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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:14:08 -0700 |
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diff --git a/24720-h/24720-h.htm b/24720-h/24720-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5c253c --- /dev/null +++ b/24720-h/24720-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2612 @@ +<!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, May 20, 1914, by Various</title> + <style type="text/css"> + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + p.ital {font-style: italic;} + p.author {text-align: right;} + em {font-style: normal;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {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.medium {width: 76%;} + html>body hr.medium {margin-right: 12%; margin-left: 12%; width: 76%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .poem + {margin-left:30%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + + + .drama {margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .drama p {margin: 1em 0em 0em 0em;; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + .direction {margin-left:30%; text-indent:-2em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + td {font-size:0.9em; padding-left:1em; padding-right:1em; + text-align:center;} + + 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, May +20, 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, May 20, 1914</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Owen Seaman</p> +<p>Release Date: February 29, 2008 [eBook #24720]</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, MAY 20, 1914***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> + +<h1> PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>VOL. 146</h2> +<hr class="full"/> +<h2>May 20, 1914.</h2> +<hr class="full"/> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> + + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> + +<p>It is comforting to know that we need not yet despair of human nature. +Even the most abandoned politician may have one redeeming quality. For +example, <i>The Express</i> tells us that Mr. <span class="sc">Winston Churchill</span> is a reader +of <i>The Express</i>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>It is reported to be the intention of General <span class="sc">Botha</span> to visit this +country in June or July, and the Labour Party here are said to be +already taking steps with a view to having him deported as an +undesirable.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>If Mr. <span class="sc">Henry Chaplin</span> has been correctly reported he is even more of a +reactionary than most of his opponents imagined. In the course of the +debate on the Sunday Closing Bill he is said to have delivered himself +as follows:—"Drunkenness is diminishing, and I say Thank God; long may +it continue." The pious ejaculation would seem to be an expression of +gratitude for the joys of inebriety.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"Does the nightingale really boycott the land of Llewelyn and Mr. Lloyd +George—and why?" asks an anxious inquirer in a contemporary. If it is +so we suspect the reason is a fear on the part of the bird that the +<span class="sc">Chancellor</span> may get to know of the rich quality of his notes and tax him +out of existence.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">George Storey</span> has been elected a Royal Academician. This will +surprise no one. Burlington House has always favoured the Storey +picture. And as regards Mr. <span class="sc">H. S. Tuke</span>, who was promoted at the same +time, his serial tale, "Three Boys and a Boat," has now been running for +quite a number of years.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"English," says Mr. <span class="sc">Balfour</span>, "is abominably difficult." But Erse is +worse.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Despatched at Teddington twenty-three years ago a postcard has just been +delivered at Walton-on-Thames. The postal authorities trust that the +publication of this fact will induce people to exercise a little +patience when they do not receive correspondence which they expect, +instead of at once jumping to the conclusion that it has been lost.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>As a consequence of recent outrages at the Royal Academy the Council is +reported to be testing "unbreakable glass." No doubt the Indestructible +Paint Company is also circularising artists.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A man walking across St. Paul's Churchyard gave a remarkable exhibition +of presence of mind one day last week. He was knocked down under a +motor-omnibus, but managed so to arrange himself that the wheels passed +clear of him. Cinema operators will be obliged if he will give them due +notice of any intention to repeat the turn.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"The London General Omnibus Company advertises itself, so why shouldn't +we?" said the L.C.C. Tramways—so they had a nice little collision on +the Embankment last week.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>At the second annual celebration of "Mothers' Day" at the London Central +Y.M.C.A., an eloquent address was delivered by the secretary of the +association, Mr. <span class="sc">Virgo</span>. The thought that, in spite of his name, this +gentleman, try as he might, could never become a mother is said to have +raised a lump in the throat of many a member of the audience.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We are glad to hear that "Hospital Egg Week" has been a success. We find +it difficult, however, to believe one account, which states that +sufficient new-laid eggs have been contributed to last the whole year.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"If Adam had lived till now," says Mr. <span class="sc">Snowden</span>, "and had worked hard at +honest labour the whole time, and had been a thrifty man withal, he +would not have had an income like some of those enjoyed to-day." Mr. +<span class="sc">Snowden</span> is apparently presuming that <span class="sc">Adam's</span> wife would have lived as +long as her husband.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>At his examination in bankruptcy a Clacton monumental mason attributed +his failure to the healthfulness of the neighborhood. Suggested motto +for Clacton funeral artists: "<i>Si monumentum requiris</i>—go elsewhere."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Among probable forthcoming improvements at the Zoological Gardens is the +provision of a band on Sunday. But one great difficulty, we imagine, +will be to persuade the laughing hyena and certain other rowdy animals +not to take part in the performances.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The didactic drama is with us again, and this time we are to be taught +to feel affection for the unpopular. <i>Love Cheats</i> is the hortatory +title of a play to be produced by Miss <span class="sc">Horniman's</span> company next month.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Margam Jones</span> has written a volume entitled <i>Angels in Wales</i>. +Nonconformists, we presume.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE NEW DRESS.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:55%"> +<a href="images/381.png"><img width="100%" src="images/381.png" alt="THE NEW DRESS" /></a><br /><br /> +"<span class="sc">Going along Oxford Street, are you? I should love to come with you, but +it would be a little hard on Bond Street. You see, I haven't shown it to +Bond Street yet.</span>"<br /> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>BAD LANGUAGE.</h3> + +<div class="text-align: center"> +"BAD LANGUAGE.<br /> +<span class="sc">From Sir Herbert Tree</span>.<br /> +To the Editor of <i>The Daily Mail</i>."<br /><br /> +We hope the Editor replied suitably. +</div> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> + +<h3>"WHO FEARS TO SPEAK OF"—NINETEEN-SIX?</h3> + +<div class="text-align: center"> +[<i>Thoughts on "a Bill for the Better</i> (sic) <i>Government of Ireland."</i>] +</div> + +<div class="text-align: center"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">There was an Isle all green and fair<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Where milk and whisky used to flow,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Where, thanks to lavish legislators,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">The pious cult of pigs and taters.<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Filled with content the balmy air—<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Eight little years ago!<br /></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Distressful she had been, a land<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Of kine curtailed and burning ricks,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Until we others oped our purses<br /></p> +<p class="i4">To rectify her feudal curses<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And freed the soil with generous hand—<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Prior to nineteen-six.<br /></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Though still the casual moonlight raid<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Occurred at seasons, just for joy,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">New brands of owners, fat and thriving,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Had lost their use for cattle-driving,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And agitation's artful aid,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Pined for its old employ.<br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Then came the Liberals in and eyed<br /></p> +<p class="i2">This land where Peace had poised her wings;<br /></p> +<p class="i4">And "O!" said they, "how sad a smutch on<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Our clean United Kingdom's 'scutcheon!<br /></p> +<p class="i0">It is our duty to provide<br /></p> +<p class="i2">A Better State of Things."<br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Eight years ago! And now we see<br /></p> +<p class="i2">The dogs of war about to bay;<br /></p> +<p class="i4">The Bill for Ruling Ireland Better<br /></p> +<p class="i4">(Strangely enough) has so upset her<br /></p> +<p class="i0">That pretty soon there ought to be<br /></p> +<p class="i2">The <span class="sc">Devlin's</span> self to pay.<br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">So, when the general atmosphere<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Becomes opaque with flying bricks,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">And those who ran the Home Rule movement<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Bid me applaud this marked improvement,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">From pure politeness I shall fear<br /></p> +<p class="i2">To speak of nineteen-six.<br /></p></div></div></div> + +<p class="author">O. S.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BUSINESSFRIENDSHIP.</h2> + +<p>Have you heard from —— this year? Mine came last night. Of course (to +keep it among ourselves) I am not going to say who —— is beyond +mentioning (for the purpose of handy reference) that he appears to have +been christened Josef and that the capital from which he writes (or +alleges that he writes) is associable with a high standard of musical +comedy. His communication is very much underlined, very profuse of the +mark of exclamation in quite unnecessary places (until, indeed, the sign +begins to assume an absolutely satirical value), and very ornate with +little amputated hands, all pointing out the short cut to illimitable +wealth. Now you understand.</p> + +<p>The envelope was addressed, as Josef himself assures me that his future +communications will be, "in the most discreet manner," and yet....</p> + +<p>"Put it into the waste-paper basket, my dear," I said to Philippa, who +had brought it in with some curiosity. "We need not open it. It is only +Josef offering us another fortune." Need I say that she at once opened +it?</p> + +<p>My address, according to Josef, had been given to him "by a mutual +businessfriend." This threw me into a contemplation. Who could it be? +Spraggs had certainly toured the capitals of Central Europe last autumn, +but he never mentioned Josef on his return. Harris? Well, one would +scarcely call Harris a <i>business</i>friend. Filmer? No, Filmer is too +selfish, I fear, to do me so good a turn. Ah, of course! Kelly, dear old +burly rubicund Kelly, with his unfailing memory for an address and his +delightfully abbreviated style. And he goes everywhere too: the very +man. I can almost hear him saying it: "Then there's Johnson, my staunch +old businessfriend Johnson, whom I can trace right back as far as my +impressions of 1912; mustn't leave him out. I think I can—yes, I have +it: John Fdk. Johnson, 72, Chestnut Av., Mayfield Pk., S.W. You've got +that?" Josef has it.</p> + +<p>Josef, it appears, possesses a few tickets, and I gather that for some +reason he does not require all of them himself. Naturally he turns to +the friend of our mutual businessfriend. Will I participate in the +distribution of "many, many million within five months?" The first prize +is one—but perhaps I had better express it as Josef loves to do. The +first prize is</p> + +<table align="center" summary="One Million crs."> +<tr><td><img src="images/rightfinger.gif" width="45" height="20" alt="" title="" /> +</td> +<td><b>One Million crs.</b></td><td><img src="images/finger.gif" width="45" height="20" alt="" title="" /> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>The chance, he goes on to say, is "without any risk worth mentioning." +Still, he does mention it. He mentions it quite explicitly so that there +shall be no mistake. The risk is as follows:—</p> + +<table align="center" summary="cartoon"> +<tr><td>¼ Ticket sh 8/6.</td></tr> +<tr><td>½ Ticket sh 17/.</td></tr> +<tr><td>1/1 Ticket sh 34/.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>"All tickets forwarded (paid for) belong to the customer," I am assured, +"from the moment of dispatch and play, of course, on his account."</p> + +<p>I fancy I see what Josef means, but I don't think that the expression, +"play, of course, on his account," is altogether well chosen. I think it +might have been phrased more felicitously.</p> + +<p>You will not be surprised to know that Josef's interest, stimulated by +our mutual businessfriend, goes beyond my mere personality. He reminds +me—Philippa is quite affected by this—that there are others. "The +astonishing advantages ... must induce to serious consideration anyone +who is looking after his own welfare, and that of those near and dear to +him as well."—Yet Josef can be almost stern when there is occasion, and +he tersely warns me that it is a chance which "probably <u><b>never will be offered</b></u> +to you <u><b>again!</b></u>"</p> +<p>Ah, well.</p> + +<p>I suppose that I shall give a miss as usual. It isn't that I doubt a +single word of Josef's splendid optimism on my behalf. It isn't that I +really mind the always, to me, inexplicable fact that every second +ticket is guaranteed to draw a prize, while the <i>lowest</i> prize is double +the amount charged for the ticket. It isn't (altogether) that I distrust +Philippa's rosy presentiment. I think it is the concluding paragraph +that settles it. I read:—</p> + +<div class="text-align: center">Will you become <br /> +<u><b>A Millionaire?</b></u> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Fill out this Order-Form and send it to me by return of post with +the necessary remittance!</p></div> + +<p>That last and entirely superfluous note of exclamation seems only to be +adequately vocalised as a chuckle. And as I listen it does not seem to +be myself that is laughing.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> is already using his influence with the new <span class="sc">War +Minister</span>. In the Army Orders for March, 1914, we read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Paragraph 555, line 4. <i>For '4d.' substitute '9d.'</i>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> + +<h3>THE CONCERT OF SOUTH AMERICA.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%;"> +<a href="images/383.png"><img width="100%" src="images/383.png" alt="THE CONCERT OF SOUTH AMERICA." /></a> +<p><span class="sc">The Mediators.</span> "PARDON, MADAM, BUT YOU HAVE HAD A LOT OF EXPERIENCE OF +THIS KIND OF THING. HOW DO YOU DO IT?"</p><br /> + +<p><span class="sc">Europa.</span> "OH, WE JUST TALK AND TALK—AND THEN TALK!"</p><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;"> +<a href="images/385.png"><img width="100%" src="images/385.png" alt="Bad luck! Well tried!" /></a> +</div> + +<div class="text-align: center"> +<i>First Player (encouragingly).</i>"<span class="sc">Bad luck! Well tried!</span>"<br /> +<i>Second Player (petulantly).</i>"<span class="sc">I didn't try for anything.</span>" +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE PIERCING OF THE VEIL.</h2> + +<p>"I think," says Dr. <span class="sc">Lynch</span> in <i>The Daily Chronicle</i>, "that a man leaves +some trace of himself in every sentence that he writes. What then of +works so extensive as Shakspeare's? Certainly we should see him through +and through if we only knew how to look."</p> + +<p><i>We</i> do know how to look, and we have done so with results that can +hardly fail to astonish the reader. It has long been known, for +instance, that <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span> was a good man of business, but until our +researches no one had realised quite how good. His theatre had to pay, +and he knew as well as any modern manager how to make it do so. That he +realised, for instance, the attractions of American dance tunes is +evident from his reference to "rags to split the ears of the +groundlings" (<i>Hamlet</i>, Act III., Scene 2).</p> + +<p>Apart from his business <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span> had private ambitions. We all know +that he applied for a grant of arms, but few are aware that he also +stood for Parliament, and, like many another, regretted the expense +after it was incurred. "Almost all," he says feelingly, "repent in their +election" (<i>Coriolanus</i>, Act II., Scene 3). His exact political views +are still uncertain, but, at any rate, we may be sure that he +disapproved of the Lords, for he boldly announced the fact in the <i>Two +Gentlemen of Verona</i>, Act V., Scene 4, where he says, "One house, one +mutual happiness."</p> + +<p>But these are serious matters. What of his hours of ease? That he golfed +there can now be no manner of doubt. In <i>The Tempest</i>, Act IV., Scene 1, +he refers to the "short grassed green," and in <i>Hamlet</i>, Act II., Scene +2, he earns our respect by the simple statement, "I went round," without +any tedious details. Possibly the "thousand marks in links" in the first +part of <i>Henry IV.</i>, Act III., Scene 3, explains this reticence, but, at +any rate, he occasionally found one whom he fancied he could beat; +witness his remark in <i>Twelfth Night</i>, Act II., Scene 3, "Sir Toby, I +must be round with you."</p> + +<p>And, golf over, he liked his pipe and his glass. The "smoke and lukewarm +water" mentioned in <i>Timon of Athens</i>, Act III., Scene 6, only needs the +addition of a dash of whisky to make an evening any of us might enjoy; +and his words in <i>Anthony and Cleopatra</i>, Act I., Scene 2, "We bring +forth weeds when our quick minds are still," will find an echo in many a +chest. In this connection it might be noted that he took an occasional +holiday in France. That at least seems a reasonable assumption when so +keen a smoker cries, as he does in <i>The Merchant of Venice</i>, Act III., +Scene 1, "I have another bad match."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A VAGRANT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">The humble bee</p> +<p class="i4">No skep has he,</p> +<p class="i0">No twisted, straw-thatched dome,</p> +<p class="i4">A ferny crest<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Provides his nest,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">The mowing-grass his home.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">The crook-beaked shrike<br /></p> +<p class="i4">His back may spike<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And pierce him with a thorn;<br /></p> +<p class="i4">The humble bee<br /></p> +<p class="i4">A tramp is he<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And there is none to mourn.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">O'er bank and brook,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">In wooded nook,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">He wanders at his whim,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Lives as he can,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Owes naught to man,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And man owes naught to him.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">No hive receives<br /></p> +<p class="i4">The sweets he gives,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">No flowers for him are sown,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Yet wild and gay<br /></p> +<p class="i4">He hums his way,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">A nomad on his own.<br /></p> +</div></div></div> + + +<hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> +<h2>THE SUFFERER.</h2> + +<p>Having engaged a sleeping-berth I naturally hurried, coin in hand, to +the conductor, as all wise travellers do (usually to their +discomfiture), to see if I could be accommodated with a compartment to +myself and be guaranteed against invasion.</p> + +<p>The carriage was full.</p> + +<p>I then sought my compartment, to learn the worst as to my position, +whether above or below the necessarily offensive person who was to be my +companion.</p> + +<p>He was already there, and we exchanged the hard implacable glare that is +reserved among the English for the other fellow in a wagon-lit +compartment.</p> + +<p>When I discovered that to him had fallen the dreaded upper berth I +relaxed a little, and later we were full of courtesies to each +other—renunciations of hat-pegs, racks and so forth, and charming +mutual concessions as to the light, which I controlled from below—so +that by morning we were so friendly that he deemed me a fit recipient of +his Great Paris Grievance.</p> + +<p>This grievance, which he considered that everyone should know about, +bears upon the prevalence of spurious coins in the so-called Gay City +and the tendency of Parisians to work them off on foreigners. As he +says, a more inhospitable course one cannot conceive. Foreigners in +Paris should be treated as guests, and just now, with all this Entente +talk, the English especially. But no. It is the English who are the +first victims of the possessor of obsolete francs, two-franc and +five-franc pieces guiltless of their country's silver and ten-franc +pieces into whose composition no gold has entered.</p> + +<p>He had been in Paris but an hour or so when—but let me tell the story +as my travelling companion told it to me.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what your experience in Paris has been," he said, "but I +have been victimised right and left."</p> + +<p>He was now getting up while I lay at comparative ease in my berth and +watched his difficulties in the congested room and thought what horrid +vests he wore.</p> + +<p>"I had been in Paris but a few hours," he continued, "when it was +necessary to pay a cabman. I handed him a franc. He examined it, laughed +and returned it. I handed him another. He went through the same +performance. Having found some good money to get rid of him, I sat down +outside a café to try and remember where I had received the change in +which these useless coins had been inserted. During a week in Paris much +of my time was spent in that way."</p> + +<p>He sighed and drew on his trousers. His braces were red.</p> + +<p>"I showed the bad francs to a waiter," he went on, "and he, like the +cabman, laughed. In fact, next to an undressed woman, there is no stroke +of wit so certain of Parisian mirth as a bad coin. The first thought of +everyone to whom I showed my collection was to be amused." His face +blackened with rage. "This cheerful callousness in a matter involving a +total want of principle and straight-dealing as between man and man," he +said, "denotes to what a point of cynicism the Parisians have attained."</p> + +<p>I agreed with him.</p> + +<p>"The waiter," he continued, "went through my money and pointed out what +was good and what either bad or out of currency. He called other waiters +to enjoy the joke. It seemed that in about four hours I had acquired +three bad francs, one bad two-franc piece and two bad five-franc pieces. +I put them away in another pocket and got fresh change from him, which, +as I subsequently discovered, contained one obsolete five-franc piece +and two discredited francs. And so it went on. I was a continual target +for them."</p> + +<p>Here he began to wash, and the story was interrupted.</p> + +<p>When he re-emerged I asked him why he didn't always examine his change.</p> + +<p>"It's very difficult to remember to do so," he said, "and, besides, I am +not an expert. Anyway, it got worse and worse, and when a bad gold piece +came along I realised that I must do something so I wrote to the Chief +of the Police."</p> + +<p>"In French?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No, in English—the language of honesty. I told him my own experiences. +I said that other English people whom I had met had testified to similar +trouble; and I put it to him that as a matter of civic pride—<i>esprit de +pays</i>—he should do his utmost to cleanse Paris of this evil. I added +that in my opinion the waiters were the worst offenders."</p> + +<p>"Have you had a reply?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," he said, and having completed his toilet he made room for me.</p> + +<p>I thought about him a good deal and sympathised not a little, for he +seemed a good sort of fellow and might possibly have had his +calculations as to expenditure considerably upset by his adventures. It +certainly was a shame!</p> + +<p>Later, meeting him in the restaurant-car I asked him to show me his +store of bad money. I wanted to see for myself what those coins were +like.</p> + +<p>"I haven't got them," he said.</p> + +<p>"You sent them to the Chief of the Police with your letter, I suppose?" +I said.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't," he replied. "The fact is—well—as a matter of fact I +managed to work them all off again."</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;"> +<a href="images/386.png"><img width="100%" src="images/386.png" alt= "Curfew shall not ring to-night." /></a> +<br /><br /><span class="sc">"Curfew <i>shall not ring to-night</i>.</span>" +</div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"At the beginning of the season good bowling performances are not +unusual—batsmen get themselves out so easily—but Barratt's +bowling yesterday was better than his figures.... Five times +yesterday he broke right across the wicket from leg, but none of +those magnificent balls got wickets, perhaps because it was too +early in the season."—<i>Times.</i></p></div> + +<p>The beginning of the season seems rather a tricky time.</p> + +<hr class="short"/> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Death of Collar: Cobham Stud's severe loss."—<i>Yorkshire Post.</i></p></div> + +<p>The converse of this accident occurred to us the other day, when our +Whitefriars collar lost its stud.</p> + +<hr class="short"/> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Richard I.... at once began to prepare the third crusade. In 1190 +he started, and reached Acre in June, 1911."</p> + +<p><i>"Everyman" Encyclopædia.</i></p></div> + +<p>Thus missing <span class="sc">King George</span> Vth's Coronation.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%;"> +<a href="images/387.png"><img width="100%" src="images/387.png" alt="This is a beautiful chop, waiter." /></a> +</div> + +<p><i>Customer.</i> "<span class="sc">This is a beautiful chop, waiter, the best +you've ever—— </span>"</p> + +<p><i>Waiter.</i> <span class="sc">"Yes, an' I won't 'arf cop nothing. That was the boss's chop +what I've giv you in mistake.</span>"</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>VANDALISM.</h2> + +<p>The new proposals with regard to the water supply of the City of Glasgow +are causing, we are not surprised to learn, the utmost fury and +consternation throughout Scotland. Criticism has concentrated especially +upon two points: the imminent risk of submerging <span class="sc">Robert the Bruce's</span> +Stone and, of course, the danger of tampering in however slight a degree +with the birthplace of <span class="sc">Rob Roy</span>. The passive resistance movement has +already assumed such proportions that one enterprising publisher feels +justified in announcing a new cheap edition of the "Waverley Novels," +illustrated from local photographs.</p> + +<p>There is, of course, another side to the question. As far as the stone +goes it is contended:—</p> + +<p>(1) That no one knows why it should have belonged to <span class="sc">Robert the Bruce</span>, +where he got it or what he did with it when he had it.</p> + +<p>(2) That the fact of its being under water would not impair its value in +any way and at the same time would give an historical flavour to every +glass of mitigated whisky thereafter drunk in the City of Glasgow.</p> + +<p>(3) That it could very easily be shifted a bit up the hill if it is +desired to keep it dry, and a small permanent umbrella erected over it.</p> + +<p>With regard to <span class="sc">Rob Roy's</span> birthplace the contention is that it is +practically impossible to construct a new reservoir in these days +anywhere north of the Tweed which will not interfere in some way with +one or other of the places where <span class="sc">Rob Roy</span> was born.</p> + +<p>It is not only Scotchmen, however, who have been touched to the quick by +this irreverent and thoughtless proposal. The whole literary profession +is up in arms. A memorial is being prepared to be presented to the <span class="sc">Prime +Minister</span>, under the heading, "Hands off <span class="sc">Rob Roy</span>!" <i>Mr. Punch</i> himself +has not been idle in the matter. He has spent the last week in eliciting +the opinions of some of our leading writers on this vital question.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">William de Morgan</span> (in a charming, if rather discursive, letter of +32,000 words) demands legislation. "Who knows," he asks, "to what +lengths this modern craze for water supplies may go? It is even possible +that, within a century, attempts may be made to submerge that delightful +little cottage in the county of Essex where Ghost met Ghost."</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Bernard Shaw</span>, interviewed on his doorstep, derided the action of the +Glasgow Corporation. No amount of water, he told our representative, +could have the least effect in making our modern cities less beastly +than they were. For his part, however, he was taking no risks. He had +that morning arranged for the erection of a spiked iron fence twenty +feet high round the (supposed) birthplace of <i>Eliza Doolittle</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Arnold Bennett</span> writes:—"I have every sympathy with the widespread +indignation of my fellow-authors, but personally I am not very closely +concerned. My position is secure: no one is likely to tamper with the +Five Towns in an attempt to improve their washing facilities."</p> + +<p>"Might I suggest to the learned pundits of the House of Lords, if it is +not too late," writes Mrs. <span class="sc">Florence Barclay</span>, "that a writer who, in his +day, enjoyed such a circulation as that of Sir <span class="sc">Walter Scott</span>—this is, of +course, fundamentally a question of circulation—is not to be treated in +this cavalier fashion? For oneself, whatever fate may be in store for +the precious local associations of one's past work, it is fortunately +possible to make the future secure. I am laying the scene of my new +romance, of which the fifth chapter is almost completed, on the top of +an inaccessible hill."</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">H. G. Wells</span> points out that there is no particular need in his case +to take action. He hopes that by the day when the conditions in time and +space of his latest novel come into + +being every household in the country +will be supplied with its own water by a process of filtered absorption +from the atmosphere.</p> + +<p>It is anticipated that something definite will be done by the special +committee of the Authors Society which has been appointed with the view +of extending the law of copyright so as to secure the author's undoubted +property in his local associations.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BILLET DOUX.</h2> + +<p>Monday's breakfast is never a jovial affair. One always has the feeling +that something dreadful has happened or is going to happen. Thus, three +days ago I had with a light heart handed over my practice to a locum and +my books to an accountant, telling the one to look up my bad patients +and the other to look up my bad debts, while I went away to end the week +with the Wrefords. Twelve hours ago it had seemed that I should never +know such happiness in this world again as I had found with them, and +here we all were on Monday morning with everything changed, Mrs. Wreford +sulking in bed and Wreford displaying a polite but firm hatred of me and +all the world. In this case my feeling was that something dreadful <i>was</i> +happening.</p> + +<p>"Mornin', Wreford," said I, as I took my place at table.</p> + +<p>"Mornin', Everall," he grunted, barely looking up from his letters, and +that seemed to end the dialogue. When, however, one's host is also one's +most valuable patient, there is call for a special effort. He had all +the correspondence, I had none; in an emergency this suggested itself as +a matter of comment.</p> + +<p>"To me," I said chattily, "things seem to be just as badly managed at +the Post Office as they were in <span class="sc">Samuel's</span> time."</p> + +<p>"Was there a post office in those days?" he asked, without noticeable +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"<i>The</i> <span class="sc">Samuel Herbert</span>," I explained, and that again seemed to end it.</p> + +<p>After a pause, "However," I said kindly, "you enjoy your letters and I +will find what consolation and company I can in a poached egg."</p> + +<p>"Enjoy?" asked Wreford. "But you are being sarcastic, no doubt."</p> + +<p>"Only panel doctors can afford to be that," I murmured.</p> + +<p>Wreford's first letter appeared to pain him, and he looked at me +sternly, as if the evils of this life were all my fault. Then he unbent +a little.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Everall," said he, "have you enjoyed your little visit to us?"</p> + +<p>The question took me by surprise but it was, at any rate, one to be +answered in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>"And you are proportionately grateful?" he pursued.</p> + +<p>I protested, somewhat lamely, that I most certainly was.</p> + +<p>"Gratitude, it seems," said he, "may express itself in the most odd +manner."</p> + +<p>"Mine," I replied stiffly, "will express itself in the customary +letter."</p> + +<p>"What, another?" he asked, adding, after a pause, "Do you refer to the +note which your solicitors will write me forthwith and charge me +three-and-sixpence for?"</p> + +<p>I thought deeply but was baffled. "It is full early in the morning for +the cryptic and abstruse," I said.</p> + +<p>Wreford sighed as he slowly folded up his letter and put it in its +envelope. "It is the one moment in the week," he explained, "when the +very worst must be expected."</p> + +<p>I begged him to elucidate the position.</p> + +<p>"Suppose," said he, "you had invited a man to stay with you for the +week-end, had motored him down from town on the Friday night and given +him dinner and a nice big bed, and on Saturday more meals and more bed, +and on Sunday still more meals and still more bed, and on the Monday +morning a nice yellow-and-white poached egg all to himself."</p> + +<p>"I quite appreciate all that," said I.</p> + +<p>"And suppose, while he was still sitting at your table and working his +way through the bit of toast where the egg once sat, you received a +letter from him."</p> + +<p>"A letter from me?" I cried.</p> + +<p>"You said your thanks would be expressed in a letter, but the +promptitude of it has surprised even yourself, hasn't it? I should have +received it yesterday, but that there is no Sunday post, happily."</p> + +<p>"You remember I said I was very grateful," said I, still not +understanding.</p> + +<p>"And I said that gratitude had a queer way of expressing itself +sometimes," said he, handing over the letter at last. "Read it aloud," +he added; "I find the style original."</p> + +<p>"Harley Street, W. 25th April, 1914," I read. "Thomas Wreford, Esquire, +debtor to John Everall. For professional services, 1912 to 1913, +thirty-eight guineas."</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said. "The postscript is where your gratitude becomes the +most exuberant."</p> + +<p>"Your attention will oblige," I finished.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked with a smile.</p> + +<p>"I prefer not to," said I, also smiling tentatively.</p> + +<p>There was a silence. "However," said Wreford eventually, "let us say no +more about it." At this my smile became firmer and more expansive. "Let +us agree," he said significantly, "to let bygones be bygones."</p> + +<p>My smile died out suddenly, as smiles do on a Monday morning.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"In practice yesterday Mr. Hilton did 72 in a three-hole match."</p> + +<p><i>Liverpool Daily Post.</i></p></div> + +<p>We must challenge him at once.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>HIGHWAY LOOT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Ah! the lapse of courtly manners,<br/></p> +<p class="i2">Ah! the change from knighthood's code<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Since the day when oil and spanners<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Ousted horseflesh from the road!<br /></p> +<p class="i0">This I realised most fully<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Last week-end at Potter's Bar<br /></p> +<p class="i0">When a beetle-flattening bully<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Held me up in Laura's car.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">"Where," I shouted, "are the graces,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Officer, of days long dead?<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Never mind how hot our pace is,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Conjure up the past instead;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Dream of chaises and postilions,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Turnpike bars that ope and shut;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Try to get some more resilience<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Into your confounded nut.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">"Blooms are bursting in the covers<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Even as they burst to-day<br /></p> +<p class="i0">(Not to mention tyres); two lovers<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Post to Scotland, let us say;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Sudden from the hedge comes <span class="sc">Turpin</span>,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Pistols cocked and debonair;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Both the horses stand up perpen-<br /></p> +<p class="i2">dicularly in the air.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">"What occurs? The gallant caitiff,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Noticing the swain is poor<br /></p> +<p class="i0">(Courtesy with him is native,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Not like you, suburban boor),<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Bows, and says in accents sunny,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">'Pass along, Sir—make good speed;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">I'm convinced you've got no money<br /></p> +<p class="i2">And I do not want your bleed.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">"'Sweet be Maytime to your noses;<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Short is life, but love is sweet,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">There's a city man named Moses<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Whom I've simply got to meet;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">On you go, you two young larkers;'<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Then he bids his Jew disgorge<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Or reserves his brace of barkers<br /></p> +<p class="i2">For the coach of <span class="sc">D. Lloyd George</span>.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">"Such the good high Toby fashion;<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Surely in your bosom stirs,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Constable, a like compassion<br /></p> +<p class="i2">For our two poor cylinders;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">All we have is vile and shoddy;<br /></p> +<p class="i2">See that low-hung touring brute—<br /></p> +<p class="i0">There's a bonnet! there's a body<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Worthy of a road-knight's loot!"<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Thus I spake; but, still phlegmatic,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Imperturbable and stout,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Rendering Doric for my Attic,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Robert pulled his note-book out;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Said, "Me dooty is me dooty,"<br /></p> +<p class="i2">And retiring to his trench<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Pondered further schemes of booty<br /></p> +<p class="i2">For the footpads on the Bench.<br /></p> +</div></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Evoe.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The enthusiasm of the people was so great that it was not damped +by a real Scotch milk."—<i>Liverpool Courier.</i></p></div> + +<p>When did whisky ever damp the enthusiasm of a Scotch crowd?</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> + +<h3>ROYAL ACADEMY—SECOND DEPRESSIONS.</h3> + +<table summary="cartoon"> +<tbody> +<tr> +<td> +<a href="images/389a.png"> +<img width="200" border="0" alt="HARLEQUIN" src="images/389a.png"/> +</a> +<br/> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">Never mind, my dear; I'll have a few words to say to the +limelight man about this!</span></p> +</td> + +<td> +<a href="images/389c.png"> +<img width="200" border="0" alt="A Phantasy in the Central Ball." src="images/389c.png" /> +</a> +<br /> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">A Phantasy in the Central Hall.—"Caught."</span></p> +</td> + +<td> +<a href="images/389g.png"> +<img width="200" border="0" src="images/389g.png" alt="The Art of Achieving the Impossible." /></a> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">The Art of Achieving the Impossible—a Cubist picture gets a place on +the line.</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> + +<table summary="cartoon"> +<tbody> +<tr> +<td> +<a href="images/389d.png"> +<img width="400" border="0" alt="A deadlock." src="images/389d.png" /> +</a> +<br /> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">A Deadlock.</span> +<span class="sc">“ If we go forward we'll get sunstroke, and if we go back there's a +blizzard; so we may as well stop where we are and have our picture +painted.”</span></p> +</td> + +<td> +<a href="images/389e.png"> +<img width="400" border="0" alt="Floods in the Thames Valley." src="images/389e.png" /> +</a> +<br /> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">Floods in the Thames Valley.</span> +<span class="sc">The family of a well-known stockbroker takes advantage of the situation +to practise a little first-aid, and incidentally get on with the week's +washing.</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> + +<table summary="cartoon"> +<tbody> +<tr> +<td> +<a href="images/389f.png"> +<img width="300" border="0" src="images/389f.png" alt="Catch me!" /> +</a> +<br /> +<p class="center"> +<i>The Sea-Maiden.</i> "<span class="sc">Catch me!</span>"<br /> +<i>The Shrimp-Hunter (regretfully).</i> "<span class="sc">I'd like to, but unfortunately this +is the close season for mermaids.</span>"</p></td> + +<td> +<a href="images/389i.png"> +<img width="300" border="0" src="images/389i.png" alt="Youthful athletes" /></a> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">Youthful athletes, while training for the next Olympic Games +(three-legged race), are hampered by the presence of large, fierce +birds.</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> +<a href="images/389h.png"> +<img width="350" border="0" src="images/389h.png" alt="Singular apathy of agricultural labourers" /></a> +<br/><br/> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">Singular apathy of agricultural labourers during an invasion.</span></p> +</td> + +<td> +<a href="images/389b.png"> +<img width="350" border="0" alt="The Card-Sharpers." src="images/389b.png" /> +</a> +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">The Card-Sharpers.</span> +<i>Near Female.</i> "<span class="sc">Stop cheating for a minute while I get my portrait +taken.</span>"</p> +</td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;"> +<a href="images/390.png"><img width="100%" src="images/390.png" alt="Well, what do you think of our +manoeuvres, Bill?" /></a><br /><br /> +<p class="center"><i>First Territorial.</i> "<span class="sc">Well, what do you think of our +manoeuvres, Bill?</span>"<br /><br /> + +<i>Second Territorial (hitherto unacquainted with field-days).</i> "<span class="sc">Thank +'evin we've got A Nivy!</span>"</p> +</div> +<hr /> + +<h2>BELOW THE WEIR.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Beyond the punt the swallows go<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Like blue-black arrows to and fro,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Now stooping where the rushes grow,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Now flashing o'er a shallow;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And overhead in blue and white<br /></p> +<p class="i0">High Spring and Summer hold delight;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">"All right!" the black-cap calls, "All right!"<br /></p> +<p class="i4">His mate says from the sallow.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">O dancing stream, O diamond day,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">O charm of lilac-time and May.<br /></p> +<p class="i0">O whispering meadows green and gay,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">O fair things past believing!<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Could but the world stand still, stand still<br /></p> +<p class="i0">When over wood and stream and hill<br /></p> +<p class="i0">This morn's eternal miracle<br /></p> +<p class="i4">The rosy Hours are weaving!<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Eternal, for I like to think<br /></p> +<p class="i0">That mayflowers, crimson, white and pink,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">When I am dust the boughs shall prink,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">On days to live and die for;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">That sun and cloud, as now, shall veer,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And streams run tumbling off the weir,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Where still the mottled trout rolls clear<br /></p> +<p class="i4">For other men to try for.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">I like to think, when I shall go<br /></p> +<p class="i0">To this essential dust, that so<br /></p> +<p class="i0">I yet may share in flowers that blow,<br /></p> +<p class="i4">And with such brave sights mingle,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">If tossed by summer breeze on high<br /></p> +<p class="i0">I'm carried where the cuckoos cry<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And dropped beside old Thames to lie<br /></p> +<p class="i4">A sand-grain on a shingle.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Meanwhile the swallows flash and skim<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Like blue-black arrows notched and trim,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And splendid kingcups lift a brim<br /></p> +<p class="i4">Of gold to king or peasant,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">And 'neath a sky of blue and white<br /></p> +<p class="i0">High Spring with Summer weaves delight;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">"All right!" the black-cap calls, "all right!"<br /></p> +<p class="i4">And life is very pleasant.<br /></p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE LANGUAGE OF COLOUR.</h2> + +<p>"My dear Clarice," I said, "I may say, in the circumstances, my very +dear Clarice, I like being engaged—to you, that is; no, I've never been +engaged before—but I don't see the sense of getting married. Even the +State seems to deride the idea of our union."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Clarice. "I'm almost alarmed. Have they +discovered that you suffered from toothache as a boy?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't," I said, "a question of eugenics. I was at Somerset House +to-day getting a copy of my birth certificate, and——"</p> + +<p>"They surely didn't say anything about our engagement at Somerset House. +I didn't suppose they even knew of it," said Clarice.</p> + +<p>"Ill news travels apace," I said. "But that by the way. I was about to +say that red is a noble colour. It is a bold, a striking colour. A day +on which a great event occurs is called 'a red letter day.' Black, on +the other hand, may mean nothing, or it may denote sadness."</p> + +<p>"Why this going off at a tangent?" said Clarice. "Why this dissertation +on colours?"</p> + +<p>"I say, that's a good word—I mean that long one just near the end. Did +you really learn it, or did you merely come by it? But, as I was saying, +red is a colour used for indicating notable events. The State considers +a birth is a notable event. Birth certificates are printed in red."</p> + +<p>"And death certificates," said Clarice, "in black, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "a delicate hint that the State feels sad."</p> + +<p>"And marriage certificates?" asked Clarice.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" I said, "that's the strange thing. Nothing may be implied really, +but it is significant that they print them in——"</p> + +<p>"Purple?" said Clarice eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Verdant green," I said.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> + +<h3>THE NEW SHYLOCK.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%;"> +<a href="images/391.png"><img width="100%" src="images/391.png" alt="THE NEW SHYLOCK." /></a> + +<p><span class="sc">Mr. Redmond.</span> "LOOK HERE, I UNDERSTOOD YOU WERE TO GET ME MY FULL POUND +OF FLESH!"</p> +<p><span class="sc">Mr. Asquith</span> (<i>his counsel</i>). "YES, YES, I KNOW: BUT IT RATHER LOOKS NOW +AS IF WE MIGHT HAVE TO SETTLE FOR THREE-QUARTERS."</p> +</div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span><br /> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<p>(<span class="sc">Extracted From the Diary of Toby, M.P.</span>)</p> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, May 11.</i>—For a while <span class="sc">Prime Minister's</span> +protest against inordinate questioning, his announcement of +determination not to take part in further shorter catechism more or less +distantly related to the "plot" and the "coup," had wholesome effect. As +he stated, since the plot was discovered he had made seven hundred +replies to friendly inquiries. A Member below Gangway to his right added +the seven hundred and first. Wanted to know whether it is true that the +argumentative questions crowding the notice paper are the product of a +factory in the neighbourhood of Parliament Street, presided over by an +official whose name suggests that he has been "made in Germany." +Expeditiously turned out, as from a sausage machine, is it true that +they are nicely sorted and distributed among Members of the Opposition, +who in turn pelt the <span class="sc">Premier</span> with them?</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 60%;"> +<a href="images/393a.png"><img width="100%" src="images/393a.png" alt="Mr. Lloyd George Regards Mr. Balfour's Attitude as +Bellicose." /></a> + + +<span class="sc">Mr. Lloyd George Regards Mr. Balfour's Attitude as +Bellicose.</span> + +<p>"If every conciliatory offer put forward by the Government is to be +treated in the spirit displayed by the right hon. gentleman, that is the +way to promote civil war."</p><br /> + +Mr. <span class="sc"><i>Lloyd George</i></span>. +</div> + +<p>After brief lull epidemic breaks out afresh. Twenty-three Questions +addressed to <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span> to-day appear on printed paper. As each, +with the aid of semi-colons, represents two, three, occasionally five +distinct queries they reach aggregate of half a hundred. This not +counting Supplementaries.</p> + +<p>Happily the <span class="sc">Premier</span> is incomparable master of the rare art of brief +reply, wherein he presents pleasing contrast to the manner of his old +master, <span class="sc">Gladstone</span>. Had he chanced to be Premier when the Fourth Party +were struggling into notoriety their task would have been more +difficult, their triumph delayed if not unattainable.</p> + +<p>When <span class="sc">Grandolph</span>, <span class="sc">Wolff</span> and <span class="sc">Gorst</span>, with <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> looking on, set +themselves to "draw <span class="sc">Gladstone</span>," as was their custom of an afternoon, +that astute personage became as a child in their hands. <span class="sc">Grandolph</span> led +off with a question, to which long reply was made. <span class="sc">Wolff</span>, profusely +grateful for the right hon. gentleman's courtesy, shunted the <span class="sc">Premier</span> on +to another track, along which he cheerfully sprinted. Then came <span class="sc">John o' +Gorst</span>. With the subtlety of a trained but not practising barrister he +put a third question, drawing a third speech. Thus merrily sped a +quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, deferring by so much the progress +of public business.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Asquith's</span> share in the conversation at the Question hour is based on a +familiar Biblical injunction. It is largely composed of "Yea, yea," and +"Nay, nay." In the case alluded to, wherein the Fourth Party gave play +to their insatiable desire for information, he would have replied to +<span class="sc">Grandolph</span>, "Yes, Sir;" to <span class="sc">Wolff</span>, "No, Sir." Had he been exceptionally +lured into verbosity he might have gone as far as to say, "The answer is +in the negative," or "in the affirmative," as the case might be. As for +<span class="sc">John o' Gorst</span>, he would have referred him to a speech made on a +particular preceding date, "to which I have nothing to add."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—<span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> further explains his Budget. Resolutions +founded thereupon agreed to.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 60%;"> +<a href="images/393b.png"><img width="60%" src="images/393b.png" alt="THE BILL AND THE AMENDING BILL." /></a> +<h3>THE BILL AND THE AMENDING BILL.</h3> + +<p><i>Nurse <span class="sc">Asquith</span>.</i> "Now, take the powder like a good boy."</p> + +<p><i>Master <span class="sc">Bonar Law</span>.</i> "Where's the jam?"</p> + +<p><i>Nurse <span class="sc">Asquith</span>.</i> "Oh, that comes later."</p> + +<p><i>Master <span class="sc">Bonar Law</span>.</i> "Well, I want to see it now. What's it made of?"</p> + +<p><i>Nurse <span class="sc">Asquith</span>.</i> "I must have notice of that question."</p> +</div> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—What at outset promised to be businesslike debate verging on +dulness suddenly leapt into flame and fury, signifying angry passion +stirred by Home Rule Bill. In studiously moderate speech <span class="sc">Premier</span> moved +resolution identical with that adopted last year, whereby Committee +stage of Home Rule Bill, Welsh Church Disestablishment and Plural Voting +will be forgone. Pointed out that Committee stage is designed for +purpose of providing opportunity of amending Bills. Since under +Parliament Act none of these measures can be amended in the Commons, +what use to go into Committee on them?</p> + +<p>Being in increasingly businesslike mood <span class="sc">Premier</span> went a step further. +Abandoned proposal to submit and discuss "suggestions" to Home Rule +Bill. Authoritatively announced by <span class="sc">Walter Long</span> and others that the Lords +are predetermined to throw it out on second reading. What use then to +formulate and discuss suggestions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> that could be dealt with by the Lords +only in subsequent Committee? Finally announced intention of getting +Bill through all Parliamentary stages before Whitsuntide, placing it on +Statute Book by automatic process of Parliament Act. Will then bring in +Amending Bill dealing with Ulster.</p> + +<p>It was <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> who roused crowded House from chilled condition +following upon douche of this application of ordinary business +principles to legislative procedure. In best fighting form. Stirred to +profoundest depths of scorn for actual working of that detested statute, +the Parliament Act.</p> + +<p>"We are," he said, amid strident cheers from Opposition, welcoming their +old captain back to the fighting line, "asked to force through under the +Parliament Act a Bill which by hypothesis requires amendment. What is +worse than that is that we are to be compelled to read it a third time +and to part with it while we know that it is to be amended, but while we +have not the smallest conception in what respects or in what way." +Insisted that before Home Rule Bill is added to Statute Book Parliament +should know in what points it would be amended. "Let us have the +Amending Bill first."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> having stirred the embers of slumbering fire, <span class="sc">Chancellor +of Exchequer</span> vigorously fanned them.</p> + +<p>"If," he said, "every conciliatory offer put forward by the Government +is to be treated in the spirit displayed by the right hon. gentleman, +that is the way to promote civil war."</p> + +<p>Hereupon storm burst over Opposition quarters. Shouts of "Shame!" and +"Liar" hurtled through the suddenly heated atmosphere. The <span class="sc">Chancellor's</span> +attempt to proceed with his speech baffled by continuous +cry,—"Withdraw! Withdraw!" At length <span class="sc">Speaker</span> interposed with suggestion +that the <span class="sc">Chancellor</span> had been misunderstood. Claimed for him the right of +explanation. This conceded, <span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> pointed out that what he had +meant to say was that argument such as that forthcoming from Front +Opposition Bench, making it difficult for the Government to submit +proposals of peace, would have effect of promoting civil war.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> naturally falling into "old style" of House of Commons +debate, not only frankly accepted explanation but chivalrously took upon +himself blame of the outbreak, which he said "apparently arose from an +unfortunate expression of mine." Ended with pretty turn of grave satire +that greatly pleased the House.</p> + +<p>After this, debate quietly proceeded to appointed end, everyone mutely +invoking</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Blessings on the falling out<br /></p> +<p class="i2">That all the more endears,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">When we fall out with those we love<br /></p> +<p class="i2">And kiss again with tears.<br /></p> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Business done</i>.—<span class="sc">Premier's</span> resolution carried by 276 votes against 194. +Majority 82. House of Lords by common consent passed second reading of +useful little Bill for protection of grey seals threatened with +extinction by mercenary sportsmen.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 30%;"> +<a href="images/394.png"><img width="100%" src="images/394.png" alt="Mr. ROWLAND HUNT IN HIS BEST FORM." /></a> + +<h3>Mr. ROWLAND HUNT IN HIS BEST FORM.</h3> + +<p class="center">"I don't know [laughter] what honourable Members [renewed laughter] are +laughing about [loud and prolonged laughter]."</p> +</div> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—Remarkable how <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span> (or was it <span class="sc">Bacon</span>?) wrote not only +for all time but for all circumstance. The marvel came to light again in +scene in House yesterday. + +Writing of the time of <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span> reports dialogue +between two fighting men of the houses of <i>Capulet</i> and <i>Montague</i>. +Meeting <i>Sampson</i> in a public place in Verona, <i>Abram</i> truculently asks. +"Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?<br /> + +<i>Sam.</i> I do bite my thumb, Sir.<br /> + +<i>Abr.</i> Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir? + +<i>Sam. (aside, to his comrade </i>Gregory). Is the law on our side if I say +ay?</p> + +<p><i>Greg.</i> No.</p> + +<p><i>Sam.</i> No, Sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, Sir; but I bite my +thumb.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Kinloch-Cooke</span>, having put question to <span class="sc">Wedgwood Benn</span>, following it up by +two supplementary inquiries, put a third when the <span class="sc">Speaker</span> interposed. +Shrugging his shoulders in silent protest against this tyranny +<span class="sc">Kinloch-Cooke</span> resumed his seat.</p> + +<p>Said the <span class="sc">Speaker</span> sternly, "It is no good shrugging your shoulders at +me."</p> + +<p>This is prosaic account of incident given in this morning's papers. +Refer to <i>Hansard</i> and see how it runs.</p> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Speaker</span>.</i> Do you shrug your shoulders at me, Sir?</p> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Kinloch-Cooke</span>.</i> I do shrug my shoulders, Sir.</p> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Speaker</span>.</i> Do you shrug your shoulders at me, Sir?</p> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Kinloch-Cooke</span> (aside to <span class="sc">Winterton</span>).</i> Is there anything in the Standing +Orders that forbids my shrugging my shoulders at the <span class="sc">Speaker</span>?</p> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Winterton</span> (who is training for Speakership and has them all by heart).</i> +Yes.</p> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Kinloch-Cooke</span>.</i> No, Sir, I do not shrug my shoulders at you, Sir; but I +shrug my shoulders.</p> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Speaker</span>.</i> Order! Order!</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Another plot that failed. For some weeks Opposition +have not attempted to snap a division. Ministerialists, lulled into +sense of security, off guard. Secret preparations sedulously made for +trapping them this afternoon. Questions over, division challenged on +formal motion. Ministerial Whips awake in good time to emergency. Urgent +messages had been sent out to their men by telephone and special +messengers. Arrivals watched with feverish interest. Ministerialists +hurriedly drop in by twos and threes, presently by tens. <span class="sc">Illingworth's</span> +massive brow, temporarily seared with wrinkles, smooths out. When, after +division, Clerk hands paper to him indicating that ambush has been +baffled, hilarious cheer rises from Ministerial benches. Renewed when +figures read by the <span class="sc">Speaker</span> show that the motion is carried by 255 votes +against 234.</p> + +<p>"Not a high-class game in imperial politics," says <span class="sc">Sark</span>. "Rather akin to +the humour of making a butter slide on the pavement for the discomfiture +of unsuspecting passers-by. But boys will be boys."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A NATIONAL CALAMITY.</h2> + +<h4><span class="sc">Great Performer contemplates Retirement.</span></h4> + +<p>Once more the Atlantic liner has delivered Mr. Bamborough (<i>né</i> +Bamberger) back to us, and once more British concert-goers should in +consequence rejoice. But their natural jubilations are unfortunately +tempered by a momentous announcement which the great violinist made to +our representative at Plymouth last week, on the arrival of the <i>Julius +Cæsar</i>, to the effect that he has decided to retire from the active +pursuit of his profession. On receiving the news of this national +calamity our representative fell into a heavy swoon, and was revived +with some difficulty. The thought of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> permanent withdrawal from +public life in his golden prime of the great virtuoso, with his opulent +physique, his superbly Mosaic features and his luxuriant chevelure, was +altogether too poignantly overwhelming. Let us hasten then to reassure +our readers that the blow, though it must inevitably descend one day, is +mercifully deferred for a considerable period. To begin with, Mr. +Bamborough is under contract to give five farewell tours in the United +States at intervals of four years before entering upon the penultimate +stage of his severance from the British concert platform. This, which +will begin in the autumn of 1934, is likely to continue until the year +1948, when he is booked for an extended tour in Polynesia, Japan, New +Guinea and Java. On his return to England in 1950 he proposes to give +sixty farewell recitals at intervals of three months, culminating in a +grand concert at the Albert Hall.</p> + +<p>"And then," mused the illustrious artist, "farewell to the platform for +ever! I find it hard indeed to realise that the concert-going public and +I by that time will have been intimate friends for more than seventy +years, but so it will be, for I was only nine when I made my first +appearance in London, in a velvet knickerbocker suit with pearl buttons +and a Fauntleroy collar. Still, it will all make a lovely retrospect for +me, and when I finally retire it will be with a heart very full of +gratitude to my generous friends in all four hemispheres of the globe."</p> + +<p>"And after that?" suggested our representative, now partially restored +by these reassuring tidings.</p> + +<p>"After that—literature," was the emphatic reply. "I have already signed +a contract with Messrs. Goodleigh and Champ to write my Reminiscences in +the form of a Musical Encyclopædia. My father-in-law, Sir Pompey +Boldero, is giving me valuable assistance in preparing the material, but +as he is already sixty-five I cannot, unhappily, count with absolute +confidence on his being spared to witness the completion of the work. +Still, he is so full of vigour that M. <span class="sc">Metchnikoff</span> considers his chances +of becoming a centenarian decidedly promising. In any case the +collaboration of my children, whose filial devotion is only equalled by +their talent, is secured, and Mrs. Bamborough, as you know, wields a +vivid and trenchant pen. But literature will not occupy all my time. My +estancia in the Argentine will need supervision, and I hope to spend an +occasional summer in the Solomon Islands, where the natives are +strangely attached to us."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bamborough pointed out that Sir <span class="sc">Johnston Forbes-Robertson</span>, who also +returned by the <i>Julius Cæsar</i>, had only drawn receipts amounting to +£107,000 in a tour of thirty weeks' duration, while he (Mr. Bamborough) +had netted no less than £150,000 in a tour lasting twenty-seven weeks +and three days. In addition to the receipts in specie, Mr. Bamborough +had received several nuggets from the gold miners in Colorado, and a +bull moose from Mr. <span class="sc">Kermit Roosevelt</span>, while Mrs. Bamborough had been the +recipient of a highly-trained bobolink, and a charming young +alligator from the cedar swamps of Louisiana.</p> + +<p>Other notable passengers on the <i>Julius Cæsar</i> were Miss Topsy Cooney, +the famous coloured pianist, who plays only on the black keys and +entirely by ear; Little Dinky, the marvellous calculating boy, who does +not know the names of the numbers; and Elaine Runnymede, the child +contralto, who can only sing the whole tone scale.</p> + +<hr /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;"> +<a href="images/395.png"><img width="100%" src="images/395.png" alt="Come on, here's A bit of luck for you. I've +made Rupert's nose bleed." /></a><br /><br /> +<i>Small Brother (whose sisters are working for their girl +guides' ambulance badge).</i>"<span class="sc"><i>Come on, here's a bit of luck for you. I've +made Rupert's nose bleed.</i></span>" +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>Commercial Candour.</h3> + +<p>From a catalogue:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Also made in cheaper and better quality models."</p> +</div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"GRUMPY."</h2> + +<h4>(<i>As it might as well have been.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;"> +<a href="images/396.png"><img width="100%" src="images/396.png" alt="Grumpy. “better put the diamond in the safe, my boy.”" /></a> +</div> + +<div class="text-align: center"> +<i>Grumpy.</i> "Better put the diamond in the safe, my boy. +You'll be ruined if anybody steals it."<br /><br /> +<i>Ernest.</i> "Yes, but the play will be ruined if nobody does."<br /><br /><br /> + <i>Grumpy.</i> Mr. <span class="sc">Cyril Maude</span>.<br /> +<i>Ernest Heron. </i> Mr. <span class="sc">Edward Combemere</span>.<br /> +</div> + +<h3>Act I.—The Crime.</h3> +<div class="drama"><div class="direction"> +<p><i>Scene—</i>Mr. +"Grumpy" Bullivant's<i> library. Enter his grand-daughter </i>Virginia<i> and +</i>Mrs. Maclaren<i>.</i></p></div> + +<p><i>Mrs. Maclaren.</i> What a remarkable man Mr. Jarvis seems to be, dear—so +amusing at dinner! And he writes for <i>Tiddly Bits</i>, he tells me. Where +<b>did</b> you meet him?</p> + +<p><i>Virginia.</i> Quite accidentally in Hyde Park. He told grandfather a long +story about a gold brick, and grandfather was so charmed with him he +asked him down at once for the week-end.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Maclaren.</i> Such a knowledge of character your grandfather has, +love.</p> + +<p><i>Virginia.</i> Yes, but you must remember he used to be the cleverest +criminal lawyer of his time. He saw directly that Mr. Jarvis was a nice +man.</p> +<div class="direction"> +[<i>Exeunt.</i><br/> +<i>Enter </i>Ernest Heron<i> and </i>"Grumpy"<i> by opposite doors.</i> +</div> + +<p><i>Grumpy (when the audiences delight at seeing </i>Mr. <span class="sc">Cyril Maude</span><i> again +has at last been got under).</i> Wow-wow-wow-wow-wow; tut-tut-tut-tut-tut +(<i>and other old-gentleman noises</i>). Ah, Ernest, my boy, what are you +doing here?</p> + +<p><i>Ernest.</i> Just back from Africa, uncle, with a diamond weighing—I mean +costing—ninety thousand pounds in my belt, which I'm taking up to the +firm in London. May I sleep here?</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Do, my boy. (<i>Enter </i>Mr. Jarvis<i>.</i>) Ah, Mr. Jarvis, let me +introduce my nephew, Mr. Heron. He's just back from Africa with a—— +(<i>To himself</i>) No, perhaps better not. Well, good night to you both. +Wow-wow-wow, tut-tut-tut-tut.</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p>[<i>Exit, followed by </i>Mr. Jarvis<i>.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Ernest</i><i> is left alone with his diamond. Seeing a suspicious shadow at +the window he rushes to it and leans out, so as to give anybody a chance +of sand-bagging him. The chance going begging, he takes his diamond from +his belt to see if it is still there. The only other precaution he can +think of is to draw the curtains. At this moment a hand steals through +the door and turns out the lights. A terrible struggle in the dark +ensues; there is a noise of somebody's larynx going; and then the +curtain goes down and up ... to disclose, the body of poor </i>Ernest<i> on +the floor. Is he dead? Certainly not; he's got to marry </i>Virginia<i>; but +the diamond is gone.</i></p> + +<h3>Act II.—The Sleuth-Hound.</h3> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><i>Time—Next morning.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Tut-tut. Is everything just as it was last night? Very well, +then. You say that when you discovered Mr. Ernest he was lying on his +back, and in his right hand he was clutching this—what did you call it?</p> + +<p><i>Ruddock (the valet).</i> A dicky, Sir. A detachable shirt-front.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Excellent. Then the first question is—to whom did +this—er—richard belong?</p> + +<p><i>Ruddock.</i> Yes, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy (musing).</i> Could it have been his own? In the fierceness of the +struggle might he have torn it off in order to give himself greater +freedom? Was he offering it to his assailant as a bribe? Was he—but +first we must find if he was wearing one at all. Call Susan.</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><i>Enter </i>Susan<i>, the lady's-maid.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Susan, you were the first to see Mr. Ernest when he came in +last night. Did you happen to notice if he was wearing a detachable +shirt-front, a—h'm—dicky?</p> + +<p><i>Susan.</i> Yes, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Ah! (<i>He hands her the all-important clue.</i>) Was this it?</p> + +<p><i>Susan (examining it).</i> No, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Tut-tut, are you sure?</p> + +<p><i>Susan.</i> Yes, Sir; Mr. Ernest's was an india-rubber one. I know, because +he said he'd been travelling all day, and he asked me to sponge it for +him.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Thank you, Susan. Ruddock, we must find that india-rubber +richard. If Ernest has his assailant's shirt-front, what more likely +than that his assailant has Ernest's? Probably they exchanged them +before the battle, as, you may remember, Glaucus and Diomed did at the +siege of Troy.</p> + +<p><i>Ruddock.</i> Yes, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Every shirt-front we see we must suspect. Let us go and look +for some.</p> + +<div class="direction"> +[<i>Exeunt.</i> +<p><i>Enter </i>Jarvis<i> and </i>Virginia<i>.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Virginia.</i> Still in evening dress, Mr. Jarvis?</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis.</i> Yes, I was so busy fetching the doctor last night that I had +no time to change. I am going back to London now. (<i>Tenderly</i>) I should +like to think you had some little memento of me. (<i>He removes his shirt +front.</i>) Keep this and think of me sometimes when you look at it.</p> + +<p><i>Virginia.</i> Oh, Mr. Jarvis! But I must give <i>you</i> something too. (<i>She +goes out and returns with one of her grandfather's shirt-fronts.</i>) Wear +this in place of the one you have given me—always.</p> + +<div class="direction"> +[<i>Exit.</i> +<p><i>Re-enter </i>Grumpy<i>.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Now, Mr. Jarvis, I wonder if you would help me. You were the +first to find the body last night. Would you mind lying down in the +position in which it lay? It may give me an important clue.</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis.</i> Certainly. (<i>He prepares to lie down.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Take care, you mustn't crumple your shirt-front. Perhaps it +removes? Ah, allow me. (<i>He detaches it and hastily substitutes the +other one for it.</i>) Ah, thank you so much. Here is your shirt-front +again.</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p>[<i>Exit </i>Jarvis<i>.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Ruddock (eagerly).</i> Is that it, Sir?</p> +<p><i>Grumpy</i> (<i>examining Jarvis's shirt-front carefully</i>). No, linen, +confound it. Ruddock, we <b>must</b> find that india-rubber richard. Who has +it? Ah!</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><span class="sc">Curtain.</span></p> +</div> + +<h3>Act III.—Trapped.</h3> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><i>Scene—</i>Jarvis's<i> rooms in London.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Keble (his man).</i> Terrible thing that assault on Mr. Heron, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis.</i> Yes, terrible.</p> + +<p><i>Keble.</i> I hope they don't suspect me of it, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis.</i> Why on earth should they suspect <b>you</b>?</p> + +<p><i>Keble.</i> Well, I was known to be jealous of Mr. Heron, Sir. I found +Susan sponging his shirt-front, and Susan and I are as good as engaged.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> +<i>Jarvis (mildly interested).</i> How <b>can</b> you sponge a shirt-front?</p> + +<p><i>Keble.</i> It was an india-rubber one, Sir; they sponge off quite clean, +and save the laundry bill, Sir. My——</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis.</i> Good Heavens, I'm ruined!</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><i>Enter </i>Isaac Wolfe<i>, his partner. Exit </i>Keble<i>.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Wolfe.</i> Got the diamond, my boy?</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis (moodily).</i> Yes ... I'm done for; I must leave the country.</p> + +<p><i>Wolfe.</i> What d'you mean? You've got the diamond?</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis (rapidly).</i> I throttled him in the dark and got the diamond. My +shirt-front fell off in the struggle. I noticed one on the floor and +picked it up. I thought it was mine. It was his; his had fallen off too; +and he was found with mine in his hand.</p> + +<p><i>Wolfe.</i> Well, why did you leave it there?</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis.</i> I thought it was his own—and that, anyhow, as long as we each +had one, no one would notice. But his was an india-rubber one!</p> + +<p><i>Wolfe.</i> And that's the one you've got now? Well, burn it.</p> + +<p><i>Jarvis (burying his face in his hands).</i> It isn't! I cannot! I gave it +to Miss Bullivant. (<i>Grimly</i>) But I shall get it back again.</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><span class="sc">Curtain.</span></p> +</div> + +<h3><span class="sc">Act IV.—The Sleuth-hound's Triumph.</span></h3> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><i>The Library again.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Well, Virginia, and how's Ernest? Better, hey! He ought—— +Good heavens, child, what's that you've got in your hand?</p> + +<p><i>Virginia.</i> Just a dicky, grandfather.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy (excitedly).</i> Let me look ... Virginia, it's an india-rubber +one! (<i>Sternly</i>) Where did you get this?</p> + +<p><i>Virginia.</i> Mr. Jarvis gave it to me.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy.</i> Mr. Jarvis! Aha! (<i>He hides behind the sofa.</i>)</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><i>Enter </i>Mr. Jarvis<i>.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Jarvis (to </i>Virginia<i>).</i> I'm afraid my conduct must seem very strange, +but I had to come back to see you. I—er—lost the shirt-front you gave +me. Could you let me have my own back again? You see, I'm going abroad +and I must have <b>one</b>.</p> + +<p><i>Grumpy (popping his head up).</i> Ah, Mr. Jarvis, did I hear you asking +for a shirt-front? Allow me to offer you one—an india-rubber one, Mr. +Jarvis! (<i>Jarvis blenches.</i>) And the price, Mr. Jarvis, is the diamond +in your waistcoat-pocket!</p> + +<div class="direction"> +<p><span class="sc">Curtain.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>—<i>except that </i>Ernest<i> gets engaged to </i>Virginia<i> first.</i></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>Postscript.</i>—On reading this through I feel that it hardly does +justice to the clever acting of Mr. <span class="sc">Maude</span> as an always delightful old +gentleman, the excellent support given him by the rest of the company, +and the pleasantly exciting melodrama provided for them by Messrs. +<span class="sc">Horace Hodges</span> and <span class="sc">T. W. Percyval</span>. To all of them my thanks for an +entertaining evening.</p> +</div> +<p class="author">A. A. M.</p> + + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%;"> +<a href="images/397.png"><img width="100%" src="images/397.png" alt="There, ye deginerate little spalpeens, look at that and thry +what ye can do!" /></a><br /><br /> +<i>Pat (having hung up an ostrich's egg on the hen-house +door).</i> "<span class="sc">There, ye deginerate little spalpeens, look at that and thry +what ye can do!</span>" +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p>From a letter to <i>The Scotsman</i>:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It goes without saying that when recognising a friend in the +street one raises one's hat by the hand removed from that friend."</p></div> + +<p>Of course. But it is proper to return the hand immediately after the +little ceremony with a few words of thanks.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"For the latter an excuse must be offered in that he was badly hit +on the left hip by the previous ball—a yorker—to that which +bowled him."—<i>Evening News.</i></p></div> + +<p>In the over before he had been stunned by a sneak.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>The Yorkshire Daily Observer</i> on the income tax:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A Bradford widow has been left with five children under 15 years +of age. Her income is £300 a ear."</p> +</div> + +<p>Or £3,600 in all. We refuse to be moved by her hard case.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Miscellaneous Volumes. 10s. per cwt. (No theology.)</p> + +<p>Theology. 5s. 6d. per cwt."—<i>Catalogue.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>Money being tight, we are ordering 8 stone 7 lbs. of theology for the +drawing-room.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Government has introduced another Bill to regulate the sale of +milk and the inspection of dairies. This disgracefully dilutory +Parliament of ours has been playing with similar Bills for five +years."—<i>Daily Herald.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>The dilutory milkman is really more to blame.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>MEDIATION.</h2> + +<p>[<span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>A room at Niagara Falls. The Argentine, the Brazilian and the +Chilian mediators are mediating; that is to say, they are sitting on +rocking chairs not very close to a large table covered with papers, +pens, ink, etc. A deep noise of falling water pervades the air. Out of +compliment to Canada the conversation is carried on in English.</i>]</p> + +<p><i>Argentine Mediator.</i> Cold, isn't it?</p> + +<p><i>Brazilian Mediator.</i> Yes, there's a great deal of cold in the +atmosphere.</p> + +<p><i>Chilian Mediator.</i> We often get it colder than this in Chili.</p> + +<p>(<i>A pause.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> There's a lot of water coming down.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Yes, and it keeps coming, too, doesn't it?</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> It isn't as noisy as I thought it would be, though.</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> Oh, I don't know. It's quite noisy enough.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Yes, it's very difficult to concentrate one's mind. We've got a +waterfall in Brazil which has the same effect. You can't do any work +near it. People go there for a rest-cure.</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> There are a good many waterfalls in Chili, too, and they make +more noise than this one.</p> + +<p>(<i>A pause.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> How long do you think we shall be here?</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> A week, or a month, or a year—I don't know.</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> It's a dull place, isn't it?</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> Yes, it is, dull as ditchwater.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Dull as a ditchwaterfall. Ha, ha.</p> + +<p><i>C. M. and A. M. (together).</i> Ha, ha. That's capital.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> You fellows must remind me to telegraph that home to Brazil.</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> By the way, I see <span class="sc">Roosevelt</span> has been in Brazil.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Yes; isn't it awful?</p> + +<p><i>G. M.</i> Discovered a river, hasn't he?</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Something of that sort. He'll discover the world next.</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> Anyhow, I'm glad he's not here.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> By Jove, yes. Wouldn't it be dreadful if he were?</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> Don't. You make my flesh creep.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> After all, I'm not sure he's worse than <span class="sc">Wilson</span>. They're all +alike, these Yankees. I've no use for them and their <span class="sc">Monroe</span> Doctrine; +have you?</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> Not the slightest. If they think we're children they'll soon +find out their mistake.</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> Hear, hear!</p> + +<p>(<i>A pause.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> Anything new from Mexico?</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> No. Same old game.</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> What's <span class="sc">Huerta</span> up to?</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Sitting tight.</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> And what's <span class="sc">Villa</span> doing?</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Oh, he's been capturing Tampico a good deal lately.</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> Isn't a fellow called <span class="sc">Zapata</span> chipping in somewhere?</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Yes, he's having a go too.</p> + +<p>(<i>A pause.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> I say, you men, I've got an idea.</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> Out with it, then.</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> Yes, let's have it.</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> Well, then, suppose we start by saying that <span class="sc">Huerta</span> and <span class="sc">Wilson</span> +must <i>both</i> be eliminated. That'll please both sides. <span class="sc">Huerta</span> will be +tickled to death if <span class="sc">Wilson</span> has to go, and <span class="sc">Wilson</span> will be delighted at +our backing up his policy. What do you think?</p> + +<p><i>B. M.</i> I can't think at all in this noise.</p> + +<p><i>C. M.</i> Nor can I, but I daresay it's all right.</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> I'm glad you like the idea. It's fair to both sides, you see. +That's what mediation's for.</p> + +<p>(<i>Left mediating.</i>)</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE BATH UNREST.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">My bath awaits me! It contains to-night,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Besides the customary water—stay:<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Before I name ingredients, let me say<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Exactly who and what I am who write.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) I am known to fame,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">First, as a rising music-hall artiste;<br /></p> +<p class="i2">But, secondly and chiefly, I'm the beast<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Who Puts Things in his Bath. You've met my name.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) People come, you see,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">With sample packets of the Lord knows what,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">And want me to "endorse" the silly rot.<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Well, I "endorse"; receiving £. <i>s.</i> <i>d.</i><br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) But I specialise<br /></p> +<p class="i2">In baths. I will not "like it in my soup,"<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Nor "take five drops before I loop the loop";<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Nor will I "find it helps to keep off flies."<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) Am I over-nice?<br /></p> +<p class="i2">I cannot "thank you for the lovely sox,"<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Nor shall "my children quarrel for the box."<br /></p> +<p class="i0">I Put It In My Bath. Let that suffice.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) Now, to take the list:<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Mustard, by thirteen makers; salt, by six;<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Saponica; Shampoona; Sozothrix;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Eau-de-Cologne (nine samples); Bathex; Vrist.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) These and more than these<br /></p> +<p class="i2">(I drop the catalogue) in pungent strife,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Stench hard at grips with stench for loathly life,<br /></p> +<p class="i0">Yon seething cauldron holds. Excuse a sneeze.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) Why the cauldron? Why<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Not desecrate the dustbin? Here's the rub:<br /></p> +<p class="i2">All the endorsements specify my tub;<br /></p> +<p class="i0">The dustbin is not mentioned. Can I lie?<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(My bath awaits me!) So I made a vow,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Soon as the groaning shelf could bear no more,<br /></p> +<p class="i2">In one doomed bath to mix 'em. What I swore<br /></p> +<p class="i0">I've done. The night of reckoning is now.<br /></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">My bath awaits me! True. But then I said<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Not "use" but "put." Why have my beastly bath?<br /></p> +<p class="i2">Bed, too, awaits me; be the bedward path<br /></p> +<p class="i0">My choice. I do not Put Things in my Bed.<br /></p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The following are good dishes for a small luncheon, not a complete +menu, but suggestions for filling one out with those light and +tempting dishes which the jaded modern palate so greatly prefers to +the solid English cookery of our forefathers."—<i>Truth.</i></p></div> + +<p>That is all very well, but if one really wants filling out these little +kickshaws are no good; roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is the thing.</p> + +<hr class="short"/> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Folds of net and thick white face lighten the effect of the +corsage."—<i>Westminster Gazette.</i></p></div> + +<p>The writer seems keen, but we are not.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span></p><hr /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90%;"> +<a href="images/399.png"><img width="100%" src="images/399.png" alt="THE SCRUTINEER." /></a> + +<h3>THE SCRUTINEER.</h3> + +<div class="center"> +<i>Eliza Jane.</i> "<span class="sc">'Ere, that last one didn't seem like a full sack to me.</span>" +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<div class="center">(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</div> + +<p>Not the least attractive feature in Madame <span class="sc">Waddington's</span> new book, <i>My +First Years as a Frenchwoman</i> (<span class="sc">Smith, Elder</span>), is the revelation, +undesignedly made, of a keen-sighted, vivacious, exceedingly womanly +woman. During her residence in France as the wife of a highly placed +Minister she had rare opportunity of watching the progress of historic +events from a favoured standpoint behind the scenes. When she married M. +<span class="sc">Waddington</span>, in later years known to this country as French Ambassador, +the National Assembly was sitting at Versailles. <span class="sc">Thiers</span>, first President +of the Republic, had been overthrown and <span class="sc">MacMahon</span> reigned in his stead. +Madame <span class="sc">Waddington</span> was brought into personal touch with these statesmen, +with their successors, <span class="sc">Jules Grévy</span>, <span class="sc">de Freycinet</span>, <span class="sc">Carnot</span> and with their +varied <i>entourage</i>. Of each she has something shrewd, sprightly and +informing to say. While immersed in international politics, perhaps not +wholly free from anxious conviction that she was in some measure +responsible for their direction, she had a seeing eye for frocks. +Frequently, when describing social gatherings at the height of political +crises, she stops to tell you how some lady was dressed and how the +apparel suited her. Amongst other men of the epoch she has something to +say about <span class="sc">Blowitz</span>, the famous Paris correspondent of <i>The Times</i>. It is +evident that, without premeditation, he managed to offend the lady. She +reports how Prince <span class="sc">Hohenlohe</span> expressed a high opinion of the journalist, +remarking, "He is marvellously well-informed of all that is going on." +"It was curious," writes Madame, "how a keen clever man like the Prince +attached so much importance to anything Blowitz said." For the +side-lights which it flashes on high life in Paris at a critical period +of the Republic the volume possesses exceptional value.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The subtleties of human motives, the fine problems of temperament, the +delicate interplay of masculine logic and feminine intuition, what are +these compared to blood, thunder, plots, counter-plots, earthquakes and, +from the final chaos, the salvage of the "sweetest woman on earth" +effected in the nick of time by a herculean and always imperturbable +hero? Mr. <span class="sc">Frank Savile</span> is not out to analyse souls. The opening chapter +of <i>The Red Wall</i> (<span class="sc">Nelson</span>) plunges us into a fray, irrelevant to the +narrative save in so far as it introduces <i>Dick Blake</i> and <i>Eileen +O'Creagh</i> and removes any possible doubt that might ever have been felt +as to their respective merits and their mutual suitability. That +preliminary complete, we proceed to the real business of the agenda, and +momentous, passionate, nefarious, diabolical, mysterious and incessantly +exciting business it is, covering the gamut of private emotions and +international complications. In such narratives I demand three things: +the first, that my author should combine a graphic (and grammatical) +style with the professional knack of imparting an air of probability to +his tale; the second, that things should go all wrong in the beginning +and come all right in the end; the third, that if any German schemers +are involved these should be eventually outwitted. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> <span class="sc">Savile</span> has +abundantly satisfied me in all particulars; although I incline to carp +at the opportuneness with which nature is made to erupt from time to +time, and I venture to suggest that men and women never were and are +probably never going to be like <i>Dick</i> and <i>Eileen</i>. The book is, +however, of the sort which is to be read and enjoyed but not considered +further.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>Joe Quinney</i>, the curiosity shop man in Mr. <span class="sc">Horace Annesley Vachell's</span> +<i>Quinneys'</i> (<span class="sc">Murray</span>), is undoubtedly a "card," not unrelated, I should +say, to Mr. <span class="sc">Bennett's</span> <i>Machen</i>. He is an entertaining fellow with his +enthusiasms, his truculences, his fluctuating standards of honesty. Mr. +<span class="sc">Vachell</span> didn't quite get me to believe in <i>Joe's</i> expert knowledge, +which indeed seemed to be turned on and off in rather an arbitrary way +as the exigencies of the story rather than the development and +experience of the character dictated; but he did make me see and like +the fellow. <i>Mrs. Quinney</i>, that faithful timid soul, is admirably +drawn, both in her courtship and her matronly days. But I found +<i>Quinney</i> a little hypocritical in his denunciation of <i>Miggott</i>, the +chair-faker, who was not really sailing half so close to the wind or so +profitably as <i>Quinney</i> and his bibulous friend of a dealer, <i>Tamlin</i>. +There are some interesting side-lights upon the astonishing tricks of +the furniture trade, which are reflected by the authentic experience of +the bitten wise. An entertaining and clever book; but why, why should H. +A. V. drop from his Hill into the discreditable fellowship of those who +have misquoted "honoured in the breach"?</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Anybody can understand how extremely annoying and inconvenient the +complete disappearance of a husband would be to a wife after a mere +fortnight or so of married existence, before he had even begun to +complain of the—well, anyhow that is what happens in Mrs. <span class="sc">Belloc +Lowndes's</span> latest novel, <i>The End of Her Honeymoon</i> (<span class="sc">Methuen</span>). The +<i>Dampiers</i> arrive in Paris, a Paris <i>en féte</i> and crowded beyond all +custom because of the state visit of the <span class="sc">Tsar</span>, and are obliged to occupy +rooms on different floors of the <i>Poulains'</i> hotel. Next morning <i>Mrs. +Dampier</i> awakes to find herself in the awkward predicament of Ariadne on +the beach of Naxos, with the aggravation (spared to Theseus' bride) that +the hotel people absolutely deny that she came with a husband at all. A +punctilious if sceptical American senator (refreshingly guiltless of +accent) and his enthusiastic son and daughter take pity on her, and the +rest of the book resolves itself into a detective story, saved from +conventionality by the pleasantly distinguished style in which the +author writes and the intimate knowledge which she appears to possess of +the Paris <i>préfecture de police</i>. <i>Gerald Burton</i>, the young American, +not entirely platonic in his solicitude, is baffled; <i>Salgas</i>, a famous +enquiry agent, is baffled; and I am ready to take very long odds against +the reader's unravelling the mystery, unless he happens to be familiar +with a certain legend of the plague (though no plague comes in here). +Indeed, it is only a chance conversation in the last chapter that throws +light, my dear Watson, on this particularly <i>bizarre</i> affair. And what +then, you ask, had happened to <i>Jack Dampier</i> after all? Ah!</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>I wonder why it is that so many books about walking tours should be +written in much the same style. At least I don't really wonder at all, +since it is quite apparent that R. L. S. and <i>Modestine</i> are the models +responsible for this state of things. And, since the style in itself is +pleasant enough, I don't know that any one need complain. What put me +upon this reflection was <i>Vagabonds in Perigord</i> (<span class="sc">Constable</span>), which, for +the modulation of its prose, might almost have been an unacknowledged +work of the Master, but is actually written by Mr. <span class="sc">H. H. Bashford</span>. It +concerns the wanderings on foot of certain pleasure pilgrims along the +course of the river Dordogne; and is, for those that like such things, +one of the most attractive volumes I have met this great while. I liked +especially the author's happy gift of filling his pages with a holiday +atmosphere; there is, indeed, so much fresh air and sunshine in them +that the sympathetic reader will emerge feeling mentally bronzed. Nor +does Mr. <span class="sc">Bashford</span> lack an agreeable humour of phrase. "Those wonderful +three-franc dinners that seem to fall like manna upon France at seven +o'clock every evening" is an example that lingers in my memory. +Moreover, running through the whole is a hidden joke, and very cunningly +hidden too, only to be revealed in the last paragraphs. Not for worlds +would I reveal it here; I content myself with admitting that I for one +was entirely fooled. I am less sure whether as a record of travel the +book tempts to emulation. The drawbacks are perhaps too vividly rendered +for this—heat and thirst through the flaming June days, and by night +not wholly unbroken repose. But I am delighted to read about it all.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="sc">Bram Stoker</span>, whose too early cutting off saddened a wide circle of +friends, was the Fat Boy of modern writers of fiction. He knew how to +provide opportunity in fullest measure for making your flesh creep. A +series of stories named after the first, <i>Dracula's Guest</i> (<span class="sc">Routledge</span>), +is a marvellous collection of weird fancies wrought with ingenuity, +related with graphic power, that come as near <span class="sc">Edgar Allan Poe</span> as +anything I am acquainted with. There are nine, widely varying in subject +and plot. I have read them all, and am not ashamed to confess that, +finishing one before commencing another of the fascinating series, I +found it convenient and agreeable to turn aside for a while and glance +over less exciting pages. Not the least marvellous thing about the +banquet is that it is provided at the modest charge of a shilling.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/400.png"><img width="100%" src="images/400.png" alt="The Doctor (a conscientious practitioner)." /></a> +<br /><br /> +<p>(<i>A nervous individual, having been advised by a +specialist that he must undergo an operation, calls upon his own doctor +to ask him to administer the anæsthetic.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>The Doctor (a conscientious practitioner).</i> "<span class="sc">Well! I will administer +the anæsthetic, but—you know, I never like doing it. <i>The jury are +always down on the anæsthetist.</i></span>"</p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 146, MAY 20, 1914***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 24720-h.txt or 24720-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/7/2/24720">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/2/24720</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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