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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:47:43 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:47:43 -0700 |
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diff --git a/29522-h/29522-h.htm b/29522-h/29522-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..37a3ba7 --- /dev/null +++ b/29522-h/29522-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2454 @@ + +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, December 23, 1914, by Various</title> + <style type="text/css"> + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + td {padding-left: 1em;} + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.medium {width: 76%;} + html>body hr.medium {margin-right: 12%; margin-left: 12%; width: 76%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + hr.poem {margin-right: 65%; margin-left: 15%; width: auto;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} + /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */ + .note, .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .poem + {margin-left:25%; 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;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .poem1 + {margin-left:15%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem1 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem1 p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem1 p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem1 p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem1 p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem1 p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem1 p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right; width: auto;} + .figleft {float: left; width: auto;} + + .inline {border: none; vertical-align: middle;} + + p.author {text-align: right;} + + .regards {text-align: right; + margin-right: 4em;} + + .salute {text-align: left; + margin-left: 2em;} + + pre {font-size: 75%; } + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, +December 23, 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, December 23, 1914 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29522] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span></p> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>VOLUME 147.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2><span class="smcap">December</span> 23, 1914.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> + +<p>An exceptionally well-informed Berlin newspaper has discovered that, +owing to the war, Ireland is suffering from a horse famine, and many of +the natives are now to be seen driving cattle.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>An appeal is being made in Germany for cat-skins for the troops. In +their Navy, on the other hand, they often get the cat itself.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>In offering congratulations to the "Green Howards" on the work they have +been doing at the Front, Major-General <span class="smcap">Capper</span> said, "I knew it was a +regiment I could hang my hat on at any time of the day or night." The +expression is perhaps a little unfortunate; it sounds as if they had +been pegging out.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Private <span class="smcap">F. Nailor</span>, of the Royal Berkshires, was at his home at Sandhurst +last week when the postman brought a letter from the War Office +reporting that he had been killed in action. While his being alive is, +of course, in these circumstances an act of gross insubordination, the +Army Council will, we understand, content itself with an intimation that +it must not happen again.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A cigar presented by the <span class="smcap">Kaiser</span> to Lord <span class="smcap">Lonsdale</span> has been sold at Henley +in aid of the local Red Cross Hospital, and has become the property of a +butcher at the price of £14 10s. Will it, we wonder, now be inscribed, +"From a brother butcher"?</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>According to the <i>Berliner Tageblatt</i> Western Australia is interning her +alien enemies on "Rottnest Island." If there is anything in a name, this +does seem a rather unhappy choice, in view of the well-known +sensitiveness of the German.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>It is curious how in war time really important occurrences are apt to +escape one's notice. For example, it was not until we read an article in +a contemporary last week on "The Demise of the Slim Skirt" that we +realised that Fat Skirts were now the vogue.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Of all forms of cruelty the most hideous is that which is perpetrated on +defenceless little children, and we hear with regret that the Register +of Births in Liverpool now includes the following names:—Kitchener +Ernest Pickles, Jellicoe Jardine, French Donaldson, and Joffre Venmore.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>With reference to our recent remarks about Mr. <span class="smcap">J. Ward's</span> so-called mixed +metaphor of a horse bolting with money, a gentlemen writes to us from +Epsom to say that he has personally put money on more than one horse +which bolted.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The War would certainly seem to have led to better feeling in the Labour +world between masters and men, and from a recent paragraph in <i>The Daily +Mail</i> we learn that there is now a London Association of Master +Decorators. The idea is a pretty one. Iron Crosses, perhaps?</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The War has worked other wonders. Not the least of these, a Stock +Exchange friend points out, is that lots of Bulls and Bears are now +comrades in arms.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<center>"<span class="smcap">New Phase in Russia.<br /> +Germans changing their dispositions</span>."</center> + +<p class="author"><i>Daily Mail.</i></p> + +<p>We are glad to hear this, for they used to have simply beastly ones.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70%"> +<a href="images/509.png"> +<img src="images/509.png" width="100%" alt="Your Majesty" /></a><br /><br /> +<p><i>Orderly.</i> "<span class="smcap">Your Majesty, I have been sent to ask for detailed +instructions about the Christmas dinner to be held at Buckingham +Pal</span>——"</p> +<p><i>Wilhelm</i>.——!——!!</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p>Another secret revealed by Mr. <span class="smcap">Hamilton Fyfe</span>:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"As usual when they take the initiative, the Russian troops swept +the enemy before them. They first cleared out the trenches and then +pursued the Germans."—<i>Daily Mail.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>In the West we still cling to the old-fashioned method of first clearing +out the Germans and then pursuing the trenches.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>SOME LITERARY WAR-NOTES.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Messrs. Harrap</span> have just brought out <i>William the Silent</i>. This is not a +biography of the <span class="smcap">Kaiser</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Nor is <i>The Hound of Heaven</i>, a new edition of which is announced by +Messrs. <span class="smcap">Chatto and Windus</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Edward Cressy's</span> <i>Discoveries and Inventions of the Twentieth +Century</i> makes no mention, curiously enough, of the <span class="smcap">Wolff</span> Bureau. We +look in vain, too, among the Yuletide publications for a book of Fairy +Tales by <span class="smcap">William Hohenzollern</span>. This does not speak well for the +alertness of our publishers.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Messrs. <span class="smcap">Jack</span>, we see, have produced a <i>Life of Nelson</i>. It is now, we +consider, up to Messrs. <span class="smcap">Nelson</span> to produce a volume with some such title +as <i>We All Love Jack</i>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>At last the Germans are reported to have scored a little success in the +United States. An American coon is said to have been so much impressed +by the achievements of the Germans that he has sent a song to the +<span class="smcap">Kaiser</span>, the opening words of which are "My Hunny!"</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The War is responsible for a splendid boom in the study of geography. An +English lady who visited some of the Belgian wounded at a certain London +hospital the other day asked one of them where he was hit, and on +receiving the reply, "<i>Au pied</i>," is said to have spent hours trying to +find the place on the map.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Which reminds us that, owing to the new names which the various +belligerents are giving to towns which they have conquered (like +Lemberg) or temporarily occupied (like Ostend), several map-makers are +reported to be suffering from nervous breakdown.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>The Kaiser's Thanks.</h4> + +<blockquote><p>"The Archbishop of York and Germany."</p> + +<p><i>Heading in "Edinburgh Evening Despatch."</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Other pluralists, like the Bishop of <span class="smcap">Sodor and Man</span>, are not at all +jealous, nor are we at all surprised.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"They drank the full-flavoured soup with scarcely a sound."—<i>The +Story-Teller.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Another example of true British refinement.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span> + +<h2>THE OLD SEA-ROVER SPEAKS.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>[Referring to our victory off the Falkland Islands, the <i>Tägliche +Rundschau</i> remarks: "On board our North Sea ships our sailors will +clench their teeth and all hearts will burn with the feeling, +'England the enemy! Up and at the enemy!'" The gallant bombardment +of defenceless towns on our East Coast would appear to be the +immediate outcome of this intelligent attitude.]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Behind your lock-gates stowed away,</p> +<p class="i2">Out of the great tides' ebb and flow,</p> +<p class="i0">How could you guess, this many a day,</p> +<p class="i2">Who was your leading naval foe?</p> +<p class="i0">But now you learn, a little late—</p> +<p class="i2">So loud the rumours from the sea grow—</p> +<p class="i0">England's the thing you have to hate,</p> +<p class="i2">And not (for instance) Montenegro.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">The facts are just as you've been told;</p> +<p class="i2">Further disguise would be but vain;</p> +<p class="i0">We have a <i>penchant</i> from of old</p> +<p class="i2">For being masters on the main;</p> +<p class="i0">It is a custom which we caught</p> +<p class="i2">From certain sea-kings who begat us,</p> +<p class="i0">And that is why we like the thought</p> +<p class="i2">That you propose to "up and at" us.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Come where you will—the seas are wide;</p> +<p class="i2">And choose your Day—they're all alike;</p> +<p class="i0">You'll find us ready where we ride</p> +<p class="i2">In calm or storm and wait to strike;</p> +<p class="i0">But—if of shame your shameless Huns</p> +<p class="i2">Can yet retrieve some casual traces—</p> +<p class="i0">Please fight our men and ships and guns,</p> +<p class="i2">Not women-folk and watering-places.</p> +</div></div> +<p class="author">O. S.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.</h2> + +<center>No. XI.</center><br /> + +<center>(<i>From the <span class="smcap">German Crown Prince</span></i>.)</center> + +<p><span class="smcap">Most Internally (<i>innigst</i>) beloved Father</span>,—Here in my headquarters we +learnt with sorrow that you have been suffering from a bronchial +catarrh. Anxious as we were at first, our minds were relieved when we +heard that you had behaved very violently to those about you, for in +that we recognised our good old father as we knew him from long since, +and we said to ourselves that you could not fail soon to be in the +saddle again with all your accustomed energy. And now comes the report +that you are indeed yourself again, like <i>Richard III</i>, in our great +German, <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>.</p> + +<p>Now that all danger is past I cannot forbear giving you from my heart a +word of warning, begging you not with rashness to risk your so valuable +life. Do not laugh and imagine that I am pulling your leg (<i>dass ich Dir +das Bein ziehe</i>). Nothing is further from my thoughts; I am quite +serious. You must remember that you are not so young as you were and +that this rushing to and fro between France and Poland, which to a man +of my age would be a mere trifle, bringing with it only enjoyment, must +be for a man who is between fifty and sixty a task well calculated to +search out and expose his corporeally weak points so as to bring +satisfaction, not to us, but to the enemy. Such a burden must no longer +be placed only upon your back, for there are others whose bones are +young and who are willing to share it with you. Why should we be +compelled to sit still or merely to beat our back with fists while you, +dear Father, undergo these too terrible fatigues? I myself, for +instance, if I may say so with the most humble respect, am ready to +represent you in all departments whenever you call upon me. I can +scatter any number of Iron Crosses, and am willing to make speeches +which will prove to our hated enemies, as well as to America and Italy, +that God is the good old friend of our <span class="smcap">Hohenzollern</span> family and that He +will pay no attention (why should He?) to anything that the English, the +French, the Russians, the Servians and the Belgians may say. Is it not +lucky for the Austrians and the Turks that they are on our side and can +share in the high protection that we enjoy? To save you trouble I would +even go so far as to open a session of the <i>Reichstag</i>, though for my +own part I never could see much use in that absurd institution. Still we +have it now under our thumb (<i>unter unserem Daumen</i>), and even the +Socialists are ready to feed out of our hands and to allow us to kick +them about the floor. He who says that war is barbarous and useless can +learn by this example that it is not so. If you wish me to invite one or +two Socialists (not more) to a State dinner I will even go so far as +that. You see how deeply prepared I am to oblige you. And if you want to +finish your cure by taking a complete rest from the serious work of +being Commander-in-Chief, even in that point I am not unwilling to +sacrifice myself to the highest interests of the Fatherland by replacing +your august person both in the field and in the council chamber. You +have only to say the word and I shall be there.</p> + +<p>May I now add a few words about the War? Somehow it does not seem that +we are getting on as we have been led to expect. Mind, I am not blaming +anybody, certainly not your most gracious fatherly Majesty, but I must +say that all the books which we were told to read showed us quite a +different war, a war laid out on the system of 1870. At this stage, in +1870, everything was over except the siege of Paris and the shouting, +but now we do not appear to be making progress anywhere. Why do these +degenerate races hold back our holy and with-love-of-Fatherland-inspired +troops? Perhaps the new <span class="smcap">Moltke</span> has not been quite so sure in his touch +or so triumphant in his plans as the old one—but then that ought not to +have made much difference, because you and I have been there to keep him +straight. <span class="smcap">Falkenhayn</span>, no doubt, might have been expected to do better, +for you had opened your whole mind to him, but he too seems only able to +knock his head against a stone wall (<i>seinen Kopf gegen eine Mauer +stossen</i>) and the result is that we are everywhere getting it in the +neck (<i>dass wir es überall in dem Hals kriegen</i>), and that process is +not pleasant for a true Hohenzollern. It is possible that <span class="smcap">Rupert of +Bavaria</span> has been allowed to talk too much. One <span class="smcap">Crown Prince</span> is enough +even for a German army. Have you any idea what we ought to do to secure +victory somewhere?</p> + +<p>I am sending you a box of lozenges, which I have always found excellent +for a cough. I beg also that you will not forget how efficacious is +flannel when worn next to the skin.</p> + +<p class="regards">Your most devoted Son,</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Wilhelm, Kronprinz</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>SEASONABLE GIFTS.</h2> + +<center><span class="smcap">I. The Mottle.</span></center> + +<p>A new and ingenious development of the old-fashioned hot-water bottle. +The ordinary hot-water bottle warms but a small portion of the bed. The +Mottle, possessing a motor attachment, can be wound up and it will then +travel all over the bed, diffusing an agreeable warmth everywhere. May +be used as an engine in the nursery by day. <i>33s. 6d.</i> The <span class="smcap">Chesterton</span>, +for large-size beds, <i>44s. 11d.</i> This kind also makes an excellent gift +for soldiers in the trenches. It will travel half-a-mile before +requiring further petrol.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%"> +<a href="images/511.png"> +<img src="images/511.png" width="100%" alt="FULFILMENT" /></a> +<h4>FULFILMENT.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Austria</span>. "I SAID ALL ALONG THIS WAS GOING TO BE A PUNITIVE +EXPEDITION."</p> +</div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[Pg 513]</a></span> + +<div class="centered"> +<table summary="cartoons"> +<tr><td><a href="images/513a.png"> +<img width="100%" border="0" alt="The steam-roller (English) at work" src="images/513a.png" /></a></td> +<td><a href="images/513b.png"> +<img width="100%" border="0" alt="Nothing, Madam," src="images/513b.png" /></a></td></tr> +<tr><td><p><span class="smcap"> The steam-roller (English) at work</span>.</p></td> +<td><p>"<span class="smcap">Nothing, Madam, I assure you—didn't feel it</span>."</p></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="images/513c.png"> +<img width="100%" border="0" alt="The Patriotic mind" src="images/513c.png" /></a></td> +<td><a href="images/513d.png"> +<img width="100%" border="0" alt="if you can stand hardships like that" src="images/513d.png" /></a></td></tr> +<tr><td><p><span class="smcap"> The Patriotic mind at work</span>.</p></td> +<td><p>"<span class="smcap">But, young man, if you can stand hardships like that, +how is it you are not at the front</span>?"</p></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>LIGHT REFRESHMENT: AN INTERLUDE.</h2> + +<center><span class="smcap">By Special Constable XXX.</span></center> + +<p>I was sitting grimly in my sentry-box guarding a power station and a +sausage factory. The latter is considered to be a likely point of attack +on the part of the Huns. Should it be destroyed, a vital source of food +supply for our army (they would reason) would be cut off.</p> + +<p>Incidentally, the sausage factory is much more exciting to guard than +the electric light works. One sees the raw material arriving and being +unloaded. One sees the sausage king swishing up in his richly-appointed +limousine, giving porkly orders to his deferential subordinates, and +then whisking off—no doubt to confer with the War Office.</p> + +<p>An old lady with a million wrinkles approached me and seemed desirous of +entering into conversation. We are strictly forbidden to talk with +civilians unless first accosted. After that it is a matter for +individual discretion.</p> + +<p>I therefore left it to her to make the first advance. She began: "'Ave +you got to sit there the 'ole of the afternoon, dearie?"</p> + +<p>I confirmed that apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Well, I do call it a shame; and you looking so blue with the cold."</p> + +<p>With that I was in cordial agreement.</p> + +<p>"Are they going to bring you tea, dearie, at 'arf-time?"</p> + +<p>Alas, no. Under sergeant's sanction we might be permitted to buy a +pork-pie from opposite, but this must be taken as unofficial and in +confidence.</p> + +<p>"What are you waiting for?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Zeppelins, Madam," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Zeppelins—what would they be?"</p> + +<p>She nodded a vigorous understanding of my explanation.</p> + +<p>"And when they drop their nasty bombs, what will you do then, dearie?"</p> + +<p>Our orders were to draw our truncheons, arrest them and convey them to +the nearest police-station. I made this very clear.</p> + +<p>"And what do you think they will do to them?"</p> + +<p>I considered that they would get at least a month with hard labour, and +no option of a fine.</p> + +<p>"I should think so! The brutes—trying to take away the poor man's food! +And as for that <span class="smcap">Crown Prince</span>, when you get 'im, just you 'it 'im right +over the 'ead with your truncheon!"</p> + +<p>We are not allowed to hit over the head on ordinary occasions, but in +the case of the <span class="smcap">Crown Prince</span> attacking (and conceivably looting) our +sausage factory, no doubt the rule would be relaxed. I undertook to +follow her advice, and she left greatly relieved.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[Pg 514]</a></span> + +<h2>A CAPTURE.</h2> + +<p>Even without his khaki I should have known the wee lieutenant for an +infant in arms, and I began to hope, directly I had been detached by our +hostess to cover his left wing, that he was that happy warrior for whom +I was seeking. He saw me looking at the red ribbon which adorned the +left wing in question and which our gardener's wife told me the other +day was "a poor trumpery sort of thing if <span class="smcap">Kitchener</span> meant it as an +honour to them."</p> + +<p>"I'm not a kicker," he assured me, and I let him talk inoculation +happily until we commenced to move forward in files.</p> + +<p>"You live here, don't you?" he said as soon as Maria (not black) had +served us with soup, and when I assented his next remark made me +hopeful.</p> + +<p>"And you know all the people round here, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly everyone I should think within five miles of the village."</p> + +<p>"I've been here a fortnight and this is the first time I have been +out—not out-of-doors, of course—I mean meeting people."</p> + +<p>At that moment my neighbour upon the left commenced a bombardment which +interrupted us but, when a pause came at last, the wee lieutenant broke +it in a low and solemn voice.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you couldn't tell me why a deaf man can't tickle nine +children?"</p> + +<p>So suddenly had matters come to a head that I sat staring, and the wee +lieutenant, misunderstanding my interest, grew red.</p> + +<p>"I'm not mad, really and truly, but that thing is positively getting on +my brain. I'm not very keen on riddles and so forth, but I happened to +hear someone ask that one the other day, and I didn't catch the answer. +Somehow it has worried me ever since. Why can't he tickle them?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head. "I never saw anybody attempt it, deaf or otherwise. +Hadn't you better ask the person who propounded the question?"</p> + +<p>"I—I can't very well—I wish I could. I thought, if you knew the answer +to the riddle, you might know the person who asked it. It's very hard to +get to know people by yourself, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>I lured him into the open. "How did you come to hear it?"</p> + +<p>He pondered in silence for a moment with his frank eyes bent upon his +plate.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind telling you, but I shouldn't like everyone to know; they +might think me a bit of a fool."</p> + +<p>I promised discretion.</p> + +<p>"Well, the other morning I was up on the common kicking a football about +with some of the men—it's good for them and keeps them from getting too +much beer, and I like it myself—football, I mean, not beer—and some +people came and sat down to watch on the roller, and there was a Yellow +Jersey among them."</p> + +<p>"But what a curious place for a cow—on a roller."</p> + +<p>The wee lieutenant twinkled. "And she was rather nice, you know."</p> + +<p>I nodded, thinking to myself that this young man would never make "an +Eye-Witness with Headquarters," whatever else the fortunes of war might +bring him.</p> + +<p>"Well, that evening we were out scouting, trying to find out where a +party of cavalry had got to that had been reported coming out from +King's Langley to take us by surprise, and when I got to a cottage with +its blinds down and a light inside I peeped in, and there were two or +three people, and she was there, and, of course, I had to knock to ask +if any cavalry had gone by."</p> + +<p>"And she didn't come to the door!"</p> + +<p>"No, you're right there; somebody else did, but I heard my one—I mean +the Jersey one—I mean the Yellow one—ask somebody that riddle; but the +person—the sister or whatever she was who came to the door—finished me +off before I heard the answer, and somehow or other it's been running +through my head ever since. It isn't the girl, you know, it's—it's the +aggravation of it. I asked our sergeant the other day and he doesn't +know. One of these days I shall be giving it as an order—'Deaf section! +Tickle nine children!' Do you—do you know who lives in that cottage?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody."</p> + +<p>"But she—they were there that night."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but they don't really live there. We call them the Swallows +because they migrate so much. Baby Swallow is very pretty, isn't she? +and, by-the-by, she's rather afraid that you may be worrying about that +riddle."</p> + +<p>"Me—I?"</p> + +<p>This was the moment for which I had been waiting, but the wee lieutenant +took cover, hunting his dessert fork on the floor long after Maria had +brought up reinforcements.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, she ought to have said, 'dumb,' not 'deaf.' I've forgotten +the answer—something about 'gesticulate.' She's coming to tea with me +to-morrow. Would you like me to ask her what the answer is, and write it +down for you?"</p> + +<p>Our hostess gave the signal for our half company to retire, the other +half to stay down in the smoke, and I added, as I went out, "That will +lay the riddle nicely, won't it? If it had been the girl and not the +aggravation, I should have asked you to tea too."</p> + +<p>The wee lieutenant surrendered at that, blushing above the door-handle.</p> + +<p>"I—I—I say, I should like to get the answer first-hand. Won't you ask +me to tea, please?"</p> + +<p>I don't yet know what it feels like to capture a prisoner of war, but +that's how I assisted at the taking of a prisoner of love.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 40%"> +<a href="images/514.png"> +<img src="images/514.png" width="100%" alt="Diminutive Patriot" /></a><br /><br /> +<p><i>The Jester.</i> "<span class="smcap">Hallo, Sonny! Choosin' yer turkey</span>?"</p> +<p><i>Diminutive Patriot.</i> "<span class="smcap">Garn! Yer don't catch me 'avin' turkey these +days. Wy, I'd as soon eat a German sausage</span>!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[Pg 515]</a></span> + +<h2>KEEPING IN THE LIMELIGHT.</h2> + +<p>It was a grand meeting of the literary gents. They had all heard about +the War from their publishers, and there had been one or two suggestive +allusions in <i>The Author</i>. The question of the moment was, "How can we +help?" The chairman was the President of the Society of Authors, who +knew everybody by sight.</p> + +<p>The first to rise was Mr. <span class="smcap">Harold Begbie</span>, but he failed to catch the +Chairman's eye, which had been secured by Mr. <span class="smcap">H. G. Wells</span>. This +well-known strategist rose to point out that what England wanted in the +event of an invasion was the man, the gun and the trench. When he said +man he meant an adult male of the human species. A gun was a firearm +from which bullets were discharged by an explosion of gunpowder. A +trench, he averred, amid loud protests from the ex-Manager of the +Haymarket Theatre, was a long narrow cut in the earth. He had already +pointed out these facts to the War Office, but had received no reply. +Apparently Earl <span class="smcap">Kitchener</span> required time for the information to soak in. +Was it or was it not a national scandal? His new nov——(Deleted by +Chairman).</p> + +<p>After a little coaxing, Mr. <span class="smcap">Eden Phillpotts</span> was persuaded to rise to his +feet. He said deferentially in the first place that he was not a savage. +(General cheering, in which might be detected a note of sincere relief.) +He lived at Torquay. (Oh, oh.) He had never been to London before, and +was surprised to find it such a large place. (General silence.) He had +been a pacifist—(Hear, hear)—but he now thought the <span class="smcap">German Emperor</span> was +a humbug. He wished it to be known that his attitude was now one of +great 'umbleness. The war could go on as far as he was concerned. +(Applause.) Although he had given up writing about Dartmoor he had that +morning applied for the post of Military Member of the Invasion +Committee of the Torquay Division of Devonshire. (Profound sensation.) +He didn't know if he should get it, but his friend, Mr. <span class="smcap">Arnold Bennett</span>, +with whom he used once to collab—— (Deleted by Chairman).</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Harold Begbie</span> then took the floor, but was interrupted by the +arrival of the Military Member of the Invasion Committee of the +Thorpe-le-Soken Division of Essex.</p> + +<p>Hanging his feathered helmet on the door-peg and thrusting his sword and +scabbard into the umbrella-stand, Mr. <span class="smcap">Arnold Bennett</span> took a seat at the +table, afterwards putting out his chest. Mr. <span class="smcap">Wells</span> was observed to sink +into an elaborately assumed apathy. But in his eyes was a bitter envy.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Bennett</span>, after clearing his throat, said that he had settled the +War. Everybody was to do what they were told and what that was would be +told them in due course. He and the War Office had had it out. He had +insisted on something being done, and the War Office, which wasn't such +a fool as some authors thought (with a meaning look at Mr. <span class="smcap">Wells</span>), had +been most affable. Everything now was all right. His next book was to be +a war nov—— (Deleted by Chairman).</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Harold Begbie</span> then rose to his feet simultaneously with Mr. <span class="smcap">Wm. le +Queux</span>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Wm. le Queux</span> said that he owned an autograph portrait of the <span class="smcap">Kaiser</span>. +It was signed "Yours with the belt, <span class="smcap">Bill</span>." The speaker would sell it on +behalf of the War Funds and humbly apologised to his brother authors for +having knocked about so much in his youth with emperors and persons of +that kind. It should not occur again. He pointed out that he had +foretold this War, and that his famous book, <i>The Great War</i> +of—whenever it was—was to be brought up to date in the form of —— +(Deleted by Chairman).</p> + +<p>At this juncture it was brought to the Chairman's notice that Mr. <span class="smcap">H. G. +Wells</span> was missing. An anxious search revealed the fact that the +ornamental sword and plumed casque of the Military Member of the +Invasion Committee of the Thorpe-le-Soken Division of Essex had +disappeared at the same time, and the meeting broke up in disorder.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 45%"> +<a href="images/515.png"> +<img src="images/515.png" width="100%" alt="THE SUPREME TEST" /></a> +<h4>THE SUPREME TEST.</h4> +<p><i>The Civilian.</i> "<span class="smcap">I don't know how you do it. Fancy marchin' thirty miles +with the rifle, and that pack on yer back</span>!"</p> +<p><i>The Tommy</i>. "<span class="smcap">Yes, and mind You—it's Tipperary all the way</span>!"]</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>Our Sporting Press Again. "Sporting rifles have been bought in Paris +for pheasant-shooting."—<i>Daily News.</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[Pg 516]</a></span> + +<h2>THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT.</h2> + +<p>I was sitting in front of the fire—dozing, I daresay—when he was +announced.</p> + +<p>"Father Christmas."</p> + +<p>He came in awkwardly and shook me by the hand.</p> + +<p>"Forgive my unceremonious entry," he said. "I know I ought to have come +down the chimney, but—well, <i>you</i> understand."</p> + +<p>"Things are different this year," I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Very different," he said gloomily. He put his sack down and took a seat +on the other side of the fire-place.</p> + +<p>"Anything for me?" I wondered, with an eye on the sack between us.</p> + +<p>"Ah, there's no difference <i>there</i>," he said, brightening up as he drew +out a big flat parcel. "The blotter from Aunt Emily. You needn't open it +now; it's exactly the same as last year's."</p> + +<p>I had been prepared for it. I took a letter from my pocket and dropped +it in the sack.</p> + +<p>"My letter of thanks for it," I explained. "Exactly the same as last +year's too."</p> + +<p>Father Christmas sighed and gazed into the fire.</p> + +<p>"All the same," he said at last, "it's different, even with your Aunt +Emily."</p> + +<p>"Tell me all about it. To begin with, why didn't you come down the +chimney?"</p> + +<p>"The reindeer." He threw up his hands in despair. "Gone!"</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Filleted."</p> + +<p>I looked at him in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Or do I mean 'billeted'?" he said. "Anyway, the War Office did it."</p> + +<p>"Requisitioned, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"That's it. They requisitioned 'em. What you and I would call taking +'em."</p> + +<p>"I see. So you have to walk. But you could still come down the chimney."</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>could</i>; but it would mean climbing up there first. And that +wouldn't seem so natural. It would make it more like a practical joke, +and I haven't the heart for practical jokes this year, when nobody +really wants me at all."</p> + +<p>"Not want you?" I protested. "What rubbish!"</p> + +<p>Father Christmas dipped his hand into his sack and brought out a card of +greeting. Carefully adjusting a pair of horn spectacles to his nose he +prepared to read.</p> + +<p>"Listen to this," he said. "It's from Alfred to Eliza." He looked at me +over his glasses. "I don't know if you know them at all?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so."</p> + +<p>"An ordinary printed card with robins and snow and so forth on it. And +it says"—his voice trembled with indignation—"it says, 'Wishing you a +very happy——' Censored, Sir! Censored, at <i>my</i> time of life. There's +your War Office again."</p> + +<p>"I think that's a joke of the publisher's," I said soothingly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it's humour, I don't mind. Nobody is more partial to mirth and +jollity than I am." He began to chuckle to himself. "There's my joke +about the 'rain, dear'; I don't know if you know that?"</p> + +<p>I said I didn't; he wanted cheering up. But though he was happy while he +was telling it to me he soon became depressed again.</p> + +<p>"Look here," I said sternly, "this is absurd of you. Christmas is +chiefly a children's festival. Grown-ups won't give each other so many +presents this year, but we shall still remember the children, and we +shall give you plenty to do seeing after <i>them</i>. Why," I went on +boastfully, "you've got four of my presents in there at this moment. The +book for Margery, and the box of soldiers, and the Jumping Tiger +and——"</p> + +<p>Father Christmas held up his hand and stopped me.</p> + +<p>"It's no good," he said, "you can't deceive <i>me</i>. After a good many +years at the business I'm rather sensitive to impressions." He wagged a +finger at me. "Now then, uncle. Was your whole heart in it when you +bought that box of soldiers, or did you do it with an effort, telling +yourself that the children mustn't be forgotten—and knowing quite well +that you <i>had</i> forgotten them?"</p> + +<p>"One has a—a good deal to think about just now," I said uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not blaming you; everybody's the same; but it makes it much +less jolly for <i>me</i>, that's all. You see, I can't help knowing. Why, +even your Aunt Emily, when she bought you that delightful blotter ... +which you have your foot on ... even <i>she</i> bought it in a different way +from last year's. Last year she gave a lot of happy thought to it, and +decided in the middle of the night that a blotter was the one thing you +wanted. This year she said, 'I suppose he'd better have his usual +blotter, or he'll think I've forgotten him.' Kind of her, of course (as, +no doubt, you've said in your letter), but not the jolly Christmas +spirit."</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," I said.</p> + +<p>Father Christmas sighed again and got up.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must be trotting along. Perhaps next year they'll want me +again. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye. You're quite sure there's nothing else for me?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," he said, glancing into his bag. "Hallo, what's this?"</p> + +<p>He drew out a letter. It had O.H.M.S. on it, and was addressed to +"Father Christmas."</p> + +<p>"For me? Fancy my not seeing that before. Whatever can it be?" He fixed +his spectacles again and began to read.</p> + +<p>"A commission, perhaps," I said humorously.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> a commission!" he cried excitedly. "To go to the Front and +deliver Christmas presents to the troops! They've got hundreds of +thousands all ready for them!"</p> + +<p>"And given in what spirit?" I smiled.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my boy! No doubt about the spirit of <i>that</i>." He slung his sack on +to his shoulder and faced me—his old jolly self again. "This will be +something like. I suppose I shall have the reindeer again for this. Did +I ever tell you the joke—ah! so I did, so I did. Well, good night to +you."</p> + +<p>He hurried out of the room chuckling to himself. I sat down in front of +the fire again, but in a moment he was back.</p> + +<p>"Just thought of something very funny," he said, "Simply had to come +back and tell you. The troops—hee-hee-hee—won't have any stockings to +hang up, so—ha-ha-ha—they'll have to hang up their puttees! Ha-ha! +Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"</p> + +<p>He passed through the door again, and his laughter came rolling down the +passage.</p> + +<p class="author">A. A. M.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[Pg 517]</a></span> + +<h4> FOR ALL PERSONS.</h4> + +<table summary="cartoon"> +<tr><td><a href="images/517a.png"> +<img src="images/517a.png" width="100%" border="0" alt="I Knit." /></a></td> + +<td><a href="images/517b.png"> +<img src="images/517b.png" width="100%" border="0" alt="Thou knittest." /></a></td> + +<td><a href="images/517c.png"> +<img src="images/517c.png" width="100%" border="0" alt="He knits." /></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p class="center"><span class="smcap">I Knit.</span></p></td> +<td><p class="center"><span class="smcap">Thou knittest.</span></p></td> +<td><p class="center"><span class="smcap">He knits.</span></p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="images/517d.png"> +<img src="images/517d.png" width="100%" border="0" alt="We knit." /></a></td> + +<td><a href="images/517e.png"> +<img src="images/517e.png" width="95%" border="0" alt="You" /></a></td> + +<td><a href="images/517f.png"> +<img src="images/517f.png" width="65%" border="0" alt="They knit" /></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p class="center"><span class="smcap"><i>You</i> knit.</span></p></td> +<td><p class="center"><span class="smcap">We knit.</span></p></td> +<td><p class="center"><span class="smcap">They knit.</span></p></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE SUPPRESSED SUPERMAN.</h2> + +<p>"What are you reading, Arthur?" I said.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Nietzsche</span>," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>I sneezed in response. "Isn't that the chap," I said, "who's really +responsible for the war?"</p> + +<p>"People like you think so," he said.</p> + +<p>"The reading of philosophy," I said, "was never in my line. Give me the +exact sciences; <span class="smcap">Euclid</span> for me every time."</p> + +<p>"Hopelessly moth-eaten," said he. "Most of the schools have dropped him +in favour of geometry."</p> + +<p>"Bah," I said, "a quibble. But tell me, wasn't it <span class="smcap">Nietzsche</span> who taught +the Germans to think they were supermen or whatever you call 'em?"</p> + +<p>"Contrary to the opinion of the man in the street," said Arthur, looking +at me rather meaningly, "<span class="smcap">Nietzsche</span> did not write merely for the benefit +of German people, nor did he approve, I should say, of the German idea +of culture. You've been reading the evening papers; you're a wallower, +that's what you are."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," I said, "you also consider yourself a bit of a superman."</p> + +<p>"I admit," he said, "that I've gone a long way."</p> + +<p>"Towards Tipperary?"</p> + +<p>"Beyond you," he said, tapping the page of <span class="smcap">Nietzsche</span> he was reading; +"we're not on the same plane."</p> + +<p>"You can always get out and change," I said.</p> + +<p>"Such flippancy," said Arthur, "is unbecoming in a lance corporal. What +you want is a course of philosophy."</p> + +<p>"What you want," I said, "is a course of musketry." Arthur, who, like +me, is rising forty-six, is sound enough for home defence, but isn't in +any Force yet. So, being a lance corporal in the "United Arts" myself, I +feel I can throw advice of this sort at him freely.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to give you a mental prescription," he said, taking out a +pencil and scribbling on an envelope. "Have you read this—<span class="smcap">Ludovici's</span> +<i>Who is to be Master of the World</i>?"</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't," I said; "but I can tell you who isn't going to be—in +once."</p> + +<p>"The Japanese," said Arthur, "think a lot of it."</p> + +<p>"I've got a pal," I said, "who'd dearly enjoy a few rounds of mental +jiu-jitsu with you. He's got rather advanced ideas."</p> + +<p>"Advanced!" said Arthur contemptuously. "We Nietzscheans speak only of +being 'complete' or 'nearer completion.'"</p> + +<p>It was at this point that Alfred joined in. He was sitting in uniform on +the other side of the fire, reading <i>Ruff's Guide</i>.</p> + +<p>"Who's that talking about poor old <span class="smcap">Ludovici</span>?" he asked.</p> + +<p>For a moment I was afraid Alfred thought that <span class="smcap">Ludovici</span> was a horse.</p> + +<p>"I was recommending him to this shining light of the Burlington House +brigade," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>Alfred laughed. "Look here, young fellow," he said, "everybody knows +that he (pointing to me) is an antediluvian; but you've gone a bit off +the boil yourself, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Arthur, looking rather pained.</p> + +<p>"Many Continental theories," said Alfred, "when they die, go to Oxford. +I'm afraid your friend <span class="smcap">Ludovici's</span> theory has been sent down even from +there. Have you read Barrow's <i>Fallacy of the Nietzschean doctrine</i>?"</p> + +<p>"N-no," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Or Erichsen's <i>Completion of Self?</i> You can get the paper edition for a +bob."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to say I haven't," said Arthur, who looked sadly chap-fallen. +"But I will. However, for the moment I've got a meeting on—our literary +club, you know."</p> + +<p>"I'm coming round to raid you one night," I said, "to see if you're all +registered."</p> + +<p>For reply Arthur slammed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>"Alfred," I said, when Arthur had left the house, "you astound me. Who +are these new friends and their philosophies, Barrow and the Danish +fellow, what's his name?"</p> + +<p>"Mere inventions," said Alfred, "but they served."</p> + +<p>"Then the fat's in the fire," I said; "he'll find out that you've been +pulling his leg before lunch-time to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Alfred. "Our lot's booked for Pirbright +to-morrow morning, and we shan't meet again till the other side of +Peace."</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[Pg 518]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%"> +<a href="images/518.png"> +<img src="images/518.png" width="100%" alt="AN ECHO FROM EAST AFRICA" /></a> +<h4>AN ECHO FROM EAST AFRICA.</h4> +<p><i>Sentry</i> (<i>until lately behind the counter in Nairobi, to person +approaching post</i>). "<span class="smcap">Halt! Advance one, and sign the counterfoil</span>!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[Pg 519]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%"> +<a href="images/519.png"> +<img src="images/519.png" width="100%" alt="THE CHILDREN'S TRUCE" /></a> +<h4>THE CHILDREN'S TRUCE.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Peace</span>. "I'M GLAD THAT THEY, AT LEAST, HAVE THEIR CHRISTMAS UNSPOILED."</p> +</div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[Pg 520]</a></span> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[Pg 521]</a></span> + +<h2>THE PRIZE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">With ivy wreathed, a hundred lights</p> +<p class="i2">Shone out; the Convent play was finished;</p> +<p class="i0">The waning term this night of nights</p> +<p class="i2">To a few golden hours diminished.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Again the curtain rose. Outshone</p> +<p class="i2">The childish frocks and childish tresses</p> +<p class="i0">Of the late cast that had put on</p> +<p class="i2">Demureness and its party dresses.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Rustled a-row upon the stage</p> +<p class="i2">Big girls and little, ranged in sizes,</p> +<p class="i0">All waiting for the Personage</p> +<p class="i2">To make the speech and give the prizes.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">And there, all rosy from her <i>rôle</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">Betsey with sturdy valiance bore her,</p> +<p class="i0">Nor did she recognize a soul</p> +<p class="i2">But braved the buzzing room before her</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">With such resolve that guest on guest,</p> +<p class="i2">And many a smiling nun behind them,</p> +<p class="i0">Met her eyes obviously addressed</p> +<p class="i2">To proving that she did not mind them.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">(So might a kitchen-kitten see—</p> +<p class="i2">Whose thoughts round housemaids' heels<br /> are centred—</p> +<p class="i0">The awful drawing-room's company</p> +<p class="i2">He inadvertently has entered.)</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Swift from her side the girlish crowd,</p> +<p class="i2">With lovely smiles and limber graces,</p> +<p class="i0">Went singly, took their prizes, bowed,</p> +<p class="i2">Returning sweetly to their places.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Then "Betsey-Jane!" and all the rout</p> +<p class="i2">(Her hidden mother grown romantic)</p> +<p class="i0">Beheld that little craft put out</p> +<p class="i2">Upon the polished floor's Atlantic.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">The Personage bestowed her prize,</p> +<p class="i2">And Betsey, lowly as the others,</p> +<p class="i0">Bowed o'er her sandals, raised her eyes</p> +<p class="i2">Alight with pride—and met her mother's!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">She thrust between the honoured row</p> +<p class="i2">Before her in her glad elation;</p> +<p class="i0">Her school-mates gasped to see her go;</p> +<p class="i2">The nuns divined her destination;</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">The guests made way. Clap following clap</p> +<p class="i2">Acclaimed Convention's overleaping</p> +<p class="i0">As Betsey gained her mother's lap</p> +<p class="i2">And gave the prize into her keeping.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h4>Royalties We Have Never Met.</h4> + +<center>I. <span class="smcap">The Emperor Williams</span>.</center> + +<blockquote><p>"The Emperor Williams, who was reported to have been at Breslau ... +seems to have returned to Berlin."—<i>Evening Despatch.</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%"> +<a href="images/521.png"> +<img src="images/521.png" width="100%" alt="At the "Spotted Dog" /></a><br /><br /> +<p><i>At the "Spotted Dog."</i> "<span class="smcap">I 'ear there be two hundred +soldiers—Borderers, they calls 'em—'ave come 'ere. Do yer reckon +they'll be for us or agin' us, Jarge</span>?"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>ON EARTH—PEACE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Judge of the passionate hearts of men,</p> +<p class="i2">God of the wintry wind and snow,</p> +<p class="i0">Take back the blood-stained year again,</p> +<p class="i2">Give us the Christmas that we know!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">No stir of wings sweeps softly by;</p> +<p class="i2">No angel comes with blinding light;</p> +<p class="i0">Beneath the wild and wintry sky</p> +<p class="i2">No shepherds watch their flocks tonight.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">In the dull thunder of the wind</p> +<p class="i2">We hear the cruel guns afar,</p> +<p class="i0">But in the glowering heavens we find</p> +<p class="i2">No guiding, solitary star.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<hr class="poem" /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">But lo! on this our Lord's birthday,</p> +<p class="i2">Lit by the glory whence she came,</p> +<p class="i0">Peace, like a warrior, stands at bay,</p> +<p class="i2">A swift, defiant, living flame!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Full-armed she stands in shining mail,</p> +<p class="i2">Erect, serene, unfaltering still,</p> +<p class="i0">Shod with a strength that cannot fail,</p> +<p class="i2">Strong with a fierce o'ermastering will.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Where shattered homes and ruins be</p> +<p class="i2">She fights through dark and desperate days;</p> +<p class="i0">Beside the watchers on the sea</p> +<p class="i2">She guards the Channel's narrow ways.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Through iron hail and shattering shell,</p> +<p class="i2">Where the dull earth is stained with red,</p> +<p class="i0">Fearless she fronts the gates of Hell</p> +<p class="i2">And shields the unforgotten dead.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">So stands she, with her all at stake,</p> +<p class="i2">And battles for her own dear life,</p> +<p class="i0">That by one victory she may make</p> +<p class="i2">For evermore an end of strife.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[Pg 522]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%"> +<a href="images/522.png"> +<img src="images/522.png" width="100%" alt="THE CHRISTMAS GHOST, 1914" /></a> +<h4>THE CHRISTMAS GHOST, 1914.</h4> +<p><i>The Spectral Duke</i> (<i>to guest in haunted room</i>). <span class="smcap">"Ha, Ha! Behold, I am +here!"</span></p> +<p><i>Guest.</i> <span class="smcap">"Yes, yes—so I see. But I'm awfully busy just now. Give us a +look up next year."</span></p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>SANTA CLAUS AT THE FRONT.</h2> + +<center><span class="smcap">Seasonable Gifts for Officers.</span></center><br /><br /> + +<center><span class="smcap">By Aunt Parker</span>.</center><br /> + +<p>As Christmas draws nearer, the problem of what gifts to send to our +brave men at the Front becomes more acute. For of course they must all +have presents, no matter what decision is come to as to the manner of +spending the dear old festival at home.</p> + +<p>As an aid to the generous there is nothing like a walk down Bongent +Street, where will be found many ingenious novelties designed especially +for the mirthful anniversary which will so soon be on us with all its +associations of peace and goodwill to men.</p> + +<p>It is no part of my duty to recommend shops and their wares, but it is a +pleasure to put on record some of the things on which my roving eyes +settled as I traversed London's most luxurious thoroughfare. Every taste +is there considered, but for the moment my interest is solely in gifts +for our brave officers—and privates too, if they have wealthy enough +friends.</p> + +<p>At Messrs. Baskerville's, for example, I perceived a host of captivating +articles calculated to make glad the heart of any fighting man. In one +window was a Service Smoker's Companion which cannot be too highly +extolled, especially as this War is, as everyone knows, being waged very +largely on the beneficent Indian weed. The equipment consists of four +delightful gold-mounted pipes, each guaranteed to be made of briar over +eighty years old; a gold-mounted pencil; a gold cigar-case and fifty +cigars; a gold cigarette-case and 1,000 cigarettes; a gold cigar-cutter; +a gold mechanical lighter; a gold and amber cigar-holder; a gold and +amber cigarette-holder; a smoker's knife and two gold ash-trays—the +whole neatly packed in a leather case and weighing only nine pounds. No +soldier—at any rate, no officer—should be without it. Cheered by its +presence he would fight twice as well, and any horrid old pipe that he +might possess and, however tired of it, be forced still to smoke for +want of a new one, he would be able to give to a Tommy. The same set is +obtainable in silver at a lower cost; but my advice to everyone is to +take the gold one.</p> + +<p>Many of our brave fellows are supplied with helmets, belts and mufflers +by the loving hands of their friends; but for those who cannot knit, +Messrs. Tyke and Taylor have a most attractive show of all the woollen +articles with which it has been decreed that our warriors shall cover +their bodies. Their ten-guinea Campaign Abdominal Belt could not be +improved upon, little strands of real gold thread being woven into the +ordinary fabric. I foretell an enormous sale for this fascinating +article, and also for the Service Muffler at seven guineas, which has +real gold tassels at each end.</p> + +<p>Messrs. Cartersons are concentrating their energies on letter-paper for +the Front. In a compact and very tasteful morocco case is a sufficient +supply of paper, envelopes and blotting-paper for a considerable +correspondence.</p> + +<p>A gold ink-pot, a gold pen and a gold pencil are also included, together +with sealing-wax and nibs, and a very clever little rubber-stamp with +the words, "Somewhere at the Front." A writing pad for the knee when in +action completes this timely budget. Those interesting letters from +officers and men, which now form so popular a section of each paper, are +likely soon to be noticeably increased in numbers. Fortunate indeed is +the man who gets one of Messrs. Cartersons' Front Correspondence +Companions! The total weight is only a little over two pounds, which is, +of course, nothing.</p> + +<p>In another of Cartersons' windows I noticed a very delightful Field +Tantalus, which can easily be attached to a shoulder-strap or, better +still, be carried by an orderly.</p> + +<p>The moment the threshold of Mr. Luke Jones' establishment is crossed, +both eye and mind are in a state of ecstasy in the presence of so much +Christmas enterprise. Here, as elsewhere, the first thought has been for +our brave soldiers at the Front, and particularly the gallant officers. +Wrist watches of every shape are to be seen, each thoughtfully provided +with its strap—for Mr. Jones forgets nothing. In addition to wrist +watches are wrist compasses for the other arm, and for the ankles a +speedometer and barometer. Thus fitted, the officer knows practically +all that can be learned. I need not say that all are in gold; but a few +special sets in radium can be obtained. Even these, however, are not +ruinous, for with Mr. Luke Jones reasonable prices are a fetish.</p> + +<p>The full assurance of securing the best possible value at the lowest +possible price adds yet another reason for visiting the charming +premises of Messrs. Slimmer and Bang. Their Service knick-knacks cannot +be overpraised. Glancing hastily around, I noticed several with devices +all calculated not only to be useful but to amuse at the Front, wherever +our stalwart representatives are gathered.</p> + +<p>One of the most practical is a boot-cleaning set in strong pigskin with +gold clasps, including, very ingeniously, a bottle of patent-leather +reviver. Another pigskin, indispensable at the Front, holds a complete +tea-set. It resembles the old tea-basket, but weighs at least five +ounces less (no small matter on the march, I am told) and is more +compact. With such a gift as this, no officer need ever again go without +tea in the trenches. Messrs. Slimmer and Bang are to be congratulated.</p> + +<p>Anything more charming than the Service card-cases at Messrs. Slosson +and Kay's I have never seen. One side is intended for paper notes, of +which every officer at the Front is in constant need; the other half is +reserved for his visiting-cards, which it is <i>de rigueur</i>, I am told, to +leave on the enemy after every visit to their trenches. Some officers go +so far as to place their cards on the point of their bayonet—a +characteristic British touch. Messrs. Slosson and Kay also have charming +combinations of drinking-flask and ear-syringe in all the more precious +metals, and field-glasses studded with diamonds. For home use the same +firm has a most delightful Special Constable's gold-mounted truncheon, +which unscrews for liquid refreshment, of which our S. C.'s are often in +need.</p> + +<p>Messrs. Kyte and Kyte have a really dinky little Game Book especially +prepared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[Pg 523]</a></span> for the War and as a Christmas gift. It differs at first sight +very little from the ordinary game book of an English shoot, but on +examination we find that the game is of larger size. The divisions +include all ranks of the German army, so that an exact analysis of one's +bag can be kept. Messrs. Kyte and Kyte also make a Service Fountain Pen +which not only acts as a pen but also as a clinical thermometer and +pipe-cleaner. It has furthermore an attachment for removing stones from +horses' feet. Made in gold, it is a most becoming Yuletide gift.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%"> +<a href="images/523.png"> +<img src="images/523.png" width="100%" alt="And what can I get for you, Sir?" /></a><br /><br /> +<p>"<span class="smcap">And what can I get for you, Sir?</span>"</p> +<p>"<span class="smcap">I'm looking for my father. Has he been in here? He's an old man 'bout +thirty-seben.</span>"</p> +</div> + +<h2>A CREDIBILITY INDEX.</h2> + +<p>"This Poland business is still rather hard to follow," said my wife +plaintively, after consulting the latest newspaper map pinned over the +mantelpiece, "and I know it's tremendously important. I wish they +wouldn't keep fighting in small villages that aren't marked; and really +beyond the bare fact that both armies repeatedly surround one another +simultaneously it is not at all easy to gather just what they are at."</p> + +<p>"The whole thing would be as clear as day," said my sister-in-law, who +likes to be regarded as an authority on land operations—I am myself our +Naval Expert—"if only one knew what to believe. Have the Germans +occupied Przsczwow or have they not?"</p> + +<p>"I think they must have done. Last night's paper said that it was +believed that Przsczwow was officially occupied, and it says here that +it is officially stated that Przsczwow is believed to be occupied."</p> + +<p>"It's only partially official," said I, who had carefully collated the +reports on the point. "It was semi-official from Amsterdam, official +from Berlin, considered to emanate from a good source in Rome, and +unofficially denied in Petrograd."</p> + +<p>"It <i>must</i> be true," said my wife.</p> + +<p>"You were always a good believer, dear," said I. "I doubt if I know any +one who has believed as much in sheer quantity as you have since the war +began. You know you swallowed that yarn about——"</p> + +<p>"Don't you think," my wife broke in hastily (for she simply hates to be +reminded of the Russians in England), "that we ought to have a sort of +index to judge these rumours by?"</p> + +<p>"I see," said I. "One hundred for absolute reliability. <i>Nil</i> for the +perfect and utter lie."</p> + +<p>The table which resulted was hung up beside the map for reference; I +recommend it for general use.</p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table summary="Reliabilty ratings"> +<tr><td>London, Paris or Petrograd (official)——</td><td>100</td></tr> +<tr><td>(semi-official)——</td><td> 50</td></tr> +<tr><td>Berlin (official)——</td><td> 25</td></tr> +<tr><td>It is believed in military circles here that——</td><td> 24</td></tr> +<tr><td>A correspondent who has just returned from the firing-line tells me that——</td><td> 18</td></tr> +<tr><td>It is freely stated in Brussels that——</td><td> 17</td></tr> +<tr><td>Our correspondent at Amsterdam wires that—— </td><td> 13</td></tr> +<tr><td>Our correspondent at Rome announces that——</td><td> 11</td></tr> +<tr><td>Berlin (unofficial)——</td><td> 10</td></tr> +<tr><td>I learn from a neutral merchant that——</td><td> 7</td></tr> +<tr><td>A story is current in Venice to the effect that——</td><td> 5</td></tr> +<tr><td>It is rumoured that——</td><td> 4</td></tr> +<tr><td>I have heard to-day from a reliable source that——</td><td> 3</td></tr> +<tr><td>I learn on unassailable authority that——</td><td> 2</td></tr> +<tr><td>It is rumoured in Rotterdam that——</td><td> 1</td></tr> +<tr><td>Wolff's Bureau states that——</td><td> 0</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p>We didn't put in my wife's other sister who lives on the East coast, +because I don't like to hurt people's feelings. My wife hears from her +frequently. Her average is about nineteen to one against, so that her +proper place on the list would be bracketed with the story from Venice.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[Pg 524]</a></span> + +<h2>TREASURES IN STORE.</h2> + +<p>He is a great man in the Pantomime world. As he rose from his roll-top +desk with the evident intention of kicking me, I hastened to explain +that I was only a harmless reporter come to look at some of the new +lyrics.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said he, "that alters the case. I thought you were another topical +songster. Now here's a clever little piece about the Navy."</p> + +<p>I stretched out my hand for it.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "So much depends on intelligent expression and emphasis +that I'd better read it to you. I think of calling this one 'The Battle +of the Brine.'</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">"The seas roll high, and the smoke around does hang,</p> +<p class="i2">And the Dreadnoughts steam along in line;</p> +<p class="i0">The big guns boom and the little fellows bang,</p> +<p class="i2">And the shells go bumping in the brine!</p> +<p class="i0">The flags run up, and the Admiral says, '<i>Now</i>, Sirs,</p> +<p class="i2">Buck up and send the Huns to Davy Jones!'</p> +<p class="i0">Then the Captain cheers, and the men hitch up their trousers,</p> +<p class="i2">And they all give Hohenzollern three groans!</p> +</div></div> + +<p>"There it is;" and the Great Man fairly purred with satisfaction. "<i>Une +petite pièce de tout droit</i>, isn't it?" he said. "I gave you a hint of +the tune. It needs a stirring one."</p> + +<p>"It does," said I, delighted to be able to agree with him on one point. +"And you have other songs equally topical?"</p> + +<p>He pointed to a bale in the corner that I had taken for a new carpet. +"I've had a good few to choose from," he said. "I fancy this one is +about the best. My leading low-comedian writes all his own +lyrics—extraordinarily adequate little man. He opens briskly:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">"Pip-pip, girls!</p> +<p class="i0">As I was walking down the street,</p> +<p class="i2">Because it couldn't walk down me,</p> +<p class="i0">One day last week I chanced to meet</p> +<p class="i2">A German en-ee-mee.</p> +<p class="i0">He had a notebook in his hand (not a sausage)</p> +<p class="i2">And I said, ''Ere's a spy! Wot O!'</p> +<p class="i0">So I gripped him by the collar and—</p> +<p class="i2">And—then—I—let—him—go!</p> +<p class="i0">For he (ha! ha! he! he!)</p> +<p class="i2">Was bigger than me, you see,</p> +<p class="i0">So I thought it well to run and tell</p> +<p class="i2">The speshul constabularee!</p> +</div></div> + +<p>"Yes," he gasped, "I thought that 'ud hit you. That's what I call a real +live piece of work. Here's another—in the old-fashioned style. Not +quite so much snap about it. But my fourth low-comedian thinks he can +make it go. It's called, 'When Father Threw his Wages at the Cat.'</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">"We're not a happy family, we're always on the nag,</p> +<p class="i2">Our miseries are dreadful to relate;</p> +<p class="i0">I've got two little sisters who are both a mass of blisters</p> +<p class="i2">From settling disagreements in the grate;</p> +<p class="i0">This afternoon my Uncle Charlie kicked me down the stairs</p> +<p class="i2">And walloped me for crumpling up the mat;</p> +<p class="i0">But this, though far from nice, is simply nothing to the crisis</p> +<p class="i2">When father threw his wages at the cat!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">There <i>have</i> been other ructions, and especially the day</p> +<p class="i2">That mother lent our dicky to the sweep,</p> +<p class="i0">When all of us were weeping and the baby gave up sleeping</p> +<p class="i2">Because it was impossible to sleep;</p> +<p class="i0">But all the rows that ever raged in any British home</p> +<p class="i2">Were never half so horrible as that</p> +<p class="i0">Which made the coppers rally to the storming of our alley</p> +<p class="i2">When father threw his wages at the cat!"</p> +</div></div> + +<p>"Is that out of date?" said I. "If so, I like the old style best.'</p> + +<p>He grunted. "It'll pass," he said; "but the other's the business."</p> + +<p>"Well, give me pleasure first," said I. "As a true Briton I can always +take it sadly."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY BEAR.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Barbara's birthday comes once a year,</p> +<p class="i2">And Barbara's age you may surely know</p> +<p class="i0">If into the toy-box depths you'll peer</p> +<p class="i2">And count the Teddy-bears all in a row.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">For by Barbara's law, which we all obey,</p> +<p class="i2">She claims each year, as the birthday-due</p> +<p class="i0">That her loyal subjects must cheerfully pay,</p> +<p class="i2">A new Teddy-bear for the toy-box Zoo.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Some of them growl and some of them squeak,</p> +<p class="i2">And one can play on a rub-a-dub drum,</p> +<p class="i0">But till Barbara's birthday last Wednesday week</p> +<p class="i2">Not one of the Teddy-bears was dumb.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">The latest addition to Barbara's bears</p> +<p class="i2">Was a splendid fellow when well displayed</p> +<p class="i0">In one of the smallest of nursery chairs,</p> +<p class="i2">And his label declared he was "English made."</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Barbara called him her "bestest bear,"</p> +<p class="i2">But he tumbled soon from this place of pride;</p> +<p class="i0">For she squeezed him here and she pounded him there,</p> +<p class="i2">And "Daddy, he doesn't growl," she cried.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">Barbara shook him and flung him down;</p> +<p class="i2">She turned her back and refused to play;</p> +<p class="i0">And to every argument said with a frown,</p> +<p class="i2">"He's my worstest bear; he can go away."</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0">We took him back, and we asked instead</p> +<p class="i0">For "A bear like this, that can growl, you see;"</p> +<p class="i0">But the shopman smiled and he darkly said,</p> +<p class="i0">"All growls are made, Sir, in Germany."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> No doubt this defect in the British industry has by now +been made good.</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE NEW REPORTING.</h2> + +<center><span class="smcap">Tonbury v. Haileybridge</span></center><br /> +<center>(<i>A Rugby Match reported after the style of the German General +Staff. The passages in brackets are the work of a neutral +correspondent.</i>)</center> + +<p>Our brave Tonburians kicked off against the wind and immediately assumed +a strong offensive along the whole line, forcing the enemy to evacuate +his positions. When we reached their Twenty-five it became clear, after +a furious struggle, that a decision was inevitably about to be postponed +on account of the unexpected strength of their defence. (One try to +Haileybridge which was converted.)</p> + +<p>After some fierce scrummaging in mid-field, in which we had all the best +of it, it was found necessary, owing to strategic reasons, for our +forces to occupy entirely new positions some thirty yards nearer to our +own touchline. Thereafter there was nothing whatever to report. (Try to +Haileybridge.)</p> + +<p>When the game was resumed it soon became evident that the situation was +developing according to our expectations. (A dropped goal to +Haileybridge.)</p> + +<p>Fighting continued, but there was no new development to report. (Two +tries.)</p> + +<p>At half-time the head-master heartily congratulated the Tonbury Fifteen +upon the magnificent victories they were gaining against superior +forces, and assured them that it would soon be over, and they would all +be back in time for tea. He then conferred their caps upon the whole +Fifteen and an extra tassel upon the Captain. It is understood that the +school-house will be decorated with bunting.</p> + +<p>The second half was largely a repetition of the first. We continued to +keep up a powerful pressure all along the line, varied only by frequent +occupation of new strategic lines, occasional postponements of decision, +several stages of development according to anticipation, and some rapid +re-grouping of our forces. The whistle found us pressing heavily, just +outside the goal-line (the Tonbury one).</p> + +<center>(Result: Haileybridge, 43 points; Tonbury, <i>nil.</i>)</center><br /> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">[Pg 525]</a></span> + +<h2>THE BERLIN CHRISTMAS SEASON.</h2> + +<center><span class="smcap">Yule Logs</span>.</center> + +<p>Made from the finest Belgian church carved oak. A Prussian General +writes: "This wood burns admirably. I speak from personal observation of +experiments carried out under my orders."</p> + +<p>An admirably suitable present for this year is a</p> + +<center><span class="smcap">War Map</span>.</center> + +<p>Those we offer are calculated to be particularly popular, the little +Imperial flags <i>not being detachable but painted on to the map</i>—at +Paris, London, Petersburg, etc. Thus, whatever may be happening in the +field, you may continue cheerful.</p> + +<center><span class="smcap">American Mirrors</span>.</center> + +<p>As many of our most exalted customers complain of the quality of these +goods, considering them too crude and glaring in their effect, we have +prepared, with the help of our Ambassador at Washington, a special glass +which provides a less realistic reflection. Sold in various shapes—the +Kaiser mirror, the Dernburg reflector, etc. Try one.</p> + +<center><span class="smcap">A Beautiful Souvenir</span>.</center><br /> + +<center><span class="smcap">Calais-Beach Pebble Brooches</span>.</center> + +<p>(We regret to announce that at the last moment our buyer writes that he +is unable to procure the last-named article.)</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>TOPICAL GEOGRAPHY.</h2> + +<center><span class="smcap">Studies in the Art of Dragging-in</span>.</center> + +<blockquote><p>["Though the Falkland Islands are dreary and uninviting enough, they +have added their quota to the gaiety of the world. It should not be +forgotten that Miss Ellaline Terris is a native of Stanley, the +capital of the islands."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<p>The town of Bonn, in Rhenish Prussia, which has recently been in +evidence owing to the enterprise of French aviators, is the seat of a +university, of an Old Catholic bishopric and a school of agriculture. +But it owes its chief title to fame to the fact that it was the +birthplace of <span class="smcap">Beethoven</span>, the eminent composer. <span class="smcap">Beethoven</span> was a man of a +serious character, but thanks to the genius of Sir <span class="smcap">Herbert Beerbohm +Tree</span>, who impersonated the illustrious symphonist in one of his notable +productions, he has contributed substantially to the general gaiety.</p> + +<p>Scarborough's unhappy plight under the shells of the German Navy will +not soon be forgotten, and the sympathies of us all are with the +unfortunate townsfolk of the Northern resort. Brighton, however, which +shares with Scarborough the claim to be called the Queen of Watering +Places, is unharmed and no doubt will remain a favourite recreation +ground for tired Londoners on Sunday, among whom that mirth-provoking +comedian, Mr. <span class="smcap">George Graves</span>, is often to be seen.</p> + +<p>The strategical and political importance of Egypt has of late somewhat +overshadowed its picturesque aspect. But Memphis, Luxor, the Pyramids +are still names to conjure with, as anyone will readily admit who +recalls the wonderful stage pictures in <i>Bella Donna</i>, in which the +<i>rôle</i> of good genius was sustained with such consummate skill and +sympathy by Sir <span class="smcap">George Alexander</span>, whose smile is as irresistible as the +sword of his Macedonian namesake.</p> + +<p>Tokio, the capital of the Japanese Empire, has re-emerged into +prominence owing to the celebrations over the fall of Tsingtau. But it +must never be forgotten that Miss <span class="smcap">Gertie Millar's</span> <i>espièglerie</i> has +caused many critics to compare her with the famous Japanese actress, +Madame <span class="smcap">Sada Yacco</span>, who, so far as we know, was born at Tokio and is one +of its brightest jewels.</p> + +<p>All eyes have recently been turned towards Ypres, and every one not of +Teutonic caste must regret the damage that has been wrought there by the +War. The word Ypres, however, to many persons, is chiefly interesting as +giving its name to the old tower at Rye, in Sussex, where Mr. <span class="smcap">Henry +James</span>, whose sprightly and fertile pen has added so much to the dubiety +of nations, has long resided.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%"> +<a href="images/525.png"> +<img src="images/525.png" width="100%" alt="THE JOY OF BILLETING IN A FRENCH CHATEAU." /></a> +<h4>THE JOY OF BILLETING IN A FRENCH CHATEAU.</h4> +<center><i>Time, 6 A.M.</i></center><br /> +<p><i>Brigade Major.</i> "<span class="smcap">I say, Sir, may i finish dressing in here? they're +shellin' the north bedrooms</span>!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Il verso di Shaeckspeare 'Rules, Britain, on the +suaves.'"—<i>Corriere delle Puglie.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Not <span class="smcap">Kipling's</span> after all, you see.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">[Pg 526]</a></span> + +<hr /> + +<h2>TOO MUCH NOTICE.</h2> + +<p>I decided to go home by bus. My season-ticket had expired painlessly the +previous day, and twice already that morning I had had to satisfy the +curiosity of the railway officials as to my name and address. Although I +had explained to them that I was on half-salary and promised to renew +business relations with the company as soon as the War was over or Uncle +Peter died—whichever event happened first—they simply would not listen +to me, and hence my decision to adopt some other means of transport. I +signalled to a bus to stop, and, as the driver, seeing my signal, at +once put on his top speed, I just managed to fling myself on to the +spring-board as the vehicle tore past.</p> + +<p>I ran up to the first storey, and sat down in the front seat. Then I +took out my cigarette-case and was about to light a cigarette when a +printed notice caught my eye—</p> + +<center> +PASSENGERS WISHING<br /> +TO SMOKE<br /> +ARE KINDLY<br /> +REQUESTED<br /> +TO OCCUPY THE<br /> +REAR SEATS.<br /> +</center> + +<p>If the notice had been put a little less politely I should have ignored +it; but I can refuse nothing to those who are kind to me, so I refrained +from lighting up, and contented myself with looking round to see if +there was a rear seat vacant. There wasn't. A cluster of happy, smoking +faces confronted me. I turned round again, and wished I had learnt to +take snuff.</p> + +<p>"Cheer-o, Bert!" said a refined voice just behind my ear, and at the +same moment a walking-stick playfully tapped the head of the young +fellow sitting next to me. My neighbour faced about, kicked me on the +shin, dug the point of his umbrella into my calf, knocked off my +<i>pince-nez</i> with his newspaper, and spread himself over the back of the +seat.</p> + +<p>"'Allo, Alf!" he said. "Thought it must 've been you. Look 'ere, I want +to see you——"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," I interrupted, "your friend would like to change places with +me. Then you can scrutinise him at your ease—and mine."</p> + +<p>"You're a sport," remarked Bert.</p> + +<p>He spoke truly. Little did he guess he was addressing a +Double-Blue—bowls and quoits. Alf and I changed places, and my +attention at once became absorbed by a notice headed</p> + +<center>BEWARE OF PICKPOCKETS.</center> + +<p>I had just reached the exciting part when two girls arrived on the +landing.</p> + +<p>"There aren't two together; we shall have to divide," I heard one say.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," I said, rising. "Don't divide. I'll get into a single seat +if you care to take this double one."</p> + +<p>I was rewarded with the now almost obsolete formula of "Thank you," and +moved a seat further back. Here I found some fresh reading material +provided for me in the shape of a notice to the effect that</p> + +<center> +PASSENGERS ARE WARNED<br /> +NOT TO PUT THEIR ARMS<br /> +OVER THE SIDE OF THE BUS.<br /> +</center> + +<p>When I had probed its beauties to the utmost depth I again turned round +to see if there was a vacant seat among the smokers. To my joy I saw +one. Quickly I rose and hastened to secure it, but at the same moment +the bus turned a sharp corner and I sustained a violent blow on the back +of my head which left me half-stunned.</p> + +<p>The conductor, who had just appeared on deck to collect fares, helped me +to my feet. Then he rounded on me.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you read the notices?" he said by way of peroration. "Then it +wouldn't've 'appened."</p> + +<p>"The notices?" I repeated, handing him my fare. "I've done nothing else +but read notices ever since I got on this wretched reading-room. I know +where I may smoke and where I may not. I know that I must beware of +pickpockets, and I know that I mustn't waggle my arms over the +side-rails. Further, I have read Mr. Pinkerton's personal assurance that +his Pills are the Best. If I'd had more time I daresay I should have +worked my passage to the notice you refer to. I haven't reached it yet."</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere," said the conductor, thrusting me into the vacant smoker's +seat and pointing with what I at first took to be a saveloy, but which +upon closer inspection proved to be his fore-finger, "what does that +say?—</p> + +<center> +TO AVOID ACCIDENTS PASSENGERS<br /> +SHOULD REMAIN SEATED WHILE<br /> +THE BUS IS PASSING UNDER RAILWAY<br /> +BRIDGES.<br /> +</center> + +<p>There nar. Some of you blokes never look any farther than the end of +your noses."</p> + +<p>"Then if I had your nose," I retorted, "I should need a telescope to see +even as far as that."</p> + +<p>I was much disappointed that, just as I got to the caustic part, the +exigencies of his profession demanded that he should punch six tickets +in rapid succession. My repartee was consequently drowned amid a perfect +<i>carillon</i> of bells. But meanwhile I had found another notice—</p> + +<center> +TO STOP THE BUS<br /> +STRIKE THE BELL<br /> +ONCE.<br /> +</center> + +<p>It was a friendly and sensible notice, for, to tell the truth, I was +beginning to feel afraid of a bus that carried so much free literature. +It could not hope to be a thoroughly reliable bus and a library at the +same time. I therefore determined to forfeit several divisions of my +ticket, and give my "season" one more chance. I got up and struck the +bell once. As the driver didn't know it was just an ordinary passenger +that struck it he pulled up immediately. I had got halfway down the +staircase when somebody—it must have been that offensive conductor—- +gave the game away, for the bus jerked badly and started off again at a +rare pace. So did I. But as I flew through the air I could not help +catching a fleeting glimpse of a final advisory notice—</p> + +<center> +PASSENGERS ARE CAUTIONED<br /> +AGAINST ALIGHTING FROM<br /> +THE BUS WHILE IN MOTION.<br /> +</center><br /> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%"> +<a href="images/526.png"> +<img src="images/526.png" width="100%" alt="THE IRON CROSS EPIDEMIC." /></a> +<h4>THE IRON CROSS EPIDEMIC.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Captain of a German cruiser, hurrying home after shelling health-resort, +gives orders to lighten the ship for the sake of speed</span>.</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<center>From <i>The Evening Standard's</i> racing news:<br /><br /> + +"That's Enough, 19st 2lb (Mr. R. Cavello)<br /><br /> + +<i>J. Killalee O</i>"<br /><br /> + +We agree with the horse.</center> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">[Pg 527]</a></span> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%"> +<a href="images/527.png"> +<img src="images/527.png" width="100%" alt="General." /></a> +<p><i>General.</i> "<span class="smcap">Glad to see you walking, my lad. I always +like to see a man who considers his horse.</span>"</p> +<p><i>Recruit.</i> "<span class="smcap">Thank you, Sir. But my near side stirrup's broke, and I +can't get on.</span>"</p> +<p><i>General.</i> "<span class="smcap">Then why the deuce don't you get on with the off-side one?</span>"</p> +<p><i>Recruit</i> (<i>after some consideration</i>). "<span class="smcap">But I'd be sittin' wrong way +round.</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<center>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</center> + +<p>I am sorry that I cannot now be the first to call <i>King Albert's Book</i> +(<span class="smcap">Hodder and Stoughton</span>) The Golden Book. But, since this term has already +been applied, I can only applaud it. I suppose never in the history of +books has such a one as this been put together, just as never in the +line of kings has monarch received, under such circumstances, so rare a +tribute. If in the Belgian heart, from ruler to refugee, there is room +for more pride than should of right be there already, surely these +pages, voicing the homage of all that counts in the world to-day, will +bring it. We are all <span class="smcap">King Albert's</span> men now, and in this book we have a +welcome chance of proving our fealty. You will observe that I say +nothing about the volume as commercial value for the three shillings +that it costs to buy. One glance at the list of those who contribute (a +kind of international supplement to <i>Who's Who</i>) is all that is needed +to satisfy you on this point. <i>The Daily Telegraph</i> is primarily +responsible for gathering together a greater assembly of the names that +matter than was ever collected between covers. To the proprietors, to +Mr. <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>, who edits the book, and to the printers (especially for +the illustrations in colour, which are triumphs of reproduction) I can +only offer my thanks and congratulatory good wishes. Certainly, <i>The +Daily Telegraph</i> Belgian Fund, to which will go the entire proceeds of +the sale, deserves well the shillings that this splendid effort will +bring to it. <i>King Albert's Book</i> is indeed a noble tribute to +nobility—one that for every sake will become an historic souvenir of +the Great Days. And (if I may confess the secret wickedness of my heart +as I read) how I should love to see the Berlin Press notices!</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>When Mr. <span class="smcap">Theodore Roosevelt</span> stated on page 25 of <i>Through the Brazilian +Wilderness</i> (<span class="smcap">Murray</span>) that his was not a hunting-trip, but a scientific +expedition, I winked solemnly, so often have I read books in which +science is used as an excuse for a slaughter that to the unbloodthirsty +seems to be more than a little indiscriminate. Now, however, there is +nothing to do but to withdraw that wink and to say that Mr. <span class="smcap">Roosevelt</span> +and his companions killed only for the sake of food and specimens, +though on one very exciting occasion a man called <span class="smcap">Julio</span> displayed a most +unwholesome desire to slay anybody or anything. This renegade's lust for +murder was merely a side-show, but it serves vividly to illustrate the +dangers and risks that the travellers took as they fought their way +along the River of Doubt. No escape is possible from the buoyancy of Mr. +<span class="smcap">Roosevelt's</span> style; as frankly as any schoolboy enjoying a holiday he +revelled in the ups and downs of his adventures; and if his enthusiasm +for the important work that he was helping to accomplish occasionally +leads him to relate trivialities, and also prevents him from advancing a +few kilometres without adding up the total number he has travelled, the +essential fact remains that his tale of exploit and exploration is told +with a <i>joie de vivre</i> that carries everything before it. Among the many +discoveries that he made is one from which time has taken away any cause +for surprise. "There was," he says, "a German lieutenant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">[Pg 528]</a></span> with the +Paraguayan officers—one of several German officers who are now engaged +in helping the Paraguayans with their army." <i>Through the Brazilian +Wilderness</i> is packed with wonderfully good photographs, two of which +introduce us to a game played by the Parecis Indians, of which the +initial rule requires the "kicker-off" to lie flat on the ground and +butt the ball with his head. One wonders if Brazil's future battles will +be won in the playing fields of the Parecis.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The opening lines of the Preface to Sir <span class="smcap">Charles Villiers Stanford's</span> book +of reminiscences contain so good a story that I cannot forbear to quote +them. The tale concerns the famous conductor <span class="smcap">Hans von Buelow</span>, who (says +Sir <span class="smcap">Charles</span>) was once taking the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra through a +rehearsal at which some ladies had been invited to be present. They +indulged in whisperings and chatterings which greatly disturbed the +players. <span class="smcap">Buelow</span> turned round and said, "Ladies, we are not here to save +the Capitol, but to make music." Pretty neat that for a Prussian! It is +an example of the many excellent tales to be found in <i>Pages from an +Unwritten Diary</i> (<span class="smcap">Arnold</span>). Some of the best of them concern this same +<span class="smcap">Buelow</span>, and have done much to disprove my personal belief in the +non-existence of German humour. But throughout his book Sir <span class="smcap">Charles</span> is +the best of good company. Whether he is chatting about Royalty—there is +a rather moving little anecdote of <span class="smcap">Queen Victoria</span> and <span class="smcap">Tennyson</span> that was +new to me—or telling again the often-told history of the Cambridge +Greek Plays and the A.D.C., he has a happy pen for a point, and even the +chestnuts inevitable in such a collection are served with a flavour of +originality. I must be allowed to quote one more of <span class="smcap">von Buelow's</span> good +things. A gushing lady at a musical party begged for an introduction to +the great man. Which being given, "<i>Oh, Monsieur von Bülow</i>," she said, +"<i>vous connaissez Monsieur Wagner, n'est-ce pas?</i>" Bowing, and without a +shade of surprise, <span class="smcap">Buelow</span> answered at once, "<i>Mais oui, Madame; c'est le +mari de ma femme!</i>" A great man!</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>I am quite prepared to accept Mr. <span class="smcap">Lindsay Bashford's</span> <i>Cupid in the Car</i> +(<span class="smcap">Chapman and Hall</span>) as a nice unpretentious diary of a motor-tour on and +about the Franco-German Frontier, ingeniously done into novel form and +wholesomely seasoned with adventure and the arrangement of marriages +shortly to take place. And I distinctly like his taciturn paragon of a +chauffeur, <i>Eugene</i>—a nephew of <i>Enery Straker</i> the voluble, as I +should judge from a certain family resemblance and, by the way, much too +intelligent to murder his French phrases in the hopeless manner which +the author, none too scrupulous in these little touches, suggests. But +whether Mr. <span class="smcap">Bashford</span> hasn't spoilt an enthusiastic travel book without +producing quite a plausible novel—a defect of tactics rather than of +capacity—and whether the book doesn't show too many signs of the hustle +and vibration of the car are questions that intrude themselves; and +certainly one has a right to jib at the Preface, which seems to suggest +that the novel, written before war broke out, was to enlighten the +public, by a sugar-coated method, as to the general terrain of the +conflict inevitable at some future date, so that we might "better +picture the work our loved ones were doing at the Front." If this were +indeed so, then it was distinctly untactful that the only British +officer who appears should be a tosh-talking General obviously too fond +of his food. The fact is that the topical preface is being overdone +these days.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>My only complaint against <i>The Flute of Arcady</i> (<span class="smcap">Stanley Paul</span>) is that +Miss <span class="smcap">Kate Horn</span>, who wrote it, seems somewhat to have disregarded the +classic advice of <i>Mr. Curdle</i> to <i>Nicholas Nickleby</i> in the matter of +observing the unities. It struck me, indeed, that she had begun it as a +Cinderella-tale and then found that there wasn't enough of this to go +round. Thus the early chapters roused my sympathetic interest for +<i>Charlotte Clairvaux</i> (the bullied companion of the hateful cat, <i>Mrs. +Menzies</i>) and her admiring suitor, <i>Dr. Shuckford</i>. I felt deeply for +poor <i>Charlotte</i>, and longed for the moment when the doctor, who was +eminently desirable, would fold her in his manly arms. But this moment +came confusingly early, in the third chapter, and left us with +three-quarters of the book to fill up. So <i>Charlotte</i>, for no +reason—that I could see—but this of space, refuses her <i>Shuckford</i>, +and off go she and <i>Mrs. Menzies</i> to Versailles, where they meet a good +number of pleasantly-drawn people, and encounter a variety of +adventures, some amusing, some merely farcical. Without doubt Miss <span class="smcap">Horn</span> +has a pretty wit, but I admired its exercise far more in character than +incident. There is, for example, a delightful new version of <i>Mrs. +Malaprop</i> in the lady whose ambition it was "to live in a mayonnaise in +a good part of London." I loved her, and the terrible French infant, and +the nuns, and the old countess and the other Versailles folk. But of the +incidents, fantastic adventures with elephants and such, one sometimes +feels that their humour is, as the author says of <i>M. de Lafontaine's</i> +smile, a thing that seemed to be jerked out by machinery. Yet I am bound +to confess that it made me laugh. So why grumble?</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 40%"> +<a href="images/528.png"> +<img src="images/528.png" width="100%" alt="THE WILHELM MISTLETOE" /></a> +<h4>THE WILHELM MISTLETOE.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">A card of Teutonic origin not likely to have a big sale over here this +season.</span></p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>The Times</i>, describing the attempted escape of a German officer in the +disguise of 'Safety Matches,' says: "There was nothing in the box to +excite suspicion." Except, of course, the officer.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Never again will one rigid form of civilisation prevail.... The +world has grown too big to rest content with one standard."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="author"><i>Evening Standard.</i></p> + +<center>Hence <i>The Evening Standard</i>.</center><br /> + +<hr /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. +147, December 23, 1914, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 29522-h.htm or 29522-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/5/2/29522/ + +Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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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