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+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, October 14, 1914, by Various</title>
+ <style type="text/css">
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+ .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;}
+ .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;}
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+
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147,
+October 14, 1914, 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. 147, October 14, 1914
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: March 19, 2009 [EBook #28360]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Neville Allen,
+Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h1> PUNCH,<br /> OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1>
+
+<h2>VOLUME 147.</h2>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<h2>October 14, 1914.</h2>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>
+
+<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2>
+
+<p>Strong drinks have now been prohibited all over Russia, and it looks as
+if Germany is not the only country whose future lies on the water.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>Rumour has it that Germany is not too pleased with Austria's
+achievements in the War, and there has been in consequence not a little
+Potsdam-and-Perlmuttering between the two.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>"When the <span class="sc">Kaiser</span> goes to places beyond the railway," we are told, "he
+travels in a motor-car which, besides being accompanied by aides-de-camp
+and bodyguards, is also watched by special secret field police." We are
+glad to learn that every precaution is taken to prevent his escape.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>The <span class="sc">Kaiser</span> once desired to be known as "The Peace King." His eldest son,
+to judge by his alleged burglarious exploits, now wishes to be known as
+the <span class="sc">Charles Peace</span> Prince.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>It is said that Major <span class="sc">von Manteuffel</span>, who superintended the destruction
+of Louvain, has been recalled. We presume he will have to explain why he
+left the Town Hall standing.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>We still have to go to Germany for news about our own country. The
+latest reliable report is to the effect that there is now serious
+friction between <span class="sc">King George</span> and Lord <span class="sc">Kitchener</span>, the former having
+become alarmed at the raising of "Kitchener's Army." The <span class="sc">War Minister</span>,
+the <span class="sc">King</span> fears, is aiming at the throne, and it is now being recalled
+that Lord <span class="sc">Kitchener</span>, when a young man, was once told by a soothsayer, "K
+stands for King."</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>We learn from <i>The Daily Call</i> that, in proportion to the number of its
+inhabitants, B&acirc;le is the richest city in Europe. The Swiss, we fancy,
+will scarcely thank our contemporary for drawing attention to this fact
+in view of the well-known cupidity of a certain neighbour of theirs.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>There is a proposal on foot to form a corps of Solicitors. By a pretty
+legal touch it is suggested that they might train between six and eight.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><i>The Daily News</i> the other day, in describing the fortunate escape of a
+midshipman from the <i>Cressy</i>, told its readers that, when pulled out of
+the water, the cadet "was not wearing a single garment. He was provided
+with clothes and eventually put on a British destroyer." While his
+choice of covering does credit to the young gentleman's spirit, we think
+he would have done better to put on the clothes.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>A naturalisation certificate has been granted to that clever English
+authoress, the Countess <span class="sc">Arnim</span>. We congratulate Elizabeth on escaping
+from "her German Garden."</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>"Few people," says <i>The Witney Gazette</i>, "are familiar with the history
+and resources of Belgium." How true this is may be seen from our
+contemporary's next statement:&mdash;"A large section of its population
+consists of a race known as the Walloons, the ancient descendants of the
+Belgians."</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>"Father," asked the actor's little son, "why does the <span class="sc">Kaiser</span> wear a
+helmet with an eagle on the top of it?" "To show that he's 'got the
+bird,'" replied the brilliant Thespian.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>By the way, the statement that "The <span class="sc">Tsar</span> has left for the theatre of
+war" has caused the keenest satisfaction in histrionic circles, where it
+is hoped that this illustrious example will cause the fashionable world
+to revert to its habit of patronising the stage.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>General <span class="sc">von Stein</span>, who was responsible for the German official
+<i>communiqu&eacute;s</i>, has, we learn from the German Press, been superseded.
+Evidently he did not chronicle sufficient victories. The German public,
+when it asks for <i>Brod</i>, does not care to get a <i>Stein</i>.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>An overheard conversation: "I see that both you and your wife have sent
+blankets to the soldiers." "Yes. She sent mine, so I sent hers."</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>A dear old lady who read about the theft of an Italian submarine last
+week writes to say that she hopes that the police are keeping an eye on
+our <i>Dreadnoughts</i>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4>Adsit omen!</h4>
+
+<center>
+Take its "capital" from Prussia&mdash;<br />
+You reduce the thing to Russia!
+</center>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<blockquote><p>"Perversely enough, whilst Ora's husband was a commonplace though
+intelligent attorney, Ora was married to a Montana mine-owner."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p class="author"><i>Books of To-day.</i></p>
+
+<p>This was very perverse of Ora. She might at least have waited till her
+first husband had ceased to be an attorney.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<blockquote><i>Gentlemen who are losing their employment owing to the War</i>:&mdash;1. The
+German Colonial Secretary.</blockquote>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<blockquote>"Identifying battles with rivers is very confusing to the reader who
+is not well acquainted with the geography of a little-known part of
+Europe. It misleads thousands when the Aisne is mentioned, and it is
+even more misleading when the river Victula comes into the
+reckoning."</blockquote>
+
+<p class="author"><i>Birmingham Daily Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>This is quite true.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/309.png">
+<img src="images/309.png" width="100%" alt="Study of a veteran" /></a>
+<p><span class="sc">Study of a veteran who has sent all his blankets to
+Kitchener's Army and never slept better in his life.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4>Rates for Zeppelins.</h4>
+
+<p>"During the last few days," we learn, "a good many insurances have been
+effected at Lloyd's on properties in London against the risk of damage
+by Zeppelins." The premium accepted on banks appears to be about one
+shilling per cent. But why insure banks? For our own part we would very
+gladly take refuge in one of their strong rooms at the first sight of a
+hovering Zeppelin.</p>
+
+<p>After consultation with our insurance expert, who has carefully
+considered the past record of German aircraft operating over undefended
+cities, we now have pleasure in submitting a special scale of insurance
+rates which ought to meet the needs of the public. Lloyd's are welcome
+to it should they care to adopt it as it stands:&mdash;</p>
+
+<table summary="Insurance rates">
+<tr><td>Hospitals</td><td>&pound;5 %</td><td> per annum.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Dogs</td><td>2/11</td><td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Cats, chickens and canaries</td><td>2/9 </td><td>&nbsp;&nbsp; "&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lamp-posts</td><td>1/1</td><td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lord Mayors </td><td> <i>Nil</i></td><td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td></tr>
+</table><br />
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>
+
+<h2>THOMAS OF THE LIGHT HEART.</h2>
+
+<p>[<i>"The Cologne Gazette" tells us that we are lacking in understanding of
+the high seriousness of the war; that we use sporting expressions about
+it. "The Times," referring to this criticism, points out that, though we
+do not pretend, like the Germans, to make a religion of war, our
+sporting instinct at least enables us to recognise that to draw the
+sword on women and children is "not cricket."</i>]</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Facing the guns, he jokes as well</p>
+<p class="i2">As any Judge upon the Bench;</p>
+<p class="i0">Between the crash of shell and shell</p>
+<p class="i2">His laughter rings along the trench;</p>
+<p class="i0">He seems immensely tickled by a</p>
+<p class="i0">Projectile which he calls a "Black Maria."</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">At intervals, when work is slack,</p>
+<p class="i2">He kicks a leather ball about;</p>
+<p class="i0">Recalls old tales of wing and back,</p>
+<p class="i2">The Villa's rush, the Rovers' rout;</p>
+<p class="i0">Or lays a tanner to a pup</p>
+<p class="i0">On Albion (not "perfidious") for the Cup.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">He whistles down the day-long road,</p>
+<p class="i2">And, when the chilly shadows fall</p>
+<p class="i0">And heavier hangs the weary load,</p>
+<p class="i2">Is he down-hearted? Not at all.</p>
+<p class="i0">'Tis then he takes a light and airy</p>
+<p class="i0">View of the tedious route to Tipperary.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">His songs are not exactly hymns;</p>
+<p class="i2">He never learned them in the choir;</p>
+<p class="i0">And yet they brace his dragging limbs</p>
+<p class="i2">Although they miss the sacred fire;</p>
+<p class="i0">Although his choice and cherished gems</p>
+<p class="i0">Do not include "The Watch upon the Thames,"</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">He takes to fighting as a game;</p>
+<p class="i2">He does no talking, through his hat,</p>
+<p class="i0">Of holy missions; all the same</p>
+<p class="i2">He has his faith&mdash;be sure of that;</p>
+<p class="i0">He'll not disgrace his sporting breed,</p>
+<p class="i0">Nor play what isn't cricket. There's his creed.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="author">O.S.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>IN A GOOD CAUSE.</h2>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Punch</i> ventures to ask the help of his gentle readers on behalf of
+the Women's League of Service, who are daily giving dinners in various
+districts of London to expectant and nursing mothers, of whom many have
+husbands serving with the colours. It is our hope that out of the
+present war may come, for those who follow us, a happy freedom from the
+menace of war; but our sacrifices will be in vain if no care is taken of
+the mothers who are bearing children to-day. Among the poorer class, the
+last person in the family to be fed is always the mother. <i>Mr. Punch</i>
+invites those who have the welfare of the new generation at heart to
+send gifts in aid of this national work to Mr. Dudley Cocke, 44, Gresham
+Street, E.C.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4>More Looting by the Kaiser's Family?</h4>
+
+<blockquote>"Prince Joachim, the Kaiser's youngest son ... was met at the
+railway station by his mother, who pointed proudly to the
+second-class altar cross on her son's breast."&mdash;</blockquote>
+<p class="author"><i>Eastern Daily Press.</i></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h4>The American Touch.</h4>
+
+<blockquote>"Great steel plates have been fixed about the ceilings and walls of
+a room which now shelters the famous Venus D. Milo."</blockquote>
+
+<p class="author"><i>Toronto Daily Star.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.</h2>
+
+<center>No. IV.</center><br />
+
+<center>(<i>From <span class="sc">Dietrich Q. Friedlicher</span>, an American Citizen.</i>)</center>
+
+<p><span class="sc">Kaiser Wilhelm</span>,&mdash;I've been hearing no end during the last month or two
+about German efforts to capture American opinion. It seems you think us
+a poor sort of creatures unable to find out for ourselves the right way
+of things. You've been measuring our people up and you've got a kind of
+fancy that we're running about our continent with our eyes staring and
+our mouths gaping and our poor silly tongues wagging, and that we're
+busy collecting thoughts from one another about this war in Europe so we
+shan't look ignorant when we read what other countries are doing. "See
+here," I'm supposed to be saying as I go around,&mdash;"see here! What's this
+Belgium, anyway, and how in thunder does she come to stand out agin the
+great German army? And why are the Germans knocking Belgium to flinders
+and shooting her citizens? Ain't the Germans Christians? Ain't their
+soldiers generous and their officers merciful? Well then, it kinder
+puzzles me to see the way they're getting to work. It's no wonder the
+Belgian is set agin them. They're a little lot, them Belgians are, and
+it's a queer thing, ain't it, that they should make all this trouble?
+But I dunno. Maybe, there's something to be said for 'em if we only
+knew. Then there's the English. They say they're fighting for freedom
+this time, and maybe they're right to stick to their word and back up
+their treaties. But it don't seem very clear as far as I can size it up.
+Won't some kind gentleman come along and give me the true story?"</p>
+
+<p>That's what I'm supposed to be saying, and you thought you heard me all
+the way from Potsdam, and you took a good deep think, and "Bless me,"
+you said, "it's ten thousand pities to let old man Friedlicher go along
+with his mind empty when there's a heap of good German opinions lying
+around just asking to be put into it. I'll cable <span class="sc">Bernstorff</span> to fill him
+up." So there's poor <span class="sc">Bernstorff</span> turning himself inside out to please you
+and educate me. Don't he prove a lot? From 9 to 10 he lectures about
+Germany's love for America and the beautiful statue of <span class="sc">Frederick the
+Great</span> at Annapolis; from 10 to 11 he socks it into England&mdash;says she's a
+robber power and blacker'n any of the niggers she hires to do her
+fighting for her; from 11 to 12 he settles Russia by calling her a
+barbarian Empire; and from 12 to 1 he tells me how Germany's burning
+Belgium for Belgium's good; and then he dismisses me and says, if I'll
+come back to-morrow morning, he'll pitch me a story about the French
+peril, and how Germany can help America to escape it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="sc">Kaiser</span>, it's no good. My father was a German, and he knew your lot, and
+he used to tell me all he knew. He had to quit Prussia pretty quick
+after 1848&mdash;that's the year your great-uncle had to take off his hat to
+the citizens of Berlin, and your venerable grandfather had to pay a
+visit to England, German air not being good for his health. I know all
+that there is to be known about you. I don't want any <span class="sc">Bernstorff</span>, no,
+nor yet any <span class="sc">Dernburg</span>, to tell me why this fight's fighting and to
+explain the Belgian wickedness to me. You and your blamed professors and
+soldiers, you've all been spoiling for war these ten years past, and now
+that you've got it you're out to tell the Americans that the other
+fellows drove you into it. All I've got to say is, I don't believe
+it&mdash;and what's more, no sensible American believes it either. That's all
+there is to it.</p>
+
+<p class="regards"> Yours sincerely,</p>
+<p class="author"><span class="sc">Dietrich</span>.</p>
+
+<hr /><br />
+
+<p>Motto for the <span class="sc">Kaiser</span> (reported as having been last seen at Cologne):
+"East, West, hame's best."</p><br />
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/311.png">
+<img src="images/311.png" width="100%" alt="A NORTH SEA CHANTEY" /></a>
+<h4>A NORTH SEA CHANTEY.</h4>
+<h3>(<i>To the tune of "Tipperary."</i>)</h3>
+<p><span class="sc">Jack.</span> "IT'S A LONG, LONG WAIT FOR WILLIAM'S NAVY.<br /> BUT MY HEART'S RIGHT
+HERE."</p>
+</div>
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/313.png">
+<img src="images/313.png" width="100%" alt="What in thunder have you been doing" /></a><br />
+<p><i>Officer.</i> "<span class="sc">What in thunder have you been doing all the
+morning? This leather's not dressed; there's mud on it still!</span>"</p>
+<p><i>Recruit (ex-Cyclist).</i> "<span class="sc">Sorry, Sir, but I've spent most of my time
+polishing the pedals.</span>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>RENAMED CELEBRITIES.</h2>
+
+<p>Since the publication of the manifesto in our columns signed by a large
+number of eminent men who announced their intention of divesting
+themselves of the un-Christian name of William, matters have moved far
+and fast. Many of these gentlemen have already, in obedience to the
+dictates of logic, assumed a new style, as may be gathered from the
+following messages which the Press Bureau, without accepting
+responsibility for them, graciously permits us to reproduce:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The Reverend <span class="sc">William Spooner</span>, the revered Warden of New College, Oxford,
+writes to say that, in deference to the unanimous desire of the
+graduates and undergraduates of the College, he has decided to be known
+in future as the Reverend Peter Spooner, as a tribute to the Kinquering
+Cong of Serbia.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. <span class="sc">William (Wullie) Park</span>, the famous professional golfer, has decided
+to assume the pr&aelig;nomen of Pinkstone (after Sir <span class="sc">John Denton Pinkstone
+French</span>), and is already known amongst his intimates as "Pinkie."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. <span class="sc">William Le Queux</span> has by a special deed poll assumed the title of
+George Albert Nicolas Victor-Emmanuel Raymond Woodrow Le Queux, but for
+literary purposes will briefly sign himself "Alb."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. <span class="sc">William de Morgan</span>, the famous novelist, as the son of <span class="sc">Augustus de
+Morgan</span>, has happily hit on the idea of renaming himself Marcellus de
+Morgan. But he is anxious to have it clearly understood that this does
+not involve him in any claim to the authorship of <i>Marcella</i>.</p>
+
+<p>A communication has been received by the Editor of <i>The Spiritualist</i>
+from <span class="sc">William Shakspeare</span>, announcing his unalterable resolve to change
+his Christian name because of the posthumous discredit attached to it by
+the <span class="sc">Kaiser</span>. Asked what he proposed to substitute for it, the Bard
+created a prodigious sensation by announcing that he thought Francis
+would do as well as anything else.</p>
+
+<p>Sir <span class="sc">William Job Collins</span>, equally renowned in the spheres of politics and
+medicine, has promptly recognised the impossibility of continuing to
+wear a name which has been indelibly tarnished by the arch-disturber of
+Europe's peace. He has accordingly elected to replace his first two
+names by the ingenious and harmonious collocation of Thomas Habakkuk.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Harold Begbie</span> writes to explain that, though his first name is not
+William, it has painful historical associations with the success of a
+former William. He therefore wishes it to be known that he will sign all
+his articles, interviews and poems with the name Oliver Lodge David
+Lloyd George Begbie, as an act of homage to the two great men who have
+chiefly inspired him in his journalistic and literary career.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4>Copy of letter to teacher:&mdash;</h4>
+
+<blockquote><p>"Dear Sir, will you please give my daughter a dinner, as she has no
+father and I have no means of getting her one, and oblodge."</p></blockquote>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>
+
+<h2>THE WATCH DOGS.</h2>
+
+<center>V.</center>
+
+<p>Dear Charles,&mdash;You must forgive my writing this letter with a fountain
+pen, but to do otherwise would be an act of ingratitude to my servant,
+Private <span class="sc">J. B. Cox</span>. I told him this morning that I had lost my pocket
+pen, a cheap affair made of tin. I instructed him to find it, and J. B.
+is one of those perfect factotums who do as they are told. He has a
+sharp eye and no scruples, and so, owing to the fact that three other
+officers live in my billet, he was able to find two valuable fountain
+pens and one stylographic in no time. The exigencies of war necessitate
+some little irregularity now and then; but how, I asked him, did he
+justify this excess of zeal? J. B. is distinguished by a lisp among
+other things. "It'th betht to be on the thafe thide, Thir," said he.</p>
+
+<p>We had an all-night outpost job on this week, at which my company
+achieved an unpremeditated success&mdash;unpremeditated by the authorities,
+that is. Before setting out we had been threatened with the heaviest
+penalties if we were discovered at any moment in a dereliction of duty,
+which meant that the Adjutant proposed to pay us a surprise visit and
+had every hope of discovering responsible officers asleep at their
+posts. Those who know will tell you that the hour before dawn is that
+during which an attack is most likely in real war; they also assert that
+this is the most likely period for derelictions in imitation war, and
+so, as we anticipated all along, this was the time selected for the
+surprise visit. But we were not caught napping, Sir; every possible
+approach to our picket was protected by strong groups, each instructed
+to let no one pass on any account and least of all those who attempted
+to trick them by a pretence of authority, however realistic that
+pretence might be. Thus it fell out that when the Adjutant was sighted
+he was instantly accosted and firmly apprehended. Inasmuch as he refused
+to be led blindfold through our lines, he was not allowed to approach
+our august selves at all, but was retained until such time as we cared
+to approach him. Mind you, I'm not saying we were asleep; merely I show
+you how thoroughly we do our work. It is not mine that is the master
+mind; it is my skipper's, a man upon whose ready cunning I rely to bring
+me to Berlin and its choicest light beer well in advance of all other
+victorious forces.</p>
+
+<p>It used to be our Brigadier's fad that officers commanding companies
+should know the names of all their men, and lately he took upon himself
+to test it. Captain after captain, upon being asked to name a selected
+man, had to confess ignorance; not so my skipper. He knew them all.
+"What is that man's name?" asked the Brigadier, indicating an
+inconspicuous and rather terrified private, just that sort of man whose
+name one would never know or want to know. (It was something rather like
+Postlethwaite, I believe). "Two paces forward, Private Johnson," ordered
+my skipper emphatically, fixing an hypnotic eye on the youth, and
+adding, to prove his accuracy, "Now, my lad, your name's Joh&mdash;&mdash;?"
+"&mdash;&mdash;nson, Sir," concluded the victim. That night, at dinner, the
+Brigadier told the C.O. that, among many disappointments, he had found
+one officer who seemed to know the names of his men "almost better than
+the men did themselves." In accordance with J. B.'s maxim about being on
+the safe side, it was a company order afterwards that, when asked, all
+even numbers were to be "Evans" and odd numbers "Hodges," till further
+notice.</p>
+
+<p>Talking about names, I was quite homesick for old London when, in
+calling the names and regimental numbers of a party, I found myself
+bawling angrily for "Gerrard, No. 2784."</p>
+
+<p>Catering, as we do, for all tastes, we have in our rank and file a
+serio-comic artiste from the lower rungs of the music-hall ladder. We
+had a busy time with him at our Great Inoculation Ceremony (First
+Performance) on Saturday. We could not put too strict a discipline upon
+men into whose arms we were just about to insert fifteen million
+microbes apiece, and our private was not slow to seize his opportunity.
+He insisted upon his fifteen million being numbered off in order to
+discover whether there were any of them absent from parade; he wished to
+know if they had all their proper equipment, and whether each had passed
+his standard test. As the needle was inserted into his arm, "Move to the
+left in fours," he ordered them; "form fours&mdash;left&mdash;in succession of
+divisions&mdash;number one leading&mdash;quick-ma-harch." (It was the same
+humorist who recently took a strong line about protective colouring, and
+put in an application for a set of khaki teeth.)</p>
+
+<p>At the moment of inoculation we were all, officers and men, very
+facetious and off-hand about it, but as the evening came on we grew
+<i>piano</i>, even miserable. Mess was not made any less sombre by
+Wentworth's plaintive observation that "the doctor who had succeeded in
+making a thousand of us thoroughly ill and debarred us from the cheering
+influence of alcohol was probably at that very moment himself enjoying a
+hearty debauch."</p>
+
+<p>The only effect of the dose upon me was to induce a rather morbid
+contemplation. I recalled the happy times when I was once, even as you
+are, a barrister who rose at 8.30 <span class="sc">A.M.</span> (an incredibly late hour), did
+next to nothing all day and, when I wanted to go away, just went. I used
+in those gentle days to take off my hat to ladies (a long-forgotten
+habit), and I never dreamed of calling anybody "Sir." I used to suppose
+that I should rise from stuff to silk, from silk to ermine, to conclude
+as a Judge on the King's Bench. It seems now that I may rise from stars
+to crowns, from crowns to oakleaves, and end my days as a commissionaire
+in&mdash;who knows?&mdash;His Majesty's <i>foyer</i>. I, who had hoped to dismiss your
+appeals, may come instead to hail your taxi at the theatre door; may
+even come to call <i>you</i> "Sir." But for the moment I am</p>
+
+<p class="regards">Yours thoroughly disrespectfully,</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="sc">Henry</span>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/314.png">
+<img src="images/314.png" width="100%" alt="THE WAR ON GERMAN COMMERCE" /></a>
+<h4>THE WAR ON GERMAN COMMERCE.</h4>
+<p>"We are glad to hear, Mr. Wilton, that you have volunteered for active
+service. We are proud to know that you are ready to do your duty as a
+Briton. We shall be pleased to keep your place open for you during your
+absence. And, Mr. Wilton, you might take a few thousand of our circulars
+in your knapsack to be distributed among the enemy in the regrettable
+event of your being taken prisoner."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/315.png">
+<img src="images/315.png" width="100%" alt="RURAL LIFE UNDER WAR CONDITIONS" /></a>
+<h4>RURAL LIFE UNDER WAR CONDITIONS</h4>
+<h5><span class="sc">Our village errand-boy</span>.</h5>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THE TRAITOR.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">"Down with the Teutons!" rose the people's cry;</p>
+<p class="i2">"Who said that England's honour was for sale?"</p>
+<p class="i0">Myself, I hunted out the local spy,</p>
+<p class="i2">Tore down his pole and cast him into jail.</p>
+<p class="i0">"An English barber now," said I, "or none!</p>
+<p class="i0">This thatch shall never fall before a Hun!"</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">And all was well until that fateful morn</p>
+<p class="i2">When, truss'd for shearing in a stranger's shop,</p>
+<p class="i0">"Be careful, please," I said, "I want it shorn</p>
+<p class="i2">Close round the ears, but leave it long on top;"</p>
+<p class="i0">And, thrilling with a pleasant pride of race,</p>
+<p class="i0">I watched the fellow's homely British face.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">An optimist he was. "Those German brutes,</p>
+<p class="i2">They'll get wot for. You mark my words," he said,</p>
+<p class="i0">And dragged great chunks of hair out by the roots,</p>
+<p class="i2">Forgetting mine was not a German head.</p>
+<p class="i0">"Oh, yes, they'll get it in the neck," said he</p>
+<p class="i0">And gaily emphasized his prophecy.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Ah me, that ruthless Britisher! He scored</p>
+<p class="i2">His parallel entrenchments round and round</p>
+<p class="i0">My quivering scalp. "Invade us 'ere?" he roared;</p>
+<p class="i2">"Not bloomin' likely! Not on British ground!"</p>
+<p class="i0">His nimble scissors left a row of scars</p>
+<p class="i0">To point the prowess of our gallant Tars.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">I bore it without movement, save a start</p>
+<p class="i2">Induc'd by one shrewd gash behind the ear.</p>
+<p class="i0">With silent fortitude I watch'd him part</p>
+<p class="i2">The ruin on my skull. And then a tear,</p>
+<p class="i0">A fat, round tear, well'd up from either eye&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i0">O traitorous tribute to the local spy!</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>JULES FRAN&Ccedil;OIS.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Jules Fran&ccedil;ois is poet, and gallant and gay;</p>
+<p class="i0">Jules Fran&ccedil;ois makes frocks in the Rue de la Paix;</p>
+<p class="i0">Since the mobilisation Jules Fran&ccedil;ois's the one</p>
+<p class="i0">That sits by the breech of a galloping gun,</p>
+<p class="i10">In the team of a galloping gun!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">When the wheatfields of August stood white on the plain</p>
+<p class="i0">Jules Fran&ccedil;ois was ordered to go to Lorraine,</p>
+<p class="i0">Since the guns would get flirting with good Mr. <span class="sc">Krupp</span></p>
+<p class="i0">And wanted Jules Fran&ccedil;ois to limber them up,</p>
+<p class="i10">To lay and to limber them up!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">The road it was dusty, the road it was long,</p>
+<p class="i0">But there was Jules Fran&ccedil;ois to make you a song;</p>
+<p class="i0">He sang them a song, and he fondled his gun,</p>
+<p class="i0">Though I wouldn't translate it he sang it A1;</p>
+<p class="i10">His battery thought it A1!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">The morning was fresh and the morning was cool</p>
+<p class="i0">When they stopped in an orchard two miles out of Toul,</p>
+<p class="i0">And the grey muzzles spat through the grey muzzles' smoke,</p>
+<p class="i0">And there was Jules Fran&ccedil;ois to make you a joke,</p>
+<p class="i10">To crack his idea of a joke:&mdash;</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">"The road to our Paris 'tis hard as can be;</p>
+<p class="i0">The road to that London he halts at the sea;</p>
+<p class="i0">So, <i>vois-tu, mon gars</i>? 'tis as certain as sin</p>
+<p class="i0">This wisdom that chooses the road to Berlin!"</p>
+<p class="i10">So they follow the road to Berlin.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>
+
+<h2>ENTER BINGO.</h2>
+
+<p>Before I introduce Bingo I must say a word for Humphrey, his sparring
+partner.</p>
+
+<p>Humphrey found himself on the top of my stocking last December&mdash;put
+there, I fancy, by Celia, though she says it was Father Christmas. He is
+a small yellow dog, with glass optics, and the label round his neck
+said, "His eyes move." When I had finished the oranges and sweets and
+nuts, when Celia and I had pulled the crackers, Humphrey remained over
+to sit on the music-stool, with the air of one playing the pianola. In
+this position he found his uses. There are times when a husband may
+legitimately be annoyed; at these times it was pleasant to kick Humphrey
+off his stool on to the divan, to stand on the divan and kick him on to
+the sofa, to stand on the sofa and kick him on to the book-case; and
+then, feeling another man, to replace him on the music-stool and
+apologise to Celia. It was thus that he lost his tail.</p>
+
+<p>When the War broke out we wrote to the War Office, offering to mobilise
+Humphrey. Already he could do "Eyes <i>right</i>, eyes <i>front</i>." But the loss
+of his tail was against him. Rejected by the medical authorities as
+unfit, he returned to the music-stool and waited for a job. It was at
+this moment that Bingo joined the establishment.</p>
+
+<p>Here we say good-bye to Humphrey for the present; Bingo claims our
+attention. Bingo arrived as an absurd little black tub of puppiness,
+warranted (by a pedigree as long as your arm) to grow into a Pekinese.
+It was Celia's idea to call him Bingo; because (a ridiculous reason) as
+a child she had had a poodle called Bingo. The less said about poodles
+the better; why rake up the past?</p>
+
+<p>"If there is the slightest chance of Bingo&mdash;of this animal growing up
+into a poodle," I said, "he leaves my house at once."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>My</i> poodle," said Celia, "was a lovely dog."</p>
+
+<p>(Of course she was only a child then. She wouldn't know.)</p>
+
+<p>"The point is this," I said firmly, "our puppy is meant for a
+Pekinese&mdash;the pedigree says so. From the look of him it will be touch
+and go whether he pulls it off. To call him by the name of a late poodle
+may just be the deciding factor. Now I hate poodles; I hate pet dogs. A
+Pekinese is not a pet dog; he is an undersized lion. Our puppy may grow
+into a small lion, or a mastiff, or anything like that; but I will <i>not</i>
+have him a poodle. If we call him Bingo, will you promise never to
+mention in his presence that you once had a&mdash;a&mdash;you know what I
+mean&mdash;called Bingo?"</p>
+
+<p>She promised. I have forgiven her for having once loved a poodle. I beg
+you to forget about it. There is now only one Bingo, and he is a
+Pekinese puppy.</p>
+
+<p>However, after we had decided to call him Bingo, a difficulty arose.
+Bingo's pedigree is full of names like Li Hung Chang and Sun Yat San;
+had we chosen a sufficiently Chinese name for him? Apart from what was
+due to his ancestors, were we encouraging him enough to grow into a
+Pekinese? What was there Oriental about "Bingo"?</p>
+
+<p>In itself, apparently, little. And Bingo himself must have felt this;
+for his tail continued to be nothing but a rat's tail, and his body to
+be nothing but a fat tub, and his head to be almost the head of any
+little puppy in the world. He felt it deeply. When I chaffed him about
+it he tried to eat my ankles. I had only to go into the room in which he
+was, and murmur, "Rat's tail," to myself, or (more offensive still)
+"Chewed string," for him to rush at me. "Where, O Bingo, is that
+delicate feather curling gracefully over the back, which was the pride
+and glory of thy great-grandfather? Is the caudal affix of the rodent
+thy apology for it?" And Bingo would whimper with shame.</p>
+
+<p>Then we began to look him up in the map.</p>
+
+<p>I found a Chinese town called "Ning-po," which strikes me as very much
+like "Bing-go," and Celia found another one called "Yung-Ping," which
+might just as well be "Yung-Bing," the obvious name of Bingo's heir when
+he has one. These facts being communicated to Bingo, his nose
+immediately began to go back a little and his tub to develop something
+of a waist. But what finally decided him was a discovery of mine made
+only yesterday. <i>There is a Japanese province called Bingo.</i> Japanese,
+not Chinese, it is true; but at least it is Oriental. In any case
+conceive one's pride in realising suddenly that one has been called
+after a province and not after a poodle. It has determined Bingo
+unalterably to grow up in the right way.</p>
+
+<p>You have Bingo now definitely a Pekinese. That being so, I may refer to
+his ancestors, always an object of veneration among these Easterns. I
+speak of (hats off, please!) Ch. Goodwood Lo.</p>
+
+<p>Of course you know (I didn't myself till last week) that "Ch." stands
+for "Champion." On the male side Champion Goodwood Lo is Bingo's
+great-great-grandfather. On the female side the same animal is Bingo's
+great-grandfather. One couldn't be a poodle after that. A fortnight
+after Bingo came to us we found in a Pekinese book a photograph of
+Goodwood Lo. How proud we all were! Then we saw above it, "Celebrities
+of the Past. The Late&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Champion Goodwood Lo was no more! In one moment Bingo had lost both his
+great-grandfather and his great-great-grandfather!</p>
+
+<p>We broke it to him as gently as possible, but the double shock was too
+much, and he passed the evening in acute depression. Annoyed with my
+tactlessness in letting him know anything about it, I kicked Humphrey
+off his stool. Humphrey, I forgot to say, has a squeak if kicked in the
+right place. He squeaked.</p>
+
+<p>Bingo, at that time still uncertain of his destiny, had at least the
+courage of the lion. Just for a moment he hesitated. Then with a pounce
+he was upon Humphrey.</p>
+
+<p>Till then I had regarded Humphrey&mdash;save for his power of rolling the
+eyes and his habit of taking long jumps from the music-stool to the
+book-case&mdash;as rather a sedentary character. But in the fight which
+followed he put up an amazingly good resistance. At one time he was
+underneath Bingo; the next moment he had Bingo down; first one, then the
+other, seemed to gain the advantage. But blood will tell. Humphrey's
+ancestry is unknown; I blush to say that it may possibly be German.
+Bingo had Goodwood Lo to support him&mdash;in two places. Gradually he got
+the upper hand; and at last, taking the reluctant Humphrey by the ear,
+he dragged him laboriously beneath the sofa. He emerged alone, with tail
+wagging, and was taken on to his mistress's lap. There he slept, his
+grief forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>So Humphrey has found a job. Whenever Bingo wants exercise, Humphrey
+plants himself in the middle of the room, his eyes cast upwards in an
+affectation of innocence. "I'm just sitting here," says Humphrey; "I
+believe there's a fly on the ceiling." It is a challenge which no
+great-grandson of Goodwood Lo could resist. With a rush Bingo is at him.
+"I'll learn you to stand in my way," he splutters. And the great dust-up
+begins....</p>
+
+<p>Brave little Bingo! I don't wonder that so warlike a race as the
+Japanese has called a province after him.</p>
+
+<p class="author">A. A. M.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<blockquote><p>"Any Britons wishing to view the German prisoners at Frimley Camp
+can hire a car for &pound;3 3<i>s.</i>"&mdash;<i>Advt. in "Daily Telegraph."</i></p></blockquote>
+
+<p>It seems that there are Britons <i>and</i> Britons. We prefer the other kind.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/317a.png">
+<img src="images/317a.png" width="100%" alt="WE ARE ALL DRILLING NOWADAYS." /></a>
+<h4>WE ARE ALL DRILLING NOWADAYS.</h4>
+<p><i>Little Brown, who is in a hurry to catch his train, but finds it
+impossible to get by owing to the crush, is struck by a brilliant idea.</i>
+"<span class="sc">Form&mdash;two deep!</span>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/317b.png">
+<img src="images/317b.png" width="100%" alt="Result" /></a>
+<h4>RESULT</h4>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/318.png">
+<img src="images/318.png" width="100%" alt="FACTS FROM THE FRONT" /></a>
+<h4>FACTS FROM THE FRONT</h4>
+<p><span class="sc">We learn (from German sources) that the Professors of a celebrated
+Prussian University have conferred the honorary degree of Doctor upon a
+distinguished General on his departure for the front</span>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>TWILIGHT IN REGENT'S PARK.</h2>
+
+<center>(<i>Being a mutinous suggestion which I somehow had no time to make to the
+drill-instructor.</i>)</center>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Sergeant! Beneath the dim and misty vault</p>
+<p class="i2">I tire of making fours with endless trouble,</p>
+<p class="i0">And left inclines inclining to a fault.</p>
+<p class="i2">What is this pedantry? An empty bubble.</p>
+<p class="i0">The spirit is the thing. When you say "'Alt!"</p>
+<p class="i2">My 'eart&mdash;I mean my heart&mdash;is at the double.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">You, gazing only at the outward shell</p>
+<p class="i2">That nothing of this secret fire divulges,</p>
+<p class="i0">See only raw civilians, heaped pell-mell,</p>
+<p class="i2">Having the kind of chest that peace indulges;</p>
+<p class="i0">Viewed from one end our lines are like a swell</p>
+<p class="i2">On the deep ocean, full of kinks and bulges.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">You bid us wheel. At once ensues a rout</p>
+<p class="i2">That no hussar could compass with his sabre;</p>
+<p class="i0">The man in evening dress is much too stout,</p>
+<p class="i2">He seems to draw his breath with obvious labour,</p>
+<p class="i0">Whilst I&mdash;I beg your pardon, <i>Right</i> about&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Of course I bumped into my left-hand neighbour.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">But take (as I observed) the fire beneath;</p>
+<p class="i2">If ever foe should leap the shining margent</p>
+<p class="i0">That laps our island like a liquid wreath</p>
+<p class="i2">Then you would see us. Shimmering and argent,</p>
+<p class="i0">"Out bay'nets!" we would snatch 'em from the sheath;</p>
+<p class="i2">No '<i>shunning</i> in that day, I think, O Sergeant.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Meanwhile we want a foretaste of the joy</p>
+<p class="i2">That so much tedious tramping merely stifles:</p>
+<p class="i0">We want to fall upon our&mdash;well, deploy,</p>
+<p class="i2">And less of "Stand at ease" and fruitless trifles;</p>
+<p class="i0"><i>Der Tag</i> will come (we whisper it with coy</p>
+<p class="i2">Half-bated murmurings), when we have rifles</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">And uniforms. I want a uniform,</p>
+<p class="i2">Even if not of khaki's steadfast fibre,</p>
+<p class="i0">To make the bright-eyed maidens' hearts more warm</p>
+<p class="i2">And still the mockings of the street-boy giber;</p>
+<p class="i0">Meanwhile, I say, why not deploy and storm</p>
+<p class="i2">The sacred trenches of the Zoo-subscriber?</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">The hour, the place invite. While here we stake</p>
+<p class="i2">Our country's weal on nugatory follies,</p>
+<p class="i0">What are these screams of insolence that wake</p>
+<p class="i2">The bosky silence with perpetual volleys?</p>
+<p class="i0">Give us the word to charge and let us take</p>
+<p class="i2">Yon outpost of the Eagles with our brollies.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="sc">Evoe.</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<blockquote>"<span class="sc">Burglar in Burning Hose.</span>"&mdash;</blockquote>
+<p class="author"><i>Liverpool Express.</i></p>
+<p>He must have walked into something pretty hot.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h4>Editorial Modesty.</h4>
+
+<center>"CORRESPONDENCE.</center>
+
+<blockquote><p>The Editor does not hold himself responsible for views expressed by
+Correspondents.</p>
+
+<p><span class="sc">Sir</span>,&mdash;Your Leader of last week was uncommonly good, and I hope that
+the writer will give us more from his able pen.&mdash;<span class="sc">Colonial.</span>"</p></blockquote>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%">
+<a href="images/319.png">
+<img src="images/319.png" width="100%" alt="GIVING THE SHOW AWAY" /></a>
+<h4>GIVING THE SHOW AWAY</h4>
+<p><span class="sc">German Press Bureau Photographer.</span> "COSTUME PERFECT, SIRE&mdash;ACCESSORIES
+ADMIRABLE; BUT, IN VIEW OF ALL THESE 'VICTORIES,' DARE WE SUGGEST THAT
+THE <i>EXPRESSION</i> MIGHT BE JUST A TOUCH MORE <i>JUBILANT</i>?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/321.png">
+<img src="images/321.png" width="100%" alt="Public-house Diplomatist" /></a>
+<h4>Public-house Diplomatist</h4>
+<p><i>Public-house Diplomatist</i> (<i>to second ditto, with whom
+he has been discussing the ultimate terms of peace at Berlin</i>). "<span class="sc">I
+shouldn't be too 'ard on 'em. I'd leave 'em a bit of the Rhine to sing
+abaht!</span>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THINGS THAT DO NOT MATTER.</h2>
+
+<p>That section of the public that has felt, while anxiously waiting for
+definite news of our forces in France, that the communications from "an
+eye-witness present with General Headquarters" are better than nothing,
+has probably wondered at the recent paucity of despatches from this
+descriptive writer. Is it possible that the following has strayed into
+our hands from its proper destination?</p>
+
+<p>A soft wind blew gently from the south-east, and before it the fleecy
+clouds passed dreamily above the poplar trees. All was quiet; not even
+an old public-school boy was washing his face. Then, gently but firmly,
+the "boom, boom" of the guns assailed the ear, telling of battle not far
+distant.</p>
+
+<p>One's fountain-pen becomes quickly clogged amid the conditions of
+warfare, for the dust blows freely over the plains across which the
+troops have marched. For comfort in writing there is nothing like an
+indelible pencil, and paper whose surface is slightly rough. The
+quantity of ink carried among the stores of a modern army is negligible.
+And I believe it is a fact that in the whole of the equipment of the
+British Forces in France there is not a single roll-top desk!</p>
+
+<p>Talking of dust, I saw last evening a sight which must have appeared
+curious to one not acquainted with war. A young Professor of Mathematics
+connected with one of our great Universities passed me with a smut on
+his nose. Yet in times of peace he is one of those men who seldom leave
+home in the morning without carefully brushing their clothes. It should
+be borne in mind by the reader that the conditions of the battlefield of
+modern times have little in common with those of life in our University
+towns.</p>
+
+<p>On the morning of the 1st our cavalry were busy with their horses, while
+the artillery devoted themselves chiefly to their guns. All that day our
+infantry stood in the trenches, and the smoke from the enemy's shrapnel
+made fantastic shapes against the leaden grey of the Northern sky. While
+I sat writing a young officer rushed in. He had kindly returned from the
+firing line especially to tell me of a little incident he had witnessed
+there. A private, hailing from Rotherhithe, calmly lit a cigarette amid
+the hail of bullets, took two or three draws, and then threw it away,
+growling, "These 'ere French cigarettes taste like bloomin' German
+cartridges." An incident typical of many that occur in a single day.</p>
+
+<p>This brings us to the 2nd. All day long the Germans, from their
+entrenched position, have replied to our fire, but without any
+noticeable consequences. The prisoners who are brought in appear to be
+glad of the rest and change. Out of gratitude one of them offered to
+shave the Commander-in-Chief free of charge.</p>
+
+<p>The battle continued on the 3rd. There was a touch of autumn in the air
+and the wind had changed slightly. Amid the shrieking of shells and the
+hum of bullets the bark of a distant farm dog could be heard distinctly.
+And so from day to day the War goes on.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<blockquote><p>"The entire proceeds of yesterday's magnificent opening concert of
+the season of the Sunday Concert Society at the Queen's Hall, are to
+be divided equally between the Prince of Wales' Fund and the
+National Relief Fund."&mdash;<i>Evening News.</i></p></blockquote>
+
+<p>And even if one gets an odd half-penny more than the other, nobody will
+really mind.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>
+
+<h2>BEATS.</h2>
+
+<center>(<i>By Special P.C. XXX.</i>)</center>
+
+<p>We have three, each with its nuances of attraction, its delicately
+different disadvantages. They are known as the Oil Wharves, the
+Generating Station, and the Sewage Station. A wise decree from Scotland
+Yard leaves us uncertain up to the very last moment of each evening as
+to which will be our allotted beat. A gambling element is thus provided
+to stimulate us.</p>
+
+<p>The Oil Wharves gloom on a <i>cul-de-sac</i> of nocturnal emptiness. Scarcely
+does a human footstep come to rouse the petroleum-sluggish echoes. A
+padding pussy makes a note of cheery liveliness in the lukewarm monotony
+of the night-watch.</p>
+
+<p>But against that dreariness must be set the four wooden chairs which the
+Oil Magnates (blessings upon them and upon their children's children!)
+provide for our comfort. Technically, it may be undignified for a
+Special Constable to sit down. It is possible that a penalty of three
+days in a dark cell awaits the transgressor. We do not know, and we do
+not enquire. In that deadliest hour beyond the dawn, when the street
+lamps splutter out and the ruthless morning light reveals us to one
+another unwashed, unshaven and horribly all-nighty in appearance, it is
+indeed a grateful relief to sit down on the wooden Windsor chair and
+wait the six o'clock of release in blankness of mind.</p>
+
+<p>The Generating Station, we are given to understand, does some magic with
+electricity. That is not our concern. We are there to pace up and down
+outside its walls, and watch for the man with the bomb. It has the
+advantage of being a bulky building; therefore a long beat. Up to
+midnight it looks over to a blank wall which forms a London lovers'
+lane. We speculate on the progress of courtship. The Generating Station
+is not odorous, and therefore is accounted the picked beat by the
+&aelig;sthetes among us.</p>
+
+<p>The Sewage Station, on the other hand, is very lively with odours. They
+dominate our meals for at least twenty-four hours after duty. Some
+attribute them to a candle-factory opposite, labelling them as warm
+decomposing tallow. Another school of thought places them as the outcast
+<i>d&eacute;bris</i> of a sugar-factory. A scientist amongst us claims that they are
+saccharine which has taken the wrong turning. To myself the taste
+suggests mellow Limburger cheese.</p>
+
+<p>They raised a classic law-suit a few years ago, taken up to the House of
+Lords. On the one side a string of tough sturdy bargees testified that a
+few whiffs made them totally unable to face their dinner. On the other
+side an array of sanitary experts claimed that they were not only
+pleasant and invigorating, but a potent factor in local longevity.</p>
+
+<p>The machinery of the Station has hitherto been idle. Its borough
+officials apparently do nothing but fitfully polish brasses. It seems
+that these lucky sinecurists only work in times of violent storm, once
+every few months.</p>
+
+<p>The neighbourhood may be odorous, but it is full of human possibilities.
+One midnight, two ladies started a scrap. A Special Constable, raw and
+without experience of militant femininity, blew his police-whistle. The
+whole slum-district turned out, dressed or half-dressed, like a fevered
+anthill. It took the regular police half-an-hour to clear the streets,
+the original cause of tumult vanishing in the swirl. In this
+neighbourhood, we are informed, it is etiquette to blow a police-whistle
+only when someone is being "done in."</p>
+
+<p>We were also informed, in discreet whispers, that the "Guv'nor" of the
+Station "had it in for us." His grievance was this: that while a rival
+show across the river had been accorded a military picket by the War
+Office, he had been fobbed off with a mere guard of Special Constables.
+To date of writing, his wrath still smoulders.</p>
+
+<p>Our hours of duty are filled with dulness, but we live in hopes. That
+speeding motor-cyclist in the yellow oilskins&mdash;is he the mysterious
+rider who has already shot down a round dozen of our number on lonely
+beats?</p>
+
+<p>He shuts off power. He stops. He gets off and fumbles with a lamp. Is it
+a bomb in disguise? Our hands creep towards the truncheons concealed in
+our trouser-legs. The Hour has struck, and England expects...!</p>
+
+<p>Alas, he is only a belated cyclist, reputable and harmless. We console
+ourselves with visions of 1915, when we hope to be mobilised, packed off
+to the Continent in motor-buses, and assigned to beats in Berlin
+(possibly renamed Berlinogradville City), while the Congress are
+rearranging the map of Europe.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, madam, this is Unter den Linden. Straight on and fourth turning to
+the left for the Siegesallee.... Oui, Monsieur, l'auto de luxe pour
+Petrograd part &agrave; midi.... Nein, mein Herr, es ist verboten. Broadly
+speaking, alles ist polizeilich verboten. You will be quite safe in
+assuming that anything you yearn for just now ist strengstens
+polizeilich verboten. Passen Sie along, bitte!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/322.png">
+<img src="images/322.png" width="100%" alt="some good news for me to-night" /></a>
+<p>"<span class="sc">Now then, Tommy&mdash;got some good news for me to-night&mdash;eh?
+what?"</span></p>
+<p>"<span class="sc">Yes, Sir: Kitchener wants another recruit</span>."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4>"The Women our Shield."</h4>
+
+<p>From <i>Germany and the Next War</i>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"We shall now consider how the tactical value of ... the screening
+service can be improved by organisation, equipment and training."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p><span class="sc">Von Bernhardi</span> seems to have overlooked the fact that a portion of the
+"screening service" was living under the Belgian Government.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<blockquote><p>"Whilst Germany is a large customer of England in other directions,
+it is not in hardware and ironmongery. On the contrary, she exports
+much more hardware to us than we buy from her."&mdash;<i>System.</i></p></blockquote>
+
+<p>It seems almost a pity that this delightful system cannot go on.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/323.png">
+<img src="images/323.png" width="100%" alt="INTELLIGENT ANTICIPATION." /></a>
+<h4>INTELLIGENT ANTICIPATION.</h4>
+<p><i>Ethel.</i> "<span class="sc">Now that I've got this nice map, will you tell me just where
+to put the little flags, Dad? I want to keep it right up to date</span>."</p>
+<p><i>Dad</i> (<i>preoccupied with his paper</i>). "<span class="sc">H'm&mdash;well&mdash;better just stick 'em
+all in Berlin, and&mdash;wait</span>."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>OUR WAR STORY.</h2>
+
+<center><span class="sc">The Dreadful Doom of Bertram Borstal.</span></center>
+
+<center>I.</center>
+
+<p>Bertram Borstal turned out his pockets and spread their contents on the
+table before him. There were seven postage stamps perforated with the
+initials of his late employers, one three-penny-bit in silver, twopence
+in copper, and a Bank of England note for 10<i>s.</i> "Irretrievably ruined!"
+he muttered with closed lips. "I will offer my services to my country. I
+will enlist."</p>
+
+<p>He enlisted successfully until he reached the medical examination. The
+doctor thrust a shoe-horn into Bertram's mouth. "Count up to 99," he
+said. "Ug&mdash;koog&mdash;hee&mdash;haw&mdash;," Bertram began.</p>
+
+<p>"That'll do," remarked the doctor, closing the jaws with a snap. "Any
+constitutional ailment?"</p>
+
+<p>Bertram blushed heavily. "Only chronic dyspepsia," he admitted at
+length. The doctor gave a long whistle. Mistaking the sound a taxicab
+drew up.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better jump in," he said kindly, taking Bertram's hand and
+putting it inadvertently into his own pocket. "I regret to say I cannot
+pass you for the Army."</p>
+
+<p>"Ploughed!" exclaimed our hero. "But if I cannot go as a soldier I will
+go as a spy. Drive me to Wigson's," he called to the taxi-driver as he
+leapt on to a passing bus.</p>
+
+<p>Half-an-hour later Bertram, disguised in the uniform of a spy, turned up
+the Strand and his coat-collar simultaneously and walked rapidly to
+Charing Cross station. He just managed to scramble into the 2.19 as it
+steamed from the platform at 3.7.</p>
+
+<center>II.</center>
+
+<p>That same evening (or the next) Bertram got out of the train at
+Kartoffelnberg, hired a tandem and drove to the German lines. He went
+straight to the General. "I shall be obliged if you will kindly tell me
+the number and disposition of your forces, and how and when you propose
+to advance."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in English, but the General&mdash;formerly Military Attach&eacute; at
+Appenrodt's&mdash;happily understood him.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," he replied. "Perhaps you would care to examine this map and
+plan of campaign?"</p>
+
+<p>Bertram thanked him, and commenced to trace them upon his spare vest.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't bother to do that," said the General. "Take this set of
+duplicates. The disposition of our forces is clearly marked in red ink,
+and their numerical strength certified by a chartered accountant. The
+only detail omitted is the number of women and children that will be
+placed in the firing-line. Today's bag has not yet been reported."</p>
+
+<p>An aide-de-camp galloped into the tent, flung himself from his exhausted
+mule and saluted.</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of our noble and august <span class="sc">Kaiser</span>," he began, "I have the
+honour to inform you that we have to-day captured 47 charwomen, 16
+bedridden octogenarians and 21 babies in arms."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Zwanzigheit!</i>" exclaimed the General excitedly. "Place them in the
+forefront of our brave Bogey Head Hussars, and order the advance for ten
+o'clock to-morrow morning."</p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>
+
+<p>The aide-de-camp saluted, flung himself on to a fresh mule and galloped
+hell for leather to the canteen.</p>
+
+<p>"I am much obliged for the information you have given me," said Bertram
+politely. "It is of paramount importance."</p>
+
+<p>"You're quite welcome," remarked the General. "By-the-by, what do you
+want it for?"</p>
+
+<p>Our hero rapidly shaved off Wigson's moustache and drew himself up
+proudly. "I am a spy," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"I suspected as much," commented the General. "Kindly touch that bell on
+the mantelpiece behind you."</p>
+
+<p>Bertram touched it; it was as cold as ice.</p>
+
+<p>"See if it will ring," suggested the General.</p>
+
+<p>Bertram seized it by the handle and shook it violently. In a moment or
+two it rang. A sentry entered.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Einzweidreivierf&uuml;nf</i>," said the General, "and riddle him with bullets
+at eight to-morrow morning."</p>
+
+<center>III.</center>
+
+<p>Early the next morning a knock sounded on the door of Bertram's cell.
+The doomed man crossed the room and shot back the bolt. An officer armed
+with a howitzer entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I am instructed to inform you," he said, "that as you are shortly to be
+shot you are entitled, according to custom, to choose whatever you wish
+for breakfast."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," replied Bertram, "a cup of weak tea and a rusk.
+Unfortunately I am a chronic dyspeptic, or I would take fuller advantage
+of your kind hospitality."</p>
+
+<p>A devilish gleam shot from the other's eyes as he heard those words.</p>
+
+<p>"As you will be dead in an hour," he said, "the fact of your being a
+dyspeptic need not trouble you any more than if you were an acrostic.
+Let me therefore suggest that you try a sausage or a knuckle of pork."</p>
+
+<p>Bertram reeled against the piano. Here was an opportunity to gratify his
+palate without regard to the consequences. Quickly he made up his mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Bring me then," he said, "a plate of sausage and sauerkraut, a slab of
+marzipan and some Limburger cheese."</p>
+
+<center>IV.</center>
+
+<p>It wanted but a few minutes to eight, and Bertram Borstal, with steady
+nerves, waited for the striking of the cuckoo-clock in the prison tower.
+Once again a knock sounded upon the cell door, and with the utmost
+<i>sang-froid</i> he drew the key from his pocket and unlocked it. The
+honorary secretary of Germany entered, preceded by three cripples and a
+Mother-Superior.</p>
+
+<p>"I am ready," declared Bertram, calm but pale, "and resigned to my
+fate."</p>
+
+<p>"I am happy to say," said the secretary, "that I am unable to accept
+your resignation. We recognise the fact that you are only a spy, and
+therefore cannot strictly be said to be bearing arms against us. We have
+therefore to apologise for having arrested you; but at the same time I
+would ask you kindly to bear in mind that at these times we have much to
+think about, and mistakes will happen. You are free."</p>
+
+<p>"Free?" repeated Bertram, unable to believe either of his ears.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you are free," said the secretary, "and I am empowered to add that
+under the circumstances no charge will be made for your breakfast.
+<i>Hochachtungsvoll.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>He withdrew, and Bertram, picking up his umbrella and gloves, quickly
+followed him.</p>
+
+<center>V.</center>
+
+<p>Half an hour later Bertram had again entered the German lines, imploring
+to be shot for pity's sake. But it was too late; all the rifles were in
+use in the firing-line. It was not till he heard this that Bertram
+Borstal, racked with indigestion, realised the atrocious barbarity of
+his reprieve.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>SWISS LEAVE.</h2>
+
+<p>"It'll be over by Christmas all right," said James again, but without
+conviction.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," I said; "Christmas, 1918, you mean, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>James called me a rude name, as soldiers will, and relapsed into moody
+silence.</p>
+
+<p>I knew what the trouble was. He had booked a room at Spitzeheider for
+three weeks in January. They were to be the same party as last year, he
+had said at first; but on cross-examination it appeared that this
+referred solely to a lady who was described with exaggerated unconcern
+as being "rather a good sort."</p>
+
+<p>And now here were James and I in one of <span class="sc">Kitchener's</span> camps at &mdash;&mdash;,
+having taken an oath to defend the <span class="sc">King</span> at all costs against his
+enemies.</p>
+
+<p>True, James had been given an old form to read from, and had sworn
+allegiance to <span class="sc">King Edward VII.</span> without the officer noticing it; but
+though at first he tried to clutch at this straw it was only a straw.</p>
+
+<p>"I find now that <span class="sc">King Edward VII.</span> died some years ago," he had said, "so
+my oath is not binding, and, if the War is not over by Christmas I shall
+point that out and retire."</p>
+
+<p>However it was found that "His Heir" was mentioned, so that went by the
+board.</p>
+
+<p>"Cheer up, James," I said, "Spitzeheider will be there all right in
+1920, even if 'the same party' are all married to other people."</p>
+
+<p>James did not think my remark in the best possible taste, and said as
+much.</p>
+
+<p>Then he looked up from the map he had been studying with a glad cry. "Do
+you know, I think it will be all right after all," he said; "I've been
+working it out, and I think it more than possible that we shall by
+January be guarding lines of communication somewhere not so very far
+from the Swiss frontier. I can get three weeks' leave, join the party at
+Spitzeheider, and at the end rejoin our gallant troops in the field."</p>
+
+<p>"The Swiss won't much care for your marching into their country armed to
+the teeth," I said. "You know, James, you cut a very commanding figure
+in regimentals. I won't say that a somewhat conservative tailor has
+altogether realised that we are inferior physically but superior
+intellectually to prehistoric man&mdash;I mean the tunic is much too big and
+the hat much too small. But you look every inch a recruit, and with any
+luck by January you'll look like the best kind of War Lord. No, James,
+the Swiss won't pass you through the Customs."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that will be all right!" he said; "I shall take a change of clothes
+and leave my uniform and rifle in the cloakroom at the frontier station,
+and get them out again on the way back."</p>
+
+<p>I saw he was in a mood for sweeping aside all difficulties and said no
+more. But later I had a new thought for him. "James," I said, "I should
+mention that little matter&mdash;about the three weeks' leave and the
+cloakroom at the frontier station and all that&mdash;to your Colonel soon, if
+I were you. He'll be busy out there, I dare say, and there will be no
+time for explanations. If you've prepared the ground, things will go
+smoother. You'll simply say, 'You remember you said you'd give me three
+weeks' leave on this date, Sir,' and he'll say, 'All right,' and go on
+with the battle, and you'll march off. Only," I added, "let me be there,
+James, when you make your original request."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<blockquote>The <span class="sc">Kaiser's</span> Proclamation (Aix-la-Chapelle) ordered the Germans to
+concentrate their attention on the "treacherous English." We have
+received several indignant protests from Scotland about the use of the
+word "English" in place of "British."</blockquote>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/325.png">
+<img src="images/325.png" width="100%" alt="How the cubist" /></a><br /><br />
+<p><span class="sc">How the cubist, by a mere alteration of titles, achieved
+a ready sale of unmarketable pictures.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>AT THE "PLOUGH AND HORSES."</h2>
+
+<p>"What's this we 'ear, Bill? Pleeceman been plaguin' of you to 'list,
+that it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman, 'e says to me, 'You 'aven't a wife and you 'aven't a child,
+nor you 'aven't no old mother dependin' on you....'"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e did stop you then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman's a sight too busy sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"Thinks this new army depends on 'im and 'im alone."</p>
+
+<p>"Took all the trouble to come after me, 'e did."</p>
+
+<p>"Matter of three-quarter-of-a-mile?"</p>
+
+<p>"All of that."</p>
+
+<p>"Must 'ave felt yourself a bit important like."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. Uphill all the way to our place, it is, an' Pleeceman 'e
+fair lost 'is wind. Pleeceman 'e look very fierce&mdash;'tis the uniform as
+does it, you don't deceive me. Pleeceman 'e says, 'That's right, my fine
+fellow; you sit at 'ome in your easy-chair,' 'e says, 'snoring o' nights
+on your feather bed, while the brave chaps as is gone to the front lie
+on planks o' wood an' eat their soup without so much as a spoon, for the
+sake o' them who won't bestir theirselves though the trumpet calls.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman seems to think our friend 'ere's mighty particular."</p>
+
+<p>"That's 'is idea o' bein' sarcastic like. Pleeceman'll play that game
+once too often for the good o' 'is 'ealth."</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman, I reckon, would 'ave been real proud if 'e could 'ave got a
+fine young chap like you to fight for <span class="sc">King George</span>."</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e says to me&mdash;when 'e come up to our place all 'urry-scurry
+to see after me goin' forth again the enemy&mdash;'e says, 'A man as <i>is</i> a
+man 'as got to put 'is 'and to the plough now an' save 'is country,
+while yet there is time.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e talks wild when 'e's excited."</p>
+
+<p>"It's takin' your 'and off of the plough, ain't it now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Seems so to me&mdash;God, 'e knows."</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e says to me, 'You go to swell the number as is fightin' for
+our England, an' honours'll be showered on you as thick as wapses round
+a plum-tree in August,' 'e says; 'crosses an' stars an' 'alf the
+alphabet after your name.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e can go it&mdash;'istory books ain't in it with 'is
+'magination."</p>
+
+<p>"Gen'rous, too, with what ain't 'is own, same as any man."</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e says, 'Go forth and fight for this our country an' we'll
+give you a welcome back as 'll make you stand among us a couple o'
+inches taller on that great day....'"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e do talk wild when e's excited."</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman 'e says, 'You shirk this plain duty a-starin' you in the
+face, an' white feathers'll be sproutin' all over of you for a coward as
+refuses to do 'is little share when nations are goin' at it 'ammer and
+tongs.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Pleeceman is a sight too bad when 'e be fairly moved. What did you say
+to that 'ere?"</p>
+
+<p>"I says to Pleeceman&mdash;'You does your duty, anyway as far as it goes. But
+you does it too late in this 'ere case."</p>
+
+<p>"'Ow was 'e late?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Cos I'd 'listed day before."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>
+
+<h2>IN OUR VILLAGE.</h2>
+
+<p class="salute"><i>To Mrs. Robinson, The Wigwam, Threads, Nr. Bradford.</i></p>
+
+<p class="author"><i>From Mrs. Cushat, The Vicarage, Yellowcubs, Leicestershire.</i></p>
+
+<p class="author"><i>Oct. 8, 1914.</i></p>
+
+<p>Dearest Sissie,&mdash;I have been far too busy to write before. In this
+"Clash of Nations," as James finely said in his last sermon, I am
+distracted to find suitable holiday amusements for the children.
+Fr&auml;ulein should have returned from her holiday in Berlin six weeks ago
+and was prevented with all her boxes ready packed to come; but perhaps
+it's as well, as James speaks of the Germans in the strongest
+terms&mdash;quite rightly so, of course; but one would be sorry for the poor
+girl to feel ashamed of her relations.</p>
+
+<p>Our only alien is poor old Miss Schmidt, who has taught music for thirty
+years. We all try to be lenient and nice to her at my work-parties,
+which are widely attended. James calls them a mixture of Dorcas and
+Bellona&mdash;ask Harry to explain. The boys are helping to make saddle-pads
+for the horses at the front. They try each pad on our old Dobbin and are
+wild for him to go on service at once; but James has just decided that a
+Vicar's pony's place is in the last line of the Reserves.</p>
+
+<p>You asked me how long the war would continue. We have had quite a lot of
+talk with the Admiral and dear old General Ramrod about it; but James
+says, with the utmost respect for their characters, that these naval and
+military men are so hide-bound. In his opinion hostilities will be over
+in two months from now. He says:</p>
+
+<center>
+When the British Lion roars<br />
+Foreign legions go indoors!<br />
+</center>
+
+<p>You know his funny way. The boys are now shouting this all about the
+garden, and trying to roar like lions. I have the greatest difficulty in
+preventing them from going to fight other children out of sheer
+patriotism. The darlings do look so nice and smart. I could not resist
+buying them flags and tin swords and helmets like real soldiers in spite
+of the Moratorium, which I called by mistake <i>crematorium</i>, and James
+made delightful fun about it. He also said some clever thing about banks
+which I can't recall; it may come to me later.</p>
+
+<p>Every one talks of nothing but the war. Even the errand-boys must have
+their say; I caught one of them setting up our nice loin chops in the
+dusty drive and knocking them down with pebbles for bombs; while the
+girl who fetched the laundry stayed for an hour in the kitchen teaching
+cook First Aid bandaging, and dinner was spoilt in consequence. However
+these are all the little discomforts of war and must be borne in a
+cheerful spirit.</p>
+
+<p class="regards">
+Your affectionate Sister, <span class="sc">Mary</span>.</p>
+
+<p>P.S.&mdash;Dear James's joke was about John Bull and bullion. Harry will
+understand and appreciate it.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>MY BROTHER'S LETTER.</h2>
+
+<p>Relations used to be for the most part a bore, and, unless rich, it was
+well that they were disregarded. But the war has altered all that. The
+war has brought relations, no matter how humble, into fashion.</p>
+
+<p>Not all, but some. I have as a matter of fact myself one brother in the
+Fusiliers, in camp, and another who is a special constable and three
+times has reported an airship by telephone; but these do not count. It
+is fathers, brothers, cousins, sons, uncles and nephews at the Front who
+count.</p>
+
+<p>Anyone who can refer to a real relation at the Front is just now
+conversationally on velvet, while, if a letter from this relation can be
+produced and read, everyone else must give way. <span class="sc">Sydney Smiths, Theodore
+Hooks, Richard Porsons, Thomas Babington Macaulays</span> even, would be
+three-a-penny to-day as against one obscure individual who happened to
+have a brother in the trenches and a letter in his handwriting.</p>
+
+<p>But that is not all. There is reflected glory too. To know a person who
+has a relation at the Front is to be immeasurably promoted socially, and
+most of the conversations which one overhears in trains and elsewhere
+have some such opening as this: "A friend of my brother's has seen a
+Belgian...." "A cousin of my wife's who is a doctor in a field hospital
+says...." "I know a man who was talking with a wounded Tommy, and
+he...." "An undergraduate friend of my boy's who is just back from
+France...." Once stories begun in this way would empty a room; but not
+so now. Now they no longer devastate but fascinate. It does not matter
+what the stories are about, the fact remains that an opening gambit
+which three months ago would stamp a man as a triple bore now holds
+everyone breathless. In short, relations at last have come to their own.
+Another achievement of <span class="sc">William Hohenzollern</span>!</p>
+
+<p>For the most part they bear upon German atrocities, just as a little
+while ago they were the preliminaries to unmistakable evidence of the
+presence in this country of thousands of Russians travelling from
+Scotland to Southampton by underground passage and other mysterious
+ways. I myself believed in those Russians absolutely, and relinquished
+them with pain and sorrow; and all because they were attested to by
+other people's relations. This helps to show what a hold the relation is
+getting on us. In fact no story of the war is now possible without some
+kith and kin in it.</p>
+
+<p>Personally I am much out in the cold. Those two brothers I told you of
+may serve to fill a gap now and then&mdash;a gap left by other more
+entertaining raconteurs&mdash;but they are not, as I said, any real good.
+Both are in England, and one will never leave it. But if things were
+different.... If only that soldier brother had joined earlier and had
+written to me from Rheims, say, or Compi&egrave;gne, how my stock would fly up!
+Or if that other one would even now fling away his truncheon, enlist in
+time to share the march to Berlin, and then sit down to tell me all
+about it, what a swell I should become! How dinner-parties would
+assemble to hear me!</p>
+
+<p>As it is, I have to-day to do the best I can either with the tame
+home-keeping exploits of these two, or, by listening with excessive
+sympathy or by other parasitical endeavour, acquire a reversionary
+interest in someone else's relation's narrative. I have even, in order
+to cut some sort of a figure in a company where relations were being
+used with dashing success&mdash;I have even gone so far as to appropriate the
+gardener's boy's uncle, last heard of from Cambrai, as a personal and
+communicative friend, and claim an intimate association with his letter
+home.</p>
+
+<p>And how splendid if all that could be changed!</p>
+
+<p>"My brother," I could say boldly and with truth,&mdash;"my brother has sent
+me a few lines from Berlin, the substance of which you might care to
+hear." Of course they would be falling over each other to hear, but that
+is my artful way. "He camped out," I should go on, "in the Thiergarten.
+He says that to see the French waving their arms and cheering on the top
+of the Brandenburg Gate was one of the finest things possible to
+imagine. He had one bit of special luck: he was chosen to be one of the
+guard to protect the removal of the Kaiser Friedrich Museum pictures
+which are coming to London. He says that among these is the famous
+portrait of <span class="sc">Alexander del Borro</span> (No. 413<span class="sc">A</span>) which is among our little
+lot."</p>
+
+<p>That would be worth living for&mdash;the triumph of that relation's letter!
+It cannot, I fear, be mine; but surely it will be somebody's....</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/327.png">
+<img src="images/327.png" width="100%" alt="Sergeant looking for likely talent" /></a>
+<p><i>Sergeant</i> (<i>looking for likely talent</i>). "<span class="sc">Does your
+horse jump at all?</span>"</p>
+<p><i>Recruit.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh no, Sir, thank you. He's a very nice horse</span>!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2>
+
+<center>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</center>
+
+<p>Some part of the fascination that I found in <i>Tributaries</i> (<span class="sc">Constable</span>)
+was perhaps due to the interest of a problem. On the cover I am told
+that the author "chooses to be anonymous in order that his story should
+not suffer from the least suggestion of a party bias." And of course,
+after reading this, I simply had to discover who it was. By the time I
+reached the last page I had formed a tolerably confident guess. But I
+will not commit myself further than to say that no one, however
+"well-known in Great Britain and America" (the publisher again is my
+authority), need be ashamed to own up to <i>Tributaries</i>, which is quite
+one of the best written novels of the year. It is the story of a modern
+demagogue, a young apostle of political nonconformity, part charlatan,
+part zealot, who comes to town from a provincial chapel, and ends up a
+glorious failure as a soured and unpopular Cabinet Minister. There is an
+unusual quality in the characterisation and humour of this story of
+<i>Maurice Sangster</i>. Page after page abounds with touches of observation
+which betray the practised hand. The end, in its dry, unemotional
+justice, approaches real tragedy. One small point. <i>Maurice's</i>
+father-in-law, who hates and wishes to humiliate him, finds his
+opportunity when a turn of the party wheel throws the Minister out of
+office and into poverty. Her father thereupon allows <i>Mrs. Sangster</i>
+fifteen hundred a year for household expenses on condition that
+<i>Maurice</i>, who is scraping a bare hundred by his pen, shall not learn of
+this help till the old man's selected moment for abasing him. An
+intelligent woman who read the tale objected that no man, even a
+journalist, could long remain ignorant that he was spending fifteen
+hundred pounds more than he earned. I think she had a case. But the book
+remains a remarkable one.</p>
+
+<p>My own feeling about <i>A Soldier of the Legion</i> (<span class="sc">Methuen</span>) is that it
+suffers from some excess of plot. That clever couple, C. N. and A. M.
+<span class="sc">Williamson</span>, can handle a complicated intrigue better than most; but here
+their battle-front, so to speak, is of such extent that even they seem
+to have found it impossible to sustain the attack at every point. We
+began splendidly. When <i>Max Doran</i>, rich, popular and just betrothed to
+a star of musical comedy, hears suddenly that he isn't <i>Max Doran</i> at
+all, but a pauper changeling, and that the real child of his parents (if
+I make myself clear) is a dull-witted girl who has been spirited away to
+Africa&mdash;I said to myself, now there is an exciting time ahead. So there
+was, but not in the way I had expected. For when <i>Max</i> goes out to
+Africa to find the missing one he finds her all right, but himself gets
+involved in a totally different and not so promising complication. The
+consequence is that the career of the enriched <i>Josephine</i> and her union
+with the wicked lawyer (all things about which I greatly wanted to hear)
+have to be dismissed in a few lines. As compensation we get some good
+desert pictures and a moving description of life in the Foreign Legion,
+of which <i>Max</i> becomes a member. But his other African adventures, and
+the sub-sub-plot of the abduction of a Moorish maiden by her Spanish
+lover, left me disappointed and detached. Of course <i>Max</i> embraces the
+heroine on the last page; and I could not but admire the resource with
+which, having dropped the curtain upon this climax, the authors ring it
+up again for an added paragraph (my metaphor is getting somewhat
+uncertain, but no matter), which brings the story to the warlike
+present. On the whole a readable book, but not quite equal to the best
+from the same firm.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>Since the short prefatory note to <i>Raymond Poincar&eacute;</i> (<span class="sc">Duckworth</span>) tells
+me that the book was not hastily mobilised and sent into the firing line
+earlier than its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> author had intended, I must conclude that he is
+prepared to meet the onset of the critic. I will therefore suggest to
+him&mdash;and this the more boldly because he is anonymous&mdash;that he sometimes
+treats French politics, both international and domestic, with an
+allusiveness rather tantalising to the average English reader. "The
+events of 1904," he says airily, and expects us to remember them at
+once. This is a Gallic trait which would have caused us, I suppose, had
+we possessed it here, to allude to the open space at the top of
+Whitehall as "the square of the 21st of October." There is a supreme
+interest for us at the present moment in this study of the man whose
+dignified attitude towards Germany during the Moroccan crisis, and
+support of the <i>entente</i> with ourselves, has gone far to alter England's
+traditional policy in European affairs. It is noteworthy that the writer
+takes a very firm line about our duty in this respect, and gravely
+deprecates the then growing feeling of friendship with Germany. It is
+his opinion that <span class="sc">M. Poincar&eacute;</span> probably "exercises more influence in his
+own country ... as regards foreign policy than did any of his
+predecessors." He would also have us appreciate the French <span class="sc">President's</span>
+many-sided ability as a lawyer, financier, and educationalist. Indeed,
+his proposed Budget of 1906 might well have earned him a reputation as
+formidable as that of one whom I will not name. They tell me that <span class="sc">M.
+Poincar&eacute;</span> has been to the front. I hope I he saw there some worthy fruits
+of his strong policy in time of peace.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>I have not before met with a book by <span class="sc">A. S. M. Hutchinson</span>, the author of
+<i>The Clean Heart</i> (<span class="sc">Hodder and Stoughton</span>). That is my loss, for he has a
+curious intensity of vision, an arresting way of making objective his
+thoughts by a sort of nervous battering emphasis of repetition. And he
+has things to say. A curious theme and painful. One <i>Wriford</i>, editor
+and novelist, breaks down from overwork and hovers about the ineffably
+dread borderline, crossing and recrossing. And first that grotesque
+tramp, <i>Puddlebox</i>, drunken, devout, affectionate optimist, with his
+"Oh, ye loonies of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise Him and magnify
+Him for ever;" then the oldest sea-captain living, with his "portograph"
+in <i>The Daily Picture</i>; then a preparatory school, full of boys; last,
+and most effectively, simple, sweet laughing <i>Essie</i>, daughter of the
+cert. plumber&mdash;all help variously to win him out of his morbid wrestling
+to mental and spiritual health. A live book this, and to be commended
+very warmly. But there are one or two difficulties. Those grotesqueries
+of the tramp and the fantastically laughable adventures of <i>Wriford</i> in
+his company&mdash;do they mingle quite smoothly with the painfully realistic
+manifestations of poor <i>Wriford's</i> state? Can so dreadful a theme ride
+off successfully on so bizarre a steed? And then again, was not the
+whole agony of the man on the physical and mental, not the spiritual
+plane? For did not <i>Wriford</i> before his illness give many obvious signs
+of unselfishness? Is there not in effect a certain confusion of the
+clean heart with the unclouded mind? I suspect the author has some
+subtle sufficient answer. And anyway I urge everyone to make
+acquaintance with two very lovable folk, the tramp and little <i>Essie</i>,
+among many others.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><i>Ape's Face</i> (<span class="sc">Lane</span>) takes its title from the name bestowed by her family
+upon the heroine. It is not, you will admit, either a usual or an
+attractive name; but then Miss <span class="sc">Marion Fox</span> is by no means a usual writer,
+though she is in many ways a strangely attractive one. Perhaps you
+recall certain earlier tales of hers which displayed the same
+characteristics that you will find in this, though I think they were not
+perhaps quite so definitely bogie. I used a wrong qualification there.
+Definite is exactly what Miss <span class="sc">Fox's</span> bogies are not, and in this they
+show their own good sense, and hers. She knows quite well that to define
+a supernatural element is to lessen enormously its flesh-creeping
+capabilities. Your flesh will creep all right over <i>Ape's Face</i> several
+times; though perhaps you may agree with me at the end that the book is
+really an enlarged Christmas tale, and would gain by being reduced to
+magazine dimensions. I have I not yet told you what it is all about.
+Very briefly, there is a family and a curse. This curse&mdash;with regard to
+the exact details of which I still find myself a little vague&mdash;used to
+express itself by causing murders from time to time among the brothers
+and sisters of the House. The tale is told in a detached and purposely
+elusive way that adds much to its effect, chiefly as it is felt by one
+<i>Armstrong</i>, a stranger who comes to stay with the <i>Mortons</i> at a time
+when their very unpleasant family habit was due to manifest itself. "You
+cannot move about the house without feeling that the thing has nearly
+<i>broken through</i>." The italics in this chance quotation are mine, and
+used to emphasize a rare feeling for the most haunting phrase, a feeling
+which gives distinction throughout to the story.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/328.png">
+<img src="images/328.png" width="100%" alt="Special Constable" /></a>
+<p><i>Special Constable</i> (<i>to suspicious lounger</i>). "<span class="sc">Now, look
+here, if you don't clear off, I'll&mdash;tell you what I'll do&mdash;I'll call a
+policeman!</span>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<blockquote>"Experienced Chauffeur wants situation; careful diver."</blockquote>
+
+<p class="author"><i>Advt. in "Gloucester Citizen."</i></p>
+
+<p>A useful man in a whirlpool of traffic.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<blockquote><p>"When the foe was announced, the country men did open the doors of
+their stables to let the beasts over run in the neighbourhood.
+Amongst them was a bull, who came out in the street, similling,
+bending his hocks and waiterig anxious.</p>
+
+<p>At this time, the gun started to boom. The beast, then, urshed and
+gone away from the village. On the knoll a german section had just
+taken place. The bull fell amongst, his horns forward, fool of rage.
+He knocked down the Germans like skittles."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p class="author"><i>"D&eacute;mocratie de L'Ouest (English-French edition)."</i></p>
+
+<p>This is almost as picturesque as some of the work of the "Eye-witness at
+General Headquarters."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
+147, October 14, 1914, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
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+***** This file should be named 28360-h.htm or 28360-h.zip *****
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