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diff --git a/25591-h/25591-h.htm b/25591-h/25591-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..47db14a --- /dev/null +++ b/25591-h/25591-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2357 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + + <title>Punch, May 19th, 1920.</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify; font-size: 75%;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} + h5.caption {margin:0;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + hr.poem {text-align: left; margin-left: 3em; width: 5em;} + + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + + .figright, .figleft, .figcenter50, .figcenter100 + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figright img, .figleft img, .figcenter50 img, .figcenter100 img + {border: none;} + .figright p, .figleft p, .figcenter50 p, .figcenter100 p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figright {float: right; width:300px;} + .figleft {float: left; width:300px;} + .figcenter50 {margin: auto; width:400px;} + .figcenter100 {margin: auto; width:600px;} + + p.author {text-align: right;} + p.midauthor {margin-left: 15em;} + + div.clearfloats {clear: both;} + + p.slime {margin-left: 3em;} + p.slimeright {text-align: right; margin-right: 3em;} + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 158, +May 19, 1920, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 158, May 19, 1920 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Owen Seaman + +Release Date: May 25, 2008 [EBook #25591] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, VOL. 158, MAY 19, 1920 *** + + + + +Produced by Nigel Blower, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<pre> + +</pre> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>Vol. 158.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2>May 19th, 1920.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page381" id="page381"></a>[pg 381]</span></p> + +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> + +<p>A Swedish scientist has invented a new building material called +sylvenselosit. It is said to cost one-fifth the price of the building +material in use in this country, which is known to the trade as +wishyumagetit.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A folding motor-car is said to have been invented which has a greater +speed than any other car. The next thing that requires inventing is a +folding pedestrian to cope with it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Berlin manufacturers are experimenting in making clothing from nettles. +This is a chance that the nettle has long been waiting for.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A business magazine suggests that a series of afternoon chats with +business men should be arranged. Our war experience of morning back +chats at the grocer’s is not encouraging.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The capture of General <span class="sc">Carranza</span>, says a Vera Cruz message, was a mistake +on the part of General <span class="sc">Sanchez</span>. We trust this does not mean that they +will have to start the thing all over again.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Those who understand the Mexican trouble say it is doubtful whether +America can deal with this war until the Presidential election is over. +One war at a time is the American motto.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We gather from a contemporary that people who have been ordering large +stocks of coal in the hope of escaping the new prices will be +disappointed. Still, they may get in ahead of the next advance.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The inventor of the silent typewriter is now in London. We seem to know +the telephone which gave him the idea.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A man at Bow Street Court complained that the Black Maria which conveyed +him there was very stuffy. Some prisoners say that this vehicle is so +unhealthy as to drive custom away from the Court.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Fruit blight threatens to be serious this year, says a daily paper, and +drastic action should be taken against the apple weevil. A very good +plan is to make an imitation apple of iron and then watch the weevil +snap at it and break off its teeth.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>One North of England workman is said to be in a bit of a hole. It seems +that he has mislaid his strike-fixture card.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Immediately after a football match at Londonderry, one of the players +was shot in the leg by an opponent. The latter claims that he never +heard the whistle blow.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Dr. <span class="sc">Eugene Fisk</span>, President of the Life Extension Institute, promises by +scientific means to prolong human life for nineteen hundred years. If +this is the doctor’s idea of a promise we would rather not know what he +would call a threat.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Wood for making pianos, says a weekly journal, is often kept for forty +years. “And even this,” writes “Jaded Parent,” “is not half long +enough.”</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>With reference to the man who was seen laughing at Newport last week, it +is only fair to point out that he was not a ratepayer, but was only +visiting the place.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="sc">Larry Lemon</span>, says <i>The Sunday Express</i>, is considered to be better than +<span class="sc">Charlie Chaplin</span>. As he is quite a young man, however, it is possible +that he may yet grow out of it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The Clerk of the oldest City Company writes to <i>The Times</i> to say that +his Livery has resolved to drink no champagne at its feasts. Meanwhile +other predictions as to the end of the world should be treated with +reserve.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>After the statement in court by Mr. Justice <span class="sc">Darling</span> people contemplating +marriage should book early for divorce if they want to avoid the rush.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>“Why Marry?” says the title of a new play. While no valid reason appears +to exist many declare that it is a small price to pay for the +satisfaction of being divorced.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Three-fourths of the public only buy newspapers to read the +advertisements, says a contemporary. It would be interesting to know +what the others buy them for.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>“Few people seem to realise,” says a cinema gossip, “that Miss S. Eaden, +the American film actress, is fond of tulips.” We are ashamed to confess +that we had not fully grasped this fact.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>It appears that one newspaper has decided that May 24th shall be the +opening date for ceasing to notice the cuckoo. Will correspondents +please note?</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>“Things are unsettled in Ireland,” says a gossip writer. We think people +should be more careful what they say. Scandal like this might get about.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A certain golf club has petitioned the local Council for permission to +play golf “in a modified form.” Members who recently heard the Club +Colonel playing out of the bunker at the seventh declare that no +substantial modification is possible.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A new invention for motorists makes a buzzing sound when the petrol tank +is getting low. This is nothing compared with the motor-taxes invented +by the <span class="sc">Chancellor of the Exchequer</span>, which make the motorist himself +whistle.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>In the opinion of a weekly paper no dog can stand the sound of bagpipes +without setting up a howl. This only goes to prove, what we have always +contended, that dogs are almost human.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter50"> +<a href="images/381.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/381.jpg" +alt="The Servant." /></a> +<p><i>Visitor.</i> “<span class="sc">Why does your servant go about the house with +her hat on?</span>”</p> +<p><i>Mistress.</i> “<span class="sc">Oh, she’s a new girl. She only came this morning, and +hasn’t yet made up her mind whether she’ll stay.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page382" id="page382"></a>[pg 382]</span></p> + +<h2>THE LIBERAL BREACH.</h2> + +<p>(<i>As viewed dispassionately by a looker-on.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">When</span> dog with dog elects to fight</p> +<p class="i2">I take no hand in such disputes,</p> +<p>Knowing how hard they both would bite</p> +<p class="i2">Should I attempt to part the brutes.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>So in the case of man and wife</p> +<p class="i2">My rooted habit it has been,</p> +<p>When they engage in privy strife,</p> +<p class="i2">Never to go and barge between.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Nor do I join the fighting front</p> +<p class="i2">When Liberal sections disagree,</p> +<p>One on the Coalition stunt</p> +<p class="i2">And one on that of Freedom (Wee).</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Though tempted, when I see them tear</p> +<p class="i2">Each other’s eyes, to say, “Be good!”</p> +<p>As an outsider I forbear,</p> +<p class="i2">Fearing to be misunderstood.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Fain would I use my gift of tact</p> +<p class="i2">And take a mediatorial line,</p> +<p>But shrewdly recognise the fact</p> +<p class="i2">That this is no affair of mine.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet may I venture to deplore</p> +<p class="i2">A great tradition cheaply prized,</p> +<p>And yonder, on the Elysian shore,</p> +<p class="i2">The ghost of <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> scandalised.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But most for him I mourn in vain</p> +<p class="i2">Whom Fate has dealt so poor a fist</p> +<p>(Recalling <span class="sc">Shakspeare’s</span> gloomy Dane,</p> +<p class="i2">That solid-fleshed soliloquist)—</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>O curséd spite that he was born</p> +<p class="i2">(<span class="sc">Asquith</span>, I mean) to close the breach</p> +<p>And save a party all forlorn</p> +<p class="i2">By mere rotundity of speech.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="midauthor">O. S.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A LIAR’S MASTERPIECE.</h2> + +<p>My friend Arthur’s hobby is the stupendous. He conceives himself to be +the direct successor of the mediæval travel-story merchants. War-tales, +of course, are barred to him, for nothing is too improbable to have +happened during the War, and all the best lies were used by +professionals while Arthur was still serving. Once, however, in his +career he has realised his ambition to be taken for a perfect liar, and +that time he happened to be speaking the simple truth. I was his referee +and he did it in this wise.</p> + +<p>When <span class="sc">Allenby</span> was making his last great drive against the Turk, he was no +doubt happy in the knowledge that Arthur and I were pushing East through +Bulgaria to take his adversary in the rear. We pushed with speed and +address, but just when it looked as if we should exchange the tactical +for the practical we stopped and rusticated at the hamlet of +Skeetablista, on the Turco-Bulgarian frontier.</p> + +<p>Skeetablista was under the control of Marko and Stefan and an assorted +following of Bulgar cut-throats. Although the mutual hatchet had been +interred a bare three weeks we found ourselves among friends. Thomas +Atkins was soon talking Bulgarian with ease and fluency, while his +“so-called superiors,” as the company Bolshevik put it, celebrated the +occasion by an international dinner in Marko’s quarters. The dinner +consisted chiefly of rum (provided by us) and red pepper (provided by +Marco and Stefan).</p> + +<p>These latter were bright and eager youths from Sofia military academy, +and while the rum and red pepper passed gaily round they talked the shop +of their Bulgarian Sandhurst in a queer mixture of English and French. +They made living figures for us of the <span class="sc">Kaiser</span>, who had inspected them +not long before, of <span class="sc">Ferdie</span> and of <span class="sc">Boris</span> his son, and told moving tales +of British gunfire from the wrong end. We countered with <span class="sc">Kitchener</span>, +<span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> and the British Navy, while outside in the night the +Thracian wolves howled derisively at both alike.</p> + +<p>“I should like plenty to travel away and see the other countries,” said +Marko, rolling us cigarettes after dinner. “This is a good country, but +<i>ennuyant</i>. ’Ow the wolfs make plenty <i>brouhaha</i> to-night, <i>hein?</i> +Stefan, did you command the guard to conduct our frien’s ’ome?”</p> + +<p>Stefan waggled his head from side to side in assent.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” continued Marko, “to see Italie, Paris, Londres. Particulierly +Londres.”</p> + +<p>“I live in London,” Arthur remarked.</p> + +<p>“You live?” said Marko with interest. “Tell me, ’ow great is Londres?”</p> + +<p>“How great?” repeated Arthur, doubtful what kind of greatness was +indicated, moral or material.</p> + +<p>“<i>Oui</i>, ’ow great? From one side to the other side?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see,” replied Arthur, and took thought. “About twenty-five +kilometres, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-five!” Marko’s eyes rounded with astonishment. “<i>Écoute, Stefan; +vingt-cinq kilomètres.</i>”</p> + +<p>“But—but,” demanded Stefan, “’ow many people is there?”</p> + +<p>“About six millions,” replied Arthur, swelling with pleasure. At last he +had found his incredulous audience.</p> + +<p>“But that is a nation! I do not know if there are so many in all +Bulgarie,” cried Marko. “’Ow do they travel? No droski could go so +far—it is a day’s march. But perhaps you ’ave tramway? In Sofia we ’ave +tramway,” he added, not without pride.</p> + +<p>“There are trams, but most of the people travel in buses——”</p> + +<p>“Bussesse?” interjected Stefan. “<i>Qu’ est-ce que c’est</i>, bussesse?”</p> + +<p>“Lorries—<i>camions</i>. Big automobiles containing many people. And there +are also underground railways, railways under the ground in a tunnel. +You know tunnels?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Oui, galleria.</i> But a railway under a town—<i>mon Dieu!</i>” said Marko, +appalled. “’Ow do the people descend to it?”</p> + +<p>“In lifts—<i>ascenseurs</i>. From the street.”</p> + +<p>Stefan nodded assent. “I ’ave seen <i>ascenseurs</i> at Sofia,” he said.</p> + +<p>“In these tunnels,” continued Arthur, visibly warming to his work, +“trains go to all parts of the town every three minutes, and the cost is +only twenty <i>statinki</i>. The streets above are paved with wood.”</p> + +<p>“With <i>wood! Kolossal!</i>” said Marko, forgetting our prejudice against +Bosch idiom in his wonder at this crowning marvel.</p> + +<p>To what lengths of veracity Arthur would have gone I never knew, for at +that moment a trampling of feet and a hoarse command outside announced +the arrival of our escort, and Marko, still in a sort of walking swoon +of amazement, went out to give them their orders.</p> + +<p>Stefan regarded us with twinkling eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ah, <i>farceur!</i>” he remarked, shaking his finger waggishly at Arthur. “I +know all the time you make the joke, but poor Marko, you ’ave deceived +’im <i>absolument</i>. Railway under the ground, streets of wood, ’e swallow +it all. Oh, naughty <i>Baroutchik!</i>”</p> + +<p>The wolves did not come near us and our escort on our way home, but they +could have had Arthur for the taking. At the moment he had nothing left +to live for.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +“Johannesburg tramway men started a lightning strike on Thursday +owing to the suspension of a conductor.”—<i>Daily Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>It seems a logical reason.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote><p> +“Do not waste any time in entering for our ‘Hidden’ Geography +Competition.”—<i>Daily Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Thanks for the advice; we won’t.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote><p> +“<span class="sc">Linacre Lecture.</span>—Dr. Henry Head, F.R.L., ‘Aspasia and Kindred +Disorders of the Speech.’”—<i>Cambridge Calendar.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Yet this is the lady who is supposed to have inspired the most famous of +<span class="sc">Pericles’</span> orations.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote><p> +“Furnished Railway Carriage in Surrey garden to Let; 3 beds; +company’s water, gas-cooker, and light: 2gs. weekly.”—<i>Daily Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Miss <span class="sc">Daisy Ashford</span> seems to have foreseen this development when she +wrote of <i>Mr. Salteena’s</i> “compartments.”</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page383" id="page383"></a>[pg 383]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/383.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/383.jpg" +alt="The Reluctant Thruster." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">THE RELUCTANT THRUSTER.</h5> +<p><span class="sc">Mr. Asquith</span> (<i>performing the function of a battering-ram</i>). +“I CONFESS THAT AT MY TIME OF LIFE I SHOULD HAVE PREFERRED A MORE SEDENTARY IF LESS +HONORIFIC SPHERE OF USEFULNESS.”</p></div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page384" id="page384"></a>[pg 384]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/384.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/384.jpg" +alt="The Profiteer." /></a> +<p><i>Profiteer (after trying a variety of patterns without success).</i> +“<span class="sc">Well, it looks pretty ’opeless when they won’t ’ave a gold +fly. What do they expect—diamonds?</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE PERSONAL TOUCH.</h2> + +<p>(<i>By our tireless Political Penetrator.</i>)</p> + +<p>For some time past, I understand, the Government has been considering +steps to bring the personalities of Cabinet Ministers more prominently +into the public eye. “We are not sufficiently known,” said Sir <span class="sc">William +Sutherland</span>, who has the matter in hand, “as living palpitating figures +to the man in the street. We do not grip the nation’s heart. We lack +pep.”</p> + +<p>I told him that it was a pity about pep. I felt that the Government +ought to have pep. and plenty of it. If possible they ought to have +vineg. and must. too.</p> + +<p>“You are right,” he said. “Occasional paragraphs in the Press, snapshots +which take us very likely with one leg stuck out in front as if we were +doing the goose-step, rare provincial excursions and bouquets from +admiring mill-girls are all very well in their way, but they are nothing +to constant personal appearances at stated times and in stated places +before an admiring mob. The heroes of sport are overshadowing us,” he +continued with a sigh, pushing me over a box of cigars.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do about it?” I asked, lighting one and putting +another carefully behind my ear.</p> + +<p>“You must remember first,” he replied, “that this is quite a modern +difficulty. Statesmen of the past used to make their leisurely progress +through the town surrounded by retainers on horseback, or in +sedan-chairs, beautifully dressed and scattering largesse as they went. +<span class="sc">Thomas à Becket</span>, the great Primate and Chancellor, used to have poor men +to dine with him and crowds thronging round to bless him. To-day, I +suppose, <span class="sc">Joe Beckett</span> in his flowered dressing-gown would be a more +popular figure than Lord <span class="sc">Birkenhead</span> and the Archbishop of <span class="sc">Canterbury</span>, if +you can imagine them rolled into one. In <span class="sc">Charles</span> II.’s reign, when +politicians used to play <i>pêle-mêle</i> where the great Clubs are now, +anyone could rub shoulders with my lord of <span class="sc">Buckingham</span> and, if he was +lucky, get a swipe across the shins with the ducal mallet itself. That +is the kind of thing we want now.</p> + +<p>“I had thoughts of running popular excursions down to Walton Heath, but +I am not sure that the people would care to go so far even to see Sir +<span class="sc">Eric Geddes</span> carrying the home green and Lord <span class="sc">Riddell</span>—the Riddell of the +sands, as we call him affectionately down there—getting out of a +difficult bunker. So I am trying to arrange for a few putting greens in +railed-off spaces in St. James’s Park near the pelicans, and we also +propose to hold there on fine summer days the breakfast parties for +which the <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span> is so famous. We shall make a point of throwing +not only crumbs to the birds, but slices of bread and marmalade to the +more indigent spectators. We shall also try to get two or three open +squash racket courts in Whitehall, so that on hot summer days the most +carping critic who watches a rally between Mr. <span class="sc">Austen Chamberlain</span> and +the <span class="sc">Secretary of State</span> for <span class="sc">War</span> will have to admit that we are doing our +utmost to eliminate waste-products.”</p> + +<p>“But what about the clothes and the stately progress and the largesse?” +I asked; the largesse idea had struck me with particular force.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page385" id="page385"></a>[pg 385]</span></p> + +<p>“We are thinking of goat carriages and overalls for economy,” he said, +“and the largesse cannot, I am afraid, be allowed for in the Treasury +Estimates. But we shall certainly scatter a handful or two of O.B.E.’s +as we go.”</p> + +<p>“And how will you deal with the country and the outer suburbs?” I asked +when my admiration had partially subsided.</p> + +<p>“Ah, there you have the Cinema,” replied Sir <span class="sc">William</span> enthusiastically. +“We are going to make great strides with the Cinema. Our first film, +which is now in preparation, deals with the Leamington episode and has +been very carefully staged. It has been necessary, of course, in the +interests of art to elaborate the actual incidents to a certain extent. +Coalition Liberals, for instance, were obliged to board the train in the +traditional manner of the screen, leaping on to it whilst in motion and +climbing, some by way of the brakes and buffers, some along the roofs of +the carriages, into their reserved compartment. Then again we could not +reassemble the actual gathering of Wee Frees to represent the enemy, but +we secured the services of actors well trained in Wild West and “crook” +parts, capably led by those two prominent comedians, <i>Mr. Mutt</i> and <i>Mr. +Jeff</i>. The film ends, of course, with the second meeting at the Central +Hall, Westminster, when <i>Messrs. Mutt</i> and <i>Jeff</i> again appear as comic +and objectionable interrupters, and are ignominiously hurled into the +street.</p> + +<p>“Very soon we hope to have all important Parliamentary debates filmed. +It will be essential, of course, to provide some comic relief, and we +are relying confidently on certain Members to practise the wearing of +mobile moustaches and to take lessons in the stagger, the butter slide, +the business with the cane and the quick reversal of the hat.”</p> + +<p>“In short you think politics should be more spectacular?”</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” he said. “<span class="sc">Hobbs</span> the mammoth hitter and a little less of the +<i>Leviathan</i>.”</p> + +<p>Greatly impressed I bit off the end of his second cigar and went back to +the office to look up <i>Leviathan</i>.</p> + +<p>V.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/385.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/385.jpg" +alt="The Farmer." /></a> +<p><i>Farmer.</i> “<span class="sc">Dear me! C-can I do anything?</span>”</p> +<p><i>Airman.</i> “<span class="sc">Thanks, but really I think I’ve done all there is to be +done.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>An Optimist.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +“The pastor of the —— Congregational Church has been ordered by +his medical adviser to take a rest. The rev. gentleman is therefore +spending a fortnight’s holiday in Ireland.”—<i>Provincial Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote><p> +“During the period of waiting before the bridal party appeared, the +organist played Wagner’s ‘Bridal Chorus,’ and ‘Cradle Song’ +(Guilmant).”—<i>West Country Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>The organist seems to have been rather a forward fellow.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>With the Polo-season imminent we feel that we must not withhold from +intending players the admirable and disinterested advice given in an +Indian Trade circular:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +“The skill of a polo player lies in his well management of horse in +the turmoil of Play. Ill-weighed Polo sticks make the situation +worse if the horse is not so kept.</p> + +<p>We try our best to construct Polo sticks in such a way as may help +the player in the blur of game and put him in a more progressing +mood.</p> + +<p>Make a real pleasure of your game and not labour as other sticks +than ours would tend to make it. A fond player would like to give +anything for a good stick.” +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page386" id="page386"></a>[pg 386]</span></p> + +<h2>HOME-SICKNESS;</h2> +<h4 class="sc">or, The Sinn Feiner Abroad.</h4> + +<p>(<i>After “The Lake Isle of Innisfree,” with sincere apologies to Mr. <span class="sc">W. +B. Yeats</span>.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I will arise and go now to Galway or Tralee</p> +<p class="i2">And burgle someone’s house there and plan a moonlight raid;</p> +<p>Ten live rounds will I have there to shoot at the R.I.C.</p> +<p class="i8">And wear a mask in the bomb-loud glade.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And I shall have great fun there, for fun comes fairly fast,</p> +<p class="i2">Bonfires in the purple heather and the barracks burning fine,</p> +<p>There midnight is a shindy and the noon is overcast</p> +<p class="i8">And evening full of the feet of kine.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I will arise and go now, for always in my sleep</p> +<p class="i2">There comes the sound of rifles and low moans on the shore;</p> +<p>I see the sudden ambush and hear the widows weep,</p> +<p class="i8">And I like that kind of war.</p> + </div> </div> +<p class="midauthor"><span class="sc">Evoe.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>AURAL TUITION.</h2> + +<p>The only other occupant of the carriage was a well dressed man of middle +age, clad in English clothes, but from many slight signs palpably a +foreigner of some sort.</p> + +<p>Soon after the train started I noticed that his mouth and throat were +twitching and I surmised that he was about to speak. But speech is no +term in which to describe the queer animal, vegetable and mineral sounds +which issued from him. First his mouth opened slightly and he seemed +about to sneeze. Next I was conscious of a scraping noise in his throat, +accompanied by a slight ticking. It appeared that he was going to have a +fit and I regretted that we were alone. The noise grew louder, took on +speed and rose in a crescendo almost to a screech. Then a few more +scrapes, as of a pencil on a slate, and I began to detect that he was +speaking. His lips did not move, so that his voice had a curiously +distant sound. Nevertheless the words were clearly audible.</p> + +<p>The following is what he said in a low, metallic monotone: “Good +morning, Sir. I am very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me what +o’clock it is? I am much obliged. I wish to descend at Manchester. At +what hour do we arrive there? There are few passengers to-day. The +weather is fine. I beg your pardon if I do not make myself clear. I do +not speak English perfectly as yet. No doubt I have need of much +practice. Can I send a telegram from the next station? Is there a good +hotel at Manchester? Will you do me the favour——”</p> + +<p>“Stop,” I cried, after having several times opened my mouth to answer +one or other of his questions.</p> + +<p>As soon as I spoke the words ended with a sudden click; the voice +descended and became a scrape; at last silence.</p> + +<p>“My dear Sir,” said I, “I shall be happy to give you any information I +can if you will ask one question at a time. You evidently speak English +very well indeed.”</p> + +<p>His face lighted with approval of the compliment and then the whole +performance began over again. Once more the wheeze, the scrape, the +screech, the tick and all the rest of it. I became terrified at these +painful impediments in his speech.</p> + +<p>I remembered that somebody had once told me what to do on such +occasions. It was either to throw the patient upon his back and move his +arms up and down in a travesty of rowing or to slap him violently on the +back. Seeing that the stranger was several times larger than myself I +chose with diffidence the latter course. Rising to my feet I turned him +round and thumped his back vigorously. He received the treatment with +amiable smiles. Next he produced from his pocket a booklet, which he +handed to me with a polite bow, desisting entirely from his menagerie +noises.</p> + +<p>I am of a nervous temperament and needed some minutes’ rest in which to +collect myself. Then I began to examine the stranger’s gift.</p> + +<p>It was a well-printed pamphlet, obviously an advertisement:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>“HOW TO LEARN FOREIGN LANGUAGES.</p> +<p><i>The One Truly Scientific Method.</i></p> + </div> </div> + +<p>The only way to acquire the real accent of the native is to listen +repeatedly to the language spoken by a native. With our phonograph No. +0034 and a selection of suitable records the student may listen for as +many hours daily as he chooses to the voice of a native speaking his own +language.”</p> + +<p>Lower down I saw: “Contents of Records. No. 1, At the Hotel; No. 2, At +the Railway Station; No. 3, In the Train.” Ah! there it was—the whole +monologue:—</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Sir. I am very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me——?”</p> + +<p>The explanation relieved me; I turned to my fellow-traveller.</p> + +<p>“My dear Sir,” said I, “I congratulate you on being the perfect pupil. +Your teacher, could it feel such emotions, would be proud of you. Only +to an exceptional student can it be given so faithfully to reproduce +‘His Master’s Voice.’”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>FIGURE-HEADS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>“You never see a decent figure-’ead,</p> +<p class="i6">Not now,” Bill said;</p> +<p>“A fiddlin’ bit o’ scrollwork at the bow,</p> +<p class="i6">That’s the most now;</p> +<p>But Lord! I’ve seen some beauties, more ’n a few,</p> +<p class="i6">An’ some rare rum uns too.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>“Folks in all sorts o’ queer old-fashioned rigs,</p> +<p class="i6">Fellers in wigs,</p> +<p>Chaps in cocked ’ats an’ ’elmets, lords an’ dukes.</p> +<p class="i6">Folks out o’ books,</p> +<p>Niggers in turbans, mandarins an’ Moors,</p> +<p class="i6">And ’eathen gods by scores;</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>“An’ women in all kinds o’ fancy dresses—</p> +<p class="i6">Queens an’ princesses,</p> +<p>Witches on broomsticks too, an’ spankin’ girls</p> +<p class="i6">With streamin’ curls,</p> +<p>An’ dragons an’ sea serpents—Lord knows what</p> +<p class="i6">I’ve seen an’ what I’ve not!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>“An’ some’s in breakers’ yards now, thick with grime</p> +<p class="i6">And weathered white wi’ time;</p> +<p>An’ some stuck up in gardens ’ere an’ there</p> +<p class="i6">With plants for ’air;</p> +<p>An’ no one left as knows but chaps like me</p> +<p>How fine wi’ paint an’ gold they used to be</p> +<p class="i6">In them old days at sea.”</p> + </div> </div> +<p class="midauthor">C. F. S.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>“Bag and Baggage.”</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +“According to present arrangements the Turkish Peace Treaty will be +presented to the Turkish delegation on May 11 at 4 p.m. in the +Cloak Room of the French Foreign Office.”—<i>Times.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>These ceremonies are usually conducted in the Salon de l’Horloge, but +the new <i>venue</i> was doubtless thought more appropriate for disposing of +the Turkish <i>impedimenta</i>.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page387" id="page387"></a>[pg 387]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/387.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/387.jpg" +alt="Manners And Modes." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">MANNERS AND MODES.</h5> +<p style="text-align:center;">THE STRIKE AGAINST THE PRICE OF CLOTHES IS SPREADING.</p> +<p>[<i>Fashion Note.</i>—Lady Germanda Speedwell was seen walking in the Park +looking sweet in a rhubarb-leaf hat, the stalk worn at the side. Her +corsage was of clinging ivy leaves, in contrast to the fuller effect of +her banana-skin skirt. Her companion wore the usual morning-coat and +kilt of grass, but struck a new note with a pumpkin hat.]</p></div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page388" id="page388"></a>[pg 388]</span></p> + +<h2>THE MAKING OF A CRISIS.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>[We are privileged to-day to publish an unwritten chapter from Mr. <span class="sc">H. G. +Wells’</span> <i>History of the World</i>. It is entitled “The Slime Age,” and has a +topical interest since it outlines the methods of production of the +Crisis, the only article of which the supply to-day exceeds the demand.]</p></blockquote> + +<p>Out of all this muddle and confusion and slipshod thinking there arose +one man with a purpose, one man who fixed his eyes on a single +inevitable goal and walked straight at it, not minding what or whom he +trod upon on the way. His purpose was the mass-production of crises, and +he created crises as rabbits create their young, nine at a time. In +those fuddled incompetent days before the Great War the crisis was a +little-known phenomenon. Here and there in the drab routine of peaceful +corpulent years there flashed in the prosperous firmament the baleful +light of a great anxiety. Agadir was one; <span class="sc">Carson</span> and his gun-runners was +another. But they were few; they came like rare comets and were +forgotten.</p> + +<p>Then in the Great War a new habit was born in the minds of the people, +the habit of crises. Even then at first they came decently, in ordered +succession—Mons, Ypres, the Coalition, Gallipoli. But the people’s +craving was insatiable; the people cried for more crises.</p> + +<p>Then this man stood up and said to the people, “I will give you crises.”</p> + +<p>And he did. Instead of a casual crisis here and there, to every year a +crisis or two, he gave them a crisis every month, every week, every day, +and still they were not satisfied. And so, at last, out of all the +muddle and waste and pettifogging stupidity this man created crises as +men create matches, by the gross. And this was how he created them:—</p> + +<p class="slime"><i>Extract from “The Slime,” April 3rd, a paragraph in the Foreign +Intelligence:—</i></p> + +<p class="slimeright">“<span class="sc">Bobadig</span>, <i>April 1st.</i></p> + +<p>“A party of French mules, passing to their quarters in the vilayet of +Arimabug, were to-day attacked by an Australian sheep on the staff of +the British Military Mission. It is feared that many of the mules were +injured. Feeling runs high among the peasantry, incensed already by the +failure of the British Government to provide mosquito-nets for the +sacred goats.”</p> + +<p class="slime"><i>Extract from a leading article in “The Slime,” April 6th, on Land +Tenure in Wales:—</i></p> + +<p>“ ... Parliament to-day will be occupied with the preposterous Budget +proposals, but we hope our legislators will find time to press the <span class="sc">Prime +Minister</span> for an explanation of the outrageous incident at Bobadig +reported in our columns last week. There is only too good reason to fear +that the policy of alternate violence and inertia, against which we have +so often protested, has at last inflamed the law-abiding animals of +Bobadig ...”</p> + +<p class="slime"><i>From “The Slime” Special Correspondent:—</i></p> + +<p class="slimeright">“<span class="sc">Bobadig</span>, <i>April 8th.</i></p> + +<p>“Since my last message (much mutilated by the Censor) events have moved +rapidly. Two of the mules have died of their injuries in hospital; three +others lie in a dangerous condition at Umwidi, four miles away, where +they fled for refuge from the wanton onslaught of the Australian sheep. +This sheep, it now transpires, was the personal attendant of General +Riddlecombe, Head of the Military Mission, a circumstance which is not +calculated to allay the local animosity which the incident has aroused. +The situation will require all the tact that the British Government can +command.”</p> + +<p class="slime"><i>Extract from the Special Crisis Column of “The Slime,” April 11th:—</i></p> + +<p class="slime">“ANGLO-ARMENIAN RELATIONS.<br />GRAVE WARNING.</p> + +<p>“In a telegram which we print in another column our Special +Correspondent in Armenia confirms to-day the serious fears to which we +gave expression in our issue of April 6th concerning the possibility of +a crisis in Anglo-Armenian relations. The incident of the Bobadig mules +is already bearing fruit, and we can no longer doubt that popular +feeling in the vilayet of Arimabug has been dangerously inflamed by the +obtuse procrastination of the British Government. These unfortunate +mules....”</p> + +<p class="slimeright">“<span class="sc">Scratchipol</span>, <i>April 10th.</i></p> + +<p>“Communications with Bobadig have broken down, but it is reported that a +mule was buried there on Sunday in circumstances of great popular +excitement. A large crowd followed the body to the cemetery and made a +demonstration after the ceremony outside the house of the local +veterinary surgeon, who is alleged to have treated the animal for mumps +instead of sheep-shock, with fatal results.”</p> + +<p class="slime"><i>From “The Slime,” April 14th:—</i></p> + +<p class="slime">“GRAVE CRISIS.<br />ARMENIAN ANGER.<br />THE MURDERED MULES.</p> + +<p>“As we feared, a serious crisis has arisen in Anglo-Armenian relations. +At Bobadig a third mule has perished and his interment was made the +occasion of a great popular demonstration against the policy of Great +Britain. In diplomatic circles no one is attempting to conceal that the +situation is extremely grave. The <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span> has returned to Downing +Street from Le Touquet. Shortly after his arrival the Armenian Minister +drove up in a motor-cab and was closeted with the <span class="sc">Premier</span> for a full ten +minutes. After lunch, Lord Wurzel arrived in his brougham. At tea-time +the Minister of Mutton-Control dashed up in a 24 ’bus, followed rapidly +by the Secretary of State for War on his scooter. Mr. Burble wore an +anxious look....”</p> + +<p class="slime"><i>Extract from a leading article in “The Slime,” April 16th:—</i></p> + +<p class="slime">“SPIT IT OUT.</p> + +<p>“We trust it is not already too late to appeal to the Government to +extricate the Empire from the perilous position in which their wilful +stupidity has placed it. The news from Bobadig is exceedingly serious. +Another of the affronted mules has perished in circumstances of the +foulest indignity; it only remains for the other two to die for the +triumph of British statesmanship to be complete. These wretched +creatures are being slowly sacrificed for the foolish whim of a British +Prime Minister. No doubt remains that they have been subjected to +sheep-shock by the savage bites of the Australian animal. The +Government, blinded by its own infatuate folly and deaf to the +storms of popular indignation in this country, continues to treat them +for mumps.... By this test the Government will be judged at the +forthcoming election. They must realise that the time for trifling is +past. If the resources of the British Empire are unable at this date to +combat the menace of sheep-shock among the loyal mules of Bobadig, then +indeed.... At least we are entitled to ask for an explanation of the +presence of an infuriated sheep on the staff of a British General. The +PRIME MINISTER....”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page389" id="page389"></a>[pg 389]</span></p> + +<p class="slime"><i>From “The Slime,” April 17th:—</i></p> + +<p class="slime">“AT LAST.</p> + +<p>The situation in Bobadig is easing rapidly. The Government has at last +carried out the instructions of <i>The Slime</i>, and we understand that a +Ministerial expert in sheep-shock has been sent to the assistance of the +surviving mules. But while we may congratulate ourselves on the lifting +of the clouds in that direction matters in West Ham give ground for the +gravest anxiety. The wood-lice of West Ham are proverbially of an +irritable nature, and the attitude of the Government has been calculated +for some time to inflame....”</p> + +<p class="slime"><i>From “The Slime,” April 19th:—</i></p> + +<p class="slime">“BOBADIG CRISIS OVER.</p> + +<p class="slime"><span class="sc">Premier Yields.</span></p> + +<p>We are glad to report....”</p> + +<p><i>From “The Slime,” April 20th:—</i></p> + +<p class="slime">“WEST HAM CRISIS BEGINS.</p> + +<p class="slime"><span class="sc">Wood Lice in Revolt.</span></p> + +<p class="slime"><span class="sc">Grave Warning.</span></p> + +<p>Once again we must warn the Government....”</p> + +<p>And so on.</p> + +<p class="author">A. P. H.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter50"> +<a href="images/388.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/388.jpg" +alt="True Politeness." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">TRUE POLITENESS.</h5> +<p><i>Party in Check Cap.</i> “<span class="sc">Will You Have My Place, Sir?</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +“Three swift fierce rounds between Beckett and Wells and the 18,000 +spectators at Olympia last night witnessed the close of yet another +great ring drama.”—<i>Daily Chronicle.</i> +</p> +<p> +“Beckett ... bowed more by instinct than of set purpose to the +shouting, over-wrought people who from the floor of Olympia shot up +to the ceiling.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>We had no idea until we read these paragraphs that the spectators took +such an active part in the proceedings.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/389.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/389.jpg" +alt="House-Hunter." /></a> +<p><i>House-hunter (after another fruitless day).</i> “<span class="sc">What about taking this? +We could at least hang our pictures.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE FAIRY BALL.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>“I am asked to the ball to-night, to-night;</p> +<p>What shall I wear, for I must look right?”</p> +<p>“Search in the fields for a lady’s-smock;</p> +<p>Where could you find you a prettier frock?”</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>“I am asked to the ball to-night, to-night;</p> +<p>What shall I do for my jewels bright?”</p> +<p>“Trouble you not for a brooch or a ring,</p> +<p>A daisy-chain is the properest thing.”</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>“I am asked to the ball to night, to-night;</p> +<p>What shall I do if I shake with fright?”</p> +<p>“When you are there you will understand</p> +<p>That no one is frightened in Fairyland.”</p> + </div> </div> +<p class="midauthor">R. F.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h5>“WIT AND HUMOUR.</h5> + +<blockquote><p> +Ashton and District Undertakers’ Association have advanced the +prices of hearse and carriages for funerals.”—<i>Yorkshire Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>If this is the kind of humour that appeals to our contemporary it should +alter the heading to “Grave and Gay.”</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page390" id="page390"></a>[pg 390]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/390.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/390.jpg" +alt="The Luxuries Of The Rich." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">THE LUXURIES OF THE RICH.</h5> +<p><i>Club Member (owner of thirty thousand acre estate).</i> “<span class="sc">I tell you what +it is—I must really get my hair cut. Dash it, I’ve got the money.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>COMMUNISM AT CAMBRIDGE.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> +[Bolshevism and Communism claim many adherents among the young +intellectuals at our ancient Universities.—<i>Vide Press.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<p>I am a Socialist, a Syndicalist, an Anarchist, a Bolshevist—whatever +you like to call me; if you wish to be precise, an International +Communist.</p> + +<p>Anyhow, as such I am opposed tooth-and-nail to the iniquity of the +existing Competitive System. It is my intention to devote my life to its +eradication, in whatever form it may be disguised, and to inaugurate an +era of loving-kindness, peace, leisure and plenty, similar to that now +enjoyed by the people of Russia.</p> + +<p>But my duties do not lie only in the distant future; they are here, in +the present, facing me in the University. For never, I think, was the +unclean thing, Competition, so prevalent and unabashed as at Cambridge +to-day.</p> + +<p>Both in work and in sport is the evil rampant. Take as an example the +reactionary custom of dividing the Tripos Honours List into three +classes. Can you imagine anything more inducive to competition? Worse, +it is a direct invitation to the worker—often, I am proud to say, +unheeded—to exceed the one-hour-day for which we Communists are +striving.</p> + +<p>Even more deplorable is the competitive spirit in sport; more deplorable +because more insidious. Even those whom we are wont to regard as our +comrades and leaders are not always proof against the canker in this +guise. I remember paying a visit to Fenner’s, that fair field corrupted +by competition, to raise my protest against inter-collegiate sports. To +my indescribable grief and amazement I beheld one whom I had always +followed and reverenced—a man of mighty voice oft lifted in +debate—preparing to <i>compete</i> (mark the word) in a Three-Mile Race. +“Stay, comrade,” I cried. He heeded me not; moreover, it certainly +appeared to me that he attempted—thank God, unsuccessfully—to win the +race. Maybe I go too far in ascribing to him this desire to come in +first, with a resultant triumph over his fellows; but was not his very +entrance a countenancing of evil? Had he considered the feelings of +bitter enmity inspired in the many who toiled behind him? And the +encouragement to College rivalry!—a rivalry in no way differing from +that between nations, save that College distinctions are, of course, +less artificial.</p> + +<p>It becomes obvious, I think, to every unprejudiced observer that most of +the games now unfortunately so popular at the University—rowing, +cricket, football and the like—<i>must go</i>. But let it not be assumed +that the Communist is averse from recreation properly conducted; far +from it. There is no possible objection to diabolo or top-spinning, for +instance, and, though competitive marbles must not be played (whether on +the Senate House steps or elsewhere), solitaire may be permitted as in +no way provoking the deplorable spirit of rivalry.</p> + +<p>Of other games the Communist will discard bridge, billiards and “general +post”; and even “hunt-the-slipper” and “hide-and-seek” are not +altogether free from the competitive taint. But an excellent game is +open to him in “patience,” while there is no pastime more indicative of +the true Communistic spirit than “ring-a-ring o’ roses,” so long as +proper care be taken that at the last “tishu” all the players collapse +simultaneously.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page391" id="page391"></a>[pg 391]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/391.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/391.jpg" +alt="Homage From The Brave." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">HOMAGE FROM THE BRAVE.</h5> +<p>“<span class="sc">Old Contemptible</span>” (<i>to Member of the Royal Irish Constabulary</i>). “WELL, +MATE, I HAD TO STICK IT AGAINST A PRETTY DIRTY FIGHTER, BUT THANK GOD I +NEVER HAD A JOB QUITE LIKE YOURS.”</p></div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page392" id="page392"></a>[pg 392]</span><br /></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page393" id="page393"></a>[pg 393]</span></p> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<p><i>Monday, May 10th.</i>—But for the presence of a handful of Irish Peers +and of Sir <span class="sc">Edward Clarke</span> (looking little older than when he pulverised +<span class="sc">Gladstone’s</span> second Home Rule scheme in 1893) you would never have +thought that this was the first day in Committee of the Bill “for the +better government of Ireland.” The Ulstermen were on duty in full force, +but the bench on which the Nationalists are wont to sit was, like their +beloved country, “swarming with absentees.”</p> + +<div class="figright"> +<a href="images/393-1.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/393-1.jpg" +alt="Harlequin’s Offensive." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">HARLEQUIN’S OFFENSIVE.</h5> +<p style="text-align:center"><span class="sc">Lord Hugh Cecil.</span></p></div> + +<p>Lord <span class="sc">Hugh Cecil</span>, like <i>Harlequin</i>, smote everyone impartially, one of +his most telling strokes being the remark that the <span class="sc">Prime Minister</span> could +not distinguish between the art of winning an election and the art of +governing a country; but otherwise his performance was about on a par +with that of Mr. <span class="sc">Jack Jones</span>, who spoke against the Amendment and voted +for it. Mr. <span class="sc">Bonar Law’s</span> declaration that the Bill, however unacceptable +to Ireland at the moment, furnished the only hope of ultimate +settlement, coupled with the Ulster leader’s promise that, much as he +loathed the idea of a separate Parliament, he would work it for all he +was worth, carried the day. Mr. <span class="sc">Asquith’s</span> Amendment was knocked out by +259 to 55.</p> + +<p>In subsequent Amendments other Members attempted to emphasise the idea +of ultimate union by calling the statutory bodies “Councils” instead of +“Parliaments,” and by setting up a single Senate to control them both. +But they did not meet with acceptance. Captain <span class="sc">Elliott</span> thought the first +as absurd as the idea that you could make two dogs agree by chaining +them together, and Mr. <span class="sc">Long</span> dismissed the second with the remark (which +shows how rapidly his political education has advanced since the +Parliament Act) that he was in great doubt as to whether a Second +Chamber was in itself a protection for minorities.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday, May 11th.</i>—Lord <span class="sc">Londonderry</span> moved the second reading of the +Air Navigation Bill. An important part of the Bill relates to trespass +or nuisance by aeroplanes. The rights of the property-owner <i>usque ad +cœlum</i> will obviously have to be considerably modified if commercial +aviation is to be possible; but Lord <span class="sc">Montagu</span> entered a <i>caveat</i> against +accepting the provisions of the Bill in this regard without close +examination. Constant flying over a man’s house or property might, as he +said, constitute a serious nuisance. Imagine an “air-drummer,” if one +may so call him, hovering over a Royal garden-party and showering down +leaflets on the distinguished guests.</p> + +<div class="figleft"> +<a href="images/393-2.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/393-2.jpg" +alt="A Protesting Convert." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">A PROTESTING CONVERT.</h5> +<p style="text-align:center"><span class="sc">Sir Edward Carson.</span></p></div> + +<p>The little <i>coterie</i> that is so nervously anxious lest this country +should do anything to assist the Poles in their attacks on the +Bolshevists was particularly active this afternoon. Even the <span class="sc">Speaker’s</span> +large tolerance is beginning to give out. One of the gang announced his +intention of repeating a question already answered. “And I give notice,” +said Mr. <span class="sc">Lowther</span>, “that if the hon. and gallant Member does repeat it I +shall not allow it to appear on the Notice-paper.”</p> + +<p>Another hon. Member wanted to know why, if we were not helping the +Poles, we kept a British mission at Warsaw. “Among other things,” +replied Mr. <span class="sc">Churchill</span>, “to enable me to answer questions put to me +here.” A third sought information regarding the expenditure of the +Secret Service money, and was duly snubbed by Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> with the +reply that if he answered the question the Service would cease to be +secret.</p> + +<p>The rejection of the Finance Bill was moved by Mr. <span class="sc">Bottomley</span>. In his +view the <span class="sc">Chancellor</span> was making a great mistake in trying to pay off +debt, especially if it meant the taxation of such harmless luxuries as +champagne and cigars. “Let posterity pay,” was his motto. Still, if Mr. +<span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> was determined to persist in his foolish course, let him +give him (Mr. <span class="sc">Bottomley</span>) a free hand and he would guarantee to raise a +thousand millions in a month. The best comment on this oration was +furnished by Mr. <span class="sc">Barnes</span>, who strongly advocated a tax upon +advertisements.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page394" id="page394"></a>[pg 394]</span></p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, May 12th.</i>—The prevalent notion that the only road a +Scotsman cares about is that which leads to England cannot be maintained +in face of Lord <span class="sc">Balfour’s</span> vigorous indictment of the Ministry of +Transport for its neglect of the highways in his native Clackmannan. The +Duke of <span class="sc">Sutherland</span> was equally eloquent about the deplorable state of +the Highlands, where the people were not even allowed telephones to make +up for their lack of transport facilities. “Evil communications corrupt +good manners,” and there was real danger that the Highlanders would vote +“Wee Free” at the next General Election. Appalled by this prospect, no +doubt, Lord <span class="sc">Lytton</span> hastened to return a soft answer, from which we +learned that three-quarters of a million had already been allocated to +Scottish roads, and gathered that the dearest ambition of Sir <span class="sc">Eric +Geddes</span> was to share the fame of the hero immortalised in the famous +lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>“Had you seen but these roads before they were made</p> +<p>You would hold up your hands and bless General <span class="sc">Wade</span>.”</p> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<a href="images/393-3.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/393-3.jpg" +alt="“SUMER IS Y-CUMEN IN.”" /></a> +<h5 class="caption">“SUMER IS Y-CUMEN IN.”</h5> +<p style="text-align:center"><span class="sc">Sir Robert Horne welcomes a useful ally.</span></p></div> + +<p>Only Mr. <span class="sc">Kipling</span> could do full justice to the story of the abduction, +pursuit and recapture—all within thirty-six hours—of an English lady +at Peshawar. Even as officially narrated by Mr. <span class="sc">Montagu</span> it was +sufficiently exciting. The most curious and reassuring fact was that all +the actors in the drama, abductors and rescuers alike, were Afridis. It +is to be hoped that this versatile community includes a cinematograph +operator, and that a film will, like the lady, shortly be “released.”</p> + +<p>The miners’ representatives made an unselfish protest against the +increase in the price of coal. Although it would justify them in +demanding a further increase in their present inadequate wage they did +not believe it was necessary or, at any rate, urgent. Sir <span class="sc">Robert Horne</span> +assured them that it was, and that the present moment—the season in +happier days of “Lowest Summer Prices”—had been selected as the least +inconvenient to the public.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, May 13th.</i>—Ireland maintains its pre-eminence as the land of +paradox. Among the hunger-strikers recently released from Mountjoy +prison were (by an accident) several men who had actually been +convicted. The House learned to its surprise that these men cannot be +re-arrested, but are out for good (their own, though possibly not the +community’s); whereas the untried (and possibly innocent) suspects may +be re-arrested at any moment.</p> + +<p>The new Profiteering Bill, which, to judge by the criticisms levelled +against its exceptions and safeguards, will be about as effective as its +predecessor, was read a third time. So was the Health Insurance Bill, +but not until a few Independent Liberals, led by Captain <span class="sc">Wedgwood Benn</span>, +had been rebuked for their obstructive tactics by Mr. <span class="sc">Myers</span> and Mr. <span class="sc">Neil +Maclean</span> of the Labour Party. As the small hours grew larger this split +in the Progressive ranks developed into a yawning chasm, and the +Government got a third Bill passed before the weary House adjourned at +six o’clock.</p> + +<div class="clearfloats"></div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/394.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/394.jpg" +alt="Fag End." /></a> +<p><i>Sergeant.</i> “<span class="sc">’Old yer ’eads up! All the fag ends was +picked up long afore you—— ’Ere, what the——?</span>”</p> +<p><i>Old Soldier (who has produced a small note-book).</i> “<span class="sc">All right, +Sergeant, I’m only keeping a record of the ‘fag end’ joke. I’ve now +heard it two thousand four hundred and seventeen times.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p> +“It has been arranged that the Speaker shall make the presentation +of plate [to Miss <span class="sc">Bonar Law</span>], and Mr. Lloyd George and Mr. Asquith +will take part.”—<i>Daily Chronicle.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>It is hoped that they will leave a substantial portion for the bride.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page395" id="page395"></a>[pg 395]</span></p> + +<h2>A SMALL FARM.</h2> + +<p>To all of you who have begun to gaze pensively at railway posters, to +furrow your brows over maps and guide-books, or hover sheepishly about +the inquiry offices of Holiday Touring Agencies, I would whisper: “Go to +a small farm and bask.”</p> + +<p>You will note that I say a <i>small</i> farm. A large farm has much that is +pleasant and pungent about it, but to my mind you cannot bask properly +on a large farm. You are too much in the way. The medley of barns, +byres, styes, rods, poles and perches is a hive of restless energy. +Unless you are walking about with a bucket or prodding something with a +stick you feel you have no right to be there. On a large farm you are +expected to accompany your host across a couple of ten-acre fields to +look at his young wheat. Some people can tell what is the matter with a +field of young wheat by merely leaning on a gate and glancing at it. +Unless I can feel its pulse or take its temperature I cannot tell +whether young wheat is suffering from whooping-cough or nasal catarrh. +All I can do is to nod my head sagely and say that, considering the sort +of Government we have got, it looks pretty flourishing. Then my host +remarks that he has got a young bull in Bodger’s Paddock (about three +miles across country) that it will do my heart good to see. That is the +worst of a large farm; anything you want is sure to be several fields +away from you.</p> + +<p>Now at the small farm which I recommend, but the address of which I am +not going to give away, you may lie and bask by the duck pond and be +quite in the picture. Further, if a sudden irresistible desire for +something—a hoe or a cow, for example—should come over you, you have +only to put out your hand and grab it. There is a compactness about the +place. They do not put the cattle in odd fields five miles apart, but +leave them to lounge round the duck pond or sit in the front garden, +where they can be collected without effort. There are no energetic +squads of farm-labourers; no bustling battalions of land-girls with +motor-plough attachments. The outdoor staff is generally to be found +sitting on a bucket by the duck pond rubbing at a bit of harness and +looking decently rural. When he has rubbed the harness he stands up and +looks at the young wheat. Then he turns round and glances at the +mangel-wurzel field. If the appearance of it displeases him he reaches +out for a rake and puts it right. Then he sits on the bucket again and +has lunch.</p> + +<p>When you go to bed at this farm you knock your head against the lintel +of the sitting-room with a force corresponding to your height and +vitality. Then you hit your head a second time when ascending the stairs +and again on entering the bedroom. If you are a heavy breather you sweep +the ceiling clear of flies and cobwebs while you sleep. At dawn, or +possibly an hour or so before (for he is a nervously conscientious +bird), the farm cock steps off the roof of the cow-shed on to your +window-sill and bursts into enthusiastic admiration of himself and +things in general. Some people of an egoistic and unimaginative +temperament get up at once, in order that they may spend the rest of the +day telling you how much they enjoyed the sunrise and what a fool you +were to miss it. The true basker, on the other hand, declines to be a +party to a procedure which destroys the whole poetry of dawn and reduces +the proud chanticleer to the sordid status of an alarum-clock. He simply +pushes the bird off the window-sill with his foot, turns over and goes +to sleep. And later on, when the sound of other people knocking their +heads against various portions of the building arouses him, he goes to +sleep again.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter50"> +<a href="images/395.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/395.jpg" +alt="Member of the New Plutocracy." /></a> +<p><i>Shopman.</i> “<span class="sc">Are you sure one will be sufficient?</span>”</p> +<p><i>Member of the New Plutocracy.</i> +“<span class="sc">Well, I’ve only one neck, ain’t I?</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class="sc">Country Joiner</span> Wanted.”—<i>Advt. in Provincial Paper.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>To work on the Channel Tunnel?</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page396" id="page396"></a>[pg 396]</span></p> + +<h2>BRIDGING THE LITERARY GULF.</h2> + +<p>(<i>Famous Publisher’s Great Scheme of Reconciliation.</i>)</p> + +<p>Hearing on good authority that Mr. Blinkingham, the well-known +publisher, was about to launch an enterprise of a magnitude only +comparable with that of the <i>Ency. Brit.</i> or the <i>D.N.B.</i>, Mr. Punch +hastened to headquarters for confirmation of the report, was graciously +admitted to his presence and furnished with the following interesting +details. Mr. Blinkingham, it may be mentioned, is at all points a finely +equipped representative of his class, handsome, well-groomed and wearing +his monocle with distinction. His sanctum is furnished with delightfully +catholic taste—Louis Quinze furniture, a Japanese embossed wall-paper, +pictures by <span class="sc">Botticelli</span> and Mr. <span class="sc">Wyndham Lewis</span> and statuettes of <span class="sc">Plato</span>, +<span class="sc">Voltaire</span> and Mr. <span class="sc">Wells</span> (the Historian, not the Bombardier).</p> + +<p>After some preliminary observations on the deplorable condition of the +pulp industry, Mr. Blinkingham unfolded his colossal scheme. “By way of +preface,” remarked the great literary <i>impresario</i>, “let me call your +attention to the momentous statement made by the Editor of <i>The +Athenæum</i> in the issue of May 7th: ‘We doubt whether there has ever been +a generation of men of letters so startlingly uneducated as this, so +little interested in the study of the great writers before them.’ The +Editor of <i>The Athenæum</i> takes a most gloomy view of the situation, +which is fraught with an atmosphere of hostility and suspicion inimical +to a revival of criticism. Yet he sees in such a revival the only way of +salvation, the only means of healing the internecine feud which is now +convulsing the young literary world.</p> + +<p>“For my own part I am convinced that a better way is to lure back the +modernists to a study of great writers by presenting them in a more +palatable form, not by compressing or abridging them—for that has been +tried before—but by having them re-written in conformity with +present-day standards by eminent contemporary writers. This notion had +been germinating in my head for some time past, but I did not see my way +clear until I read the luminous and epoch-making remark of Mr. <span class="sc">C. K. +Shorter</span>, that he would sooner have written <i>Tom Jones</i> than any book +published these two hundred years. In a moment, in a flash, my scheme +took shape. ‘He shall write it, or rather re-write it,’ I said to +myself, and I have already submitted to this eminent man of letters my +rough <i>scenario</i> of the lines on which <span class="sc">Fielding’s</span> novel should be +brought home to the Georgian mind. In reply he has made a +counter-suggestion that the characters should be rearranged on a +Victorian basis, <span class="sc">Charlotte Brontë</span> replacing <i>Sophia</i>, <span class="sc">Thackeray</span> <i>Mr. +Allworthy</i>, while the title-rôle should be assigned to an enterprising +publisher. But I am not without hope that he will adopt my plan.</p> + +<p>“The revival of interest in the works of <span class="sc">Richardson</span>, the other great +eighteenth-century novelist, is, I think I may safely say, a foregone +conclusion. Miss <span class="sc">Dorothy Richardson</span> has enthusiastically welcomed the +proposition that she should reconstruct the romances of her illustrious +namesake, and confidently expects, on the basis of the method employed +by her in <i>The Tunnel</i>, that she will be able to excavate at least a +hundred volumes from the materials supplied in <i>Sir Charles Grandison</i> +and <i>Clarissa Harlowe</i>.</p> + +<p>“Nor shall we overlook the earlier masters. Professor <span class="sc">Chamberlin</span>, whose +thrilling lectures on <span class="sc">Queen Elizabeth</span> and Lord <span class="sc">Leicester</span> have been the +talk of the town for the last fortnight, has kindly undertaken to +organise a new <i>variorum</i> version of the Plays of <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span>, with the +assistance of Mr. <span class="sc">Looney</span>, the writer of the recently-published and final +work on the authorship of the plays. <span class="sc">Milton</span> will be presented in both +verse and prose, Mr. <span class="sc">Masefield</span> having promised to re-write his epic in +six-lined rhymed stanzas, shorn of Latinisms; while a famous novelist, +who does not wish her name to appear at present, has consented to recast +it in the form of a romance under the title of <i>The Miseries of +Mephistopheles</i>.</p> + +<p>“Returning to the eighteenth century, I am glad to be able to say that a +brilliant reconstruction of <span class="sc">Pope’s</span> <i>Dunciad</i> is promised by the <span class="sc">Sitwell</span> +family, in which the milk-and-water school is held up to ridicule, with +<span class="sc">Tennyson</span> in the place of dishonour formerly occupied by <span class="sc">Theobald</span>. With a +magnanimity that cannot be too highly commended, the staff of <i>The +Times</i> has undertaken to adapt another forgotten work under the title of +<i>Grey’s Eulogy</i>, with special reference to the work of the League of +Nations.</p> + +<p>“I confess to feeling rather doubtful as to the possibility of reviving +any interest in the works of <span class="sc">Scott</span>, <span class="sc">Dickens</span> and <span class="sc">Thackeray</span>. They are at +once too near and too far. Still I hope to persuade Miss <span class="sc">Rebecca West</span> to +try her hand at <i>Vanity Fair</i>. Then there is <span class="sc">George Eliot</span>, another +uncertain quantity, though perhaps something might be made of <i>The Mill +on the Floss</i> if it were renamed <i>Tulliver’s Travels</i>, and given an +up-to-date industrial atmosphere by Mr. <span class="sc">Arnold Bennett</span>. I have my eye on +Mr. <span class="sc">Lytton Strachey</span> as the man who could make a fine modern version of +<i>Tom Brown’s Schooldays</i>. At the moment he is too busy with his <i>Life of +Queen <span class="sc">Victoria</span></i>, but I feel sure he will not lightly abandon so splendid +an opportunity of unmasking the pedantry and pietism of Dr. <span class="sc">Arnold</span> and +throwing the white light of truth on ‘Rugby Chapel.’”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BIRD CALLS.</h2> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The robin helps to brighten Winter days</p> +<p>And, if you listen carefully, he says,</p> +<p>“Oh please, oh please do leave some crumbs for me;”</p> +<p>It’s greed, but still he says it cheerily.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The starling rolls his “r’s” with unctuous joy</p> +<p>And, preening, wonders whom he may annoy,</p> +<p>Then imitates a hen, a water-fowl</p> +<p>And next the “Be quick” of a white barn-owl.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The heron has a fierce and yellow eye</p> +<p>And eats up all our fishes on the sly;</p> +<p>There seems to be but one he deigns to like,</p> +<p>For all I hear him say is simply “Pike.”</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Tree-creepers, like some busy brown field-mice,</p> +<p>Unwearying chase the furtive fat wood-lice,</p> +<p>Then round the oak-tree’s bole they slyly peep</p> +<p>And tell you what you thought you knew—“We creep.”</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>This is the way the sparrow calls his mate;</p> +<p>He says it early and he says it late,</p> +<p>He says it softly, but he says it clear:</p> +<p>“Come unto me, come unto me, my dear.”</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>Dress at the Curzon Wedding.</h3> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Princess —— wore a black hat, a cloak of tailless ermine, and a +black and silver toque.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> +<p>“Then came Mrs. —— in a dull golf hat.”—<i>Daily Graphic.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>As a protest, we suppose, against the other lady’s extravagance in +wearing a couple of hats.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote><p> +“John ——, a coloured man, was charged with using obscure language +in Maria Street. The magistrates fined him 5s.”—<i>Welsh Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Most unfair! Lots of men do the very same thing in Parliament and get +paid four hundred pounds a year for it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Heading from pp. 516, 517 of <i>Punch’s</i> official rival, <i>The Telephone +Directory:</i></p> + +<blockquote><p> +“<span class="sc">Subscribers should not engage ****** the telephonists in +conversation.</span>” +</p></blockquote> + +<p>We should ourselves have placed the asterisks after the word “<span class="sc">the</span>.”</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page397" id="page397"></a>[pg 397]</span></p> + +<h2>ROYAL ACADEMY—SECOND DEPRESSIONS.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;padding:2%;"> +<a href="images/397-1.jpg"> +<img src="images/397-1.jpg" width="100%" +alt="Study Of A Child." /></a> +<p><span class="sc">Study of a child, some goats and a horse. The horse is +full of fire and looks as if he had just sprung from his rockers.</span></p></div> + +<div class="figright" style="width:55%;padding:2%;"> +<a href="images/397-2.jpg"> +<img src="images/397-2.jpg" width="100%" +alt="Double Or Quit." /></a> +<p><span class="sc">“Double or Quit.” A sporting offer by a profiteering landlord.</span> +</p></div> + +<div class="figright" style="width:55%;padding:2%;"> +<a href="images/397-3.jpg"> +<img src="images/397-3.jpg" width="100%" +alt="Rosamond And Elinor." /></a> +<p><i>Fair Rosamond.</i> “<span class="sc">Oh, my goodness! Is that a dagger?</span>”</p> +<p><i>Queen Elinor.</i> “<span class="sc">Quite right, but it’s only to heighten the dramatic +effect. I knew you would prefer poison.</span>”</p></div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;padding:2%;"> +<a href="images/397-4.jpg"> +<img src="images/397-4.jpg" width="100%" +alt="The Exhausted Sitter." /></a> +<p><span class="sc">The exhausted sitter and the inexorable artists.</span></p></div> + +<div class="figright" style="width:55%;padding:2%;"> +<a href="images/397-5.jpg"> +<img src="images/397-5.jpg" width="100%" +alt="Prehistoric Prize-Fighters." /></a> +<p><span class="sc">Prehistoric prize-fighters removing a heavy-weight +champion after his defeat.</span></p></div> + +<div class="clearfloats"></div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:55%;padding:2%;"> +<a href="images/397-6.jpg"> +<img src="images/397-6.jpg" width="100%" +alt="Window-Dressing." /></a> +<p><span class="sc">Window-dressing is now one of the fine arts. A charming +group of wax figures made to the order of Messrs. Whiteridge.</span></p></div> + +<div class="figright" style="width:35%;padding:2%;" > +<a href="images/397-7.jpg"> +<img src="images/397-7.jpg" width="100%" +alt="Excited Bather." /></a> +<p><i>Excited Bather.</i> “<span class="sc">Something queer about these rocks. One +of them is tickling me on the back!</span>”</p></div> + +<div class="clearfloats"></div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page398" id="page398"></a>[pg 398]</span></p> + +<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> + +<h4>“<span class="sc">Why Marry?</span>”</h4> + +<p>This is a protracted discussion of a venerable topic and takes place in +a sun-parlour, which I regret to say is the brightest thing about it.</p> + +<p><i>John</i> is a dollar-snob—it is <i>John’s</i> parlour—and has two sisters, +<i>Jean</i> and <i>Helen</i>. <i>John</i> is easily the heavy-weight champion in stage +brothers. Sister <i>Jean</i>, who is entirely dependent on <i>John</i>, loves a +poor man, but under <i>John’s</i> guidance traps a rich one. Sister <i>Helen</i> +(who has a job) also loves a poor man, but thinks marriage not good +enough. This was, I imagine, due chiefly to living with <i>John</i> and <i>Mrs. +John</i>. She may have got a touch of the sun-parlour. Her man is a +terrific young scientist, who once with four colleagues deliberately let +a dangerous Cuban mosquito nibble his arm. The colleagues died while +<i>Ernest</i> survived, which I regretted. However he became demonstrator at +the Institute of Bacteriology, with <i>Helen</i> as his assistant, and in the +excitement of the imminent discovery of his new bacillus the two spend +the night in the laboratory totally unchaperoned. The discovery saved +thousands of American babes, but it ruined <i>Helen’s</i> reputation.</p> + +<p>Here the narrative becomes confused, but anyhow <i>John</i>, who was a +trustee of the Institute, spent the three Acts in alternately sacking +and reinstating <i>Helen</i> and <i>Ernest</i>, in thinking of a salary, doubling +it, adding thousands of dollars to it and taking away the salary first +thought of, together with the additions (and so <i>da capo</i>), according as +he wished to prevent the marriage because of <i>Ernest’s</i> poverty, or +bring it off because of <i>Ernest’s</i> disposition to take <i>Helen</i> to Paris +(France) and dispense with empty rites, or postpone it to gain time, or, +on the contrary, have it celebrated between the dressing and the dinner +gongs in order to announce it to important members of the family, who, +if I understood the butler aright, had already fallen on their food +while host and hostess, two pairs of lovers, Uncle <i>Everett</i> and Cousin +<i>John</i> were bickering in the sun-parlour.</p> + +<p>Cousin <i>Theodore</i>, a guileless and dollarless clergyman, padded about on +the outskirts of the discussion, making obvious remarks about the +sanctity of marriage and enunciating the highest principles, which he +promptly swallowed. But it was Uncle <i>Everett</i>, the judge (the only +human figure in the bunch), who grasped the fact (long after I did, but +let that pass) that the two principal young egotists simply loved being +talked over at such gross length. To put an end to the business he used +a trick whereby, apparently according to the law of the unnamed State in +which the parlour was situate, the two were legally married without +intending it. They had the tact to accept this solution, and this +softened my heart towards them for the first time.</p> + +<p>It was amusing to see Mr. <span class="sc">Aubrey Smith</span> wondering how on earth he had got +into this play, and Mr. <span class="sc">A. E. George</span> prowling about the stage intent +apparently on showing how many ways there are of uttering “Pshaw!” and +“Tut-tut!” or noise to that effect. It isn’t as easy as it ought to be +to do justice to players playing impossible parts; to Miss <span class="sc">Henrietta +Watson</span> struggling pluckily and skilfully with her <i>Mrs. John</i>; or to Mr. +<span class="sc">Cowley Wright</span> or Miss <span class="sc">Rosa Lynd</span>, so perfectly appalling did <i>Ernest</i> and +<i>Helen</i> seem to me and so anxious was I to get them off to Paris +respectably or otherwise. They never, by the way, gave me the faintest +impression that they could ever have done work of any value in their +laboratory.</p> + +<p>I have no idea what the moral of this modern mystery play may be, but I +did gather that the authoress was seriously perplexed, not perhaps in +any startlingly new way, about the difficulties of marriage and the +conventional hypocrisies that hedge round that honourable institution, +but just forgot that serious argument cannot easily be conveyed through +the medium of fantastically impossible and uninteresting people in an +extravagantly farcical situation. The play was kindly received.</p> + +<p class="author">T.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter50"> +<a href="images/398.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/398.jpg" +alt="Why Marry." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">“WHY MARRY?”</h5> +<p><i>Mr. <span class="sc">C. Aubrey Smith</span> (Uncle Everett).</i> +“<span class="sc">Do <i>you</i> know the answer?</span>”</p> +<p><i>Miss <span class="sc">Henrietta Watson</span> (Lucy).</i> +“<span class="sc">There are a good many questions about +this play that I wouldn’t care to have to answer.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE MADNESS OF THE MACNAMARA.</h2> + +<p>(<i>From the Gaelic—with apologies to <span class="sc">Bon Gaultier</span>.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Weefrees swore a feud</p> +<p class="i2">Against the clan McGeorgy;</p> +<p>Marched to Leamington</p> +<p class="i2">To hold a pious orgy;</p> +<p>For they did resolve</p> +<p class="i2">To extirpate the vipers</p> +<p>With thirty stout M.P.s</p> +<p class="i2">And all the Northsquith “pipers.”</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>“Lads,” said <span class="sc">Hogge</span> and <span class="sc">Benn</span></p> +<p class="i2">To their faithful scholars,</p> +<p>“We shall need to fight</p> +<p class="i2">To retain the dollars;</p> +<p>Here’s <span class="sc">Mhic-mac-Namara</span></p> +<p class="i2">Coming with his henchmen,</p> +<p><span class="sc">Hewart, Kellaway</span></p> +<p class="i2">And several Front-Bench men.”</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<hr style="text-align: left; margin-left: 3em; width: 5em;" /> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>“Coot-tay to you, Sirs,”</p> +<p class="i2">Said <span class="sc">Mhic-mac-Namara</span></p> +<p>In a voice that reached</p> +<p class="i2">From Leamington to Tara;</p> +<p>“So you’d drum us out</p> +<p class="i2">To enjoy your plunder,</p> +<p>Adding to a crime</p> +<p class="i2">Suicidal blunder.”</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But the brave Weefrees,</p> +<p class="i2">Heedless of his bawling,</p> +<p>Drowned him with the storm</p> +<p class="i2">Of their caterwauling;</p> +<p>So <span class="sc">Mhic-mac-Namara</span></p> +<p class="i2">And the valiant <span class="sc">Kellaway</span></p> +<p>Gave some warlike howls</p> +<p class="i2">And in haste got well away.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>In this sorry style</p> +<p class="i2">Died ta Liberal Party,</p> +<p>Which in days of old</p> +<p class="i2">Had been strong and hearty;</p> +<p>This, good Mr. Punch,</p> +<p class="i2">Is ta true edition;</p> +<p>Here’s your fery coot health</p> +<p class="i2">And—bless ta Coalition!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>Another Impending Apology.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +“We are glad to be able to state in reference to our Pastor that, +though much improved in health, he is still unfit to resume his +work amongst us.”— —— <i>Congregational Magazine.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote><p> +“This should bring joy to the heart of every resolutionary +Socialist.”—<i>The Workers’ Dreadnought.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>All the Socialists we have met answer to this description.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page399" id="page399"></a>[pg 399]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter100"> +<a href="images/399.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/399.jpg" +alt="Adventures Of A Post-War Sportsman." /></a> +<h5 class="caption">“ADVENTURES OF A POST-WAR SPORTSMAN.”</h5> +<p><i>P.-W. S. (otter-hunting for the first time).</i> “<span class="sc">Tired? Cooked to a +turn! I wouldn’t ’ave come so far but one of your chaps told me you ’ad +a strong drag up the river and I thought we might all go ’ome in it. And +now ’e says it’s only a smell ’e meant.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p>(<i>By Mr. Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</p> + +<p>I should certainly call Mr. <span class="sc">Compton Mackenzie</span> our first living expositor +of London in fiction. Indeed the precision with which, from his Italian +home, he can recapture the aspect and atmosphere of London +neighbourhoods is itself an astonishing feat. In <i>The Vanity Girl</i> +(<span class="sc">Cassell</span>) he has happily abandoned the rather breathless manner induced +by the migratious <i>Sylvia Scarlett</i>, and returns to the West Kensington +of <i>Sinister Street</i>, blended subsequently with that theatrical Bohemia +in which <i>Jenny Pearl</i> danced her little tragedy. There is something +(though by no means all) of the interest of <i>Carnival</i> in the new stage +story; that the adventures of <i>Dorothy</i> lack the compelling charm of her +predecessor is inevitable from the difference in temperament of the two +heroines and the fact that Mr. <span class="sc">Mackenzie</span> with all his art has been +unable to rouse more than dispassionate interest in what is really a +study of successful egotism. From the moment when, in the first chapter, +we encounter <i>Dorothy</i> (whose real name was <i>Norah</i>) washing her hair at +a window in Lonsdale Road, an eligible <i>cul-de-sac</i> ending in a railway +line, beyond which a high rampart marked the reverse of the Earl’s Court +Exhibition panorama, to that final page on which we take leave of her as +a widowed countess, sacrificing her future for the sake of an Earl’s +Court of a different <i>genre</i>, her career, sentimental, financial and +matrimonial, is told with amazing vivacity but a rather conspicuous lack +of emotional appeal. It is perhaps an unequal book; in parts as good as +the author’s best, in others hurried and perfunctory. One of our more +superior Reviews was lately debating Mr. <span class="sc">Mackenzie’s</span> command of the +“memorable phrase.” There are a score here that I should delight to +quote, even if the setting is not always entirely worthy of them.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>So long as “<span class="sc">Berta Ruck</span>” will write for us such pretty books as +<i>Sweethearts Unmet</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and Stoughton</span>), we need never feel ourselves +dependent on America for our supply of sugary novels. This home-grown +variety is just as sweet, and really, I think, may be guaranteed not +only harmless but positively beneficial. The authoress has evidently a +tender pity for the young men and women whom our social conditions doom +either to have no companions among their contemporaries or only the +wrong ones. Her heroine represents the too-much-sheltered girl alone in +an elderly circle, her hero the lonely young man who has no means of +getting to know people of his own sort (I can’t say class, because the +authoress seems rather uncertain about that herself). Her story is +written in alternate instalments by “the boy” and “the girl,” a method +which encourages intimacy in the telling as well as a sort of gushing +attention to the reader not so pleasant. Miss <span class="sc">Nora Schlegel</span> has drawn a +pretty picture of <i>Julia</i> and <i>Jack</i> to adorn the wrapper, and I can +assure everyone who cares to know it that they are just as nice as they +look; <i>Jack’s</i> passion for abbreviation (“rhodos” for rhododendrons) +being the only ground of quarrel I have with them or their creator.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page400" id="page400"></a>[pg 400]</span></p> + +<p>In <i>Passion</i> (<span class="sc">Duckworth</span>) Mr. <span class="sc">Shaw Desmond</span> desperately wants to say +something terrific about love, money and power. His violence makes one +feel that one is reading under a shower of brickbats, and it is the +effort of dodging these which perhaps distracts the mind from his +message. (Is he a Marinettist, I wonder?) There are not enough words in +the language for him, so he invents fresh ones at will; while as for +grammar and syntax he passionately throttled them in Chapter I.; nor did +they recover. I will own that notwithstanding all this the author has a +way of making you read on to find out what it is all about. You don’t +find out; but there, life’s like that, isn’t it? The author’s ideas of +the operations of high finance are ingenuous. The <i>Mandrill</i> (do I +rightly guess this to be a portrait distorted from the life?), who is +out to corner copper and “do down” the <i>Squid</i> (head of the opposing +copper group), is, if you are to judge by his passionate exuberance at +board meetings, about as likely to corner the green cheese in the moon. +I imagine the author saying, “<i>Mandrills</i> mayn’t be like that, but +that’s how I see ’em. It’s my vision and mood that matter. Take it or +leave it.” Well, on the whole I should advise you to take it, first +putting on a sort of mental tin hat. You’ll at least have gathered that +Mr. <span class="sc">Desmond</span> is a lively writer.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Of a war-story reviewed in these pages some months ago I remember taking +occasion to say that the author had damaged his effect by a too obvious +wish to injure the reputation of a certain cavalry brigade (or words to +that effect). Well, a book that I have just been reading, <i>The +Squadroon</i> (<span class="sc">Lane</span>), might in some sense be regarded as a counterblast to +the former volume, since its writer, Major <span class="sc">Ardern Beaman</span>, D.S.O., has +admittedly intended it as a vindication of the work of the cavalry in +the Great War. I can say at once that the defence could scarcely have +found a better advocate. Major <span class="sc">Beaman</span> (who, I think superfluously, +figures in his own pages in the fictional character of Padre) has +written one of the most interesting records that I have read of personal +experience on the Western Front. Partly this is explained by his +fortunate possession of a style at once sincere, sanely balanced and +always engaging. Also his story, apart from the matter of it, reveals in +the men of whom he writes (and incidentally in the writer himself) a +combination of just those qualities that we like to call essentially +British. Cavalrymen of course will read it with a special fervour; but I +am mistaken if its genial temper does not disarm even so difficult a +critic as the ex-infantry Lieutenant—than which I could hardly say +more. In short, <i>The Squadroon</i> is a belated war book in which the most +weary of such matters may well recapture their interest.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Written in the last great ebb and flow of the War, when the censorship +still prevented anything like carping criticism of matters near the +battle-front, <i>The Glory of the Coming</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and Stoughton</span>) naturally +resolves itself into a pæan of praise of the French and British armies +in general and the American troops in particular, both white and black. +Mr. <span class="sc">Irvin S. Cobb</span> brings good credentials to his task, for he saw the +advance of the German army through Belgium in 1914, and in this book he +describes the combined resistance to their last great effort before +defeat. The accident, if we may so call it, to the Fifth Army has had +nowhere a more eloquent apologist. “They were like ants; they were like +flies,” he says of the Germans; “they left their dead lying so thickly +behind that finally the ground seemed as though it were covered with a +grey carpet.” There are interesting strictures in the later chapters on +some of the quaint semi-official delegations and personages who +persuaded the United States Government to let them come over and visit +the War; and there are a number of quite good yarns of the Yankee +private, related in the Yankee style. But better than all the American +stories I think I like that of the Bedfordshire soldier who, when asked +by the writer to direct him to Blérincourt during the chaos of the great +retreat, replied, “I am rather a stranger in these parts myself.” +Perhaps by the way I ought to make it quite clear that the title refers +to the coming of the American troops, and that, although the line, “He +is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored,” is +also quoted in the prefatory stanza, there is nothing in the book about +Mr. <span class="sc">“Pussyfoot” Johnson</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>I suppose the War did throw up a great number of worthy pomposities +genuinely eager to serve their country in some conspicuous and applauded +way, and old <i>Mr. Thompson</i>, the principal figure in <i>Young Hearts</i> +(<span class="sc">Hodder and Stoughton</span>), may be taken, on the authority of <span class="sc">J. E. +Buckrose</span>, as an East Riding variant of the type. He had always some +patent scheme for winning the War or improving the Peace, and no doubt +deserved all the ragging he got, though I lost my zest in the matter +before the author did. <i>Mr. Thompson</i> had two daughters: a minx (almost +too minx-like for belief) and a never-told-her-love maiden of sterling +worth. The latter marries the good-young-man-under-a-cloud (the cloud +was, of course, a misapprehension or, alternatively, had a silver +lining), though the minx shamelessly tried to “bag him,” as she did +every eligible male, the good sister tamely submitting under the +impression apparently that the other was a perfect darling. I indeed +seemed to be the only person who really understood what a little beast +she was—and possibly the author, who finally allotted to her the +beautiful unsatisfactory young man with the emotional tenor. Commended +for easy seaside reading.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">To Recalcitrant House-owners</span>: Let and let live.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter50"> +<a href="images/400.jpg"> +<img width="100%" src="images/400.jpg" +alt="Horse Doovers." /></a> +<p>[“I hear of a seaside hotel whose proprietors have +instructed their staff never to correct the pronunciation or use of a +word by a guest. If it is necessary to use the same term in the +conversation the guest’s form of it is the one to be used; it saves a +lot of irritation, if not actual humiliation.”—<i>Daily News.</i>]</p> +<p><i>Waiter (with anticipative tact) to holiday customer.</i> “<span class="sc">Any horse +doovers, Sir?</span>”</p></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +158, May 19, 1920, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, VOL. 158, MAY 19, 1920 *** + +***** This file should be named 25591-h.htm or 25591-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/5/9/25591/ + +Produced by Nigel Blower, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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