1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
|
<!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>Punch 1917.07.04</title>
<style type="text/css">
<!--
body {margin-left: 10%;
margin-right: 10%;}
p {text-align: justify;}
h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;}
hr {width: 50%;}
hr.small {width: 10%;}
p.figure {margin-left: 5%;
margin-right: 5%;
text-align: center;
font-size: 0.8em;}
p.figure img {border: none;}
pre.pglegal {font-size: 0.7em;
background-color: #F0F0F0;
color: black;}
-->
</style>
</head>
<body>
<pre class="pglegal">
Project Gutenberg's Punch, 1917.07.04, Vol. 153, Issue No. 1, by Various
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
Title: Punch, 1917.07.04, Vol. 153, Issue No. 1
Author: Various
Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8643]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on July 29, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, 1917.07.04, VOL. 153, NO. 1 ***
Produced by Jon Ingram, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
</pre>
<h1>Vol. 153.</h1>
<p class="figure"><a href="images/001-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/001-1.png"
alt="Vol. 153." /></a></p>
<hr />
<h1>Punch 1917.07.04</h1>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/003-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/003-1.png"
alt="VOL. CLIII." /></a></p>
<hr />
<h2>MENTIONED IN DESPATCHES.</h2>
<p>The oldest inhabitant sat on a bench in the sun, the day's newspaper spread across
his knees, and the newest visitor sat beside him.</p>
<p>"He do be mentioned in despatches, do our Billy, by Sir DOUGLAS HAIG himself. If
it hadn't a-been for him, where'd the Army been? he says. I knowed him ever since I
come to these parts, and that weren't yesterday. He'd come round that there bend
a-whistling, not sort o' cockahoop, like some does, but just a cheery sort o' 'Here I
am again;' and he'd always stop most anywhere, if so be as you held up your hand.</p>
<p>"I've seed ladies with their golf-clubs runnin' up from the club-house, and he'd
just sort of whistle to show as he seed them, and wait for them as perlite as any
gentleman. For it do be powerful hot to walk back home with your golf-clubs after two
rounds; I was a caddy, I was, 'fore I went on the line, so I knows what I'm telling
you.</p>
<p>"It didn't make no difference if they was champions or duffers what couldn't carry
the burn not if they tried all day. Or if it were an old woman a-goin' back from
market with all her cabbages and live ducks and eggs and onions—it were all
just the same to little Billy.</p>
<p>"Then I mind the day he was took. George he come up and tells me as they have took
Billy because the Army wants all it can get. I was fair knocked over, and him so
little and all.</p>
<p>"Then the Captain, what was the best golfer here, come back for leave.</p>
<p>"'Grandpa,' says he, same as he always call me—'Grandpa,' he says, 'I've
been thinking about Billy all the time I've been out, and longing to hear him whistle
again, and now I'm home and he's gone. I shall have to get back to France again to
see him.'</p>
<p>"So he will, Sir, and if Billy was going up right under the German guns it's my
belief as Captain would get out of his trench to go and see him.</p>
<p>"What regiment is Billy in, did you say, Sir? Why, he got no regiment. Ain't I
been telling you, Sir, 'Puffing Billy' is what our golfers here call the little train
what used to run six times a day from the town to the links. Just see what the paper
says, Sir. I don't be much of a reader, but hark ye to this: 'I wish also to place on
record here the fact that the successful solution of the problem of railway transport
would have been impossible had it not been for the patriotism of the railway
companies at home. They did not hesitate to give up their locomotives and rolling
stock.'</p>
<p>"That's 'Puffing Billy,' Sir, him what I've put the signal down for hundreds an'
hundreds of times. I miss him powerful bad, but the Army wanted him, and we've been
and got some thanks too. I'm proud to think my Billy's in the paper."</p>
<hr />
<h2>THE MELTING-POT.</h2>
<blockquote>
["The municipality of Rothausen has decided to present to the collection of metal
which is being made in Germany its monument of Kaiser WILLIAM THE
FIRST."—<i>Reuter</i>.]
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
Heavy is Armageddon's price<br />
And loud the call to sacrifice;<br />
All stuff composed of likely metals—<br />
Door-knockers, hairpins, cans and kettles—<br />
Into the War's insatiate melting-pot<br />
Has to be shot.<br />
<br />
That was a hard and bitter blow<br />
When first your church-bells had to go—<br />
Those saintly bells that rang carillons<br />
While in the maw of happy millions<br />
Pure joy and gratitude to Heaven thrilled<br />
For babies killed.<br />
<br />
It hurt your Christian hearts to melt<br />
A source of faith so keenly felt;<br />
And now (worse sacrilege than that) you<br />
Propose to take yon regal statue,<br />
That godlike effigy, and make a gun<br />
Of WILLIAM ONE!<br />
<br />
What will <i>He</i> say when you reduce<br />
His Relative to cannon-juice?<br />
The prospect must be pretty rotten<br />
If thus the Never-To-Be-Forgotten<br />
Is treated, like the corpses of your friends,<br />
For useful ends.<br />
<br />
I hear the ALL-HIGHEST mutter, "Ha!<br />
They're liquefying Grandpapa!<br />
The nation's needs, that grow acuter,<br />
Count sacred things as so much pewter;<br />
Even my holy crown may go some day<br />
Down the red way!"<br />
</blockquote>
<p>O.S.</p>
<hr />
<h2>LE SÉNÉGALAIS.</h2>
<p>Samédou Kieta sat up in bed with a child's primer open before him.
"M—A," he spelled. Then, after an incredibly long time of patient puzzling,
"M—A—MA. Oui, MA. Y a bon!" and embraced the whole ward in one wide white
grin before turning to the next syllable, "M—A—N." Once more the puzzled
frown on the black face, once more the whispered hints from neighbouring beds, once
more the triumph of perseverance, "M—A—N—MAN!" He was just enjoying
his success and chanting his pidgin-French paean of happiness, "Y a bon! Y a bon!"
when Soeur Antoinette paused by his bed. "Très bien, Sidi," she said, "mais il
faut les mettre ensemble," and with her white finger she guided his black one back to
the first syllable.</p>
<p>Here was difficulty indeed! He knew all right that M—A—N was MAN, but
what was M—A? And when, after intense effort, he re-discovered that M—A
spelled MA, it was only to find that he had forgotten what M—A—N spelled.
At last the other wounded could contain themselves no longer, and the ward was filled
with laughing shouts of "Maman!" in which Samédou joined most happily.</p>
<p>Presently the English nurse passed the negro's bed, and he at once turned to
another branch of learning. "Good morning," he said, and, when she smiled back a
greeting to him, he added, "T'ank you," and looked proudly round him at his
fellow-patients as who should say, "See how we understand one another, she and
I!"</p>
<p>During a sojourn of many months in the hospital Samédou invariably met the
sufferings he was called upon to endure with an uncomplaining fortitude, which might
have seemed due to insensibility had not the staff had ample proof that his silence
was the silence of a fine courage. On one occasion a set of photographs of the
hospital was in preparation, and when the <i>salle de pansements</i> had to be taken
the photographer decided that the best lay figure for his <i>mise-en-scène</i>
would be a black man, as a striking contrast to the white raiment of the staff. So
Samédou was carried in on a stretcher and laid upon the table. Unfortunately
the surgeons and nurses were so occupied with the business of placing things in the
best light that no one realised that the poor Senegalese did not understand the
purpose of the preparations, and when the English nurse was called to take up her
position she noticed the hands of Samédou Kieta clutching the sides of the
table and his black eyes rolling in a sea of white.</p>
<p>She at once ran to the nearest ward. "Quelqu'un voudrait bien me prêter une
photographie?" she asked, and a dozen eager hands offered her the treasured groups of
<i>la famille</i>. Taking one at random she returned to Samédou and held it
before his eyes. "Nous aussi," she said, "toi, moi, le Major, l'infirmier."</p>
<p>Samédou looked, and a heavenly relief chased the tension from his face. "Y
a bon," he said happily. "Toi, bon camarade!"</p>
<p>When his wounds began to be less painful the problem was how to keep the Sidi in
bed. No one cared to be very severe with him, so the staff resorted to the usual weak
method of confiscating all his clothes save a shirt, and hoping for the best. But one
day the English nurse, going unexpectedly into a distant ward, came upon
Samédou Kieta, simply dressed in a single shirt and a bandage, visiting the
freshly-arrived wounded and scattering wide grins around him. At her horrified
exclamation he began to shrivel away towards the door, ushering himself out with the
propitiatory words, "Good morning. Good night. T'ank you. Water!" A most effectual
method of disarming reproof.</p>
<p>Poor Samédou has since passed on to another hospital for electric
treatment, but the staff still treasures his first and only letter:—</p>
<p>"Moi, Samédou Kieta, arrivé à l'autre hôpital. Y a bon.
Mais moi, Samédou Kieta, toi pas oublié. Merci, Monsieur le Major deux
galons. Merci, Soeur Antoinette. Merci, Madame l'Anglaise. Y a bon. Y a bon. Y a
bon."</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"The Germans have suffered 100,000 casualties in 10 days on the western front, and
their losses will increase rapidly. They must shorten their lives wherever possible
in order to save men."—<i>Ceylon Morning Leader.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>In this laudable endeavour they may count upon receiving the hearty assistance of
the Allies.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"Young gentleman (21), good family, strong, healthy, public school, O.T.C., Varsity
education, speaks English, French, Spanish perfectly, engineering training,
efficient car driver and mechanic, horseman, is open to any sporting job connected
with war; willing undertake any risks; no salary, but expenses paid."
</blockquote>
<p>If the advertiser will apply to the nearest recruiting-station he will hear of
something that will just suit him.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"The inhabitants of the Peak district are in a state of great alarm at the invasion
of a great part of their beautiful country by what some of them describe as a
plague of locusts, and yesterday considerable numbers of people visited the
district where the hosts are still advancing. Many from Sheffield and Manchester
alighted at Chinley, Edale, and Hope, among them some eminent etymologists, anxious
to be of assistance in ridding the country of a serious menace to the field and
garden crops."—<i>Yorkshire Paper</i>.
</blockquote>
<p>It is understood that the etymologists are chiefly concerned for the roots.</p>
<hr />
<h2>THE NATION DEMANDS.</h2>
<p class="figure"><a href="images/005-1.png"><img src="images/005-1.png" width="100%"
alt="THE NATION DEMANDS." /></a><br />
MR. PUNCH (<i>to the PRIME MINISTER</i>}. "IF YOU <i>MUST</i> HAVE DIRTY LINEN WASHED
IN PUBLIC DURING THE WAR, FOR GOD'S SAKE, SIR, WASH IT CLEAN."</p>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/006-1.png"><img src="images/006-1.png" width="100%"
alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
<i>Civilian model (posing for latest war picture)</i>. "MUS' SAY I'LL BE GLAD WHEN
PEACE IS DECLARED. THIS CLEARING HUNS OUT OF TRENCHES IS FAIR TELLIN' ON ME."</p>
<hr />
<h2>THE ABSENTEE.</h2>
<h4>(<i>Embodying divers quotations from the poems of G.K.C.</i>)</h4>
<blockquote>
Methinks at last the time has come to speak ...<br />
Since good old Russia up and revoluted<br />
I have been waiting, week by weary week,<br />
To hear the news—the obvious item—bruited;<br />
But now I give it up; it will not come;<br />
Or anyway I can no more be dumb.<br />
<br />
Where were you, GILBERT, when the great release—<br />
"Freedom in arms, the riding and the routing,"<br />
Demos superbly potting at police,<br />
And actual swords getting an actual outing—<br />
Came at the last, the things wherein you shone,<br />
Or let us think you'd shine in, CHESTERTON?<br />
<br />
You were not there! Damme, you were not <i>there</i>!<br />
Alas for us whose faith refused to doubt you!<br />
"All that lost riot that you did not share"<br />
Managed, somehow, to get along without you;<br />
When Russia "went to battle for the creed"<br />
GILBERT sat tight and did not even bleed!<br />
<br />
CHESTERTON! Dash it all, my dear old chap!<br />
Why, weren't you always eloquent on "Valmy,"<br />
"Death and the splendour of the scarlet cap"?<br />
Here were the days you looked upon as palmy.<br />
Just think of all your poems! Why, good Lord,<br />
There is no word you work so hard as "sword."<br />
<br />
We looked to see you there, the stout and staunch,<br />
"Red flag" in one hand and "ten swords" in t'other;<br />
Saw the strong sword-belt bursting from your paunch;<br />
Pitied the foes you'd fall upon and smother;<br />
Heard you make droves of pale policemen bleat,<br />
Running amok to "slay them in the street."<br />
<br />
Strong athwart Heav'n ran the high barricades,<br />
And giant Bastilles reeled, impossibly smitten,<br />
And men with broken hands swung thunderous blades<br />
In "Russia's wrath"—just as you've often written;<br />
Yea, the terrific tyrants really reeled,<br />
While CHESTERTON sat safe at Beaconsfield.<br />
<br />
And yet—I understand; I don't impute<br />
That only in your poems do you bicker;<br />
You would abstain, when people revolute,<br />
No more, I'm sure, than you'd abstain from liquor;<br />
And here we have it—here's the reason why:<br />
<i>This was a revolution that was "dry."</i><br />
</blockquote>
<hr />
<h3>The Eagle's Plume.</h3>
<blockquote>
"The bride, who is an American by birth, was given away by her
feather."—<i>Liverpool Daily Post</i>.
</blockquote>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"Mr., Mrs. and Miss ——, who were in their bungalow at Sidbar, had a
lucky escape from the earthquake recently, for no sooner had they ot out than
gpractically the whole house cae mdown."—<i>Pioneer (Allahabad)</i>.
</blockquote>
<p>On this occasion, contrary to the usual rule, Nature appears to have been more
careful of the individual than of the type.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"You, too, reader, if you have not already visited ——'s, have a
pleasant, bright happy experience before you. Why not visit this modern Forum
to-morrow?"—<i>"Callisthenes" in the evening papers, June 23rd.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>One of our reasons for not taking this well-meant advice was that June 24th was a
Sunday.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"Great fires continue in Germany. The latest include gutting of the Moabit Goods
Station in Berlin wherein tanks of petrol, hydrogen, <i>et cetera</i>, exploded,
resulting in the destruction of a part of Vilna and the township of Osjory near the
Grodno conflagration station and a basket factory at Happe."—<i>Ceylon
Independent</i>.
</blockquote>
<p>The effect of this remarkably extensive explosion seems to have been felt even in
Colombo.</p>
<hr />
<h2>WOMAN AS USUAL.</h2>
<h4>(<i>In the manner of some of our own evening papers</i>.)</h4>
<p>It was with a real pang that I tore myself away from the Frugality Exhibition,
where the culinary demonstrations were most enthralling. Just before leaving,
however, I watched a wonderfully tasty hash being compounded with oddments of rabbit
and banana flour. It exhaled an aroma which I hated to leave—even for luncheon
at the Fitz.</p>
<h4>AT THE FITZ.</h4>
<p>By a strange coincidence I made the acquaintance of an admirable rabbit
<i>goulash</i>, which was, I believe, identical with that which I saw being prepared
at the Frugality Exhibition. Thus extremes meet, and the fusion of classes is happily
illustrated in the common use of the same comestibles.</p>
<p>There are always a number of people lunching in the great hotels in these war-time
days, and I was glad to see Lady Allchin, looking remarkably well-nourished in a
mauve Graeco-Roman dress and Gainsborough hat; Lady Waterstock, Lord Hilary Sprockett
and Sir Peter Frye-Smith.</p>
<h4>YESTERDAY'S WEDDING.</h4>
<p>Lady Carmilla Dunstable made a lovely bride at St. Mungo's, Belgravia, yesterday,
on her marriage to Prince Wurra-Wurra, of Tierra-del-Fuego. The story of the
engagement is wildly romantic. Lady Carmilla was returning from Peru, where she had
been hunting armadillos; the ship in which she was travelling was wrecked in the
Straits of Magellan, and she was rescued by Prince Wurra-Wurra, who was casually
cruising about in his catamaran. Her family were for some time hostile to the match,
but all objections were soon removed, as the Prince has abjured cannibalism and is
now an uncompromising vegetarian. The bridegroom, who is a fine-looking man of the
prognathous type, was loudly cheered by the crowd on leaving the church.</p>
<h4>A CHARMING CONCERT.</h4>
<p>All true melomaniacs will rejoice to hear that the Signora Balmi-Dotti has decided
to give another vocal recital at the Dorian Hall. Her programme as usual reflects her
catholic and cosmopolitan taste, for she will sing not only Welsh and Cornish
folk-songs, but works by PALESTRINA, Gasolini, Larranaga, Sparafucile, and the young
American composer, Ploffskin Jee, so that both classical and modern masters will be
represented.</p>
<h4>TWO RECIPES FOR TEA CAKES.</h4>
<p>The FOOD CONTROLLER looks askance at teas in these days, but in hot weather, when
luncheon is reduced to the lowest common denominator and dinner resolves itself into
a cold collation in the cool of the evening, some refreshment between our second and
third meals is indispensable. I accordingly give two recipes which need no wheaten
flour and are very quickly made.</p>
<p>Take half-a-pound of sugar, a quarter of caviare, a quarter of calipash, a quarter
of millet and six peaches. Beat the caviare to a cream and pound the peaches to a
pulp; then add the sugar and millet and stir vigorously with a mirliton. Put into
patty-pans and bake gently for about thirty minutes in an electric silo-oven. About
thirty cakes should result; but more will materialize if you increase the ingredients
proportionately.</p>
<p>Take two kilowatts of ammoniated quinine and beat up with one very large
egg—a swan's for choice. Add gradually ten ounces of piperazine, a pint of
Harrogate water and inhale leisurely through a zoetrope.</p>
<p>MÉLISANDE.</p>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/007-1.png"><img src="images/007-1.png" width="66%"
alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
<i>Extract from Hun airman's report</i>. "WE DROPPED BOMBS ON A BRITISH FORMATION,
CAUSING THE TROOPS TO DISPERSE AND RUN ABOUT IN A PANIC-STRICKEN MANNER."</p>
<hr />
<h3>The New Plutocracy.</h3>
<blockquote>
"Munition Lady wants to buy Piano and Wardrobe; cash."—<i>North Star.</i>
</blockquote>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"Goats' cheese is tasty and nourishing and more easily made than butter; and in
winter time the humblest of sheds will suffice for its sleeping
place."—<i>Daily Mail.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>The cheese should however be carefully tethered.</p>
<hr />
<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2>
<p>According to an Italian report the conviction of the master-spy, VON GERLACH, was
effected by the aid of "the two most notorious burglars in Europe." Another slight
for LITTLE WILLIE.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Reporting on a Glasgow subway railway accident, Colonel PRINGLE advises that "the
use of ambiguous phraseology on telephones should not be permitted." Abbreviations
now dear to the London subscriber, such as "Grrrrrrr-kuk-kuk-kuk-bbbzzzzz—are
you—ping! phut! grrrrr!" etc., etc., will no longer be allowed.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>The Sinn Feiners are proposing to send a mission to the United States to explain
their attitude. An upward tendency in plate-glass insurance is already manifesting
itself in New York and elsewhere.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Owing, we understand, to other distractions, no actress last week obtained a
divorce.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>A trade union for funeral workers has just been formed, the members of which are
pledged to oppose Sunday burials. It is considered very unlucky to be buried on a
Sunday.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>No, "Thespian," it is no longer considered correct to wear a straw hat with a fur
coat. Why not run the lawnmower over the astrachan collar?</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>A medical correspondent points out that wasps, gnats and midges can be kept at a
distance by using preparations of certain obnoxious plants. There is also much to be
said for the plan of making a noise like a German.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>The death of the "Old Lady of Charing Cross" is announced. The Old Lady of
Threadneedle Street, on the other hand, is still able to sit up and take a note or
two.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Internal matters are not being neglected by the House of Commons. Lord RHONDDA on
Bread and High Military Officers on Toast were the features last week.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>"What is a copper's 'mark'?" asked a Metropolitan magistrate the other day, just
as if he were a High Court Judge.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>An hotel fire occurred in Brook Street last week, and we are told that the guests
left the hotel and hurried into the street. Nothing is said as to how this happy idea
originated.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Mexico, it appears, has arranged that future revolutions shall be held between
Saturday and Monday, the week-end being selected as the most suitable time for
business men who are assisting America in war-work.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>At a North of England police-court last week a seven-pound piece of cheese was
alleged to have made away with a conscientious objector.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>We are informed that the fish landed in Great Britain in 1916 weighed 8,173,639
hundredweight. The angler who killed it still sticks to the story that he thought it
was much larger than this.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Two brass wedding-rings have been found inside a salmon caught on the Wye. As the
fish looked extremely worried it is thought that it must have been leading a double,
or even treble, life.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Some consternation has been caused among food-profiteers in this country by a
recent dictum of Mr. SCHWAB, the American millionaire, to the effect that "Honesty is
the best policy."</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>In connection with the food-economy campaign a notable example has been set by the
python at the Zoo, who has decided to give up his mid-monthly lunch.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Among the prisoners recently captured on the Carso is a Major who bears a
remarkable likeness to Marshal VON HINDENBURG. The unfortunate Major, it appears,
explains that it is no fault of his, being due to a terrible accident he had when a
boy.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>A correspondent in <i>Folk Lore</i> declares that the hedgehog is, after all, a
very lovable animal. We do not profess to be expert, but in any comparison with other
animals we imagine that the hedgehog ought to win on points.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>Lord NORTHCLIFFE has informed the Washington Red Cross Committee that the War has
only just begun. The United States regard it as a happy coincidence that their entry
into the War synchronises with the initial operations.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>The POSTMASTER-GENERAL has issued a recommendation that all eggs sent in parcels
to troops should be hard-boiled. Some difficulty has been experienced, it is pointed
out, in securing prompt delivery of portions of uncooked eggs that may have escaped
from the parcels in which they were confined.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>"Two privates in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers," says a news item, "cannot speak a
word of English, and their platoon-commander knows no Welsh." Probably the
platoon-sergeant knows some words that sound sufficiently like Welsh.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>The question of transport is officially stated to be one of the main difficulties
in connection with the beer supply. This however is questioned by many patriotic
consumers, who affirm that they are very rarely able to get as much as they can
carry.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>The appointment of a Riot Controller for Cork and District is said to be under
consideration. Following the Indian Government's precedent as exposed in the
Mesopotamia Report, he will conduct his official business from the Isle of Wight.</p>
<hr />
<h2>RUINED RAPTURE.</h2>
<blockquote>
Through many a busy year of peace<br />
I hoped some day, by way of beano,<br />
To give myself a jaunt in Greece,<br />
Famed land of HOMER (also TINO).<br />
Full oft I dreamed how, blest by Fate,<br />
I'd loll within some leafy hollow<br />
With Aphrodite <i>téte-a-téte</i><br />
Or barter back-chat with Apollo.<br />
<br />
Around Olympus' foot I'd roam<br />
(Not being really fond of climbing),<br />
Absorb romance and carry home<br />
Increased facility at rhyming;<br />
Those hallowed haunts of many a god<br />
That nowadays we only read of<br />
Would give my Pegasus the prod<br />
He not unseldom stood in need of.<br />
<br />
That was in Peace. And then the War<br />
Sent me to learn within a hutment<br />
What martial duties held in store<br />
And what a sergeant-major's "Tut" meant;<br />
<br />
Thence to the trenches, thence a rest,<br />
A route-march to a wayside station,<br />
With (every single soldier guessed)<br />
Greece as our "unknown destination."<br />
<br />
I saw Olympus wrapped in snow,<br />
The clouds at rest upon its summit,<br />
But did I thrill or long to throw<br />
My hands athwart the lyre and strum it?<br />
Gazing, I felt no soulful throb,<br />
I only felt the body's inner<br />
Cravings and said, "I'll bet a bob<br />
It's bully once again for dinner."<br />
</blockquote>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"Ex-King Constantino has bought a magnificent chateau called Chartreuse, situated
near Thun Castle. It belonged to Baron von Zadlitz, a German officer, who is now
in the field, and has been empty since the beginning of the
war."—<i>Evening Paper</i>.
</blockquote>
<p>Well, he will be able to fill himself up on the proceeds.</p>
<hr />
<h2>THE LEAVE-WANGLER.</h2>
<p class="figure"><a href="images/009-1.png"><img src="images/009-1.png"
width="100%" alt="THE LEAVE-WANGLER." /></a></p>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/010-1.png"><img src="images/010-1.png"
width="100%" alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
<i>Father.</i> "WHAT CLASS DID THEY PUT YOU IN COMING ACROSS?"<br />
<i>Tommy.</i> "C 6."</p>
<hr />
<h2>HAY FEVER.</h2>
<blockquote>
That is the twenty-seventh time to-day!<br />
What is the use of Nobbs's Nasal Spray?<br />
What use my aunt's "unfailing" recipes?<br />
There <i>is</i> no anodyne for this disease—<br />
Thirty, I think! Another hanky, please—<br />
A-tish-oo!<br />
<br />
The world is gay; the bee bestrides the rose;<br />
But I blaspheme and madly blow my nose.<br />
For shame, O world! for shame, the heartless bee!<br />
Your sweetest blooms are misery to me;<br />
And as for that condemned acacia-tree—<br />
A-tish-oo!<br />
<br />
Oh, could I roam, contented like the sheep,<br />
In sunlit fields where, as it is, I weep;<br />
Oh, to be fashioned like the lower classes,<br />
Who simply revel in the longest grasses,<br />
While I sit lachrymose with coloured glasses—<br />
A-tish-oo!<br />
<br />
Fain would I spend my summers high in air;<br />
At least there are no privet-hedges there.<br />
But even then I have no doubt the smell<br />
From slopes celestial of asphodel<br />
Would fill the firmament and give me hell—<br />
A-tish-oo!<br />
<br />
They tell me 'tis the man of intellect<br />
The baneful seeds especially affect;<br />
And I that sneeze one million times a year—<br />
I ought to have a notable career,<br />
Though, at the price, an earldom would be dear—<br />
A-tish-oo!<br />
<br />
Gladly, indeed, to some less gifted swain<br />
Would I concede my fine but fatal brain,<br />
Could I like him but sniff the jasmine spray<br />
Or couch unmoved within a mile of hay,<br />
And not explode in this exhausting way—<br />
A-tish-oo!<br />
</blockquote>
<hr />
<h3>Wanted, a Faith-healer.</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Dear Madam,—We have received your enquiry for Sergeant ——,
and wish to inform you that he was transferred to —— Hospital,
suffering from a slightly sceptic toe. Trusting this information may be of some
value,</p>
<p>Yours faithfully, ——</p>
</blockquote>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"It scarcely seems as if the Premiership of Graf Moritz Esterhazy, with all his
Oxford education and the vigour of his thirty-six years, will be able to bruise
the serpent's heel."—<i>Observer</i>.
</blockquote>
<p>The serpent is so beastly cunning; he always sits on it.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"MARRIAGES.—All contemplating Marriage consult Proprietors ——
Matrimonial Bureau, Melbourne, opposite Old Cemetery. Specially erected for the
purpose."—<i>The Age</i> (<i>Melbourne</i>).
</blockquote>
<p>This recalls the description of a famous football-ground in Dublin,
"conveniently situated between the Mater Misericordiae Hospital and Glasnevin
Cemetery."</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
<p>"Margaret was clinging to Dick's arm as she walked, looking up adoringly into
his handsome, tanned face, with her blue eyes.</p>
<p>A week later Dick led Margaret into Suburban Garden, where he had wooed and
won her so long ago.</p>
<p>Dick's voice was very tender as he looked down into two grey
eyes."—<i>Manchester Evening Chronicle</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>If Margaret is not careful to be a little more consistent she will finish with
two black eyes.</p>
<hr />
<h2>THE SAVING OF THE RACE.</h2>
<p class="figure"><a href="images/011-1.png"><img src="images/011-1.png"
width="100%" alt="THE SAVING OF THE RACE." /></a><br />
["National Baby Week" is being celebrated during the current week. The object of
the movement is to educate the Mothers of the Nation in the care of their
children's health and their own. Universal sympathy will be felt for a cause to
which our heavy losses in the War have given an added urgency. Those who desire to
give practical help towards the cost of the scheme will kindly address their gifts
to the Hon. Treasurer, National Baby Week Council, 6, Holles Street, Oxford Street,
W.I.]</p>
<hr />
<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2>
<p><i>Monday, June 25th</i>.—Mr. LYNCH is beginning to pine for the return of
Lord ROBERT CECIL. He does not quite know what to make of Mr. BALFOUR, who politely
represses his honest endeavours to elucidate the situation in Greece, and actually
declared to-day that the difficulties of the Allies would only be increased by the
hon. Member's attempts to deal with them piecemeal. Mr. LYNCH was not entirely done
with, however. "Is that reply," he asked in a "got-him-this-time" manner, "given by
reason of freedom of choice or ineludible necessity?" "Sir," replied the apologist
of philosophic doubt with Johnsonian authority, "questions of freewill and
necessity have perplexed mankind for ages."</p>
<p>The House will be delighted to welcome back to its fold Sir ROBERT HERMAN-HODGE,
whose flowing moustaches, once described as "the best definition of infinity," have
been, at intervals, its pride and joy for over thirty years. But it will have to
wait a while, for—strange lapse on the part of a hero of half-a-dozen
contests!—Sir ROBERT had omitted to bring with him the returning-officer's
certificate. Lord HALSBURY, delayed by a similar accident on his first appearance
in the House forty years ago, systematically turned out the contents of seemingly
endless pockets and eventually discovered the missing document in his hat.</p>
<p>At this crisis in Ireland's affairs you might suppose that all good Nationalists
would remain in their country, doing their best to make the Convention a success.
Mr. DILLON prefers to attack the Government at Westminster, because it proposes to
set up a Conference to consider the future composition and powers of the Second
Chamber. Was it not, he asked, a breach of privilege to do this without the express
consent of the House of Commons? The SPEAKER thought not, and referred his
questioner to the preamble of the Parliament Act of 1911, in which such action was
distinctly contemplated. Mr. DILLON, thus suddenly transported to the dear dead
days before the War, when he was hand-in-glove with the present PRIME MINISTER,
considers that Mr. LOWTHER is open to censure for possessing a memory of such
indecent length and accuracy.</p>
<p><i>Tuesday, June 26th</i>.—A gentle creature at ordinary times, Lord
STRACHIE has been roused to unexpected ferocity by the German air-raids, and
advocates a policy of unmitigated reprisals upon the enemy's cities. Had his appeal
been successful he would have been recorded in history as the mildest-mannered man
that ever bombed a German baby. But Lord DERBY would have none of it. British
aeroplanes—of which, like every nation engaged in the War, we have none too
many—shall only be employed in bombing when some distinctly military object
is to be achieved.</p>
<p class="figure"><a href="images/012-1.png"><img src="images/012-1.png"
width="50%" alt="THE RIVALS." /></a><br />
THE RIVALS. MR. BRACE. SIR ROBERT HERMAN-HODGE.</p>
<p>After much consultation with the military authorities the Government has decided
that to issue general warnings on the occasion of an air-raid would tend to do more
harm than good; and the LORD MAYOR (<i>teste</i> Mr. CATHCART WASON) has announced
that he will not ring the great bell of St. Paul's. The DEAN and Chapter, while
regretting that Sir WILLIAM DUNN should be deprived of a health-giving exercise,
had, as a point of fact, declined to countenance his contemplated invasion of their
belfry.</p>
<p class="figure"><a href="images/012-2.png"><img src="images/012-2.png"
width="33%" alt="A FIRM CHIN IN ANNIE'S DEFENCE." /></a><br />
A FIRM CHIN IN ANNIE'S DEFENCE. COMMANDER WEDGWOOD.</p>
<p>Commander WEDGWOOD, I am sorry to observe, has almost exhausted the store of
commonsense that he brought back with him from the trenches at Gallipoli. Otherwise
he would hardly have championed the cause of Mrs. ANNIE BESANT, upon whose
activities the Government of Madras have imposed certain salutary restrictions.
What India wants, I understand, is less Besant and more Rice.</p>
<p>Now that young soldiers are to have votes as a reward for fighting there is
logically a strong argument for taking away the franchise from those who have
refused to fight. It was well expressed by Mr. RONALD MCNEILL and others, but,
apart from the objections urged on high religious grounds by Lord HUGH CECIL, the
Government was probably right in resisting the proposal. Parliament made a mistake
in ever giving a statutory exemption to the conscientious objector. The most that
person could claim was that he should not be called upon to take other people's
lives; he had no right to be excused from risking his own. But having deliberately
provided a loophole it is hardly fair for Parliament to inflict a penalty upon
those who creep through it. And so the House thought, for it rejected the proposal
by a two-to-one majority.</p>
<p><i>Wednesday, June 27th</i>.—There is a general impression that membership
of the House of Commons is in itself a sufficient excuse for the avoidance of
military service. This, it appears, is erroneous. Only those are exempt whom a
Medical Board has declared unfit for general service; and even these, according to
Mr. FORSTER, may now be re-examined. This ought to prove a great comfort to certain
potential heroes.</p>
<p><i>Thursday, June 28th</i>.—Mr. JOSEPH KING'S chief concern at the moment
is to get Lord HARDINGE removed from the Foreign Office, where he suspects him of
concocting the devastating answers with which Mr. BALFOUR represses impertinent
curiosity. Accordingly he raked up the old story of Lord HARDINGE'S letter to Sir
G. BUCHANAN, and inquired what action the FOREIGN SECRETARY proposed to take. Mr.
BALFOUR proposed to take no action. The letter was a private communication, which
would never have been heard of but for its capture by a German submarine. Even Mr.
KING'S own correspondence, he suggested, could hardly be so dull that everything in
it would bear publication.</p>
<p>Mr. KING justly resented this imputation. Dull? Why, only this week his
letter-bag brought him news of the great reception accorded in Petrograd to one
TROTSKY, on his release from internment; and would the HOME SECRETARY be more
careful, please, about interning alien friends without trial? Sir George Cave was
sorry, but he had never heard of TROTSKY. There was a certain KAUTSKY, who had been
interned—by the Germans. Perhaps Mr. King would address himself to them.</p>
<p>The MINISTER OF MUNITIONS had a good audience for his review of the wonderful
work of his department. Who could refuse the chance of listening to ADDISON on
Steel? I cannot honestly say that the result of this combination was quite so
sparkling as it should have been, for the orator stuck closely to his manuscript
and allowed himself few flights of fancy. But the facts spoke for themselves, and
the House readily endorsed the verdict already given by Vimy Ridge and
Messines.</p>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/013-1.png"><img src="images/013-1.png"
width="100%" alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
"DOES GOD MAKE LIONS, MOTHER?"<br />
"YES, DEAR."<br />
"BUT ISN'T HE FRIGHTENED TO?"</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"You remember that lachrymose elegiac of Tom Moore, The Exile's Lament,
<blockquote>
'I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,<br />
Where we sat side by side.'"
</blockquote>
—<i>Canadian Courier.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>No, frankly, we don't. But we seem to have a dim recollection that Lady DUFFERIN
wrote something very like it.</p>
<hr />
<h2>A RESOLUTION.</h2>
<blockquote>
I'll tell you what I mean to do<br />
When these our wars shall cease to rage:<br />
I'll go where Summer skies are blue<br />
And Spring enjoys her heritage;<br />
I shall not work for fame or wage,<br />
But wear a large black silk cravat,<br />
A velvet coat that's grey with age<br />
Beneath a high-crowned broad-brimmed hat.<br />
<br />
I'll journey to some Tuscan town<br />
And rent a palace for a song,<br />
And all the walls I'll whitewash down<br />
Some day when I am feeling strong;<br />
And there I'll pass my days among<br />
My books, and, when my reading palls<br />
And Summer days are overlong,<br />
I'll daub up frescoes on the walls.<br />
<br />
The world may go her divers ways<br />
The while I draw or write or smoke,<br />
Happy to live laborious days<br />
There among simple painter folk;<br />
To wed the olive and the oak,<br />
Most patiently to woo the Muse,<br />
And wear a great big Tuscan cloak<br />
To guard against the heavy dews.<br />
<br />
Between the olive and the vine<br />
I'll make heroic mock of Mars,<br />
And drink at even golden wine<br />
Kept cool in terra-cotta jars;<br />
And afterwards harangue the stars<br />
In little gems of fervid speech,<br />
And smoke impossible cigars<br />
Which cost at least three <i>soldi</i> each.<br />
<br />
Let more ambitious spirits spin<br />
The web of life for weal or woe,<br />
Whilst I above my violin<br />
Shall sit and watch the vale below<br />
All crimson in the afterglow;<br />
And when the patient stars grow bright<br />
I'll draw across the strings my bow<br />
Till Chopin ushers in the night.<br />
<br />
Such things as these I mean to do<br />
When Peace once more resumes her sway;<br />
To walk barefooted through the dew<br />
And while the sunlit hours away,<br />
If haply I may find some gay<br />
Conceit to light a sombre mind,<br />
As gracious as a Summer day,<br />
As wayward as an April wind.<br />
</blockquote>
<hr />
<h3>A Legitimate Inference.</h3>
<blockquote>
"FOUND, Brown Dog, very clever begging, great pet, believed property
clergyman."—<i>Belfast Evening Telegraph</i>.
</blockquote>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"The Molahiz of the district ordered to arrest the criminals and hand them to the
Dilitary Authorities for trial has been able to seize the materials stolen.
Enquiry is still going on."—<i>Egyptian Mail</i>.
</blockquote>
<p>The authorities seem to be living up to their title.</p>
<hr />
<h2>THE TWO MISSING NUMBERS.</h2>
<h3>A CONTRAST.</h3>
<h4>I.</h4>
My friend X. is normally the mildest of men. His temper is under perfect control;
and in his favourite part of the angels' advocate he finds palliations and makes
allowances for all those defections in the servants of the public which goad men to
fury and which, since the War came in to supply incompetence with a cloak and a
pretext, have been exasperatingly on the increase. Thus, serene and considerate,
has X. gone his uncomplaining way for years.
<p>But yesterday I found him on the kerb in the Strand inarticulate and purple with
rage. His face was hardly recognisable, so distorted were those ordinarily placid
features. His eyes were fixed on a receding taxi.</p>
<p>Fearing that he might be ill I took his arm; but he flung himself free. "Don't
touch me," he said; "I can't bear it." Having reached a point in life when tact is
second nature, I waited silently near him until the storm should have passed.</p>
<p>His eyes were still fixed.</p>
<p>After a short time he recovered sufficiently to turn to me and explain.</p>
<p>"I could have killed that fellow," he said.</p>
<p>"What fellow?"</p>
<p>"That taxi-driver. He went by slowly with his flag up and wouldn't look at me. I
hailed him, and I know he heard, but he wouldn't look at me. Now I don't mind when
they point, or make any kind of sign that they don't want to be hired, or say that
they have no petrol, even if I don't believe it; but when they won't turn their
heads or pay any attention whatever I could kill them. And there's such a lot of
them like that. I swear," he went on, beginning to go purple again—"I swear
that, if I had had a revolver just now, I should have shot him. When one man hails
another, the man who is hailed must give some kind of an indication. It's only
human. Society would fall to pieces if we all behaved like that chap. It's awful,
awful! If I'd only thought of taking his number I'd run him in, and I'd carry it to
the House of Lords if necessary. Such men—ugh!"</p>
<p>He broke down, smothered by righteous anger.</p>
<p>"Good heavens!" he exclaimed as I was leaving, "if I'd only taken his number!
"</p>
<h4>II.</h4>
<p>The same night a miracle happened. It was very late, and the
<i>débris</i> of a little charity performance at an assembly-room had to be
cleared away. The last guests had gone—in this or that conveyance, or on our
best friends in war-time, the feet—and that hunt for a taxi, which has now
taken the place of all other sport, was being prosecuted with more or less energy
by a policeman, a loafer and two or three amateurs, all of whom returned at
intervals while the packing-up was in progress, to say how hopeless the case was
and how independent the men had become.</p>
<p>One passing cab I hailed myself, but he did no more than laugh a loud laugh of
mere incivility and ironically remark, "Ter-morrer!" signifying, as I understood
it, that nothing on earth should interfere with his homeward journey that night,
since he had done enough and was tired, but that on the succeeding day, if I still
required his services, he was at my disposal.</p>
<p>The various bags and parcels being now all ready, we waited patiently in the
hall, and from time to time received reports as to the progress of the chase.</p>
<p>At last, when things seemed really hopeless, a taxi arrived, driven by a young
man in spectacles, which were, I am convinced, part of a disguise covering one of
the noblest personalities in the land—some Haroun al Raschid, filled with
pity for lost Londoners, who is devoting his life to redressing the wrongs
inflicted upon poor humanity by taxi tyrants—for he said nothing about having
no petrol, nothing about the lateness of the hour, nothing about the direction in
which we wished to go, but quietly and efficiently helped to get the things in and
on the cab; and then drove swiftly away, and when we got to the other end insisted
on carrying some of the bundles up three flights of stairs, and had no objection to
make when asked to wait a little longer and go on elsewhere.</p>
<p>All this time I was, I need hardly say, in a dream. Could it be true? Could
it?</p>
<p>And when he was at last paid off he said both "Good night" and "Thank you,"
although it was I in whom gratitude should have thus vocally burned. Perhaps it
did; I was too dazed to remember.</p>
<p>How I wish I had taken his number, that all the world might know it and look for
it, assured of a gentleman on the box!</p>
<h4>III.</h4>
<p>So you see there are both kinds of taxi-drivers still—only the bad ones
are more difficult to get hold of.</p>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/014-1.png"><img src="images/014-1.png"
width="66%" alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
"SMART GIRL, THAT NEW GOVERNESS—GOT ME TO LOOK AT THE TAPESTRY WHILE SHE
PINCHED MY BREAD!"</p>
<hr />
<h3>Caveat Emptor.</h3>
<blockquote>
"Leopard for Sale.—A full grown animal, about 6-1/2 feet. Purchaser will
have to make his own arrangements for removal."—<i>The Statesman
(India).</i>
</blockquote>
<p>This species of animal being notoriously unable of its own accord to change its
spot.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"There are ninety million tons of tea in bond in the United Kingdom. This is
sufficient to supply our needs for about fifteen weeks."—<i>Greenock
Telegraph.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>May we suggest that our contemporary should spare a few tons for the staffs of
other journals?</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"One Royal Family Member, who has rendered services to 4 big states as also the
Government (and yet in service) and obtained a great deal of experience is
entirely willing to accept a respectable post either of a Companion or a
Household Controller or A.D.C."—<i>Indian Paper.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>Can this be TINO?</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"Mr. Herbert Samuel asked if the Government would give an undertaking that
nothing would be done to expend public money in this connection before the House
had had the opportunity of discussing the question?"—<i>Provincial
Paper.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>Fie, fie, Mr. SAMUEL.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"It is the new magistrates who have broken the ice, and the supporters of both
camps are curiously watching to see if they will now find themselves in hot
water."—<i>Liverpool Echo.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>We thought this sort of thing only happened in the geyser-region.</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"Home offered delicate person on small farm; partner pig, poultry,
dairy."—<i>Observer.</i>
</blockquote>
<p>This ought to cure any delicacy he might start with.</p>
<hr />
<h2>TO LORD RHONDDA.</h2>
<p>DEAR LORD RHONDDA,—When you were an unassuming undergraduate at Caius
College, spending your leisure-time in an eight- or a pair-oar, and stirring up the
muddy shallows of the Cam, as you did to some purpose, I cannot believe that any
premonitions of the heights of celebrity to which you would some day attain
disturbed your mind. And yet here you are, a survivor from the foul and murderous
shattering of the <i>Lusitania</i>, a coal-owner, a member of the Government, a
peer, and the Food-Controller of a whole nation at war.</p>
<p>Your predecessor, Lord DEVONPORT, had no very happy experience of the post you
now hold, and I can well understand that his life during his tenure of it cannot
have been a pleasant one. Every crank with an infallible recipe for catching
sunbeams in cucumber-frames and turning them into potatoes, or whatever might be
the fashionable food at the moment; every grumbler who imagined that every rise in
prices must be entirely due to the malignity of men and not to the scarcity of the
article; every politician with a grudge to satisfy or an axe to grind—all
these pounced upon Lord DEVONPORT as a victim made ready to their hands, and gave
him a time which can only be described as a very bad one. Add to this the mistakes
almost necessarily made by an office which was entirely new and dealt with
unexampled conditions, and it is not on the whole surprising that difficulties were
encountered and that the right way for overcoming them was not always taken. Indeed
there was or there seemed to be at one time a lively controversy between Lord
DEVONPORT and Mr. PROTHERO about the true meaning of the words <i>maximum</i> and
<i>minimum</i> as applied to prices, and we were left to infer that these Latin
monsters are virtually indistinguishable from one another.</p>
<p>However, all that is now over; Lord RHONDDA reigns in Lord DEVONPORT'S place and
can profit by his experience. I don't want to delude you into the belief that all
is plain sailing for you. You couldn't be made to believe that if I tried for a
month of Sundays, and I don't mean to spend my time to no purpose. But I think the
great body of the nation is determined that you shall have fair play and will
support you through thick and thin in any policy, no matter how drastic, that you
may recommend to their reason and their patriotism. This business of
food-controlling is new to us as well as to you, but we are willing to be led, we
are even willing to be driven, and we are grateful to you for having engaged your
reputation and your skill and your firmness in the task of leading or driving us.
And if in the course of your duty you encounter any genuine rascal endeavouring to
grind the faces of the poor or to find his own profit in the misery of his
fellow-men we look to you to give him short shrift.</p>
<p>I am, my Lord, with all goodwill, your Lordship's obliged and faithful
Servant,</p>
<p>THE GATE OF HUMILITY.</p>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/015-1.png"><img src="images/015-1.png"
width="66%" alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
<i>Officer (having pulled up recruit for not saluting).</i> "NOW THEN, MY MAN,
DON'T THEY TAKE ANY NOTICE OF OFFICERS IN YOUR BATTALION?"<br />
<i>Recruit</i>. "WELL, SIR, IT AIN'T THAT EXACTLY; BUT I'VE ALWAYS BEEN ONE, AS YOU
MIGHT SAY, TO KEEP MESELF TO MESELF."</p>
<hr />
<blockquote>
"WANTED, Second-hand Invalid's Chair (tired wheels)."—<i>Kentish
Mercury</i>.
</blockquote>
<p>Just the thing for a second-hand invalid; even the wheels show a sympathetic
fatigue.</p>
<hr />
<h3>"Delirant Reges."</h3>
<blockquote>
The Kaiser, prodigal of verbal boons,<br />
Congratulates his brave Bayreuth Dragoons<br />
Upon their prowess, which, he tells them, yields<br />
Joy "to old Fritz up in Elysian fields."<br />
Perhaps; but what if he is down below?<br />
In any case what we should like to know<br />
Is how his modern namesake, Private Fritz,<br />
Enjoys the fun of being blown to bits<br />
Because his Emperor has lost his wits.<br />
</blockquote>
<hr />
<h3>One of the "Illuminate."</h3>
<blockquote>
"Unfurnished room wanted by elderly lady with gas connections."—<i>Montreal
Daily Star</i>.
</blockquote>
<hr />
<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2>
<h3>THE ROYALTY TRIPLE BILL.</h3>
<p>First a quite charming and, what is not so usual, a quite intelligible fantasy
in mime—<i>The Magic Pipe</i>: Pierrot, faithless mistress, despair,
sympathetic friend, adoring midinette, and so on. But Mr. JULES DELACRE, who played
his own part, <i>Pierrot</i>, with a fine sincerity and a sense of the great
tradition in this <i>genre</i>, got his effect across to us with an admirable
directness. Miss PHYLLIS PINSON looking charming in a mid-Victorian Latin-Quarterly
sort of way (which is a very nice way), danced seriously, fantastically,
delightfully, and with quite astonishing command of her technique—the sort of
thing that nine infallible managers out of ten who know what the public wants would
condemn out of hand as impossible. The intelligent tenth must have been consoled by
the enthusiastic applause which greeted the little piece. I have a fancy that mime
would go far to restore sanity and tradition to the English stage, and every
creditable essay in a delightful art deserves the fullest support.</p>
<p>It is amusing to see our solemn Mr. JOHN GALSWORTHY in labour for three Acts
over a rude joke. I frankly confess I enjoyed the joke. Cisterns (its theme) have
no terrors for me even in mixed company. But the joke was not the really serious
thing about <i>The Foundations</i>, a play that starts (some years hence) with a
mob of starving people yelling outside the house—dear, stupid, kindly <i>Lord
William Dromondy's</i> house. <i>Lord William</i> was a god of an infantry captain
in the great War, and his four footmen—particularly <i>James</i>, the first
of them—though revolutionaries at heart, are ready to stand between their
master and any other revolutionaries in London town. Well, a bomb is found in the
foundations of <i>Lord William's</i> Park Lane palace, and explodes to embarrassed
laughter of shocked stall-holders in the Third Act.</p>
<p>The plot's nothing, and the main joke, as I say, nothing to get excited over.
But the whole effect of the tremendous trifle, admirably cast as it was, was
diverting in the extreme.</p>
<p>Of course it is like our Mr. GALSWORTHY to assume that things will be as black
as ever a few years hence. 'Tis, no doubt, what encourages us to keep our end up in
the great War. But we know the customs of leopards, and can forgive our pessimist
for his creations (for all the world as if he were a milliner) of <i>Poulder, Lord
William's</i> butler, rounded pillar of the eternal old order of things; of
<i>James</i>, revolutionary but faithful (of course <i>James</i> never would in
fact have kept this absurd job); of a light yellow pressman; of a feckless,
torrentially eloquent plumber, whose solution of the class war was loving-kindness
and the letting of the blood of all who were not kind.</p>
<p>Mr. EADIE was a beloved vagabond of a plumber doing a fine part on his head, as
is his way nowadays. But the thing is so good that it is perhaps ungracious to
remind him he could make it better. Mr. SIDNEY PAXTON'S triumph with <i>Poulder</i>
was his admirable restraint—rarest of accomplishments among comic stage
butlers. The effect of everything was heightened by this excellent economy. It was
a lesson in artistic reticence. An even more notable feat in the same kind was
<i>The Press</i> of Mr. LAWRENCE HANRAY. Obviously he could have collected a good
deal more of the laughter of the house if he had played less subtly. I should put
it as quite the best piece of playing in a well-played piece. Mr. DAWSON MILWARD
has made a deserved reputation as the strong silly ass. He sustained it—with
something in hand. Mr. STEPHEN EWART'S <i>James</i> was a quite excellent
performance, not very coherent and consistent in conception on the author's part,
perhaps, and on that account all the more difficult. Miss ESMÉ HUBBARD gave
us pathos skilfully reserved in her clever study of an old, old countrywoman turned
trousers-maker; and little DINKA STARACE showed quite astonishing aptitude (or the
most wonderful training) in the part of her granddaughter. Miss BABS FARREN also
did well with her rather intrusive part of <i>Lord William's</i> daughter.</p>
<p><i>Box B</i>, by Mr. COSMO GORDON LENNOX, was just a gay trifle to send us home
easy-minded to bed. <i>Bobby Stroud</i>, Zepp-strafer, kisses a pretty (oh, ever
such a pretty!) widow by mistake. And continues by arrangement. Miss IRIS HOEY was
really perfectly irresistible—something ought to be done about it. She would
have reduced the whole Flying Corps to dereliction of duty. Mr. FRANK BAYLY had
just that air of awkward modesty which is so much more effective than plain swank
as an advertisement of gallantry, and Miss MURIEL POPE played a programme-girl with
all the skill that an artist thinks is worth putting into little things.</p>
<p>The best evening that I've had in the stalls since the War began ever so long
ago.</p>
<p>T.</p>
<p class="figure"><a href="images/016-1.png"><img src="images/016-1.png"
width="33%" alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
The Press (Mr. LAWRENCE HANRAY) invites The Nobility (Mr. DAWSON MILWARD) to give
its views on things in general.</p>
<hr />
<h2>THERE USED TO BE——</h2>
<blockquote>
There used to be fairies in Germany—<br />
I know, for I've seen them there<br />
In a great cool wood where the tall trees stood<br />
With their heads high up in the air;<br />
They scrambled about in the forest<br />
And nobody seemed to mind;<br />
They were dear little things (tho' they didn't have wings)<br />
And they smiled and their eyes were kind.<br />
<br />
What, and oh what were they doing<br />
To let things happen like this?<br />
How could it be? And didn't they see<br />
That folk were going amiss?<br />
Were they too busy playing,<br />
Or can they perhaps have slept,<br />
That never they heard an ominous word<br />
That stealthily crept and crept?<br />
<br />
There used to be fairies in Germany—<br />
The children will look for them still;<br />
They will search all about till the sunlight slips out<br />
And the trees stand frowning and chill.<br />
"The flowers," they will say, "have all vanished,<br />
And where can the fairies be fled<br />
That played in the fern?"—The flowers will return,<br />
But I fear that the fairies are dead.<br />
</blockquote>
<hr />
<h3>The Kaiser Lands in England.</h3>
<blockquote>
"A disturbance of rates (when it tends to raise them) is never popular. Father
Barry remarked yesterday that Mr. Underhill, as chairman of the Assessment
Committee, was the most unpopular man in Plymouth except one, and the other one
was the Kaiser."—<i>Western Daily Mercury</i>.
</blockquote>
<hr />
<p>Letter addressed to local Tribunal:—</p>
<blockquote>
"Dear Sirs,—The reason for my exemption has been removed and I shall be
glad to join your army if there is still a vacancy."
</blockquote>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/017-1.png"><img src="images/017-1.png"
width="100%" alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
Lady (to doctor, who has volunteered to treat her pet). "AND IF YOU FIND YOU CAN'T
CURE HIM, DOCTOR, WILL YOU PLEASE PUT HIM OUT OF PAIN?—AND OF COURSE YOU MUST
CHARGE ME JUST AS FOR AN ORDINARY PATIENT."</p>
<hr />
<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2>
<h4>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks</i>.)</h4>
<p>I should like to commend with extraordinarily little reserve Mr. FIELDING-HALL'S
<i>The Way of Peace</i> (HURST AND BLACKETT) to the kind of reader that is drawing
plans in his head for a New England. No wonder that in these great days the
impatient idealist rushes forth with his bag of dreams. The author of <i>The Soul
of a People</i> is extreme but sane—an extremist in common sense, say. He
stakes on the fact of human solidarity as the cure for the bitternesses and
crookednesses of politics; declares life and men to be good, not evil (how right he
is!); wants an England rescued from the Puritans on the one hand and the mere
musical comedians on the other; an England chaste because freer, less ignorant;
good beer in easeful inns; the village or township as the unit of government and of
fellowship; a return to music and the dance, not as a plasmon-fed high-brow
proposition but as the natural expression of a joy of life returned; a clear fount
of honour; a representative House of Commons; justice, respect, common sense and
responsibility instead of charity; some place other than the streets for our young
men and maidens to make love in; a recognition of crime as mainly a social, not an
individual, disease; a law simplified and scales of justice not weighted against
the poor; and a host of other good and wise and nearly possible things. Here is not
the barren politics of manipulation but an ideal of living citizenship. I commend
it to all believers in new days and all honourable disgruntlers; not perhaps as a
programme but as a tonic.</p>
<hr />
<p>Do not, please, run away with the idea that <i>The Nursery</i> (HEINEMANN)
presents us with Mr. EDEN PHILLPOTTS' views on baby culture. The background of his
story, the scenes of which are laid in and around Colchester a year or so ago, is
composed of gardens and oyster-beds. On these he gives a lot of information, and,
as he could not be pedantic even if he tried to be, I browsed pleasantly upon the
store of knowledge set before me. Also I liked the restraint he shows in dealing
with the War, and commend his exemplary method to some of our more blatant
novelists. When, however, I came to the inhabitants of <i>The Nursery</i> I failed
to find in them that rare and delightful quality with which Mr. PHILLPOTTS usually
succeeds in endowing his characters. Readers of his novels must know by this time
that he is not exactly in love with <i>Mrs. Grundy</i>, but here he seems to be
insurgent against something, and for the life of me I don't know quite what it is.
Perhaps it is insincerity, which is a very good thing to be in rebellion against.
There is one very amusing and delightful character, a bibulous old sinner who
defied law and order and almost at the last gasp ladled out what he considered
justice in a most dramatic manner. His name is <i>William Ambrose</i>, and it is
worth your while to make his disreputable acqaintance.</p>
<hr />
<p>One fact at once awakened in me a fellow-feeling for Mr. BERTRAM SMITH—the
discovery of his appreciation (shared by myself, the elder STEVENSON, and other
persons of discernment) for the romantic possibilities of the map. There is an
excellent map in the beginning of Days of Discovery (CONSTABLE), showing the
peculiar domain of childhood, the garden, in terms that will hardly fail to win
your sympathy. But not in this alone does Mr. SMITH show that he has the heart of
the matter in him; every page of these reminiscences of nursery life proclaims a
genuine memory, not a make-believe childhood faked up for literary ends. Who that
has once been young can read unstirred by envy the chapter on "Devices and
Contrivances," with its entrancing triumph of the chain of mirrors arranged (during
the providential absence of those in authority) from the night nursery, down two
flights of stairs, to the store-room in the basement? I know a reviewer whom
nothing, but moral cowardice restrained from testing the possibility of this
delightful plan by personal experiment. Fireworks too—Mr. SMITH has
remembered them with a proper regard that is, of course, wholly different from that
of those who understand them only in their pyrotechnic aspect, not as objects loved
for themselves alone, for their shape and feel, and the glamour of weeks of
hoarding and barter. In short, a real nursery book for the study; not one perhaps
that actual children would care for (quite possibly they might resent it as
betrayal), but one that for the less fortunate will reopen a door of which too many
of us have long lost the key.</p>
<hr />
<p>What I found strangest in the <i>Transactions of Lord Louis Lewis</i> (MURRAY)
is that it is a story, or rather series of stories, about rogues, in which trickery
is invariably vanquished—a refreshing contrast to the methods of most of our
romanticists, who are given to a certain courtier-like attitude towards the
lawbreaker. Certainly that various artist, Mr. ROLAND PERTWEE, has contrived to put
together a highly entertaining collection of diamond-cut-diamond yarns, adventure
tales that have the great advantage (for these days) of being concerned, not with
bloodshed and mysterious murders, but with the wiles of dealers in the spurious
antique and the exploits of <i>Lord Louis</i> in defeating them. This <i>Lord
Louis</i> is indeed a very pleasant as well as a very ingenious gentleman. From the
rotundity of his conversational periods and a certain general suavity of demeanour
I suspect him of having made a careful study of the methods of his distinguished
predecessor in rogue-reducing, <i>Prince Florizel of Bohemia.</i> But he is, of
course, none the worse company for that. Once, however, he shocked me badly, when,
in perusing an eighteenth-century MS., he—I can hardly bring myself to quote
the passage!—he "moistened his fingers and turned over three pages." And this
of a nobleman and a connoisseur! Oh, Mr. PERTWEE! Having said so much, it is only
fair that I should call your special attention to one of the stories, "The House in
Bath," an exquisite little gem of considerably higher art than is usually
associated with such "Exploits of the Event."</p>
<hr />
<p>You might perhaps allow yourself to be put off by such a title as <i>Home Truths
about the War</i> (ALLEN), because it, or something like it, has so often been used
as the preliminary to alarming or disagreeable statements that we have grown
excusably suspicious. But to avoid on this account the letters that the Rev. HUGH
CHAPMAN has here brought together would be to miss a very original and inspiring
little book. Let me say once that Mr. CHAPMAN (whom you may know is energetic and
popular chaplain of the Savoy; also as already, under a pseudonym, an author) has
deliberately essayed the impossible. Self-revelation, especially in letters, can
hardly ever be made convincing. But putting this on one side, and accepting these,
not as the letters that would be written from one man to another, but rather (to
speak without irreverence) such as the human heart might address to its Creator,
you will find them full of interest and encouragement. All sorts and conditions of
men and women are here shown, in their varied reaction to the great acid that for
these three years past has been biting into the life of the world. The priest, the
actor, the profiteer, the society-woman, even the conscientious objector, are all
touched lightly, tactfully, and with a kindly humour that saves the book from its
very obvious danger of becoming pedantic. In his brief preface Mr. CHAPMAN has
crystallised very happily into a couple of words his ideal for the British attitude
towards the War—buoyant sternness. It is the reflection of that quality in
its pages that gives this little book its tonic value.</p>
<hr />
<p>Mr. ARNOLD WRIGHT'S main work in <i>Early English Adventurers in the East</i>
(MELROSE) has been that of making good. Most of us know something, at any rate, of
the men who brought our Eastern Empire into actual existence, but I tell myself
hopefully that my ignorance of those daring pioneers, whom Mr. WRIGHT describes as
humble adventurers of the seventeenth century, is not exceptional. It has now been
satisfactorily removed, and, after reading this excellently written history of
stirring deeds, I must believe that even men of learning will thank him for
rescuing many good names from the oblivion which threatened them. And Mr. WRIGHT is
not only to be congratulated on this act of salvage, but also on the admirable way
in which he has performed it. A restrained style and a temperate judgment are
equally at his command. I cannot better commend his book to Imperialists than by
saying that all Little Englanders will detest it.</p>
<hr />
<p>On internal evidence I had set down <i>Root and Branch</i> (ALLEN AND UNWIN), by
R. ALLATINI, as the very clever first book of a very clever and observant writer of
the (alleged) weaker sex. But I find the title-page gives two previous novels to
her pen—I still guess a woman's hand. And I by no means withdraw the
"clever." The characterisation of the various members of the <i>Arenski</i>
family—the branches are better done than the root, old <i>Paul Arenski,
K.C.</i>, idealist and orator—is uncannily good. There's wit and humour and
diversity of gifts. What suggested the "first book" idea was an uncertainty of
method, a hesitation between the new realism and the older romanticism. In both
moods the author is successful, but the joints show something clumsily. This,
however, is technical merely. I commend the book to all who are interested,
approvingly or critically, in the Jew. A dramatic theme runs through the book, the
ethical question as to whether a man may be justified in killing, at her passionate
request, a woman dearly loved who is slowly dying of a terrible disease.</p>
<hr />
<p class="figure"><a href="images/018-1.png"><img src="images/018-1.png"
width="66%" alt="Illustration" /></a><br />
<i>Angry Customer (who has been induced by an advertisement to purchase a portrait
enlargement).</i> "YOUR ADVERTISEMENT SAYS, 'MONEY RETURNED IF NOT SATISFIED.' I'M
<i>NOT</i> SATISFIED, AND I WANT MY MONEY BACK."<br />
<i>The Eureka Portrait Company (placidly)</i> "I'M SORRY YOU DON'T LIKE IT, MADAM;
BUT IF YOU WILL READ THE ADVERTISEMENT CAREFULLY YOU WILL NOTE THAT IT DOES NOT
SPECIFY <i>WHO</i> IS TO BE SATISFIED—AND I ASSURE YOU I <i>AM</i>."</p>
<pre class="pglegal">
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, 1917.07.04, Vol. 153, Issue No.
1, by Various
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, 1917.07.04, VOL. 153, NO. 1 ***
This file should be named 8p153a10h.htm or 8p153a10h.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8p153a11h.htm
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8p153a10ah.htm
Produced by Jon Ingram, Punch, or the London Charivari,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.
Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.
Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg
These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03
Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.
The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):
eBooks Year Month
1 1971 July
10 1991 January
100 1994 January
1000 1997 August
1500 1998 October
2000 1999 December
2500 2000 December
3000 2001 November
4000 2001 October/November
6000 2002 December*
9000 2003 November*
10000 2004 January*
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
We need your donations more than ever!
As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.
We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.
As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.
In answer to various questions we have received on this:
We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.
While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.
International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.
Donations by check or money order may be sent to:
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109
Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.
We need your donations more than ever!
You can get up to date donation information online at:
http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
***
If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:
Michael S. Hart hart@pobox.com
Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
We would prefer to send you information by email.
**The Legal Small Print***
(Three Pages)
***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.
*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.
To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.
THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.
INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.
DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:
[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however,
if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word
processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
*EITHER*:
[*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
does *not* contain characters other than those
intended by the author of the work, although tilde
(~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
be used to convey punctuation intended by the
author, and additional characters may be used to
indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
the case, for instance, with most word processors);
OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
"Small Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to
let us know your plans and to work out the details.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.
The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com
[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]
*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*
</pre>
</body>
</html>
|
