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diff --git a/24453-h/24453-h.htm b/24453-h/24453-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b73e284 --- /dev/null +++ b/24453-h/24453-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2469 @@ +<!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=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, June 17, 1914, by Various</title> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +p {text-align: justify;} +p.author {margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 5%; text-align: right;} +p.indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} +blockquote {text-align: justify;} +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} +hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} +html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} +hr.full {width: 100%;} +html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} +hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} +html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} +.note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} +span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal;} +.poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} +.poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} +.figure {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; + margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figcenter {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; + margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figright {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; + margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figleft {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; + margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figure img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; + border-bottom-style: none;} +.figcenter img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; + border-bottom-style: none;} +.figright img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; + border-bottom-style: none;} +.figleft img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; + border-bottom-style: none;} +.figure p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} +.figcenter p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} +.figright p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} +.figleft p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} +.figure p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} +.figcenter p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} +.figright p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} +.figleft p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} +.figcenter {margin: auto;} +.figright {float: right;} +.figleft {float: left;} + 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, +June 17, 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, June 17, 1914</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Owen Seaman</p> +<p>Release Date: January 29, 2008 [eBook #24453]</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, JUNE 17, 1914***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Jane Hyland, Malcolm Farmer,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>VOL. 146.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>June 17th, 1914.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHARIVARIA" id="CHARIVARIA"></a>CHARIVARIA.</h2> + + +<p>"The Pocket Asquith" is announced, and we are asked to say that the +pocket in question is not Mr. <span class="smcap">Redmond's</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The discovery of gold particles in a duck's gizzard has, we are told, +caused a rush of mining prospectors to Liberty Township, Ohio. It is +expected that the duck will shortly be floated as a limited liability +company.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The Valuation Department has discovered at Llangammarch Wells, +Brecknockshire, 50 acres of land for which no owner can be found. +Anyone, therefore, who has lost any land is recommended to communicate +at once with the Department.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Astronomer-Royal</span>, in reading his annual report at the Royal +Observatory last week, said that the mean temperature of the year 1913 +was 50.5 degrees. Seeing that this temperature was one degree above the +average for the 70 years ended 1910, we consider that the epithet was +undeserved.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We hesitate to suggest that <i>The Times</i> is catering for cannibals, but +it is certainly curious that a recent issue should have contained the +following headlines:—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">"Prepared Foods. infants, children & invalids."</span></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>By the way, the little essay on "Foods of Antiquity" omitted to mention +that these may still be picked up by curio-hunters at certain railway +buffets.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>What has become of all the cabs which have been displaced by the taxis? +is a question which is often asked. It has now been partially answered. +According to a cable published last week, "The steamer <i>Rappahannock</i> +reports the presence of numerous icebergs and 'growlers' on the North +Atlantic steamship routes."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>At last there are signs of a reaction against under-dressing on the +stage. The producers of a new revue advertise:—</p> + +<p>50 REAL LIVE PERFORMERS. <span class="smcap">Over</span> 250 <span class="smcap">Parisian Model Frocks and Hats</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">H. Cscinsky</span>, the author of the standard work, <i>English Furniture of +the Eighteenth Century</i>, says that 999 out of every 1,000 pieces of old +oak furniture in the present day are forgeries. The only way, therefore, +to ensure that you get a genuine specimen is to order 1,000 pieces, and +the furniture trade trusts that all collectors will take this elementary +precaution when purchasing.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The abandonment of the scheme for the rebuilding of the Lambeth Police +Court has caused some disappointment among local criminals, some of +whom, we are glad to hear, are ashamed to be seen in the present +structure.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 520px;"> +<img src="images/461.png" width="520" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +<span class="smcap">"Wotcher bin doin'—fightin'?" +<br />"No—boohoo— +I bin fought!"</span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Being convinced that Germany possesses too many Leagues and Associations +the town of Seesen, in the Harz, has established an "Association for +Combating the Mania for the Formation of Leagues and Associations"—not +realising until too late that they have thereby formed one more.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"Keep your arms" is Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Carson's</span> latest advice to the Ulster +volunteers—and they have kept their heads so well that they should have +no difficulty in this respect.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>An American clergyman got into trouble last week for holding up his hand +and trying to stop the traffic in the Strand. The sky-pilot found out +pretty soon that he was out of his element.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A man placed a bank paper bag containing £63 10s. on the counter at the +chief post-office in Swansea, one day last week, while he changed a +postal order. When he turned to pick up the bag it had disappeared. The +local police incline to the view that someone must have taken it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A muddle-headed correspondent writes to express surprise on learning +that the day devoted to collections for the charities connected with the +Variety Stage should be known as "Tag Day." The old fellow had always +imagined that "Tag Day" was a toast on German war vessels.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>A TIME EXPOSURE.</h3> + +<p> +I turned the family album's page<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And noted with a smile</span><br /> +The efforts of a bygone age<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At photographic style;</span><br /> +There, pegtopped, grandpa could be seen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While grandma beamed, contented</span><br /> +To know her brand-new crinoline<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The latest thing invented.</span><br /> +<br /> +And there Aunt Mary's looks belied<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her gravity of dress;</span><br /> +That great poke-bonnet could not hide<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her youthful comeliness;</span><br /> +There, too, was father when a boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And elsewhere in the series</span><br /> +A youthful cousin (Fauntleroy),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An uncle in Dundrearies.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then before my scornful eye<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A smirking youth appeared,</span><br /> +Flaunting a loose æsthetic tie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And embryonic beard;</span><br /> +With laughter I began to shake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Noting the watch-chain (weighty)</span><br /> +And all the things that went to make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A "nut" in 1880.</span><br /> +<br /> +I looked upon the other side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still tittering, to see</span><br /> +What branch the fellow occupied<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon our family tree;</span><br /> +A name was scrawled across the card<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With flourishes in plenty,</span><br /> +And lo! it was the present bard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Himself at five-and-twenty.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>The Sprinter.</h3> + +<p>From a testimonial to a system of health culture:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I think I have never felt so glorious as I do this morning. At +4.30 I woke up after a wet waist pack, got hot water, cleaned +myself, took a glass of lemon juice, exercised, and for the last +three-quarters of an hour I have been running through your notes."</p></div> + +<p>He mustn't take <i>too</i> much exercise.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>THE COMPLETE DRAMATIST.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">III. Meals and Things.</span></h3> + +<p>In spite of all you can do in the way of avoiding soliloquies and +getting your characters on and off the stage in a dramatic manner, a +time will come when you realise sadly that your play is not a bit like +life after all. Then is the time to introduce a meal on the stage. A +stage meal is popular, because it proves to the audience that the +actors, even when called <span class="smcap">George Alexander</span> or <span class="smcap">Arthur Bourchier</span>, are real +people just like you and me. "Look at Sir <span class="smcap">Herbert</span> eating," we say +excitedly to each other in the pit, having had a vague idea up till then +that an actor lived like a god on praise and grease-paint and his +photograph in the papers. "Another cup, won't you?" says Miss <span class="smcap">Gladys +Cooper</span>; "No, thank you," says Mr. <span class="smcap">Dennis Eadie</span>—dash it, it's exactly +what we do at Twickenham ourselves. And when, to clinch matters, the +dramatist makes Mr. <span class="smcap">Gerald du Maurier</span> light a real cigarette in the +Third Act, then he can flatter himself that he has indeed achieved the +ambition of every stage writer, and "brought the actual scent of the hay +across the footlights."</p> + +<p>But there is a technique to be acquired in this matter as in everything +else within the theatre. The great art of the stage-craftsman, as I have +already shown, is to seem natural rather than to be natural. Let your +actors have tea by all means, but see that it is a properly histrionic +tea. This is how it should go:—</p> + +<p><i>Hostess.</i> You'll have some tea, won't you? [<i>Rings bell.</i></p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i> Thank you.</p> + +<p><i>Enter</i> Butler.</p> + +<p><i>Hostess.</i> Tea, please, Matthews.</p> + +<p><i>Butler</i> (<i>impassively</i>). Yes, m'lady. (<i>This is all he says during the +play, so he must try and get a little character into it, in order that +"The Era" may remark, "Mr. Thompson was excellent as </i>Matthews<i>." +However, his part is not over yet, for he returns immediately, followed +by three footmen—just as it happened when you last called on the +Duchess—and sets out the tea.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Hostess (holding up the property lump of sugar in the tongs).</i> Sugar?</p> + +<p><i>Guest (luckily).</i> No, thanks.</p> + +<p><i>Hostess replaces lump and inclines empty teapot over tray for a moment, +then hands him a cup painted brown inside—thus deceiving the gentleman +with the telescope in the upper circle.</i></p> + +<p><i>Guest (touching his lips with the cup and then returning it to its +saucer).</i> Well, I must be going.</p> + +<p><i>Re-enter Butler and three Footmen, who remove the tea-things.</i></p> + +<p><i>Hostess</i> (to Guest). Good-bye; so glad you could come. [<i>Exit</i> Guest.</p> + +<p>His visit has been short, but it has been very thrilling while it +lasted.</p> + +<p>Tea is the most usual meal on the stage, for the reason that it is the +least expensive, the property lump of sugar being dusted and used again +on the next night. For a stage dinner a certain amount of genuine +sponge-cake has to be made up to look like fish, chicken or cutlet. In +novels the hero has often "pushed his meals away untasted," but no stage +hero would do anything so unnatural as this. The etiquette is to have +two bites before the butler and the three footmen whisk away the plate. +The two bites are made, and the bread is crumbled, with an air of great +eagerness; indeed, one feels that in real life the guest would clutch +hold of the footman and say, "Half a mo', old chap, I haven't <i>nearly</i> +finished;" but the actor is better schooled than this. Besides, the +thing is coming back again as chicken directly.</p> + +<p>But it is the cigarette which chiefly has brought the modern drama to +its present state of perfection. Without the stage cigarette many an +epigram would pass unnoticed, many an actor's hands would be much more +noticeable; and the man who works the fireproof safety curtain would +lose even the small amount of excitement which at present attaches to +his job.</p> + +<p>Now although it is possible, in the case of a few men at the top of the +profession, to leave the conduct of the cigarette entirely to the actor, +you will find it much more satisfactory to insert in the stage +directions the particular movements (with match and so forth) that you +wish carried out. Let us assume that <i>Lord Arthur</i> asks <i>Lord John</i> what +a cynic is—the question of what a cynic is having arisen quite +naturally in the course of the plot. Let us assume further that you wish +<i>Lord John</i> to reply, "A cynic is a man who knows the price of +everything and the value of nothing." It has been said before, but you +may feel that it is quite time it was said again; besides, for all the +audience knows, <i>Lord John</i> may simply be quoting. Now this answer, even +if it comes quite fresh to the stalls, will lose much of its effect if +it is said without the assistance of a cigarette. Try it for yourself.</p> + +<p><i>Lord John.</i> A cynic is a man who, etc....</p> + +<p>Rotten. Now try again.</p> + +<p><i>Lord John.</i> A cynic is a man who, etc.... (<i>Lights cigarette</i>).</p> + +<p>No, even that is not good. Once more:—</p> + +<p><i>Lord John (lighting cigarette).</i> A cynic is a man who, etc.</p> + +<p>Better, but leaves much too much to the actor.</p> + +<p>Well, I see I must tell you.</p> + +<p><i>Lord John (taking out gold cigarette case from his left-hand upper +waistcoat pocket).</i> A cynic, my dear Arthur (<i>he opens case +deliberately, puts cigarette in mouth, and extracts gold match-box from +right-hand trouser</i>) is a man who (<i>strikes match</i>) knows the price of +(<i>lights cigarette</i>)—everything, and (<i>standing with match in one hand +and cigarette in the other</i>) the value of—— pff (<i>blows out match</i>) of +(<i>inhales deeply from cigarette and blows out a cloud of +smoke</i>)—nothing.</p> + +<p>It makes a different thing of it altogether. Of course on the actual +night the match may refuse to strike, and <i>Lord John</i> may have to go on +saying "a man who—a man who—a man who" until the ignition occurs, but +even so it will still seem delightfully natural to the audience (as if +he were making up the epigram as he went along); while as for blowing +the match out he can hardly fail to do <i>that</i> in one.</p> + +<p>The cigarette, of course, will be smoked at other moments than +epigrammatic ones, but on these other occasions you will not need to +deal so fully with it in the stage directions. "<i>Duke (lighting +cigarette).</i> I trust, Perkins, that ..." is enough. You do not want to +say, "<i>Duke (dropping ash on trousers).</i> It seems to me, my love ..." +or, "<i>Duke (removing stray piece of tobacco from tongue).</i> What Ireland +needs is ..."; still less "<i>Duke (throwing away end of cigarette).</i> Show +him in." For this must remain one of the mysteries of the stage—What +happens to the stage cigarette when it has been puffed four times? The +stage tea, of which a second cup is always refused; the stage cutlet, +which is removed with the connivance of the guest after two mouthfuls; +the stage cigarette, which nobody ever seems to want to smoke to the +end—thinking of these as they make their appearances in the houses of +the titled, one would say that the hospitality of the peerage was not a +thing to make any great rush for....</p> + +<p>But that would be to forget the butler and the three footmen. Even a +Duke cannot have everything. And what his <i>chef</i> may lack in skill his +butler more than makes up for in impassivity.</p> + +<p> +A. A. M.<br /> +</p> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>From a column headed "Crimes and Tragedies" in <i>The Western Weekly +Mercury</i>:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Sir J. W. Spear, M.P., has consented to become patron of the +newly-formed Highampton Rifle Club."</p></div> + +<p>And we are left wondering which it is.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 794px;"> +<img src="images/463.png" width="794" height="1000" alt="REFRESHING THE FRUIT." title="" /> +<h3>REFRESHING THE FRUIT.</h3> + +<span class="smcap">Mr. John Burns.</span> "PERFECT! PERFECT! BUT JUST WANTS THE MASTER'S TOUCH."<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">[Gives it.</span> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span><br /></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1000px;"> +<img src="images/465.png" width="1000" height="715" alt="Cheery Passenger" title="" /> + +<i>Cheery Passenger (in non-stop express).</i> <span class="smcap">"Well, I must +say it's quite a relief to me to 'ave a gentleman in the carriage. It's +twice now I've 'ad a fit in a tunnel."</span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>ROOSEVELT RESURGIT</h2> + +<p> +Once more the tireless putter-right of men,<br /> +Our roaring <span class="smcap">Roosevelt</span>, swims into our ken.<br /> +With clash of cymbals and with roll of drums,<br /> +Reduced in weight, from far Brazil he comes.<br /> +What risks were his! The rapids caught his form,<br /> +Upset his bark and tossed him in the storm.<br /> +Clutching his trumpet in a fearless hand,<br /> +The damp explorer struggled to the land;<br /> +Then set the trumpet to his lips and blew<br /> +A blast that echoed all the wide world through,<br /> +And in a tone that made the nations quiver<br /> +Proclaimed himself the finder of a river.<br /> +Maps, he declared, were made by doddering fools<br /> +Who knew no better or defied the rules,<br /> +While he, the great Progressive, traced the course<br /> +Of waters mostly flowing to their source.<br /> +Emerged at last and buoyed up with the sure hope<br /> +Of geographic fame, he made for Europe;<br /> +Flew to Madrid, and there awhile he tarried<br /> +Till <span class="smcap">Kermit</span> went (good luck to K!) and married.<br /> +Next London sees him, and with loud good will<br /> +Yields to the mighty tamer of Brazil,<br /> +And hears and cheers the while by his own fiat he<br /> +Lectures our Geographical Society.<br /> +Soon to his native land behold him go<br /> +To take a hand in quelling Mexico.<br /> +Does <span class="smcap">Wilson</span> want him? Well, I hardly know.<br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>IN THE NAME OF PEACE.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I read with intense satisfaction that at the Peace Ball at the +Albert Hall last week the lady representing Britannia carried a palm +branch in place of the customary trident. This, I venture to think, is a +step in the right direction. For many years, from the pulpits and +platforms not only of our own land but of America, I have advocated a +substitution of peaceful objects for the weapons of bloodshed with which +so many of our allegorical figures are encumbered. I still wait for some +artist to depict the patron saint of this fair land of ours, not +attacking the dragon with a cruel sword, but offering it in all +brotherliness an orange, let us say, or a bath bun.</p> + +<p>But, Sir, one feature of this ball (putting aside for a moment the many +reprehensible characteristics of all such entertainments) I must and do +protest against. What do I read in the daily press? When it was desired +to clear the floor, "a brigade of Guards, by subtle movements, drove the +masqueraders, who were to form the audience, behind the barricades." +Now, were I a member of the House of Commons—as some day I may be—I +would make it my business to stand up in my place and fearlessly demand +of the Minister for War an explanation as to how these men of blood came +to be admitted to a Peace festival. Was it with his knowledge that they +were present? and, if so, was it with his consent? I should also desire +to know whether the cost of the expedition would fall upon the British +tax-payer.</p> + +<p> +I am, Sir, Yours, etc., (Rev.) <span class="smcap">Amos Blick</span>.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>AMENDING A BILL.</h2> + +<p>As the drought wore on to its third day I began to perceive that +siphoning the pinks with soda-water out of the dining-room window was +insufficient to meet the crisis. I rang up the nearest fire station and +told them in my most staccato tones that the garden was being burnt to a +cinder and would they please—but they rang off suddenly without making +a reply. It was then that I had a bright idea—so bright that the +thermometer which was hanging near my head went up two degrees higher +still.</p> + +<p>"Araminta," I cried (she was out on the lawn tantalising a rose-bush +with a kind of doll's-house watering-can),—"Araminta, where does one go +to get hose?"</p> + +<p>Araminta bridled.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that," I said, hastily coming out of the French-window to +explain. "I meant the kind of long wiggly thing you fix on to a tap at +one end and it squirts at the other."</p> + +<p>She unbridled prettily. "Oh, that!" she said. "Altruage's have them, I +suppose. Altruage's have everything. But I shouldn't get one if I were +you. I believe they're fearfully expensive, and I'm going to buy a +proper watering-can this morning."</p> + +<p>My mind, however, was made up. "Expense," I thought, "be irrigated!" I +said nothing about it to Araminta, but I decided to act.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The sun was still blazing with abominable ferocity at half-past twelve +when I crossed the threshold of the Taj Mahal Stores and button-holed +the first peripatetic marquis I could find.</p> + +<p>"I want," I said, mopping my brows with the disengaged hand, "to see +some hose."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Sir," he replied with a beaming smile. "For wear on the +feet, I presume?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I replied as coolly as possible. "For shampooing the +head."</p> + +<p>He looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I want it to water my pinks with," I explained.</p> + +<p>A look of divine condescension overspread his features. "Ah, you require +our horticultural department for that, Sir," he said. "Fourth to the +left, fifth to the right, and ask again." And with an infinitely +horticultured gesture of the hand he motioned me on.</p> + +<p>After a long and adventurous Odyssey and fifteen fruitless appeals I +sighted a kind of green island shore, where a young man stood in an +attitude of <i>hauteur</i>, surrounded by a number of pink and grey snakes +and brightly coloured agricultural machines.</p> + +<p>Making my way to him I sank exhausted into a wheel-barrow and murmured +my request again.</p> + +<p>"About what size is your garden?" he asked me when I had partially +recovered.</p> + +<p>"Slim," I said, "slim and graceful, but not really tall. <i>Petite</i> I +believe is the technical term. What sizes have you got in stock?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps about forty yards would do, Sir," he suggested, uncoiling a +portion of one of the reptiles at his feet. "I can recommend this as a +strong and thoroughly reliable article. Then you will want a union, I +suppose, and a brass nozzle and a drum."</p> + +<p>"We all want union nowadays so much in everything, don't we?" I agreed +pleasantly, "but I'm not so sure about the drum. You see the baby makes +a most infernal noise as it is with a——"</p> + +<p>He interrupted me to explain the uses of these things. The union, it +seemed, was a kind of garter to attach the hose to the tap, and the drum +was where the snake wound itself to sleep at night. "And the little +pepper-castor, of course," I said, "is what one puts at the end to make +it sneeze. I understand completely. If you will have them all sent round +to me to-morrow I will pay on delivery."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When I got out into the street I found that a great change had taken +place. The sky overhead was black with imminent rain. A sharp shower +pattered at my heels as I sprinted for the 'bus, and when I disembarked +from it the gutters were gurgling with ill-concealed delight. As I +walked up the garden I noticed that the majority of the pinks were lying +in a drunken stupor upon their beds.</p> + +<p>Araminta met me at the door. "Why, you must be wet through," she said. +"Go up and change instantly. And aren't you glad now you haven't got a +silly old hose after all?"</p> + +<p>"I am indeed," I replied.</p> + +<p>Whilst I changed I thought deeply, and after dinner I sat down and wrote +politely to Messrs. Altruage as follows:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hopkinson regrets that through inadvertence he ordered a quantity +of hose this afternoon in Messrs. Altruage's horticultural department +instead of their foot-robing studio. If Messrs. Altruage will kindly +cancel this order Mr. Hopkinson will call in the morning and select six +pairs of woollen socks."</p> + +<p>In a climate like ours, I reflected as I posted the letter, there is a +good deal to be said for these mammoth stores.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/466.png" width="600" height="409" alt="Hodge." title="" /> +<i>Hodge.</i><span class="smcap">"That's the best of comin' early, Maria. We've +got the best seats in the 'ouse!"</span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>IN THE PARK.</h3> + +<p>(<i>Souvent femme varie.</i>)</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little girls in June attire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grumbling to your governesses,</span><br /> +What is it that you desire—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chocolates or satin dresses,</span><br /> +Jewels, or a tiny hound,<br /> +All your own, to drag around?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Governesses who betray</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little love for your employment,</span><br /> +If a fairy bade you say<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What would give you most enjoyment,</span><br /> +Would your fancy not pursue<br /> +Unsubstantial shadows too?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Fleeting joys have little use"—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, as teachers, you endeavour</span><br /> +In your charges to induce<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Virtues which will last for ever;</span><br /> +But, as women, you resent<br /> +Anything so permanent!<br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A half followed, which made Vardon dormy 3, and another half at +the 16th, where he made a brilliant recovery after he had hit a +spectator, gave him the match by 3 and 2."</p> + +<p><i>Times.</i></p></div> + +<p>The recovery of the spectator wouldn't matter so much.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A man who gave the name of James DewTJnamedhiskmhmhfr mhafr awdih +acsih frdw hurst was remanded at Doncaster to-day charged with +attempting to pass a worthless cheque for 30s."—<i>Liverpool +Express.</i></p></div> + +<p>As soon as the cashier saw the first eighteen inches of the name at the +bottom of the cheque he had his suspicions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1000px;"> +<img src="images/467.png" width="1000" height="575" alt="THE LAW OF THE AIR." title="" /> +<h3>THE LAW OF THE AIR.</h3> + +<i>"Suburbia" writes: </i>"My neighbour says the air is free and nobody can +claim it. Granted. But what I say is—ought my neighbour, considering +the narrowness of his garden, to be allowed to erect what is called a +giant-stride for the amusement of his sons and their young friends? When +will this dilatory Government take such matters in hand?" +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>THE YOUNG EVERYTHING.</h3> + +<p>Under this comprehensive title Messrs. Byett and Prusit have arranged +for a new series of books for the youth of both sexes, the aim of which +is to provide instruction in a number of the most desirable and +profitable walks of life. The principle of the work is that it is never +too soon to end. The General Editor will be that profound and +encyclopædic scholar and publicist, Mr. <span class="smcap">Anthony Asquith</span>, who will be +assisted by some of the ablest pens in the country.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Young Bankrupt</span>, by Sampson Waterstock.</p> + +<p>An exhaustive treatise on the right mismanagement of one's affairs, with +hints on the best method of bringing about a meeting of creditors. Among +the chapters are the following: "The Way to Carey Street;" "How to +settle things on one's Wife;" "Eccentric Bankrupts who have subsequently +paid in full, with Interest."</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Young Bookmaker</span>, by Sharkey Hawker.</p> + +<p>A complete guide to the Turf, than which few professions offer a more +exciting opening to a boy. How to calculate odds; how to cultivate the +voice; how to concentrate public attention on the wrong horse—these and +other topics are dealt with by competent hands.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Young Filbert</span>, by Gilbert Hallam.</p> + +<p>In this entertaining volume the complete art of youthful boredom and +ornamental and expensive sloth is exploited. Where to get clothes; how +much to owe for them; how soon to discard them and get others; what +adjectives to use; and where, the best nut food may be obtained—all is +told here.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Young Centenarian</span>, by S. W. Calceby.</p> + +<p>Hints on regimen by one of the most lucid and distinguished salubrists +of the day. Everything that can assist a boy or girl quickly to attain +to the status of honourable and decrepit old age is here carefully set +forth. The author guarantees that if his instructions are carried out +the conditions of centenarianism can be reached in ten years. "Lobster +salad for new-born babes" is one of his more original ideas.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Young Author</span>, by Brompton MacGregor.</p> + +<p>This illuminating treatise contains the fullest directions yet given for +the securing of a mammoth circulation and a corresponding revenue. How +to exasperate Mrs. Grundy; how to secure testimonials from Bishops and +Archdeacons; how to get banned by the libraries—these and other +passports to fame and fortune are set forth with the utmost +particularity in this marvellous manual.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Young Composer</span>, by Eric Kornstein.</p> + +<p>This fascinating <i>brochure</i> gives in a succinct and animated form +absolutely infallible instructions for storming the citadel of musical +fame. The enormous importance of capillary attraction, sartorial +extravagance and controversial invective are duly dwelt on, while the +charming tone and temper of the work may be gathered from the headings +of some of the chapters: "The Curse of Conservatoriums;" "The Tyranny of +Tune;" "The Dethronement of <span class="smcap">Wagner</span>;" "<i>A bas</i> <span class="smcap">Beethoven</span>."</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Young American</span>, by Dixie Q. Peach.</p> + +<p>In this priceless work everything that is most characteristic of the +great American nation is invitingly spread before the English youth, so +that in a few weeks he will be so well equipped with Transatlantic +details as (if he wishes) to be mistaken for a real inhabitant either of +a big London hotel or a Bloomsbury boarding-house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>MR. B.</h2> + +<p>To the list of signally good men must now be added Mr. B. I do not say +that he should be included in any extension of <i>The Golden Legend</i>, but +no catalogue of irreproachables, beyond the wiles of temptation, can +henceforth be complete without him, and as a model of rectitude in +business his portrait should be on the walls of every commercial school. +I can see him as the hero of this tract and that, and in course of time +his early life may be written and circulated: <i>The Childhood of Mr. B., +or, The Boy Who Took the Right Turning.</i></p> + +<p>And who is Mr. B.? All that I know of him I find in an Eastern sheet +which I owe to the kindness of a friend—<i>The Bangkok Times Weekly +Mail</i>. Glancing through this minute and compact little paper, which is +as big as any paper ought to be, my eye alighted upon an extract from +<i>The North China Daily News</i>, and it is here that Mr. B. shines forth.</p> + +<p>A certain dealer, it seems, had received an order for a machine, but, +being unable to deliver it, and wishing to avoid the penalties attending +a breach of the contract, he had to resort to guile. The following +letter to a confederate at once displays him as a Machiavellian and +introduces us to that inconvenient thing, a Far Eastern incorruptible:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Regarding the matter of escaping the penalty for non-delivery of +the Bar Machine, there is only one way, to creep round same by +diplomat, and we must make a statement of strike occur our factory +(of course big untrue) and please address person on enclosed form +of letter, and believe this will avoid the trouble of penalties of +same.</p> + +<p>"Mr. B. is most religious and competent man, also heavily upright +and godly, it fears me useless apply for his signature. Please +attach same by Yokohama Office, making forge, but no cause for fear +of prison happenings as this is often operated by other merchants +of highest integrity.</p> + +<p>"It is the highest unfortunate Sir. B. is so godlike and excessive +awkward for business purposes."</p></div> + +<p>So there you have Mr. B. Some day, perhaps, he may read this letter and +realise how extremely awkward an inflexible standard of morality can +make things for one's neighbours. The last sentence of all has a +pathetic ring, as of a Utopian throwing up the sponge: "I think much +better to add little serpent-like wisdom to upright manhood and thus +found good business edifice."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"£1 down secures a —— bicycle for you in time for Whitsuntide."</p> + +<p><i>Advt. in "Yorkshire Observer, June 9."</i></p></div> + +<p>So if you are in a hurry and want it by next Christmas you had better go +somewhere else.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>THE MAN OF THE EVENING.</h2> + +<p>To be perfectly fair, it was not that Dorice gave me too few +instructions, but rather too many.</p> + +<p>"I'm over at Naughton," she said through the telephone; "I'm staying +with some people named Perry."</p> + +<p>"How ripping of you to ring me up!" I said, flattered; "it's heavenly to +hear your voice, even if I can't see you."</p> + +<p>It was a pretty little speech, but Dorice ignored it.</p> + +<p>"There is a dance on here, to-night," she continued hastily, "and at the +last minute they are short of men, so I've promised to get them +someone."</p> + +<p>I gripped the receiver firmly and groaned. I knew what was coming.</p> + +<p>Dorice proposed that I should leave the office <i>instantly</i> and catch the +next train to Naughton.</p> + +<p>She adopted rushing tactics with which it was practically impossible to +cope.</p> + +<p>All the time I was explaining to her how busy I was, and how I found it +out of the question even to think of leaving the office, she kept on +giving me varied and hurried directions.</p> + +<p>I was to be sure to remember the steps she had taught me last time.</p> + +<p>I was not to take any notice of a dark girl in a red dress, because she +wasn't the slightest bit nice when you really got to know her.</p> + +<p>I was to drive straight to the hall, where Dorice would be looking out +for me.</p> + +<p>"And now I can't stay any longer, and you must fly and catch the train, +and so 'good-bye,' and I'll keep some dances for you!"</p> + +<p>"Half a minute," I protested. "Where do I——? What is the name of——?"</p> + +<p>But Dorice, with that delightful suddenness which is one of her most +charming characteristics, had rung off, leaving my destination a +mystery.</p> + +<p>However, there was no time to worry about details. I told a dreadful lie +to a man with whom I had an appointment, left the office and did +wonderful things in the way of changing my clothes, packing my bag, and +boarding a moving train.</p> + +<p>At Naughton station I engaged a cab.</p> + +<p>"Where to?" asked the driver, as he readied down for my bag.</p> + +<p>It was the question I had been asking myself all the way in the train.</p> + +<p>"That's just it," I said miserably, "I don't know."</p> + +<p>He was a sympathetic-looking cabman—not one of the modern type, but the +aged director of a thin horse and a genuinely antique four-wheeler.</p> + +<p>"It's rather an awkward situation," I explained doubtfully; "you see, +Dorice forgot—I mean I'm supposed to be going to a dance somewhere +round here. I was told to drive straight to the hall—I don't know +<i>what</i> hall."</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Sir," answered the sympathetic cabman encouragingly; +"you were told to drive straight to the 'all; that'll be Naughton 'All."</p> + +<p>He proceeded to awaken the thin horse.</p> + +<p>"There is a big do on there to-night, Sir. It's a fair way out, but I'll +'ave yer there in no time."</p> + +<p>"My dear good man," I remonstrated nervously, "for heaven's sake don't +rush at things like that. Is this particular dance you wish to take me +to given by some people named Perry?"</p> + +<p>"Perry? Lord! no! Sir John Oakham, lives at Naughton 'All. It's '<i>is</i> +party."</p> + +<p>The sympathetic cabman was a little pained at my ignorance.</p> + +<p>Dorice had not said who was actually giving the dance.</p> + +<p>With vague misgivings I climbed into the cab.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," I said, with my heart in my boots; "drive away and let's get +it over."</p> + +<p>It was a long drive, and more than once I was nearly killed through +hanging my body from the cab window in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse +of Dorice in one or other of the motors that passed us on the road.</p> + +<p>At Naughton Hall I looked out for her expectantly.</p> + +<p>There was not a soul in the room that I knew. In a fit of dreadful panic +I began to search desperately. Dorice was nowhere to be found, and the +hand started upon the first waltz.</p> + +<p>To me it was like a nightmare.</p> + +<p>One thing I remember was finding myself dancing with a Miss Giggleswick.</p> + +<p>I don't pretend to explain how it happened. As far as I can make out, +some hospitably disposed person decided that he was expected to know me +and find me a partner.</p> + +<p>Anyhow, I danced with a Miss Giggleswick, and also I talked to her.</p> + +<p>I asked her very seriously if she knew anything of Dorice.</p> + +<p>Miss Giggleswick thought I was referring to some new authoress.</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes," she said thoughtfully, "I must have read some of them, but I +can't remember which ones—I'm so silly about names."</p> + +<p>After a time I pulled myself together, and somehow escaped from Miss +Giggleswick. I made my way to the cloakroom, grabbed my coat and bag, +and rushed for the front door.</p> + +<p>Once outside I ran for my life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span></p> + +<p>I ran down the drive and along the road towards Naughton.</p> + +<p>I floundered on blindly through thick mud and pools of water.</p> + +<p>"A fine night!" shouted a cheerful ass as I struggled past him.</p> + +<p>I pulled up sharply and peered at him through the darkness.</p> + +<p>"A fine night? Oh, yes, it's a fine night," I laughed wildly; "but just +tell me one other thing. Is there any other hall in this district except +Naughton Hall?"</p> + +<p>"Noa—unless of course yer mean Naughton <i>Parish</i> 'All," he added after +deep consideration.</p> + +<p>"Has anybody ever been known to give a dance there?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, I dare say."</p> + +<p>With grim determination I clutched my bag and trudged on.</p> + +<p>It was late when I crawled up the steps of Naughton Parish Hall.</p> + +<p>I threw my things in a corner, scraped some of the mud off my trousers, +removed my bow from the back of my neck, and staggered in the direction +of the music. A one-step was just over, and the dancers were crowding +the foyer.</p> + +<p>Dorice appeared with her partner.</p> + +<p>I went and stood before her.</p> + +<p>"Dorice," I stammered brokenly, "I—I've come."</p> + +<p>Dorice excused herself from her partner and took me into a corner.</p> + +<p>"Hear me first," I pleaded, utterly crushed. "Hear me first, Dorice. +I've done my best. I went to the wrong place. You rang off without +giving me the proper address. A blundering villain of a cabman took me +to—Naughton Hall. They made me dance with somebody named Giggleswick. I +escaped as soon as I could and came here. I ran a lot of the way."</p> + +<p>I looked up at her beseechingly.</p> + +<p>Then I discovered that my life was not blighted for ever.</p> + +<p>Dorice was smiling upon me—yes, smiling! She leant forward eagerly and +touched my hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>You've been to Naughton Hall!</i>" she whispered delightedly; "but, my +dear old boy, it's simply <i>the</i> dance of the season round here! All +these people would do anything to get invited. The Perrys only gave this +dance so that they could use it as a sort of excuse for not being seen +at the Naughton Hall one!"</p> + +<p>"Anybody could have gone in my place," I murmured; "I didn't enjoy it at +all."</p> + +<p>Dorice got up and took hold of my arm.</p> + +<p>"Come on," she said with suppressed excitement, "this is splendid!"</p> + +<p>She took me through a crowd of people and introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. +Perry.</p> + +<p>Then she raised her voice.</p> + +<p>"He's sorry to be so late," she apologised as loudly as possible, "but +you see he was forced to look in at the Naughton Hall ball. However, he +got away as soon as he could and came on to us."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Perry received me almost with open arms.</p> + +<p>"We must try and find you some really good partners," she announced +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"<i>Rather!</i>" echoed Mr. Perry.</p> + +<p>It was then close upon midnight. For the two hours of the dance that +remained I was the man of the evening.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1000px;"> +<img src="images/469.png" width="1000" height="674" alt="WHAT LANCASHIRE THINKS." title="" /> +<h3>WHAT LANCASHIRE THINKS.</h3> + +<i>Old Lancashire Lady (to young lady friend who has expressed her +intention of going by an excursion to the Metropolis).</i><span class="smcap"> "Doan't thee goa +to London; thee stop in owd England."</span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Rumoured Mutiny in the Navy.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The destroyers patrolling the Irish coast are being boarded and +searched for rifles by order of the Admiralty."—<i>Daily Express.</i></p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1000px;"> +<img src="images/470.png" width="1000" height="747" alt="Little Maid" title="" /> + +<i>Little Maid (to new owner of country cottage)</i><span class="smcap"> "Oh, if +you please, Sir, here's the Chairman of the Little Chippingham and West +Hambleton Street Lighting Committee."</span> (<i>Confidentially</i>)<span class="smcap"> "It's really +only Mr. Binks, the butcher."</span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>THE CALL OF THE BLOOD.</h2> + +<p> +Happy the man who brushes up his topper<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sallies forth to call upon a maid,</span><br /> +Knowing his converse and his coat are proper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That, come what may, he will not be afraid,</span><br /> +Not lose his nerve, and yawn, or tell a whopper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or drop the marmalade.</span><br /> +<br /> +Not such the bard; not thus—but Clotho (drat her)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was wakeful still, and plied a hostile loom—</span><br /> +I sought Miss Pritt. She mooted some grave matter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And looked for light; my lips were like the tomb,</span><br /> +Sealed, though they say they heard my molars chatter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Up in the smoking-room.</span><br /> +<br /> +Cold eyes regarded me. My front-stud fretted;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A stiff slow smirk belied my deep unrest;</span><br /> +My tea-cup trembled and my cake was wetted;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My beauteous tie worked round toward the West;</span><br /> +My brow—forgive me, but it really sweated;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I did not look my best.</span><br /> +<br /> +To Zeus, that oft would make a mist and smother<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some swain beset, and screen him from the crowd,</span><br /> +I prayed for vapours; but his mind was other:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet was I answered, though the god was proud,</span><br /> +For, anyhow, I trod on Miss Pritt's mother<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And left beneath a cloud.</span><br /> +<br /> +Not to return. O'er fair free hills and valleys<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I can converse and carry on <i>ad lib.</i>;</span><br /> +On active tennis-courts (between the rallies)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I can be confident, and none more glib;</span><br /> +But not in drawing-rooms my bright star dallies—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I'm not that sort of nib.</span><br /> +<br /> +We'll meet no more; but I shall send some token<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of what I'm worth outside the world of teas—</span><br /> +A handsome photograph, some smart things spoken,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A few sweet verses (not so bad as these),</span><br /> +And hockey-groups that show me stern and oaken<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And nude about the knees.</span><br /> +<br /> +It may be, though she deemed me dunder-headed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She'll sometimes take them from her chamber-wall,</span><br /> +Or where they lie in lavender embedded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tell her family about them all—</span><br /> +About the gentleman she might have wedded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Only <i>he could not call</i>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"John William Burrow, of Overton, who is about 16 years old, caught +six salmon in the heave net last week, their respective weights +being 9 lbs., 28 lbs., 5½ lbs., 12 lbs., 22 lbs., 13 lbs., a +total of 89½ lbs. Last season, when between 13 and 14 years old, +he caught three salmon. His record is probably unique for inshore +fisher boys."—<i>Lancaster Guardian.</i></p></div> + +<p>Anyhow the rate at which he grows up is.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 798px;"> +<img src="images/471.png" width="798" height="1000" alt="THE TRIUMPH OF THE VOLUNTARY SYSTEM" title="" /> + +<h3>THE TRIUMPH OF THE VOLUNTARY SYSTEM.</h3> + +<span class="smcap">Lord Haldane.</span> "GROSSLY ILLEGAL AND UTTERLY UNCONSTITUTIONAL!—AS I SAID +THE OTHER DAY AT OXFORD; BUT TO THE HEART OF AN EX-WAR-LORD, HOW +BEAUTIFUL!" +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Extracted from the Diary of Toby</span>, M.P.)</p> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Tuesday, June 9.</i>—Recorded in Parliamentary history +how a debate on Budget of the day a great statesman began his speech by +utterance of he word "Sugar." Contrast of imposing personality of the +Minister and sonorousness of his voice with commonplace character of +utterance tickled fancy of House, then as now almost childishly eager to +be amused. The great man looked round with stern glance that cowed the +tittering audience. "Sugar," he repeated amid awed silence, and +triumphantly continued his remarks.</p> + +<p>It wasn't sugar that occupied attention of House on resuming sittings +after Whitsun recess. It was Milk. Naturally Bill dealing with subject +was in hands of the <span class="smcap">Infant Samuel</span>. Debate on Second Reading presented +House in best form. Impossible for most ingenious and enterprising +Member to mix up with milk the Ulster question or hand round bottles +accommodated with india-rubber tubes and labelled Welsh Church +Disestablishment. Consequence was that, in Second Reading debate on Bill +promoted by Local Government Board, Members on both sides devoted +themselves to single purpose of framing useful measure.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/473.png" width="500" height="465" alt="THE INFANT SAMUEL." title="" /> +<span class="smcap">THE INFANT SAMUEL.</span> +</div> + +<p>Animated debate on another Bill in charge of <span class="smcap">John Burns</span> amending +Insurance Act in direction of removing administrative difficulties and +diminishing working costs. Nothing to complain of in way of acerbity. +Second Reading stages of both measures passed without division, and +House adjourned before half-past ten.</p> + +<p>At Question time peaceful prospect momentarily ruffled. The <span class="smcap">Sahib Rees</span>, +taking advantage of absence of <span class="smcap">Speaker</span>, prolonging his holiday amid +balmy odours of Harrogate Pump Room, was in great form. With extensive +view he surveyed mankind from British Columbia to the Persian Gulf, just +looking in at Australasia to see what <span class="smcap">Ian Hamilton</span> has lately been up to +in matter of compulsory military service.</p> + +<p>It was in Persian Gulf that squall suddenly threatened. <span class="smcap">Sahib</span> wanted to +know whether <span class="smcap">His Majesty's</span> ships in that quarter of the world "had been +engaged with gun-runners."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Byles of Bradford</span>, seated on Front Bench below Gangway, pricked up his +baronial ears. What! More gun-running and nobody either hanged or shot? +On closer study of question perceived that use of ambiguous word misled +him. When the <span class="smcap">Sahib</span> enquired whether <span class="smcap">His Majesty's</span> ships had been +"engaged" with gun-runners he did not mean that they had rendered +assistance in illegal enterprises, nocturnal or other. On the contrary, +word had directly opposite meaning.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Byles of Bradford</span> accordingly abandoned intention of putting +Supplementary Question, reserving his energy for his own searching +inquiry, which appeared lower down on paper, impartially denouncing +importation of arms "whether by the Ulster Volunteers or the National +Volunteers, or both."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/473-2.png" width="500" height="589" alt="" title="" /> + +<span class="caption">"Who said 'gun-running'?"<br /> + +(<i>With acknowledgments to a popular picture.</i>)<br /> + +["<span class="smcap">Byles of Bradford</span> pricked up his baronial ears."]</span> +</div> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—National Insurance Act Amendment Bill, and Milk and +Dairies Bill read a second time.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—Attendance still small, especially on Opposition Benches. +Hapless Ministerialists, warned by urgent summons hinting at surprises +in store in the Division Lobby, loyally muster. Nothing happened; +perhaps in other circumstances something might.</p> + +<p>Whilst the Benches are half empty Order Book is crowded. To-day's list +catalogues no fewer than 142 Bills standing at various stages awaiting +progress. Thirty-five are Government measures. The rest proofs of the +energy and legislative capacity of private Members.</p> + +<p>Of course at this stage of Session only small proportion of Government +Bills are likely to reach the Statute Book; those in hands of private +Members have no chance whatever. Still, imposing display looks well on +paper. In its various developments adds considerably to amount of +stationery bill.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—In Committee of Supply on Post Office Vote, a trifle +of £26,151,830, the Holt Report on postmen's demand for higher wages +discussed.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—Walking down Victoria Street on way to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[Pg 474]</a></span> House of Commons, +as is my custom of an afternoon, I come upon my old friend the +sandwich-board man. He stands in the shadow of Westminster Abbey +panoplied back and front with boards making the latest announcement of +newcomers to Madame Tussaud's. Morning and afternoon, all day long, he +stands there, the life of London surging past. We generally have a +little chat, and occasionally he gets a cigar.</p> + +<p>One mystery that long piqued me he solved. If you chance upon +sandwich-board men marching to head-quarters, like old <i>Kaspar</i> at his +garden gate their day's work done, you will notice they always carry +their boards upside down. The passer-by, consumed by desire to know what +truth these proclaim, must needs assume inverted attitude in order to +profit by announcement. Why do they so scrupulously observe that custom?</p> + +<p>"Point of honour," says my sandwich-board man. "What you call class +interests. We are paid little enough for so many hours' tramp. When the +hour of deliverance strikes we turn the board upside down. So we do when +we sit down by crowded thoroughfare to eat our mid-day bread-and-cheese, +or bread without cheese as may happen. Not going to give the master more +than he pays for."</p> + +<p>What specially attracted me to-day was communication received from +<span class="smcap">Member for Sark</span>. Says he hears that <span class="smcap">Winterton</span> is about to be added to +Madame Tussaud's!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 451px;"> +<img src="images/474.png" width="451" height="600" alt="THE WINTERTON WAX-WORK." title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">THE WINTERTON WAX-WORK.</span></span> +</div> + +<p>Suppose this, next of course to Westminster Abbey, is highest compliment +possible for public man. On reflection I say not quite. <span class="smcap">Lulu</span> stands on +triple pinnacle of fame. On one or other the New Zealander, bored with +the monotony of the ruins of London Bridge, sure to hap upon his name +writ large.</p> + +<p>There is the Harcourt Room in House of Commons, a spacious dining-hall +cunningly contrived with lack of acoustical properties that make it +difficult to hear what a conversational neighbour is saying. In time of +political stress this useful, as preventing lapse into controversy at +the table. Homeward bound from his last Antarctic trip, <span class="smcap">Ernest +Shackleton</span> discovered three towering peaks of snow and ice. One he named +Mount Asquith; another Mount Henry Lucy; a third Mount Harcourt.</p> + +<p>Now a great shipping company, having business on the West Coast of +Africa, making welcome discovery of a deep water port in the estuary of +the Bonny River, have named it Port Harcourt.</p> + +<p>This concatenation of circumstance more striking than the lonely +eminence of a pitch in the hall of Madame Tussaud, and a name flaunting +on her sandwich-board. Moreover than which, as grammarians say, <span class="smcap">Sark</span> has +evidently been misinformed. My sandwich-board man has heard nothing of +reported addition to our Valhalla. Certainly his boards do not confirm +the pleasing rumour.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—<span class="smcap">Home Secretary</span> announces intention of Government to go +to fountain-head of trouble with Militant Suffragists. Will proceed by +civil or criminal action directed against the persons who subscribe +sinews of war. Loud cheers from both sides approved the plan. Followed +at short interval by sharp report distinctly heard in Lobby. Was it echo +of the strident cheer? No. It was the ladies demonstrating afresh their +eligibility for exercise of the suffrage by attempting to blow up the +Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Candidates for divinity degrees at Cambridge should, it is +proposed, be required to give evidence of a competent general +knowledge of Christian theology."—<i>Times.</i></p></div> + +<p>Every now and then the authorities get these bright ideas, and thus our +old Universities keep up to date.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>From a list of entries for the golf championship:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Geo. Oke (Honor Oke)."—<i>Dundee Courier.</i></p></div> + +<p>We will if he wins.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"How can you have precisely the same cottage on the north and the +south side of a road? In the one case the larder is to the south, +and the butler is melting."</p> + +<p><i>Manchester Guardian.</i></p></div> + +<p>He should return to the wine cellar.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>RED HEAD AND WHITE PAWS.</h3> + +<p>[<i>Why should the popular magazines monopolise all the tragic animal +sketches? Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch's</span> menagerie is just as ferocious.</i>]</p> + +<p>Silence reigned in the woods! Silence! Deep silence! Save for the +chortle of the night-jar, the tap of the snipe's beak against the +tree-trunks, the snores of a weary game-keeper, the chirp of the +burying-beetle, the croak of the bat, the wild laughter of the owl and +the boom, boom of the frog, deep silence reigned. The crescent moon +stole silently above the horizon. Wonderful, significant is that silent, +stealthy approach of the moon. Red Head lumbered from his lair and +crouched beside the shimmering fire of the furze. A startled grass-snake +strove to leap out of the way of the monarch of the woods—- a hurried +crunch and a string of thirty white eggs was left motherless, forlorn.</p> + +<p>A careless cock-pheasant gurgled on a bough. In a moment Red Head had +silently scaled the tree. Two tail feathers alone remained to show an +awed game-keeper that Red Head had passed that way. A woodcock floated +silently on the bosom of the tiny lake. He did not note the ripple which +showed that a powerful animal was swimming towards him. A scream, and +the woodcock, trumpeting shrilly, is drawn into the depths.</p> + +<p>[<i>Editor.</i> But what is Red Head?</p> + +<p><i>The Expert.</i> I am not quite sure whether he is a tree-climbing fox or a +swimming badger. Anyhow he might have escaped from a menagerie.]</p> + +<p>Peace reigned in the hole of the bumble-bee. Weary with culling sweets +from the lime-trees, the heather-bloom, the apple-blossom and the +ivy-flower be had sought his humble couch. Suddenly great claws tear +away his roof-tree. Red Head is at work. Bees and honey make his nightly +meal.</p> + +<p>White Paws had listened from his burrow. All seemed well. He darted +forth and bathed in the bright light of the full moon.</p> + +<p>[<i>Editor.</i> Wasn't it a crescent moon?</p> + +<p><i>The Expert.</i> You must make allowances for development in the course of +a story. Suppose we say it was a full-sized crescent.]</p> + +<p>Then White Paws, standing on his hind-legs, danced for sheer joy of +life.</p> + +<p>A leaf bitten from a bough by a sturdy green caterpillar fell suddenly +to the ground. Like lightning White Paws darted to the top of an +immemorial elm. In a moment he was reassured and returned to his +graceful dance in the bosky dell.</p> + +<p>But what is this? A hideous red<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[Pg 475]</a></span> head emanates slowly from a bush. A +protruding tongue vibrates in the pale moonlight. Weak, curious White +Paws wonders what this strange thing is. Beware, White Paws! Think of +thy tender mate and innocent cubs.</p> + +<p>Drawn by a fatal curiosity he advances towards it. The awful glimmer of +Red Head's eye fascinates him. He must see. Nearer he draws and nearer. +A sudden plunge from the bush—a sickening crunch. Red Head has dined +for the fifth time in one evening.</p> + +<p>Death and Silence reign in the woods. Save for the chortling of the +night-jar, the chirp of the burying-beetle, the snores of the +gamekeeper, etc., etc. (see above) one might imagine oneself in the +solemn stillness of Piccadilly Circus at midnight.</p> + +<p>Death and Silence.</p> + +<p>[<i>Editor.</i> "Yes, but the identity of the protagonists in this Sophoclean +tragedy is still a little in doubt."</p> + +<p><i>The Expert.</i> "Any nature sketch ends satisfactorily with a meal."]</p> + +<p>All this time the crescent moon has been swelling silently under the +watchful stars. It is now at the full. So is Red Head. He has dined five +times. He sleeps.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1000px;"> +<img src="images/475.png" width="1000" height="661" alt="Lady Bountiful" title="" /> + +<span class="caption"><i>(Lady Bountiful is entertaining some slum children at +her lovely place in the country.)</i><br /> + +<i>Sister (to small brother who has just picked a daisy).</i><span class="smcap"> "Nar ven, 'Erb! +the lidy won't arst yer agine if yer gow a-pickin' 'er flowers like +thet!"</span></span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>THE ROCK GARDENESS IN LONDON.</h2> + +<p>(<i>A Ballad of Labels.</i>)</p> + +<p> +Dame Fashion, when she calls the tune,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must surely crave my pardon</span><br /> +For prisoning me in leafy June<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far from my Alpine garden.</span><br /> +<br /> +So that in crowded square or street<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Fancy's playful mockery</span><br /> +Plants all the pavement at my feet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With favourites from the rockery.</span><br /> +<br /> +And so that, heedless to the claims<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of passing conversation,</span><br /> +I murmur to myself their names<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By way of consolation.</span><br /> +<br /> +The thread of compliment may run<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through many ball-room Babels—</span><br /> +I have one language, only one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The language of the labels.</span><br /> +<br /> +In Kedar's tents are festive hours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The <i>noctes</i> and the <i>cœnæ</i>;</span><br /> +My heart is where <i><span class="smcap">RETUSA</span></i> flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crimson-starred <i><span class="smcap">SILENE</span></i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +I see the grey stones overhung<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lilac and laburnum;</span><br /> +I hear the drone of bees among<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue depths of <i><span class="smcap">LITHOSPERNUM</span></i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +And in the box on opera nights<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between each thrilling scene I</span><br /> +Recall the miniature delights<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of <i><span class="smcap">MENTHA REQUIENII</span></i>;</span><br /> +<br /> +Admirers find me deaf and dumb<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To all their honeyed wheedling,</span><br /> +I muse on <span class="smcap"><i>LONGIFOLIUM</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dream of <i><span class="smcap">STORMONTH SEEDLINGS</span></i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +And, when they come to hint their loves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through all the usual stages,</span><br /> +I wish I were in gardening gloves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among my Saxifrages.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>More Russian Methods.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">East-End Deputation Received by Whip.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Daily News and Leader.</i></p></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><i>The Daily News</i>, in describing an adventure between the <span class="smcap">Crown Prince</span> of +Germany (in a motor) and a peasant of Saarbrücken, ventures (with a +knowledge of the Saarbrücken dialect which we ourselves cannot claim) to +give the peasant's actual words:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'Ain't 'eard nowt,' said the peasant; 'the lane be narrow like. +You must just wait till I be druv ahead.'"</p></div> + +<p>Its likeness to the Loamshire dialect of England will interest the +philologist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[Pg 476]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">An Indian Summer.</span>"</p> + +<p>We plunged into the action quickly enough. A breakfast-gong—a sip of +coffee—a bite of toast—and <i>Nigel Parry</i> locks up his morning's +love-correspondence; <i>Helen</i>, his wife, breaks open the drawer and +peruses the damning letter; <i>Nigel</i> returns and catches her red-handed. +After this we took a long breath and lingered over the moral aspect of +the situation. Indeed, during the next ten years nothing occurred except +the separation of the couple; the reported decease of the other woman +(whom we never saw, dead or alive), and the marriage of the boy <i>Parry</i> +with an actress bearing the ascetic name of <i>Ursula</i>. We now left the +old trail in pursuit of this red herring; and for the rest of the play, +up to the last moment, our attention was concentrated on the attitude of +the elder heroine to her daughter-in-law, to whom she had taken a +profound dislike at sight.</p> + +<p>But something had to happen if the author was to bring about a +reconciliation of the original pair and so justify the symbolic title of +her play. Thinking it out, she seems to have recalled that it is +customary in these cases to let an accident occur to some junior member +of the family, over whose prostrate body the old ones may kiss again +with tears. Accordingly, no sooner had mention been made, quite +arbitrarily, of an automatic pistol, alleged to be unloaded, than old +stagers knew by instinct that <i>Ursula</i> would shoot herself +inadvertently. This occurred with such promptitude that even the author +recognised that we should not be satisfied with so ingenuous an episode. +Complications had therefore to be devised at all costs. Young <i>Parry</i> +must be kept in ignorance of the fact that the episode was due to his +stupidity in leaving the weapon loaded. So <i>Ursula</i> invents a story to +show that the wound in her thigh was due to a fall downstairs. It is +true that blood-poisoning—not amongst the more familiar sequelæ of a +fall downstairs—supervened. But the legend served well enough on the +stage. Among other effects it increased the irritation of the +mother-in-law, who felt that the accident indicated a criminal +carelessness in one who was about to make her a grandmother, a condition +of things that had been brought home to us in the course of some female +conversation flavoured with the most pungent candour. When the truth +came out, the proved devotion of the young wife causes an <i>entente</i> +between her and her mother-in-law, accompanied—for reasons which I +cannot at the moment recall—by a parallel reconciliation between the +senior couple. Personally, I felt that the threatened "Indian Summer" +was not likely to be much warmer than the ordinary English kind.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the most intriguing feature of the play was the author's +attitude toward her own sex. Mrs. <span class="smcap">Horlick</span> frankly took the man's point +of view. Never for one moment did she attempt to encourage our sympathy +for <i>Helen</i> as a wronged wife. Commonly in plays it is the woman, +married to a man she never loved, who claims the liberty of going her +own way and getting something out of life. Here it is the man who is the +victim of a marriage not of his own making (as far as love was +concerned), and the author, through the mouthpiece of the woman's +confidante, makes ample excuse for his desire to snatch some happiness +from fate.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 427px;"> +<img src="images/476.png" width="427" height="600" alt="Chilly Forecast" title="" /> + +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Chilly Forecast for an "Indian Summer."<br /></span> + + +<i>Nigel Parry</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Allan Aynesworth.<br /></span> +<i>Helen Parry</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Edyth Goodall.<br /></span></span> +</div> + +<p>Unhappily Mrs. <span class="smcap">Horlick</span> has much to learn in stage mechanism. The motive +of her exits when, as constantly, she wanted to leave any given couple +alone together, was insufficiently opaque. She began very well and held +our interest closely for some time; but long before the end we should +have been worn out but for the childlike charm and attractive +<i>gamineries</i> of Miss <span class="smcap">Dorothy Minto</span> as <i>Ursula</i>. Mr. <span class="smcap">Allan Aynesworth</span>, +who acted easily in the rather ambiguous part of <i>Nigel Parry</i>, seemed +to share our doubts as to the chances of Mrs. <span class="smcap">Horlick's</span> achieving +popularity at her first attempt, for he confided to us, in a brief +first-night oration, that she was engaged on another play which he hoped +to secure.</p> + +<p>But no one will question the serious promise of her present comedy, and +I trust that in any future production she may be assisted by as +excellent a cast. For they all played their parts, however trivial in +detail, with great sincerity. Miss <span class="smcap">Goodall</span> was the only disappointment, +though the fault was not altogether her own. At first she was very +effective, but later her entries came to be a signal for gloom, like +those of a skeleton emergent from the family cupboard.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Prince Igor.</span>"</p> + +<p>All is fair in Love and War, and the only ethical difficulty arises when +they clash. This was the trouble with <i>Vladimir Igorievich</i>, heir of +<i>Prince Igor</i>. Father and son had been taken in battle, and were held +captive in the camp of the Tartars; but, while <i>Prince Igor</i> felt very +keenly his position (though treated as a guest rather than a prisoner +and supplied every evening with spectacular entertainments), <i>Vladimir</i> +beguiled his enforced leisure by falling in love (heartily reciprocated) +with the daughter of his captor, <i>Khan Konchak</i>. An opportunity of +escape being offered, <i>Prince Igor</i> seizes it, but <i>Vladimir's</i> dear +heart is divided between passion and patriotism, and before he can make +up his mind the chance of freedom is gone. A study of the so-called +"libretto" showed that this was the only thing in the opera that bore +any resemblance to a dramatic situation. Figure, therefore, my chagrin +when I discovered that the character of <i>Vladimir Igorievich</i> had been +cut clean out of the text of the actual opera. I could much more easily +have dispensed with the buffooneries of a couple of obscure players upon +the <i>goudok</i> (or prehistoric hurdy-gurdy), who wasted more than enough +of such time as could be spared from the intervals.</p> + +<p>There was no part of adequate importance for M. <span class="smcap">Chaliapine</span>, so he +doubled the <i>rôles</i> of <i>Galitsky</i>, the swaggering and dissolute +brother-in-law that <i>Prince Igor</i> left behind when he went to the wars, +and <i>Khan Konchak</i>, most magnanimous of barbarians. Neither character +gave scope for the particular subtlety of which (as he proves in <i>Boris +Godounov</i>) M. <span class="smcap">Chaliapine</span> is the sole master among male operatic singers. +But to each he brought that gift of the great manner, that ease and +splendour of bearing, and those superb qualities of voice which, found +together, give him a place apart from his kind.</p> + +<p>Of the rest, M. <span class="smcap">Paul Andreev</span>, as <i>Prince Igor</i>, gave his plaint of +captivity with a noble pathos. As for the chorus, it sang with the +singleness and intensity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[Pg 477]</a></span> of spirit which are only possible to a +national chorus in national opera, and which (I hope) are the envy of +the cosmopolitans of Covent Garden.</p> + +<p>The <i>clou</i> of the evening was the ballet, already well-known, of the +Polovtsy warriors, executed with the extreme of fanatic fervour and +frenzy. The art of M. <span class="smcap">Michel Fokine</span> can turn his Russians into Tartars +without a scratch of the skin. <span class="smcap">Borodine's</span> music, taking on a more +barbaric quality as the action travelled further East, here touched its +climax, and the final scene, where <i>Prince Igor</i> returns home and +resumes the embraces of his queen, (a model of fidelity), was of the +character of a sedative.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Daphnis et Chloë.</span>"</p> + +<p>Those who complained—I speak of the few whose critical faculties had +not been paralysed by M. <span class="smcap">Nijinski</span>—that in <i>L'Après-midi d'un Faune</i> +the limitations of plastic Art (necessarily confined to stationary forms) +were forced upon an art that primarily deals with motion, will have +little of the same fault to find in <i>Daphnis et Chloë.</i> Here there is no +fixed or formal posing, if we except the attitude adopted (after a +preliminary and irrelevant twiddle) by certain Nymphs to indicate, +appropriately enough, their grief over the inanimate form of <i>Daphnis</i>. +The dances in which, to the mutual suspicion of the lovers, <i>Chloë</i> was +circled by the men and <i>Daphnis</i> by the maidens, were a pure delight. +There was one movement, when heads were tossed back and then brought +swiftly forward over hollowed breasts and lifted knees that had in it an +exquisite fleeting beauty. But memory holds best the grace of the +simpler and more elemental movements, the airy swing and poise of feet +and limbs in straight flight, linked hands outstretched.</p> + +<p>In the <i>pas seul</i> competition M. <span class="smcap">Adolph Bolm</span> as <i>Darkon</i> did some +astonishing feats which made the performance of M. <span class="smcap">Fokine</span> as <i>Daphnis</i> +seem relatively tame and conventional; and if I, instead of <i>Chloë</i>, had +been the judge I should have awarded the palm to the former. I am sure +that <i>Chloë</i> was prejudiced, though certainly <i>Darkon</i> was a very rude +and hirsute shepherd, and had none of <i>Daphnis'</i> pretty ways.</p> + +<p>The dancing of the brigands was in excellent contrast with the methods +of the pastoral Greeks. I will not, like the programme, distinguish them +as "Brigands with Lances," "Brigands with Bows" and "Young Brigands." To +me they were all alike very perfect examples of the profession; though I +admit that the flight of their spears was not always as deadly as it +should have been, and that one of the arrows refused to go off the +string and had to be thrown by hand into the wings.</p> + +<p>It is not easy at a first performance to take in everything with both +eye and ear, and I shall excuse myself from attempting to do justice to +M. <span class="smcap">Ravel's</span> music. But I was free (the curtain being down) to listen to +one long orchestral passage which followed the capture of <i>Chloë</i>. It +was of the nature of a dirge, and it seemed to me to suggest very +cleverly the sorrows of a poultry-yard. I suppose <i>Chloë</i> must have been +in the habit of feeding them and they missed her.</p> + +<p>I hate to say one word of disparagement about a performance for which I +could never be sufficiently grateful. But I agree with a friend of mine +who complained to me of the way in which <i>Pan</i> was presented. It was +this beneficent god who caused a panic among the brigands and so enabled +<i>Chloë</i> to return to her friends, though I don't know why he ever let +her be captured, for he was there at the time. Well, I agree that he +ought to have been represented by something more satisfactory than a +half-length portrait painted on a huge travelling plank of pasteboard, +which was pushed about from Arcadia to Scythia (if this was the +brigands' address) and back again, appearing in the limelight, when +required, like a whisky sky-sign.</p> + +<p> +O. S.<br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 549px;"> +<img src="images/477.png" width="549" height="800" alt="Can you lend me a couple bob" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">"Can you lend me a couple o' bob, George? I've just had +my pocket picked."</span></span> + +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[Pg 478]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>TEMPORA MUTANTUR.</h2> + +<p>[Suggested by recent correspondence in a leading journal.]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Why Use Specs?</span></p> + +<p><i>A Centenarian's Testimony to the Editor of "The Chimes."</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I was 117 on the 1st of April and have never used any artificial +aid to eyesight, yet I can read the articles for ladies on the Court +Circular page of your splendid publication without turning a hair. It is +true that I am, and have always been, of an iron constitution, having +practically dispensed with sleep for the last sixty years. For some +considerable time I have been able to do without physical sustenance as +well, owing to the extraordinarily nutritious nature of the contents of +your superb South American Encyclopædias.</p> + +<p>Yours faithfully,</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Nestor Parr</span>.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A Perfect Cure.</span></p> + +<p><i>To the Editor of "The Chimes."</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Is my experience worth recording? Until two or three years ago I +was entirely dependent on spectacles, and suffered unspeakable +inconvenience if I happened to mislay them. But since I became a +subscriber to your unique and unparalleled organ I have found my +eyesight so marvellously improved that I am now able to discard glasses +entirely. The extraordinary part of the business is this, that if I take +up any other paper I am utterly unable to decipher a word. As my wife +cleverly put it the other day, of all the wonderful spectacles in the +world the new <i>Chimes</i> is the most amazing.</p> + +<p>Yours gratefully, <span class="smcap">Verax</span>.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">From an Artificial Eye-maker</span>.</p> + +<p><i>To the Editor of "The Chimes,"</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—An extraordinary case of recovery of sight was brought to my +knowledge yesterday by an esteemed customer. About thirty years ago I +supplied him with an artificial eye to replace one which he lost while +duck-shooting in the Canary Islands. About six months ago he lost the +remaining sound eye through a blow from a golf-ball. I accordingly +fitted him with a second artificial eye, and you may imagine my surprise +when he came round to my place of business a few days later by himself +and read aloud to me the whole of your admirable leading article on +"Braces <i>v.</i> Belts." The therapeutic effect of high-class journalism on +myopic patients has, I believe, been noted by Professor Hagenstreicher, +the famous German oculist, but this is, I believe, the first instance on +record of a patient recovering his sight after both eyes had been +removed.</p> + +<p>I am, Sir, etc., <span class="smcap">Annan Eyas</span>.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Cataract Arrested</span>.</p> + +<p><i>To the Editor of "The Chimes."</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Yesterday, which happened to be my ninety-seventh birthday, I +spent in reading your wonderful Potted Meat Supplement from cover to +cover. As there is more printed matter in it than in Mr. <span class="smcap">de Morgan's</span> +latest novel you might expect to hear that I am suffering to-day from +eye-strain. On the contrary the symptoms of incipient cataract, which +declared themselves a few months ago, have entirely disappeared, and I +was able to see the French coast distinctly this morning from my house +on the sea-front.</p> + +<p>Yours truthfully,</p> + +<p><i>Folkestone.</i> <span class="smcap">Judith Fitzsimons</span>.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">From Our Oldest Subscriber</span>.</p> + +<p><i>To the Editor of "The Chimes."</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I was 165 last birthday. I was in the merchant marine for upwards +of eighty years, and then became a Swedenborgian, but never had occasion +to consult an oculist. I was born in the reign of George II., or was it +Queen Anne?—I really forget which. My wife is 163, and we walk out, +when weather permits, and seldom omit church on Sundays. We both still +read your "Births, Deaths, and Marriages," and consider that they are +the best.</p> + +<p>Yours venerably, W. A. G.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Another Suffragette Outrage.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Among the elementary and fundamental rights and duties are (<i>sic</i>) +the security of the person. But it is violated as much by he +(<i>sic</i>) or she (<i>sic</i>) who challenges assault as by he (<i>sic</i>) or +she (<i>sic</i>) who assaults."</p></div> + +<p>The five "<i>sics</i>" are ours. The rest belongs to the leader-writer of +<i>The Morning Post</i>, on whom militancy seems to have had a painful +effect.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A Central News telegram from Montreal states that Miss Edith +Shaughnessy, daughter of Sir Thomas Shaughnessy, was married at St. +James's Roman Catholic Cathedral yesterday to Mr. W. H."—<i>Morning +Post.</i></p></div> + +<p>From the wedding presents, which were both numerous and costly: "Mr. W. +Shakespeare to Bridegroom—Sonnets."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A correspondent in <i>The Exchange and Mart</i> writes:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"At night Tree-Frogs are active and utter various sounds, some a +pleasing chirrup (like mine), others a loud shriek."</p></div> + +<p>We shall hope to hear the writer's pleasing chirrup in Bouverie Street +some day.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>ADVENTURERS.</h2> + +<p> +It must have been off a pirate trip,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a life forgot 'o me,</span><br /> +That I saw the Barbary pirate ship<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come close-hauled out of the sea;</span><br /> +She crawled in under a goat-cropped scaur<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the fisher-huts,</span><br /> +And she sent a dozen o' men ashore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fill her water-butts.</span><br /> +<br /> +I clambered up where the cliff sprung sheer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till I looked upon her decks</span><br /> +And saw the plunder of half-a-year<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the loot of her scuttled wrecks;</span><br /> +There were gems and ivory, plate and pearl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Tyrian rugs a-pile,</span><br /> +And, set in the midst, was a milk-white girl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loot of a Grecian isle.</span><br /> +<br /> +As white as the breasted terns that flit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the smooth arm's rounded shape</span><br /> +As she idly played with a pomegranate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To anger a chained grey ape;</span><br /> +And her Sun-God's self for diadem<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had kissed her curls to gold;</span><br /> +But blue—sea-blue as the sapphire gem,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her eyes were cold, sea-cold.</span><br /> +<br /> +And, gleam of shoulder and glint of tress,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They sailed ere the sun went down</span><br /> +And sold her, same as a black negress,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the marts o' Carthage town,</span><br /> +Where she lived, mayhap, of her indolent grace,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Content with her silks and rings,</span><br /> +Or rose, by way of her wits, to place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her foot on the necks of kings.</span><br /> +<br /> +The deuce can tell you how this may be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis far as I take the tale;</span><br /> +For it's lives upon lives ago, you see,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the Barbary men set sail;</span><br /> +So I only know she was ivory white,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As white as a sea-bird lone;</span><br /> +And her eyes were wonderful blue and bright<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hard as a sapphire stone.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>The New Rowing.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Give a last pull at the oar with clenched teeth and knit +muscles."—<i>The Young Man.</i></p></div> + +<p><i>The Cork Examiner</i> on Sir <span class="smcap">Percy Scott's</span> letter:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'If a battleships is not safe either on the high seas or in +rabour,' he asks, 'what is the use of a battlesh?'"</p></div> + +<p>To be more accurate, this is how one puts it to one's neighbour after +dinner, when—the ladies having removed themselves, and the necessity +for mere social chit-chat being over—we men are at last able to devote +ourselves to the affairs of empire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[Pg 479]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1000px;"> +<img src="images/479.png" width="1000" height="631" alt="LIGHT CAR TRIALS." title="" /> + +<h3>LIGHT CAR TRIALS.</h3> + +<i>Spectator (to exhausted competitor reduced to running on trial +hill).</i><span class="smcap">"What would you say if that car ran away from you?"<br /></span> + +<i>Competitor</i>.<span class="smcap">"Thank Heaven!"</span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</p> + +<p>The title of a book should be a guide to its contents, a simple enough +rule which some authors overlook in their anxiety to start being clever +and eccentric on the very outside cover. The book-buying public will +appreciate Miss M. <span class="smcap">Betham-Edwards'</span> title, <i>From an Islington Window, +Pages of Reminiscent Romance</i> (<span class="smcap">Smith, Elder</span>), and will gather from it +that this is a book for those who prefer a long life and a quiet one to +the short and thrilling. Incidentally I am relieved from divulging any +of the plots in order to demonstrate the nature of the twelve short +pieces embodied; enough to quote two typical sub-titles, "Mr. Lovejoy's +Love-story" and "Miss Prime," and to put upon the whole the label of the +author's own choice, "Early Victorian." Everybody knows where and what +Islington is and the sort of minor tragedy and comedy that would be +likely to occur in the lives of its inhabitants in the last reign but +one. No one would look there for epoch-making crises, but many will find +a longed-for relief from the speeding-up tendencies of modern romance. +Lastly, but for a tendency at times to affectation, the style of the +writer is as graceful and elegant as her themes are homely and serene, +and that, I think, is all about it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span> is subtle; at least if my idea of the genesis of +<i>Barbara and Company</i> (<span class="smcap">Constable</span>) is the right one. I believe, then, +that Mr. <span class="smcap">Norris</span> found himself possessed of plots sufficient for a number +of agreeable short stories, but that, knowing short stories to be more +or less a drug in the market, he very skilfully united them into one by +the simple process of making all their characters friends of <i>Barbara</i>. +Nothing could be more effective. For example, Mr. <span class="smcap">Norris</span> thinks what fun +it would be to describe a race ridden by two unwilling suitors, the +prize to be the lady's heart, which neither in the least wishes to win. +Promptly <i>Miss Ormesby</i>, the heroine, is asked down on a visit to +<i>Barbara</i>, and the story is told, most amusingly and well, in a couple +of chapters. Again, the pathetic and moving tale of <i>Miss Nellie +Mercer</i>, the nameless companion, who blossomed into fierce renown as +<i>Senorita Mercedes</i>, the dancer, and died of it. Why should not this +same <i>Barbara</i> have adopted the parentless girl in childhood? It is all +simplicity itself. Perhaps you may object that the useful <i>Barbara</i> +shows some signs of being a little overworked, and that few women are +likely to have had quite so adventurous a company of friends. In this +case I shall have nothing to urge, except that, so far as I am +personally concerned, Mr. <span class="smcap">Norris</span> has such a way with him that if he +chose to people <i>Barbara's</i> drawing-room with the persons of the +<i>Arabian Nights</i> he could probably convince me that there was nothing +very much out of the ordinary in that assembly. And, after all, pianists +and writers and actors, all the kind of folk with whom <i>Barbara</i> +surrounded herself, are precisely those to whom short stories should, +and do, happen. Next time, however, I hope Mr. <span class="smcap">Norris's</span> inspiration will +be less fragmentary but equally happy.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><i>Johnnie Maddison</i> (<span class="smcap">Smith, Elder</span>) was nice. And here and now I wish to +propose a vote of thanks to Mr. <span class="smcap">John Haslette</span> for having the uncommon +pluck to create a hero neither handsome nor strong. Brave of course he +had to be, or how should that which is written in the proverbs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[Pg 480]</a></span> have +been fulfilled, but "he was slight," "he stooped a little," "he had an +ordinary face." (What hopes that brings to the hearts of some of us!) +For the rest, he lived in Sta. Malua, to which tropical port came <i>Molly +Hatherall</i>, intending to be married to a handsome scamp who spent all +his salary as a mining engineer and all the money he could borrow from +friends in losing games of poker to a man who made a profession of +winning them. Why he should have wanted to do this (for it seemed to be +his solitary serious vice) in a place like Sta. Malua I cannot imagine. +But there it is. For one reason or another the marriage was delayed, and +after a long mental struggle <i>Jno. Maddison</i>, who had fallen in love +with <i>Molly</i>, decided to tell her what kind of man her idol of romantic +chivalry really was. It raises, you see, a nice point of ethics, since +<i>Edmund Serge</i> was popular at the club and, except for the brand of the +poker on his forehead, a pretty good fellow. Unfortunately Mr. <span class="smcap">Haslette</span> +rudely slices the knot of his difficulty by making <i>Edmund</i> embezzle +money and abscond at the critical point of the story. The telling of the +yarn is a little humdrum, but gains from a comparative leniency in the +matter of local colour—for I feel that Sta. Malua is the sort of place +which might have been rather ruthless about this—and the suspended +banns keep the interest fairly warm. But I am not sure that <i>Johnnie +Maddison</i> might not have been nicer if he had escaped a suspicion of +priggishness and lost a trifle now and then at progressive whist.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In Miss <span class="smcap">Eleanor Mordaunt's</span> new volume called <i>The Island</i> (<span class="smcap">Heinemann</span>) +all the tales have a common interest through their association with a +corner of Empire easily recognisable by those who have ever seen it. I +remember how greatly I have already admired Miss <span class="smcap">Mordaunt's</span> power of +vivid and picturesque scene-painting; there are several stories in this +book that show it at its best. I wish I could avoid adding that there +are others that seem to me entirely unworthy of their author, at least +for any other purpose than that of boiling the pot. One of the best of +the tales, "A Reversion," is both dramatic and realistic; it bears a +strong resemblance to a sketch that recently made a successful +appearance at the Hippodrome; indeed the good qualities of Miss +<span class="smcap">Mordaunt's</span> stories are precisely those that would help their development +into excellent little plays. One thing that I cannot help wishing is +that the writer had trusted a little more to my imaginative +intelligence. There is a certain kind of detail that is best confided to +this sanctuary, and Miss <span class="smcap">Mordaunt's</span> difficulty seems to have been in +realising when all the sayable things had been said. At least one of the +stories plunges considerably beyond the limit of discretion and even +good taste. But the heat and the colour, the thrills and the devastating +<i>ennui</i> of life for the English in the island, are as well rendered as +anything I remember in the fiction of Empire. For this alone there +should be a warm welcome for the collection, with all its faults, both +from those who know the original and those who need help in imagining +it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><i>The Purple Frogs</i> (<span class="smcap">Heath, Cranton and Ouseley</span>) I can only describe as +the most exasperating, not to say maddening, product of modern fiction. +What on earth Messrs. H. W. <span class="smcap">Westbrook</span> and <span class="smcap">Lawrence Grossmith</span>, the joint +authors, mean by it I have not the ghost of an idea. Occasionally signs +are detectable that the whole thing is a practical joke; still more +occasionally it even promises to become mildly amusing; and then again +one is confronted with an incident (such as the visit of the armed +maniac to the house of <i>Isambard Flanders</i>) serious to the point of +melodrama. Not for pages and chapters did I discover any excuse for the +title; and even then not much. But it appeared eventually that <i>Isambard +Flanders</i> was jealous of the friendship between his wife, <i>Cicely</i>, and +<i>Stephen</i>, a young man who produced film-dramas; and that in order to +score off them he wrote a novel called <i>The Purple Frogs</i>, in which he +embodied his suspicions. The last half of the volume is occupied with +this tale within a tale. Here possibly we have a key to the purpose of +the collaboration. Anyhow, I permitted myself to form a theory that Mr. +<span class="smcap">Westbrook</span> (or Mr. <span class="smcap">Grossmith</span>) had written a novel too exiguous for +separate publication, and in this dilemma had appealed to Mr. <span class="smcap">Grossmith</span> +(or Mr. <span class="smcap">Westbrook</span>) to provide a setting. But which wrote which, and +why—these are problems that remain inscrutable. Yet another is +furnished by the fact that Miss <span class="smcap">Ella King Hall</span> has composed for the main +story six "illustrations in music," duly reproduced. You may with luck +be able to smile a little at the quaintness of these. But on the +title-page they are said to be "arranged from the MS. notes of <i>Botolf +Glenfield."</i> And <i>Glenfield</i>, being only a character in the novel +written by <i>Flanders</i>, couldn't possibly ... Help!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/480.png" width="600" height="438" alt="THE CUBIST PHOTOGRAPHER." title="" /> + +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">THE CUBIST PHOTOGRAPHER.</span></span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>SERENITY.</h3> + +<p> +A singular accident happened to-day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Distressing to witness (I chanced to be there).</span><br /> +A motor-'bus entered a tea-shop, and lay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In some need of repair.</span><br /> +<br /> +It was loaded with passengers, outside and in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who straightway indulged in much turbulent talk;</span><br /> +The latter declared that for less than a pin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They would get out and walk.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the customers who, with deplorable zest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of tea and hot crumpets were taking their fill,</span><br /> +Regarding the scene as an innocent jest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Simply laughed themselves ill.</span><br /> +<br /> +Though I'm dreadfully nervous and suffer a shock<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the slightest alarm, through that terrible fuss</span><br /> +I was strangely composed and, as still as a rock,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I lay under the 'bus.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 146, JUNE 17, 1914***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 24453-h.txt or 24453-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24453">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/5/24453</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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