to look on Uncle +James as a mere sluggard. +I pictured ants raising their +antennæ scornfully at the +sight of him. I was to learn +that not sloth but a deep purpose +dictated his movements, +or his lack of movement.</p> + +<p>"My boy," said Uncle +James, "more evil is wrought +by early rising than by want +of thought. Happy homes +are broken up by it. Why do men +leave charming wives and run away +with quite unattractive adventuresses? +Because good women always get up +early. Bad women, on the other hand, +invariably rise late. To prize a man +out of bed at some absurd hour like +nine-thirty is to court disaster. To +take my own case, when I first wake +in the morning my mind is one welter +of unkindly thoughts. I think of all +the men who owe me money, and hate +them. I review the regiment of women +who have refused to marry me, and +loathe them. I meditate on my faithful +dog, Ponto, and wish that I had kicked +him overnight. To introduce me to +the human race at that moment would +be to let loose a scourge upon society. +But what a difference after I have lain +in bed looking at the ceiling for an +hour or so. The milk of human kindness +comes surging back into me like a +tidal wave. I love my species. Give +me a bit of breakfast then, and let me +enjoy a quiet meditative smoke, and I +am a pleasure to all with whom I come +in contact."</p> + +<p>He settled himself more comfortably +upon the pillows and listened luxuriously +for a moment to the sound of rushing +housemaids in the passage.</p> + +<p>"Late rising saved my life once," he +said. "Pass me my tobacco pouch."</p> + +<p>He lit his pipe and expelled a cloud +of smoke.</p> + +<p>"It was when I was in South +America. There was the usual revolution +in the Republic which I had +visited in my search for concessions, +and, after due consideration, I threw in +my lot with the revolutionary party. +It is usually a sound move, for on +these occasions the revolutionists have +generally corrupted the standing army, +and they win before the other side has +time to re-corrupt it at a higher figure. +In South America, thrice armed is he +who has his quarrel just, but six times +he who gets his bribe in fust. On the +occasion of which I speak, however, a +hitch was caused by the fact of another +party revolting against the revolutionists +while they were revolting against the +revolutionary party which had just +upset the existing Government. Everything +is very complicated in those +parts. You will remember that the +Tango came from there.</p> + +<p>"Well, the long and the short of it +was that I was captured and condemned +to be shot. I need not go into my +emotions at the time. Suffice it to say +that I was led out and placed with my +back against an adobe wall. The +firing-party raised their rifles.</p> + +<p>"It was a glorious morning. The sun +was high in a cloudless sky. Everywhere +sounded the gay rattle of the +rattle-snake and the mellow chirrup of +the hydrophobia-skunk and the gila +monster. It vexed me to think that I +was so soon to leave so peaceful a scene.</p> + +<p>"And then suddenly it flashed upon +me that there had been a serious +mistake.</p> + +<p>"'Wait!' I called.</p> + +<p>"'What's the matter now?' asked +the leader of the firing squad.</p> + +<p>"'Matter?' I said. 'Look at the +sun. The court-martial distinctly said +that I was to be shot at sunrise. Do +you call this sunrise? It must be +nearly lunch-time.'</p> + +<p>"'It's not our fault,' said the firing-party. +'We came to your cell all +right, but you wouldn't get up. You +told us to leave it on the mat.'</p> + +<p>"I did remember then having heard +someone fussing about outside my cell +door.</p> + +<p>"'That's neither here nor there,' I +said firmly. 'It was your business to +shoot me at sunrise, and you haven't +done it. I claim a re-trial on +a technicality.'</p> + +<p>"Well, they stormed and +blustered, but I was adamant; +and in the end they had to +take me back to my cell to be +tried again. I was condemned +to be shot at sunrise next +morning, and they went to +the trouble of giving me an +alarm clock and setting it for +3 <span class="sc">a.m.</span></p> + +<p>"But at about eleven +o'clock that night there was +another revolution. Some +revolutionaries revolted +against the revolutionaries +who had revolted against the +revolutionaries who had revolted +against the Government, +and, having re-re-corrupted +the standing army, +they swept all before them, and at +about midnight I was set free. I recall +that the new President kissed me +on both cheeks and called me the +saviour of his country. Poor fellow, +there was another revolution next day, +and, being a confirmed early riser, he +got up in time to be shot at sunrise."</p> + +<p>Uncle James sighed, possibly with +regret, but more probably with happiness, +for at this moment they brought +in his breakfast.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/306.png"><img width="100%" src="images/306.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Pavement Artist</i> (<i>who has not yet recovered the nerve which he lost +on hearing of the attack upon the <span class="sc">Velasquez</span> Venus</i>). "<span class="sc">Pass along +them covers, George—the Suffragettes is coming.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"It would be amusing, if it were not athletic, +to read that this satirist who ridiculed +sentiment made himself ridiculous by falling +violently in love with a young girl of eighteen."</p> + +<p><i>Winnipeg Telegram.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>He who runs may read—but apparently +he mustn't be amused.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"It is known the play is in three acts and +nine scenes, and that there is an exceptionally +long cast, but beyond that the strictest scenery +is being preserved."—<i>Birmingham Daily Mail.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Which will be good news for Mr. +<span class="sc">Gordon Craig</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page307" id="page307"></a>[pg 307]</span><h2>GRUB STREET GOSSIP.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>By our Special Parasitic Penman.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>How I Got There and Back</i> is the title +of a new story of adventurous exploration +which Messrs. Jones, Younger +announce for immediate publication. +The author, Mr. J. Minch Howson, +whose text has been revised by the +publishers, has had some astonishing +experiences as a bonzo-hunter in the +Aruwhimi forest. On one occasion he +was rescued by a mad elephant from +the jaws of an okapi, into which he +had inadvertently fallen while flying +from a gorilla. During his residence +among the pygmies Mr. Howson became +such an adept with the long blow-pipe +that they offered him the headship of +the tribe; but, as this involved the +adoption of anthropophagous habits, +he was reluctantly obliged to decline +the honour.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bamborough, the famous violinist, +who recently changed his name +by deed poll from Bamberger, has +compiled a further volume of reminiscences +based on his experiences as a +travelling <i>virtuoso</i> in all four hemispheres. +Some of these have already +been made public in the Press, but in a +condensed form. He now tells us for +the first time in full detail his astounding +adventures in New Guinea, where +he was captured and partially eaten by +cannibals, and his awful ordeal in the +Never-Never Land, when he was attacked +simultaneously by an emu and +a wallaby, and conquered them both +by the strains of his violin. The +volume, which will be published by +the House of Pougher and Kleimer, +is profusely illustrated with portraits +of Mr. Bamborough at various stages +of his career, before and after the +execution of the deed poll; of Mrs. +Bamborough and their three gifted +children, Wotan, Salome and Isolde +Bamborough; and of her father, Sir +Pompey Boldero, F.R.G.S., formerly +Attorney-General of Pitcairn Island. +It is further enriched with a number of +letters in <i>fac-simile</i> from the Begum of +<span class="sc">Bhopal</span>, General <span class="sc">Huerta</span>, the <span class="sc">Lord +Chief Justice</span>, Madame <span class="sc">Humbert</span>, +Mr. <span class="sc">Jerome K. Jerome</span>, Mr. <span class="sc">Clement +Shorter</span>, Mrs. <span class="sc">Alec Tweedie</span> and +the late <span class="sc">King Theebaw</span> of Burmah.</p> + +<p>Messrs. Vigo announce the speedy +publication of a volume of reminiscences +from the pen of Count Lio Rotsac, the +famous Bohemian revolutionary. In it +special interest attaches to the long and +desperate struggle between the Count +and his rival, Baron Aracsac, which +ended in the supersession of the latter +and his confinement in the gloomy +fortress prison of Niola Stelbat.</p> + +<p>Miss Poppy McLurkin, the composer +of that delightful song <i>Peter Popinjay</i>, +of which over a quarter of a million +copies have been sold or given away, +has expanded the four verses of her +lyric into a full-length novel, which +Messrs. Gulliver will publish under the +same title. Miss McLurkin, who is +still on the sunny side of thirty, is +one of the few female performers on +the bagpipes in the literary profession.</p> + +<p>New novelists are always welcome +if only for the titles of their books, for, +after all, perusal of their contents is not +compulsory. In this category may be +included <i>Telepathic Theodora</i>, by Beryl +Smuts; <i>The Rottenest Story in the +World</i>, by Dermot Stuggy; and <i>In the +Doldrums</i>, by Wally Gogg.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:47%;"><a href="images/307.png"><img width="100%" src="images/307.png" alt="" /></a><h3>HOW TO TAKE YOUR PART IN A DIALOGUE.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Why, Mrs. Codlins, 'ow are you, 'ow are you? I 'aven't seen you to speak +to for ages.</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">No, Mrs. Whidden; no more 'aven't I you, neither.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>The Latest Cinema Poster.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"Amazing Realistic Drama, featuring Big +Game Hunting.</p> + +<p>1500 feet—<span class="sc">Between Man and Beast</span>."</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>This is not realistic enough for us.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Seen on an Islington baker's shop:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="sc">Current Bread.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>A marked improvement on the stale +back-numbers supplied by some bakers.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"We understand that Prince William of +Wied intends to proclaim himself King of +Albania as soon as certain technical difficulties +have been overcome."—<i>Times.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Unfortunately there are several thousand +"technical difficulties"—all well-armed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page308" id="page308"></a>[pg 308]</span><h2>THE OBVIOUS.</h2> + +<p>Celia had been calling on a newly-married +friend of hers. They had been +school-girls together; they had looked +over the same Algebra book (or whatever +it was that Celia learnt at school—I +have never been quite certain); +they had done their calisthenics side by +side; they had compared picture-postcards +of <span class="sc">Lewis Waller</span>. Ah me! the +fairy princes they had imagined together +in those days ... and here am +I, and somewhere in the City (I believe +he is a stockbroker) is Ermyntrude's +husband, and we play our golf on +Saturday afternoons, and complain of +our dinners, and—— Well, anyhow, +they were both married, and Celia had +been calling on Ermyntrude.</p> + +<p>"I hope you did all the right things," +I said. "Asked to see the wedding-ring, +and admired the charming little +house, and gave a few hints on the +proper way to manage a husband."</p> + +<p>"Rather," said Celia. "But it did +seem funny, because she used to be +older than me at school."</p> + +<p>"Isn't she still?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>no</i>! I'm ever so much older +now.... Talking about wedding-rings," +she went on, as she twisted her +own round and round, "she's got all +sorts of things written inside hers—the +date and their initials and I don't +know what else."</p> + +<p>"There can't be much else—unless +perhaps she has a very large finger."</p> + +<p>"Well, I haven't got <i>anything</i> in +mine," said Celia mournfully. She took +off the offending ring and gave it to me.</p> + +<p>On the day when I first put the ring +on her finger, Celia swore an oath that +nothing but death, extreme poverty or +brigands should ever remove it. I swore +too. Unfortunately it fell off in the +course of the afternoon, which seemed +to break the spell somehow. So now +it goes off and on just like any other +ring. I took it from her and looked +inside.</p> + +<p>"There are all sorts of things here +too," I said. "Really, you don't seem +to have read your wedding-ring at all. +Or, anyhow, you've been skipping."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing," said Celia in the +same mournful voice. "I do think you +might have put something,"'</p> + +<p>I went and sat on the arm of her +chair and held the ring up.</p> + +<p>"You're an ungrateful wife," I said, +"after all the trouble I took. Now +look there," and I pointed with a pencil, +"what's the first thing you see?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-two. That's only the——"</p> + +<p>"That was your age when you +married me. I had it put in at enormous +expense. If you had been eighteen, +the man said, or—or nine, it would +have come much cheaper. But no, I +would have your exact age. You were +twenty-two, and that's what I had +engraved on it. Very well. Now what +do you see next to it?"</p> + +<p>"A crown."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And what does that mean? +In the language of—er—crowns it +means 'You are my queen.' I insisted +on a crown. It would have been +cheaper to have had a lion, which +means—er—lions, but I was determined +not to spare myself. For I thought," I +went on pathetically, "I quite thought +you would like a crown."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I do," cried Celia quickly, "if +it really means that." She took the +ring in her hands and looked at it +lovingly. "And what's that there? +Sort of a man's head."</p> + +<p>I gazed at her sadly.</p> + +<p>"You don't recognize it? Has a +year of marriage so greatly changed +me? Celia, it is your Ronald! I sat +for that, hour after hour, day after; +day, for your sake, Celia. It is not a +perfect likeness; in the small space +allotted to him the sculptor has hardly +done me justice. But it is your +Ronald.... And there," I added, +"is his initial 'r.' Oh, woman, the +amount of thought I spent on that +ring!"</p> + +<p>She came a little closer and slipped +the ring on my finger.</p> + +<p>"Spend a little more," she pleaded. +"There's plenty of room. Just have +something nice written in it—something +about you and me."</p> + +<p>"Like 'Pisgah'?"</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Perhaps it's +'Mizpah,' or 'Ichabod,' or 'Habakkuk.' +I'm sure there's a word you put on +rings—I expect they'd know at the +shop."</p> + +<p>"But I don't want what they know +at shops. It must be something quite +private and special."</p> + +<p>"But the shop has got to know about +it when I tell them. And I don't like +telling strange men in shops private +and special things about ourselves. I +love you, Celia, but——"</p> + +<p>"That would be a lovely thing," she +said, clasping her hands eagerly.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"'I love you, Celia.'"</p> + +<p>I looked at her aghast.</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to order that in +cold blood from the shopman?"</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't mind. Besides, if he +saw us together he'd probably know. +You aren't afraid of a goldsmith, are +you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid of any goldsmith +living—or goldfish either, if it comes +to that. But I should prefer to be +sentimental in some other language +than plain English. I could order +'<i>Cara sposa</i>', or—or '<i>Spaghetti</i>,' or +anything like that, without a tremor."</p> + +<p>"But of course you shall put just +whatever you like. Only—only let it +be original. Not Mizpahs."</p> + +<p>"Right," I said.</p> + +<p>For three days I wandered past gold-and-silversmiths +with the ring in my +pocket ... and for three days Celia +went about without a wedding-ring, +and, for all I know, without even her +marriage-lines in her muff. And on the +fourth day I walked boldly in.</p> + +<p>"I want," I said, "a wedding-ring +engraved," and I felt in my pockets. +"Not initials," I said, and I felt in some +more pockets, "but—but——" I tried +the trousers pockets again. "Well, +look here, I'll be quite frank with you. +I—er—want——" I fumbled in my +ticket-pocket, "I want 'I love you' on +it," and I went through the waistcoat +pockets a third time. "I—er—love +you."</p> + +<p>"Me?" said the shopman, surprised.</p> + +<p>"I love you," I repeated mechanically. +"I love you, I love you, I—— Well, +look here, perhaps I'd better go +back and get the ring."</p> + +<p>On the next day I was there again; +but there was a different man behind +the counter.</p> + +<p>"I want this ring engraved," I said.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. What shall we put?"</p> + +<p>I had felt the question coming. I +had a sort of instinct that he would +ask me that. But I couldn't get the +words out again.</p> + +<p>"Well," I hesitated, "I—er—well."</p> + +<p>"Ladies often like the date put in. +When is it to be?"</p> + +<p>"When is what to be?"</p> + +<p>"The wedding," he smiled.</p> + +<p>"It has been," I said. "It's all +over. You're too late for it."</p> + +<p>I gave myself up to thought. At all +costs I must be original. There must +be something on Celia's wedding-ring +that had never been on any other's....</p> + +<p>There was only one thing I could +think of.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The engraved ring arrived as we were +at tea a few days later, and I had a +sudden overwhelming fear that Celia +would not be pleased. I saw that I +must explain it to her. After all, there +was a distinguished precedent.</p> + +<p>"Come into the bath-room a moment," +I said, and I led the way.</p> + +<p>She followed, wondering.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" I asked, pointing +to a blue thing on the floor.</p> + +<p>"The bath-mat," she said, surprised.</p> + +<p>"And what is written on it?"</p> + +<p>"Why—'bath-mat,' of course."</p> + +<p>"Of course," I said ... and I handed +her the wedding-ring.</p> + +<p>A. A. M.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page309" id="page309"></a>[pg 309]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/309.png"><img width="100%" src="images/309.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Mother</i> (<i>to conciliate little girl who has been whipped</i>). "<span class="sc">Was she a nasty cruel Mother, then?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Modern Child.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh no; I deserved it.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>GWENDOLEN'S HOBBIES.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Gwendolen, when we were wed,</p> +<p>In her artless manner said,</p> +<p class="i2">"Dear, I think I'd better</p> +<p>Choose a hobby, lest I find</p> +<p>Household duties cramp the mind."</p> +<p class="i2">Foolishly, I let her.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Books at first were her delight;</p> +<p>Gwendolen grew erudite;</p> +<p class="i2">Vain were my petitions,</p> +<p>Till in scientific terms</p> +<p>I dilated on the germs</p> +<p class="i2">Haunting first editions.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Then, for one expensive week,</p> +<p>China (guaranteed antique)—</p> +<p class="i2">Derby, Sèvres and Lustre—</p> +<p>Charmed her, till our Abigail</p> +<p>Washed them in a kitchen pail,</p> +<p class="i2">Dried them with a duster!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Foreign stamps her time engrossed</p> +<p>For a busy month at most;</p> +<p class="i2">I endured—and waited.</p> +<p>Who so proud as Gwendolen</p> +<p>Of each gummy specimen</p> +<p class="i2">Till the craze abated?</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Later (if I seem severe,</p> +<p>Gwendolen, forgive me, dear!)</p> +<p class="i2">Art proved all-compelling;</p> +<p>Post-Impressionist indeed</p> +<p>Were the colour-schemes decreed</p> +<p class="i2">For our modest dwelling.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 20%; Margin-left: 1em; Margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>With her last experiment</p> +<p>Gwendolen appears content;</p> +<p class="i2">Heaven grant she may be!</p> +<p>For, of all the hobbies run</p> +<p>By my wife, there isn't one</p> +<p class="i2">Suits her like a baby.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE SITTER SAT UPON.</h2> + +<p>Wilkinson is a sculptor. I don't +mean that he lives by sculping. No. +As he puts it himself: "My lower self, +the self that wants bread and meat and +warmth and shelter, lives on unearned +increment. My higher self, the only +self that counts, lives on Art."</p> + +<p>Wilkinson and I had been sworn +pals from our boyhood till the day he +said: "By the way, old thing, I've +never had a turn at <i>your</i> headpiece. +You might give me a few sittings."</p> + +<p>For the first time I found myself +seated on a sitter's throne, while +Wilkinson stood at his modelling stand +working away at a mass of clay that +faintly suggested a human head and +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Need you yawn so often?" There +was a hint of savagery in Wilkinson's +tone that was new to me.</p> + +<p>"Why, you're not doing my mouth +yet," I urged.</p> + +<p>"No, but when a mouth like yours +opens wide it alters the shape of the +whole skull."</p> + +<p>I was astonished and hurt, and took +refuge in dignified silence.</p> + +<p>"Shall you send it—I mean me—to +the Academy?" I asked by-and-by.</p> + +<p>"Depends on how it pans out," +grunted Wilkinson, leaving the clay, +twirling the movable throne round, and +taking a frowning survey of me in +various aspects. "I might send it in +with Popplewell's bust, as a sort of +make-weight."</p> + +<p>"As a sort of make-weight!" I +echoed indignantly; and then, more +calmly, "Popplewell's finished, isn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—gone to be cast; and then +comes the marble."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Popplewell's to be done in +marble, is he? What shall <i>I</i> be done +in?"</p> + +<p>Wilkinson was taking an upward +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page310" id="page310"></a>[pg 310]</span>view of my features now, with a look +of extreme distaste on his countenance.</p> + +<p>"You? Oh, if I decide to finish you, +it'll be just the clay-burnt terra-cotta, +you know. Tut, tut, tut!"</p> + +<p>"Why tut, tut, tut?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No offence, old chap, but you <i>have</i> +such queer facial bones;" and as he +turned back to his modelling I heard +him mutter: "You never really know +what people are like till they sit to +you."</p> + +<p>Again I felt a bit hurt, and this time +I indulged a retort. "Wonder if you'll +get Popplewell into the Academy. +You've never had anything in yet, +have you?"</p> + +<p>"We sculptors are so vilely handicapped +by the wretched amount of +space the Academy people give us!" +said Wilkinson angrily. "Still, I've +great hopes this time. Not only is +my work improved, but it's a popular +subject—Popplewell, the novelist. +There—that'll do for to-day. I've +got the construction all right," looking +resentfully from the clay head to mine, +"though no one would believe it who +hadn't your head here to compare it +with."</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter with my +head?" I asked irritably as I got +gingerly off the movable throne. "And, +anyhow, I didn't ask to be modelled. +You made me sit here—I didn't want +to do it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, people make practice for one, +whatever they're like."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," I said stiffly.</p> + +<p>At the second sitting I tried to make +allowances for the artistic temperament +when Wilkinson prowled round me with +a look of something like horror on his +face, assaulted my features with compasses, +and turned away gibbering. I +even kept calm when informed that one +of my eyes was considerably larger and +wider open than the other and that I +had "no drawing" in my face. "No +offence, old chap," added my former +friend with a grin. "You must remember +it's the artist-eye that's responsible +for these cursory reflections."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," I remarked musingly, +"whether the artist-eye is a feature that +occasionally gets blacked by an indignant +sitter."</p> + +<p>At the third and fourth sittings more +bitter so-called truths were handed out +to me, and he was down on my "construction" +like a hundred of bricks.</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i>'s a normal one," here he indicated +a skull on a shelf; "<i>his</i> bones +are all right. But if yours were stripped +of the flesh——"</p> + +<p>"I shan't be sorry when these sittings +are over," I said; then, as I caught a +side view of the clay head, "I <i>say</i>! Am +I as frightful as that?"</p> + +<p>"As frightful as that!" snorted Wilkinson; +"why, I've <i>flattered</i> you, if +anything. People never know what +they're like. There's such a lot of +rotten vanity knocking about."</p> + +<p>When the last sitting was over my +wrongs found voice.</p> + +<p>"When I first sat to you," I said in +a tense tone, "I was comparatively +happy; my self-esteem was in a healthy +state; I felt that I was well-looking at +my best, even good-looking. I go from +you to-day a broken man, my confidence +shaken, my manners spoiled by +the consciousness that my construction +is wrong, that there is 'no drawing' in +my face, and that neither my eyes nor +my nostrils are a pair; and, not content +with this, you have darkened my +remote future by implying that when it +is time for me to be merely a skull I shall +be an absurd one. May Heaven forgive +you, Wilkinson—<i>I</i> never can!"</p> + +<p>For some weeks we stood apart, "like +cliffs that had been rent asunder," and +then one day Wilkinson came up and +thumped me on the back. "It's always +the unexpected that happens, old thing," +he said. "Popplewell's bust was rejected +at once, but yours——"</p> + +<p>"Am I <i>in</i>?" In my excitement I +forgot my wrongs.</p> + +<p>"No, not <i>in</i>; but you were a <i>doubtful</i>. +Only think—first doubtful I've ever +had! To have a doubtful sculpture is +as good as having two or three paintings +on the line. You can't be such a bad +subject after all. I'll have another touch +at you, and next year see if you're not +in! Come and have some lunch."</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:85%;"><a href="images/310.png"><img width="100%" src="images/310.png" alt="" /></a><p class="center"><span class="sc">Candidate for medical degree being examined in the subject of "Bedside Manner."</span></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Notable things are done around a table. +Corporations are formed...."</p> + +<p><i>Westminster Teacher.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The beginnings of them, anyway.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page311" id="page311"></a>[pg 311]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:45%;"><a href="images/311.png"><img width="100%" src="images/311.png" alt="" /></a><h3>AFTER TEN YEARS.</h3></div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page312" id="page312"></a>[pg 312]</span><hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page313" id="page313"></a>[pg 313]</span> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<span class="sc">Extracted from the Diary +of Toby, M.P.</span>)</p> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Tuesday, +April 14.</i>—Back to +grindstone after so-called +Easter recess. Divisions +reveal presence of aggregate +of something less than 200 +Members. Watchful Whip, +ever suspicious of ambush, +succeeded in mustering four-fifths +of the whole. Ministerial +majority maintained +at average of six-score.</p> + +<p>Increased by a unit consequent +on return of <span class="sc">Premier</span> +after re-election by +faithful Fife. Towards close of Questions +was discovered standing at Bar +awaiting <span class="sc">Speaker's</span> call.</p> + +<p>"Members desiring to take their +seats will please come to the Table."</p> + +<p>As he advanced, escorted by <span class="sc">Chief +Whip</span> and Scottish colleague, Liberals +and Irish Nationalists leaped to their +feet, waving hats and handkerchiefs +in loyal greeting. Only the haughty +Labour Member remained seated. +Not for him to pay court to chiefs +of other parties, howsoever +friendly. He is there as representative +of the Working Man; +is neither to be bought nor sold, +cowed nor cajoled.</p> + +<p>A fine spectacle. Pity Strangers' +Galleries almost empty.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"><a href="images/313-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/313-1.png" alt="" /></a><h3>THE NEW MEMBER.</h3> + +<p><i>Mr. <span class="sc">Speaker</span>.</i> "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir. Somehow +I seem to know your face."</p></div> + +<p>In process of swearing-in new +Member nothing taken for granted. +<span class="sc">Halsbury</span> discovered this when, +far back in the last century, he, +known at the time as <span class="sc">Hardinge +Giffard</span>, came up to take his +seat for Launceston. Challenged +by the Clerk for production of +writ of return, made painful discovery +that it was not at hand. +Sure he put it in his pocket when +he left home; but which pocket?</p> + +<p>In full gaze of four hundred +quizzical Members he proceeded +to search. Was there ever mortal +man with so many pockets stuffed +with such miscellaneous contents +as <span class="sc">Disraeli's</span> Solicitor-General +littered the Table withal? In the +end—and its coming seemed interminable—the +desired document +was found coyly hidden in his +hat left on the seat he had +occupied under the Gallery awaiting +summons to the Table.</p> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span>, cool and +businesslike as usual, had necessary +document ready. Handing +it to the Clerk, he once more +signed the roll of Parliament.</p> + +<p>Then came critical moment, awaited +with keen interest by House. The +roll signed, it is duty of Clerk to +conduct new Member to <span class="sc">Speaker</span> and +introduce him by name.</p> + +<p>"Mr. <span class="sc">Asquith</span>!" the Clerk announced.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/313-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/313-2.png" alt="" /></a><h3>THE GREAT EAST AFRICAN PROTECTOR.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Come under de ole umbrella,</p> +<p class="i2">Come along, piccaninnies, do;</p> +<p>Hark to Uncle <span class="sc">Lulu</span> a-callin',</p> +<p class="i2">Room for all ob you!"—<i>Coon Song.</i></p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">(Mr. <span class="sc">Harcourt</span>.)</p> +</div> </div> </div> + +<p>With half start of surprise <span class="sc">Speaker</span> +regarded newcomer; thought he recognised +him as he stood at the Table. +All doubt now removed. +Yes, it was <span class="sc">Asquith</span>. With +genial smile and friendly +grip of the hand he welcomed +the new Member. +Delighted Ministerialists +cheered again at this happy +conclusion of the episode.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Committee +stage of Bill pledging +national credit for loan to +East African Protectorates +entered upon. Not without +opposition from Ministerial +benches. <span class="sc">Alpheus Cleophas +Morton</span>, of whom we +hear little in these degenerate +days, insisted that +this kind of charity should +begin at home—that is in +the Highlands of Scotland. <span class="sc">Wedgwood</span> +and <span class="sc">Thorne</span> thought Government +had gone far enough in the way of +lavish expenditure of tax-payers' money +by providing them and others with +salaries of £400 a year. From other +side of House <span class="sc">Banbury</span> made several +speeches in succession. Division called +and opposition swamped.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—"Such larks!" as <i>Joe +Gargery</i> used to say to <i>Pip</i> when +they met for confidential confabulation. +Of all men it was <span class="sc">Cousin +Hugh</span> began them. At first sight +difficult to associate tendency to +larkiness with austerity of Member +for Oxford University. But +human nature is complex, and, +after all, <span class="sc">Cousin Hugh</span> is only +human.</p> + +<p>In a former Parliament he was +convicted of what was officially +known as loitering in the Lobby. +It was a Wednesday afternoon, +and in those days debate automatically +stood adjourned at half-past +five. Business to the fore +related to Marriage with a +Deceased Wife's Sister. Every +prospect of Resolution being approved +if there were opportunity +for division. The thing to do +was to prevent one taking place. +Accordingly, when House divided +on Closure motion, <span class="sc">Cousin Hugh</span> +and his confederates were such an +unconscionably long time returning +to their places that half-past +five struck before main question +could be put from Chair. Debate +accordingly stood adjourned for +indefinite period.</p> + +<p>A fortnight ago another of +those domestic questions which +stir <span class="sc">Cousin Hugh's</span> soul to the +depths came up. At the ballot-box +a Member secured favourable +position for motion relating +to Divorce. <span class="sc">Cousin Hugh</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page314" id="page314"></a>[pg 314]</span>straightway blocked it by a bogus Bill. +Last Wednesday Opposition proposed +on motion for adjournment for Easter +to attack Government from divers +points of compass. Ministerialists, +taking leaf out of <span class="sc">Cousin Hugh's</span> +book, put down notices that blocked the +whole lot. To-day <span class="sc">Premier's</span> attention +called to the matter. Admits "situation +is scandalous"; undertakes forthwith +to submit Resolution dealing with +it.</p> + +<p>Characteristically odd feature in case is +that it was <span class="sc">Brother Bob</span> who brought +matters to a head by tabling a Resolution +making impossible in future the +vagaries of <span class="sc">Cousin Hugh</span>.</p> + +<p>Which shows afresh how remarkable +are the resources of a +family rooted in the spacious times +of <span class="sc">Queen Elizabeth</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Criminal Justice +Administration Bill read a +second time.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—As at approach of +Spring the time of the singing of +birds comes, and the voice of the +turtle is heard in the land, so +thus early in the session the +voice of the objector is heard in +the House of Commons. On +days when Private Bills come up +for consideration, there is a scene +which interests while it perplexes +occupants of Ladies' Gallery, in +whose full view it is set. As soon +as <span class="sc">Speaker</span> takes the Chair, +before galleries are open to male +strangers, there enters from hidden +staircase leading to gallery over +clock a procession of businesslike +gentlemen. Silently, swiftly, they +flood what is known as Distinguished +Strangers' Gallery.</p> + +<p>Clerk at Table reads list of +Private Bills awaiting second +reading: (1) Middlesbrough Corporation +Bill, (2) Lurgan Gas +and Electricity Bill, (3) Northwich +Urban District Council Bill. From one +side or other of benches below Gangway +sounds a single word: "Object!" +Title of next Bill on list recited. Again +the cabalistic word, and so on to end of +catalogue. This reached, anonymous +Strangers in gallery rise and depart as +swiftly, as silently, as they came, and +what is still known as Question-hour +(though it is limited to forty-five +minutes) opens.</p> + +<p>Whisper runs round Ladies' Gallery +that mysterious Strangers are detachment +of Ulster volunteers out on drill. +As a matter of fact they are solicitors +concerned for fate of private measures. +With extreme rarity is a Private Bill +debated on second reading. As a +rule that stage is formally conceded, +real work being done in select committees +upstairs. One of the archaic +absurdities of legislative practice remaining +in Commons is that a single +Member has autocratic power to delay +progress of particular Bills approaching +Committee stage by murmuring or +shouting a magic dissyllable.</p> + +<p>Last Session <span class="sc">Tim Healy</span>, offended +at certain course taken by Board of +Trade in respect of Private Bill for +which he was concerned, held up for a +fortnight the whole course of private +legislation. At the end of that time +Government with a majority still a +hundred strong capitulated. It was an +exceptionally weary time for solicitors +filing in and filing out of the Gallery, +day by day passing and their Bill +"getting no forrarder."</p> + +<p>Fortunately in these cases there are +two Bills that run concurrently. One +is the legislative measure to which a +Member objects; the other the bill of +costs in which these daily attendances +at the opening of successive sittings, +this mounting and descending of unsympathetic +stairways, are doubtless +duly noted.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Irish Votes in Committee +of Supply.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:40%;"><a href="images/314.png"><img width="100%" src="images/314.png" alt="" /></a><h3>THE THIRD TIME OF ASKING.</h3></div> + +<hr /> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Postmaster-General</span> is making +heroic efforts to improve the telephone +service. According to the current Post +Office Circular the name of the "Coed +Talon" exchange has been altered to +"Pontybodkin."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>ONCE UPON A TIME.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Aviation.</span></p> + +<p>Once upon a time there was a little +primrose who grew all alone on a sunny +bank. All around her were primroses +in clusters, but she was a solitary +flower.</p> + +<p>Having no brothers or sisters to talk +to and no very near neighbours, she +made a confidant of a bee, who would +often sit with her for several minutes at +a time. He was brusque and opinionated, +but he was wise too, and, having +wings, knew the world; and she never +tired of hearing of his travels.</p> + +<p>He told her of gardens where +flowers of every kind and sweetness +bloomed. "Not like you," +he said—"not wild flowers that +no one values, but choice, wonderful, +aristocratic flowers that +are picked out of catalogues and +cost money and need attention +from a gardener."</p> + +<p>"What is a gardener?" the +primrose asked.</p> + +<p>"A gardener is a man who +does nothing but look after +flowers," said the bee. "He brings +them water and picks off the dead +leaves, and all the time he is +thinking how to make them +more beautiful."</p> + +<p>"How splendid!" said the +primrose.</p> + +<p>And the bee told her of the +houses in these gardens, with +pleasant sunny rooms, and +pictures, and flowers in vases to +cheer the eyes of the rich people +who lived there.</p> + +<p>"How splendid!" said the +primrose again. "I wish I could +see it all. I should love to be in +a vase in a beautiful room and be +admired by rich people."</p> + +<p>"You're too simple," said the +bee. "You haven't a chance. You've +got to stay where you are till you die."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I have wings like +you?" said the primrose.</p> + +<p>"How absurd!" replied the bee as he +flew away.</p> + +<p>But the next day the primrose looked +up and saw a most wonderful thing. +A primrose that really had wings! A +flying primrose! A primrose that could +go anywhere just like the bee. It darted +hither and thither so gaily, alighting +where it wished and then soaring up +again right into the blue sky above the +earth.</p> + +<p>The solitary primrose called to it, but +it did not hear, and was soon out of +sight.</p> + +<p>"So primroses needn't always stop +where they are till they die," she said +to herself. "Why did the bee deceive +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page315" id="page315"></a>[pg 315]</span>me? If I were like that I could see the +garden and the gardener and the pretty +gay sitting-rooms and the rich people."</p> + +<p>She waited impatiently for the bee's +return, and when he came she told him +about the aviator.</p> + +<p>"He was so splendid," she said, "so +big and strong, and he flew beautifully. +How can I get wings, too?"</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" said the bee. "That wasn't +a primrose. That was a brimstone +butterfly; and as for flying—why, he +can't compare with me. I could beat +him every time: hundred yards, quarter-mile, +mile, long distance—everything."</p> + +<p>"He looked just like a wonderful +big primrose," said the solitary flower +wistfully.</p> + +<p>"That's because you've got only one +eye," said the bee. "He was a butterfly +right enough;" and he hurried away +laughing at the silliness of her mistake.</p> + +<p>But that day the little primrose had +part of her wish; for a party of children +came into her corner of the wood and +began to pick the flowers with cries of +delight.</p> + +<p>"Here's one all alone!" said a small +girl. "I shall pick that for mother." +Straightway the primrose was torn +from its root and held tightly in a hand +which was far too hot to be pleasant.</p> + +<p>Down the road the children went, and +the primrose looked as well as she could +at the hedges and the trees.</p> + +<p>"So this is the world," she said to +herself. "It seems really interesting, +but I should like it better if I didn't feel +so faint."</p> + +<p>At last they came to a garden gate +and passed through it, up a long path, +with strange flowers on each side, which +the primrose saw mistily, for she was +now really ill.</p> + +<p>"I am sure it is all very beautiful," +she murmured, "but I know I shall +die if I don't have some water soon."</p> + +<p>And then they entered a room, and +the little girl hurried up to a lady +and gave her the solitary primrose. +"It was growing all alone," she said, +"so I brought it for you."</p> + +<p>"Put it into a vase at once," said +the mother, "or it will die." And the +primrose was placed in water, and at +once began to revive.</p> + +<p>Then she looked about her and saw +what a nice room it was, and was +happy.</p> + +<p>The next morning in came the bee +with a great fluster and bumped all +over the room.</p> + +<p>"Hullo," he said to the little primrose, +"you here?"</p> + +<p>She told him all her adventures.</p> + +<p>"Well, what I said is right, isn't +it?" the bee remarked. "It's all very +jolly here, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so, but I wish I didn't +feel so weak. I never had an ache +when I was in the wood."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but you weren't among the nobs +then," said the bee; "make the most +of your time while you're here, for it +won't be for long, you know."</p> + +<p>"Come and see me to-morrow," the +little primrose whimpered. "I feel so +lonely here. I was happier in the +wood."</p> + +<p>"You won't be alive to-morrow," said +the bee cheerily. "But never mind, +you have seen the world." And out he +bashed again, blowing his motor-horn +to clear the way.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/315.png"><img width="100%" src="images/315.png" alt="" /></a><h2>OUR YOUNG VETERANS.</h2> + +<p><i>He.</i> "<span class="sc">I say, your Grannie seems rather put out to-night. What's up?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>She.</i> "<span class="sc">Hush! Poor dear, she's just heard my other grannie is engaged and she's so afraid she may be left on +the shelf.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page316" id="page316"></a>[pg 316]</span><h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> + +<p class="center">"<span class="sc">Pygmalion.</span>"</p> + +<p>The original Pygmalion took a block +of dead ivory and made of it so fair +a figure of a woman that he fell in love +with his own creation, and Aphrodite, +at his request, brought it to life. +Mr. <span class="sc">Shaw's</span> <i>Pygmalion</i> takes +a live flower-girl, turns her +into a lifeless wax figure fit +for a milliner's shop-window, +and flatters himself, as an +artist, on the result, but, +as a man, proposes to take +no interest in it, moral or +physical. So you can easily +see why almost any other +proper name you can think +of would have done better +for the title.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"><a href="images/316-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/316-1.png" alt="" /></a><p>We venture to suggest a new attitude to illustrate the ease of +manner which one expects from a Master of Phonetics and Deportment.</p> + +<p><i>Henry Higgins</i> <span class="wider">Sir <span class="sc">Herbert Tree</span>.</span></p></div> + +<p>The play itself shows the +same typical inconsequence, +the same freedom from the +pedantry of logic. <i>Eliza +Doolittle's</i> ambition is to become +fitted for the functions +of a young lady in a florist's +shop. <i>Henry Higgins</i>, professor +of phonetics, undertakes for a +wager to teach her the manners and +diction of a duchess—a smaller achievement, +of course, in Mr. <span class="sc">Shaw's</span> eyes, +but still a step in the right direction. +And he is better than his word. After +six months she has acquired a mincing +speech, from which she is still liable to +lapse into appalling indiscretions; but +after another six months the product +might pass muster in any <i>modiste's</i> +showroom. And then she turns +on him and protests that he has +spoilt her life. As a flower-girl, +she tells him, she used to earn +her living honestly; now there +is nothing she is good for.</p> + +<p>Of course, you say, her contact +with refined society—"we needs +must love the highest when we +see it"—has unfitted her for +mixing with inferior people. On +the contrary. She has, it is +true, passed the final test of a +series of social functions; but +meanwhile all this time of her +apprenticeship in manners she +has been living her daily life, +doing half-menial duties, in the +house of <i>Higgins</i>, who happens +to have no manners at all. One +trembles, indeed, to picture the +figure that he himself, the master, +must have cut when he took +his pupil to the halls of the great.</p> + +<p>Then perhaps, you say, she has +fallen into an unrequited passion +for him, and this accounts for her +peevishness? Well, if she has, +we have only Mr. <span class="sc">Shaw's</span> word +for it, and she gets no sympathy from us +for her deplorable taste in men. There +was another man who was always about +the house, a man with a habit of courtesy, +but this gallant soldier left her cold. +Such is the perversity of women—and +Mr. <span class="sc">Shaw</span>. <i>Higgins's</i> one act of civility +to his <i>protégée</i>, on which we had to +base our hopes of a happy issue, was to +throw a bunch of flowers at her from +a balcony in Chelsea—not perhaps a +very tactful reminder of her origin. +But he was only just in time. Another +two seconds of delay and the final +curtain would have cut off this tardy +and inadequate effort of conciliation.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/316-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/316-2.png" alt="" /></a><h3>FROM FLOWER-GIRL TO PERFECT LADY.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Showing middle stage in course of lessons in Polite +Conversation.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Eliza Doolittle</i> (Mrs. <span class="sc">Patrick Campbell</span>) to <i>Mrs. Eynsford-Hill</i> +(Miss <span class="sc">Carlotta Addison</span>). "An aunt of mine +died of in-flu-en-za: but it's my be-lief they done h-her in."</p></div> + +<p>However, nobody goes to a production +of Mr. <span class="sc">Shaw's</span> with the idea of seeing +a play. We go to hear him discourse +on just anything that occurs to him +without prejudice in the matter of his +mouthpiece. This time he was represented +by a dustman; and for once Mr. +<span class="sc">Shaw</span> consented to temper his wisdom +to the limitations of its repository. +His <i>Alfred Doolittle</i> (father of the +flower-girl) threw off a little cheap +satire on the morality of the +middle-classes, yet admitted +the drawbacks of unauthorised +union (as practised by +himself), since a man's wife +is there to be kicked, whereas +a mistress is apt to be more +exigent of the amenities; you +must adopt a more lover-like +attitude if you want to retain +her. He also argued brightly +in defence of his proposal to +sell his own daughter to any +man for a fiver; let fall a +platitude or two in praise of +the lot of the undeserving +poor; and (having come in for +a fortune) found that charity +had lost its blessedness—that +the touch of nature which +makes the whole world kin +was only admirable when you did the +"touching" yourself. Not bad for a +dustman, but Mr. <span class="sc">Shaw</span> has done better.</p> + +<p>For the rest the attraction lay in the +performance of individual actors rather +than in the stuff of the play. Mrs. +<span class="sc">Patrick Campbell</span> was delicious, +both in her unregenerate state, and +even more during the middle phase of +the refining process. She made the +Third Act a pure delight. Later, when +she became tragic, she sacrificed +something of her particular charm +to the author's insincerity.</p> + +<p>Sir <span class="sc">Herbert Tree</span>, always at +his best in comedy, was an excellent +<i>Higgins</i> in his lighter +moods. As for Mr. <span class="sc">Edmund +Gurney</span>, he was far the best +dustman I have ever met. His +freedom from scruples, combined +with a natural gift for unctuous +and persuasive rhetoric, commanded +admiration. <i>Higgins</i>, +indeed, who could read potentialities +at a glance, considered +that he might, under happier +conditions, have gone far toward +attaining Cabinet rank or filling +a Welsh pulpit.</p> + +<p>Of the others, Mr. <span class="sc">Philip +Merivale</span> played the too subsidiary +part of <i>Colonel Pickering</i> +with admirable self-repression; +and Miss <span class="sc">Rosamond Mayne-Young</span>, +as the mother of <i>Higgins</i>, +was a very gracious figure.</p> + +<p>The play was curiously uneven. +If one might be permitted to enter +and leave at one's pleasure I would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page317" id="page317"></a>[pg 317]</span>advise you to miss out the desultory +First Act. But if you insist on seeing it +then take care to read your programme +before the lights go down and find out +that the scene is the porch of a church. +I thought all the time that it was the +porch of a theatre. Make sure in the +same way about the Chelsea flat, or +you may mistake it for a charming +country cottage. The Second and Third +Acts are not to be missed on any +account, but I shouldn't worry about +the Fourth. In the Fifth you should +go away for good the moment that the +dustman makes his exit. The tedium +that follows is most distressing, and +can only be explained as the author's +revenge for your laughter. It was a +cruel thing to do.</p> + +<p>But I forgive him. I take away +many delightful memories of my evening +with <i>Pygmalion</i>, and, best of all, +the picture of Sir <span class="sc">Herbert's</span> frank and +childlike pleasure at having discovered +Mr. <span class="sc">Bernard Shaw</span>.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:47%;"><a href="images/317.png"><img width="100%" src="images/317.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Jones</i> (<i>selecting a uniform for his chauffeur</i>). "<span class="sc">I like this one best, but it's rather +expensive</span>."</p> + +<p><i>Expert Salesman.</i> "<span class="sc">Then I should have it. After all, the guv'nor pays!</span>"</p></div> + +<br /> +<p class="center">"<span class="sc">Potash and Perlmutter.</span>"</p> + +<p>If you have ever been to an American +commercial drama, you will know the +opening scene of this one before the +curtain goes up. The business interior; +the typewriter on the left; the head of +the firm opening cryptic correspondence +and dictating unintelligible answers; +spasmodic incursions of cocksure buyers +and bagmen; a prevailing air of smartness, +of hustle, of get-on-or-get-out. In +<i>The Melting Pot</i> Mr. <span class="sc">Zangwill</span> has +been creating a diversion with an +Hebraic theme, his hero being a refugee +from Kieff, where his family had perished +in a pogrom. This new variation +has occurred—independently, no doubt—to +the author of <i>Potash and Perlmutter</i>, +who has grafted it (including +the detail of the immigrant from Kieff) +on the old commercial stock, and done +very well indeed with his blend.</p> + +<p>His two protagonists in the Teuton-American-Semitic +firm of "cloak and +suit" manufacturers that gives its title +to the play are extraordinarily alive. +I am but imperfectly acquainted with +this racial variety, but I can easily +recognise that Messrs. <span class="sc">Augustus Yorke</span> +and <span class="sc">Egbert Leonard</span>, who represent +the two partners, are gifted with the +most amazing powers of observation +and reproduction.</p> + +<p>The pair are alike in their mercenary +tastes and in that loyalty which is +so fine a feature of the Jewish race, +and is here found in frequent conflict +with their commercial instincts. The +cruel wrench that their generosity +always costs them is a true measure of +its excellence. They quarrel alike over +details of business policy; but they +always stand together where profit +is obviously to be made by a common +attitude, or where they find themselves +in a tight corner. Yet the +author has preserved a nice distinction +between them. It is <i>Potash</i>, +the elder of the two, and encumbered +by fetters of domestic affection, who is +the weaker vessel, and commits the +indiscretions with whose issue he is +impotent to cope; it is <i>Perlmutter</i>, +with the quicker brains, contemptuous +but devoted, who throws all the blame +where it is due, yet stands by to share +the punishment.</p> + +<p>I found their language and accent +rather hard to follow, a difficulty not +shared by the strong Jewish element in +an audience that was extremely quick +to appreciate the humour that kept +one always on the alert. It is profitless +to ask how much of the fun was +due to the things said and how much +to the manner of saying them. The +essential matter is that actors and +author between them gave us an unusually +good time, and I am much +obliged to them.</p> + +<p>Apart from the leading characters, +the <i>Mrs. Potash</i> of Miss <span class="sc">Matilda +Cottrelly</span> was a most delightful study, +and the breezy methods of Mr. <span class="sc">Charles +Dickson</span> as a buyer and Mr. <span class="sc">Ezra +Matthews</span> as a salesman were effective +of their kind.</p> + +<p>The plot, as usual in such plays, was +rather elementary. So, too, with the +love interest; but the right kind of +sentiment was not wanting in the very +human characters of <i>Potash</i> and <i>Perlmutter</i>. +For a rare moment or two +there was a break in our laughter and +tears were not far away.</p> + +<p>O. S.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page318" id="page318"></a>[pg 318]</span><h2>THE POST-OFFICE SAVINGS BANK.</h2> + +<p>My nephew Rupert has been spending part of his Easter +holidays with me. There is nothing like a boy of fifteen for +adding an atmosphere to a house—in which term I include +a garden. It is a special atmosphere, hard to define, but +quite unmistakable when you have once lived in it. It +is compounded of football, cricket, hockey—these are not +actual, but conversational—of visits to the stables, romps +with dogs in a library, tousled hair, muddy trousers, a +certain contempt for time, the loan of my collar-stud, an +insatiable desire to look through the back volumes of <i>Punch</i>, +long rides on a bicycle and an irresistible tendency of ink +to the fingers, presumably caused by the terrible duty of +writing letters to parents. There may be other ingredients, +but these are the chief. I am bound to add that he is a +very amiable boy, with a strong sense of humour, and that +he associates on very friendly terms with the little girls, +his cousins, who form the majority of this household, it +being quite understood that, for the time, they become boys +while he remains what he is.</p> + +<p>The other morning Rupert evidently had something on +his mind. He made various half-hearted and thoroughly +unsuccessful efforts to leave the room, twiddled his cap in +his hands, tripped over the rug and finally spoke.</p> + +<p>"Thanks awfully, Uncle Harry, for lending me your +bicycle."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," I said. "You're very welcome to it. +It's a good thing for it to be used."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "but I shan't want it again."</p> + +<p>"Tired of it?" I said. "Well, there's no compulsion."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know that—thanks awfully—but it isn't that. +It's a ripping bicycle. I should like to ride it for ever, +but——"</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it? Out with it."</p> + +<p>"I've got one of my own."</p> + +<p>"One of your own!" I said. "How's that? You +hadn't got one yesterday."</p> + +<p>"No, but I've got one now. I bought it this morning +at Hickleden. There's a bicycle shop there, and I heard +there was a good bicycle for sale cheap, so I went over this +morning and had a ride on it, and it suited me splendidly, +so I bought it, and I've got it here."</p> + +<p>"Bought it?" I said. "That's all very well; but how +did you pay for it?"</p> + +<p>"That," he said, "is where all the bother comes in."</p> + +<p>"It generally does," I said. "Either you've got the +money, and then it seems such a waste; or you haven't +got it, and then it's a lifetime of misery. Debt, my boy, +is an awful thing."</p> + +<p>"Don't rag, Uncle Harry; I've got the money all right."</p> + +<p>"Then be a man and shell out."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but that's just what I can't do. It's this way: +the price of the bicycle is five pounds seventeen and sixpence."</p> + +<p>"And a very good price too."</p> + +<p>"It's got three gears and a lamp and everything complete. +Well, I've got three pounds ten in the Post-Office +Savings Bank. I put it in in London."</p> + +<p>"That's a good beginning, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and Aunt Mary gave me a pound for my birthday, +and I put that in at the post-office here yesterday. It's +better not to keep pounds in your pocket."</p> + +<p>"Quite right," I said; "we have now got to four pounds +ten."</p> + +<p>"And Grandma sent me a pound this morning in a +postal-order."</p> + +<p>"We're all but up to it now," I said. "The excitement +is becoming intense."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it? And I've got the rest in shillings and sixpences +and coppers."</p> + +<p>"Away you go, then, and pay for the bicycle."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but it isn't as easy as all that. I can't get the +money out of the Post-Office."</p> + +<p>"What," I said—"they won't let you have your own +money? They calmly take the savings of a lifetime and +then refuse to give them up?"</p> + +<p>"I went round there this morning and they said +I'd put the money in in London and there were various +formalities to be gone through before I could draw it out +here."</p> + +<p>"The official mind," I said, "delights in technicalities. +Let us see how you stand:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>To save you from the silly game of playing drakes and ducks</p> +<p>You banked the cash in Middlesex—but asked for it in Bucks.</p> +</div> </div> + +<p>Or we could put it in this way:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In order not to spend it all in lollipops and toffees</p> +<p>You gave it to the P. M. G. to keep it in his office.</p> +</div> </div> + +<p>Or in this way:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>You bought a three-gear bicycle because you had a will for it,</p> +<p>And now you've gone and fetched the thing and cannot pay the bill for it.</p> +</div> </div> + +<p>Rupert, you're in the cart."</p> + +<p>"By Jove, Uncle Harry," he said in an awestruck tone, +"that's poetry."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" I said. "I just threw it off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it's poetry all right. It's got rhymes, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Rupert," I said, "let us come back to plain prose and +consider your desperate financial situation. You cannot +get your three pounds ten."</p> + +<p>"No, not yet."</p> + +<p>"And Aunt Mary's pound?"</p> + +<p>"They said that, being holiday time, that wouldn't have +got to headquarters yet."</p> + +<p>"Gracious goodness," I said, "I never knew a savings +bank had so many pitfalls. The whole thing is too complicated +for my mind."</p> + +<p>"It isn't really complicated," said Rupert. "It's quite +plain; but perhaps if you put it into poetry you'll understand +it better."</p> + +<p>"Rupert," I said, "let us have no sarcasms. The thing +is too serious for that. You possess your grandmother's +pound in a postal-order and assorted coins to the amount +of seven and sixpence, total one pound seven and six, to +pay for a bicycle costing five pounds seventeen and sixpence. +In short, you are a bankrupt."</p> + +<p>"But I shall get the money."</p> + +<p>"That is what they all say."</p> + +<p>Eventually the matter was arranged and the bicycle man +was satisfied. Rupert's correspondence with the Post +Office still continues. But his faith in that institution +has received a severe shock.</p> + +<p>R. C. L.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"The Rev. C. A. Brereton has presented to the St. Pancras +Guardians a donkey for the use of the children at Leavesden Poor +Law Schools, and a member of the Board has presented an A B C +time-table."—<i>Daily News.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Anonymous Benefactor</i> (<i>when the secret of his name leaks +out</i>): "No, no, don't thank me.... It was last year's."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Headlines to adjoining columns in <i>The Toronto Daily +Star</i>:—</p> + +<table><tr align="center"><td><span class="sc">"Mayor to call meeting</span><br /> +<span class="sc">to discuss Scripture."</span></td><td><span class="sc">"Mayor calls 'Globe's'</span><br /><span class="sc">report a 'blasted lie.'"</span></td></tr></table> + +<p>These Mayors lead a life full of variety.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page319" id="page319"></a>[pg 319]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/319.png"><img width="100%" src="images/319.png" alt="" /></a><h3>PLEASURES OF THE POINT TO POINT.</h3> + +<p><i>Good and encouraging Samaritan</i> (<i>helping sportsman to remount after immersion in the brook</i>). "<span class="sc">Next old bruck be heaps +bigger'n this un, and he do have a turrible lot o' water in he just now.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Dodo the Second</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and Stoughton</span>), by <span class="sc">E. F. +Benson</span>. Doesn't the very title-page sound like a leaf from +your dead past? I protest that for my own part I was +back on hearing it in the naughty nineties, the very +beginning of them indeed (the fact that I was also back in +the school-room did little to impair the thrill) and agog to +read the clever, audacious book that all the wonderful +people who lived in those days were talking about. And +behold! here they all are again—not the people who talked, +but the audacious characters. Only the trouble is that we +have all in the interval become so much more audacious +ourselves that their efforts in this kind seem to fail to +produce the old impression. This is by no means to say +that I didn't enjoy <i>Dodo the Second</i>. I enjoyed it very +much indeed; and so will you. For one thing, it was the +jolliest experience to recognize so many old friends—<i>Dodo</i> +herself (now of course the <i>Princess Waldenech</i>), and the +wicked <i>Prince</i>, and the rest of them. Of <i>Dodo</i> at least it +may be said, moreover, that she has matured credibly; +this middle-aging lady is exactly what the siren of twenty +years ago would have developed into, still beautiful, still +alluring, and still (I must add) capable of infecting everyone +else in a conversation with exactly her own trick of cheap +and rather fatiguing brilliance. Added to all this there +is now a new generation of characters, several of whom +are quite pleasant company; for them and for one very +impressive piece of descriptive work in the account of a +gathering storm, this Twenty Years After may be heartily +welcomed. Indeed one leaves <i>Dodo</i> of 1914 so vigorously +alive that I am not without hope of her turning up yet +again as a grandmother in 1934.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I have discovered from <i>The Rebellion of Esther</i> (<span class="sc">Alston +Rivers</span>) why it is that my sympathies, usually at the disposal +of insurgents, are withheld from the Suffragette. +Anyone who is genuinely out to assert a principle, at the +cost of quarrelling with established authority, has a certain +merit of altruism which even the most law-abiding may +count as a mitigating circumstance, however unworthy the +end in view; but the egoism of a young lady (like Miss +<span class="sc">Margaret Legge's</span> heroine) who in whatever cause defies +all institutions with the latent motive of asserting herself +will induce even the most lawless to support warmly the +powers of suppression. <i>Miss Esther Ballinger</i> had a +number of real grievances, but her point of view was +typified in her attitude towards the illicit and incidental +motherhood of one of her acquaintances. Without hearing +the facts, she pronounced it to be "a courageous stand +against conventional morality," which it just possibly +might have proved to be upon enquiry, and by no means +a weak surrender to immediate desires, as much more +probably it was in fact. From my knowledge of <i>Esther</i> +she had but one reason for expressing this opinion, and +that was the personal pleasure of saying the unorthodox +thing, an element which accounts for much of the unconventionality +of that intellectual class of townsfolk figuring +broadcast in the book, and largely discounts the value of its +criticisms. I suspected the same flaw in her expressed +convictions on religious, political and feminist matters, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page320" id="page320"></a>[pg 320]</span>and I shouldn't be surprised to learn, though there is no +hint of it, that she stopped short of complete revolt in +her own big affair because she realized instinctively that +even a passionate pose may lose its attractions if it +has to be maintained for a lifetime. Miss <span class="sc">Margaret +Legge</span>, though alive to the young person's faults, regards +her as, on the whole, deep-thinking and right-minded; +and I would not for a moment have our personal +difference of opinion discourage anybody from reading a +carefully studied and ably written novel.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The attitude of Militarist to Pacifist has the makings of a +very pretty comedy. When the Mystics (with the Friends +and the Tolstoians) were evangelical enough to preach their +message of peace even to the +point of non-resistance, they +were broadly scouted as sentimental +and idealistic idiots, +and reminded of a nature red +in tooth and claw rampant in +this most sordid of all possible +worlds. Now that the Rationalists +take up the case against +war from another end, they +are denounced as squalid souls, +with a greengrocer's outlook, +morbidly anxious about the +price of peas and potatoes, and +urged to remember that not by +bread alone doth man live. In +<i>The Foundations of International +Polity</i> (<span class="sc">Heinemann</span>), a +series of lectures developing +phases of the argument of the +Great Illusion, Mr. <span class="sc">Norman +Angell</span> incidentally deals with +this greengrocery business. +Nobody with knowledge of his +shrewd and vigorous method +will be surprised that without +bluster or rhetoric he establishes +a very clear verdict of +acquittal. One has always the +impression that the rationalist +in him is deliberately repressing +the mystic, lest his case be +weakened by a suspicion of +sentimentalism. For it must +be obvious that not a cold, still +less a squalid, but a generous +purpose alone could inspire the fervour that flashes between +the reasoned lines. When Mr. <span class="sc">Angell</span> pleads that policy is +directed towards "self-interest," an easily misunderstandable +pronouncement, it is no mean self-interest he has in +view but a quality of high civilising and social value. He +argues cogently that defence is not incompatible with, but +rather a part of, rational pacifism, which is the protest +against coercion; re-emphasises the difference between +soldiering and policing; and illustrates the essential +shallowness of that venerable tag, "Human nature doesn't +change," by pointing to the decay of the duello, and the +decline of the grill as a means of reasoning with heretics +and witches. Were this learned Clerk a politician (which +Heaven avert!), he would move for yet another increment +to the Supplementary Navy Estimates—to wit, the price +of a battleship to be expended in the distribution of this +fighting pacifist's books to all journalists, attachés, clergymen, +bazaar-openers, club oracles, professors, head-masters +and other obvious people in both Germany and Britain.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In his new satirical study of certain modern cranks and +their unpleasantness Mr. <span class="sc">Oliver Onions</span> has, I think, +allowed his bitterness to outrun his sense of proportion. +<i>A Crooked Mile</i> (<span class="sc">Methuen</span>) is a sequel to his earlier book, +<i>The Two Kisses</i>. We meet again those two young women, +<i>Dorothy</i> and <i>Amory</i>, and the natural characteristics that +they once presented seem now to be tortured into caricature. +<i>Amory</i> has indeed all my sympathy, so badgered is she by +Mr. <span class="sc">Onions</span>, so relentlessly forced into ignominious positions; +and I cannot feel, as I should do, that she would +have achieved those ignominies without Mr. <span class="sc">Onions'</span> +impelling hand behind her. I have myself considerable +sympathy for cranks, and perhaps that is why I regard Mr. +<span class="sc">Onions'</span> satire as a dry, gritty business. His humour is, of +course, always a delightful +thing, but here I fancy that he +has not drawn the true line +between comedy and farce, +between satire that preserves +the probabilities and indiscriminate +exaggeration. Of the +three Mr. <span class="sc">Onionses</span> who have +at different times given me +pleasure—the author of <i>Widdershins</i>, +the author of <i>In +Accordance with the Evidence</i>, +and the author of <i>Little Devil +Doubt</i>—I greatly prefer the +first. In <i>A Crooked Mile</i> there +is one chapter worthy of all +three of them—that chapter +where <i>Amory</i> discovers that +her lover is going away with +another woman. That is fine +work. For the rest I hope that +he will grow tired of his social +satire and soon give us again +some more of his delicate +imagination and fancy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>What I felt about <i>The Girl +on the Green</i> (<span class="sc">Methuen</span>) was +that, however charming and +capable, she was not quite +likely, after but a few short +months of golf, to have put +up such a good fight in her +great match with the crack +amateur, <i>Jim Beverley</i>, who +was giving her a half. I +couldn't manage to believe it. However, that was not my +business, but <span class="sc">Mark Allerton's</span>. According to him, <i>Frank</i> +took her match to the last green, in spite of a number of +cats, headed by the Vicar's wife, who did their best to put +her off her game. Yes, you are right to presume that what +began as a single developed into a flirtsome, and that the +twain lived happily ever after in a nice little dormy house, +and that <i>Jim</i> bested the <span class="sc">Hiltons</span> and the <span class="sc">Ouimets</span>, while +<i>Frank</i> put permanently out of joint all the noses of all +the Misses <span class="sc">Leitch</span>. Those who not only play but talk, +dream, read and generally live for golf will, I can say +with confidence, be grateful to Mr. <span class="sc">Mark Allerton</span> for +this easy, hopeful narrative.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:45%;"><a href="images/320.png"><img width="100%" src="images/320.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Vendor of studs and buttons</i> (<i>to vendor of inflating baby</i>). <span class="sc">"Now +then, <i>Father</i>, not so much of it. Give an old batchiler +a charnst, carn't yer?"</span></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>The Morning Post</i> on the Army and Navy Boxing +Championships:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"These men's middles were full of good things."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Why don't they train better?</p> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 146, APRIL 22, 1914***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 23815-h.txt or 23815-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/1/23815">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/8/1/23815</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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