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diff --git a/10663-h/10663-h.htm b/10663-h/10663-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad12e8a --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/10663-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1685 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Sept. 26, 1917, by Various</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + 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.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note, + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + + .footnote {font-size: 0.9em; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10663 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, +Sept. 26, 1917, by Various, Edited by Owen Seamen</h1> +<br /> + +<hr class="full" /> +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>Vol. 153.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>September 26, 1917.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page215" id="page215"></a>[pg +215]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p>Three bandits have been executed in Mexico without a proper +trial or sentence. This, we understand, renders the executions null +and void.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The campaign against the cabbage butterfly in this country has +reached such an alarming stage that cautious butterflies are now +going about in couples.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>After spending a one-pound Treasury note on cakes, chocolates, +fish and chips, biscuits, apples, bananas, damsons, cigarettes, +toffee, five bottles of ginger "pop" and a tin of salmon, a Chatham +boy told a policeman that he was not feeling well. It was thought +to be due to something the boy had been eating.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Incidentally the boy desires us to point out that the trouble +was not that he had too much to eat but that there was not quite +enough boy to go round.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"I read all English books," says Dr. HARDING in <i>The New York +Times</i>, "because they are all equally good." This looks +dangerously like a studied slight to Mr. H.G. WELLS.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>We understand that, owing to the paper shortage, future +exposures of German intrigues will only be announced on alternate +days.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>At the Kingston Red Cross Exhibition a potato was shown bearing +a remarkable likeness to the German CROWN PRINCE. By a curious +coincidence a report has recently been received that somewhere in +Germany they have a Crown Prince who bears an extraordinary +resemblance to a potato.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Mystery still attaches to the authorship of <i>The Book of +Artemas</i>, but we have authority for saying that Lord SYDENHAM +does not remember having written it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>At Neath Fair, the other day, a soldier just home from the Front +entered a lions' den. The lions bore up bravely.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The question of body armour for the troops, it is stated, is +still under consideration by the authorities. This is not to be +confused with bully ARMOUR which has long been used to line the +inside of the troops.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Mr. WALTER HOWARD O'BRIEN, of New York, has sent to Queen +Alexandra's Field Force Fund 1,719,000 cigarettes. Several British +small boys have decided to write and ask him if he has such a thing +as a cigarette picture to spare.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Doctors in many parts of London are said to be raising their +fees. They should remember that there is such thing as curing the +goose that lays the golden eggs.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The <i>Münchener Neueste Nachrichten</i> accuses the United +States of having stolen the cipher key of the LUXBURG despatches. +It is this sort of thing that is gradually convincing Germany that +it is beneath her dignity to fight with a nation like America.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A fine porpoise has been seen disporting itself in the Thames +near Hampton Court. It is just as well to know that such things can +be seen almost as well with Government ale as with the stronger +brews.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Another statue has been stolen from Berlin, but Londoners need +not be envious. Quite a lot of Americans will be in this country +shortly, and it is hoped that their well-known propensity for +souvenir-collecting may yet be diverted into useful channels.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Midland Dairy Farmers' Association have expressed themselves +as satisfied with the prices fixed for Winter milk. In other +agricultural quarters this action is regarded as a dangerous +precedent, the view being that no farmer should be satisfied about +anything.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"My hopes of fortune have been dispelled by unremunerative +Government contracts," said a contractor at the Liverpool +Bankruptcy Court. It is good to read for once of the Government +getting the best of a bargain.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"What is a bun?" asked the Willesden magistrate last week; which +only shows that with a little practice magistrates will get into +the way of doing these things almost as well as the High Court +judges.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The <i>Frankfurter Zeitung</i> declares that "the Germany that +President Wilson wants to talk peace with will only be a Germany +beaten to its knees." Our own opinion is that it will be a Germany +beaten to a frazzle.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>There appears to be a great demand for small second-hand yachts. +The fact is connected, in well-informed circles, with the report +that <i>The Daily Mail</i> contemplates taking up the +anti-submarine question.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Some solicitors have been helping to run the gas works of a +certain Corporation during a strike. While commending this action, +we admit that we can conceive of nothing more likely to undermine +the resolute patriotism of the man in the street than a gas bill +furnished by solicitor.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Women are formally warned by the Ministry of Munitions against +using T.N.T. as a means of acquiring auburn hair. Any important +object striking the head—a chimney-pot or a bomb from an +enemy aeroplane—would be almost certain to cause an +explosion, with possible injury to the scalp.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/215.png"><img width="100%" src="images/215.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"I'M COMING TO YOU WITH 'ARF A TON IN A MINUTE, SO DON'T FRET +YOURSELF, OLE PERISCOPE."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>German Thoroughness Again.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"TO HOLD POTATO CROP.</p> +<p>"NEW GERMAN FOOD DICTATOR WILL CONSUME ALL +FOOD."—<i>Victoria Daily Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"An intelligent postal service has delivered those addressed to +1,000, Upper Grosvenor Street, W. 1, to the Ministry of Good at +Grosvenor House."—<i>Daily Mail</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is the first we have heard of this Ministry.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216" id="page216"></a>[pg +216]</span> +<h2>TO THE POTSDAM PACIFIST.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Now for the fourth time since you broke your word,</p> +<p class="i2">And started hacking through, the seasons' cycle</p> +<p>Brings Autumn on; the goose, devoted bird,</p> +<p class="i2">Prepares her shrift against the mass of MICHAEL;</p> +<p class="i8">Earth takes the dead leaves' stain,</p> +<p>And Peace, that hardy annual, sprouts again.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet why should <i>you</i> support the Papal Chair</p> +<p class="i2">In fostering this recurrent apparition?</p> +<p>Never (we gather) were your hopes more fair,</p> +<p class="i2">Your <i>moral</i> in a more superb condition;</p> +<p class="i8">Never did Victory's goal</p> +<p>Seem more adjacent to your sanguine soul.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>HINDENBURG holds your British foes in baulk</p> +<p class="i2">Prior to trampling them to pulp like vermin;</p> +<p>Russia is at your mercy—you can walk</p> +<p class="i2">Through her to-morrow if you so determine;</p> +<p class="i8">There is no France to fight—</p> +<p>Your gallant WILLIE'S blade has "bled her white."</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In England (as exposed by trusty spies)</p> +<p class="i2">We are reduced to starve on dog and thistles;</p> +<p>London, with all her forts, in ashes lies;</p> +<p class="i2">Through Scarboro's breached redoubts the sea-wind +whistles:</p> +<p class="i8">And Margate, quite unmanned,</p> +<p>Would cause no trouble if you cared to land.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Roumania is your granary, whence you draw</p> +<p class="i2">For loyal turns a constant cornucopia;</p> +<p>Belgium, quiescent under Culture's law,</p> +<p class="i2">Serves as a type of Teutonised Utopia;</p> +<p class="i8">And, as for U.S.A.,</p> +<p>They're scheduled to arrive behind The Day.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Why, then, this talk of Peace? The victor's meed</p> +<p class="i2">Lies underneath your nose—why not continue?</p> +<p><i>Because humanity makes your bosom bleed</i>;</p> +<p class="i2">So, though you have a giant's strength within +you,</p> +<p class="i8">Your gentle heart would shrink</p> +<p>To use it like a giant—I don't think.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>O.S.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>MISTAKEN CHARITY.</h2> +<p>Slip was riding a big chestnut mare down the street and humming +an accompaniment to the tune she was playing with her bit. He +pulled up when he saw me and, still humming, sat looking down at +me.</p> +<p>"Stables in ten minutes," I said. "You're heading the wrong +way."</p> +<p>"A dispensation, my lad," he replied. "I'm taking Miss Spangles +up on the hill to get her warm—'tis a nipping and an eager +air."</p> +<p>A man was coming across the road towards us. He was incredibly +old and stiff and the dirt of many weeks was upon him. He stood +before us and held out a battered yachting cap. "M'sieur," he said +plaintively.</p> +<p>Miss Spangles cocked an ear and began to derange the surface of +the road with a shapely foreleg. She was bored.</p> +<p>"Tell him," said Slip, "that I am poorer even than he is; that +this beautiful horse which he admires so much is the property of +the King of ENGLAND, and that my clothes are not yet paid for."</p> +<p>I passed this on.</p> +<p>"M'sieur," said the old man, holding the yachting cap a little +nearer.</p> +<p>"Give him a piece of money to buy soap with," said Slip. "Come +up, Topsy," and he trotted slowly on.</p> +<p>I gave the old man something for soap and went my way.</p> +<p>That night at dinner the Mandril, who loves argument better than +life, said <i>à propos</i> of nothing that any man who gave +to a beggar was a public menace and little better than a felon. He +was delighted to find every man's hand against him.</p> +<p>"RUSKIN," said Slip, "decrees that not only should one give to +beggars, but that one should give kindly and deliberately and not +as though the coin were red-hot."</p> +<p>The Mandril threw himself wildly into the argument. He told us +dreadful stories of beggars and their ways—of advertisements +he had seen in which the advertisers undertook to supply beggars +with emaciated children at so much per day. Children with visible +sores were in great demand, he said; nothing like a child to charm +money from the pockets of passers-by, etc., etc. Presently he grew +tired and changed the subject as rapidly as he had started it.</p> +<p>It was at lunch a few days later that the Mess waiter came in +with a worried look on his face.</p> +<p>"There is a man at the door, Sir," he said. "Me and Burler can't +make out what he wants, but he won't go away, not no'ow."</p> +<p>"What's he like?" I asked.</p> +<p>"Oh, he's old, Sir, and none too clean, and he's got a sack with +him."</p> +<p>"Stop," said Slip. "Now, Tailer, think carefully before you +answer my next question. Does he wear a yachting cap?"</p> +<p>"Yes, Sir," said Tailer, "that's it, Sir, 'e do wear a sort of +sea 'at, Sir."</p> +<p>"This is very terrible," said Slip. "Are we his sole means of +support? However—" and he drew a clean plate towards him and +put a franc on it. The plate went slowly round the table and +everyone subscribed. Stephen, who was immersed in a book on +Mayflies, put in ten francs under the impression that he was +subscribing towards the rent of the Mess. The Mandril appeared to +have quite forgotten his dislike of beggars.</p> +<p>Tailer took the plate out and returned with it empty. "He's +gone, Sir," he said.</p> +<p>"I'm glad for your sake, dear Mandril, that you have fallen in +with our views," said Slip.</p> +<p>"What!" shouted the Mandril. "I quite forgot. A +beggar!—the wretched impostor." He rushed to the window. An +old man had rounded the corner of the house and was crossing the +road on his way to a small café opposite.</p> +<p>"He's going to drink it," screamed the Mandril; "battery will +fire a salvo;" and he seized two oranges from the sideboard. The +first was a perfect shot and hit the target between the +shoulder-blades, and the second burst with fearful force against +the wall of the café. The victim turned and looked about him +in a dazed fashion and then disappeared.</p> +<p>That night I received a note from Monsieur Le Roux, hardware +merchant and incidentally our landlord, thanking me for sixteen +francs seventy-five centimes paid in advance to his workman, and +asking me to name a day on which he could call to mend our broken +stove.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"It is not a little pathetic to observe that a year ago, and +even two years ago, <i>The Daily Mail</i> was urging the Government +then in power to introduce compulsory rations. Thus on November 13, +1916, we said: 'Ministers should at once prepare the organisation +for a system of bread tickets. It took the diligent Germans six +months to get their system into action, and it will take our ... +officials quite as long. They ought to be getting to work on it +now, not putting it off.'"—<i>Daily Mail</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We dare not guess what was the suppressed adjective that <i>The +Daily Mail</i> applied to "our officials."</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217" id="page217"></a>[pg +217]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/217.png"><img width="100%" src="images/217.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>OUR UNEMPLOYED.</h3> +<p>WAR OFFICE BRASS HAT (<i>to Volunteer, "A" Class</i>). "AND MIND +YOU, IF YOU DON'T FULFIL YOUR OBLIGATIONS YOU'LL BE +COURT-MARTIALLED!"</p> +<p>MR. PUNCH. "THAT WON'T WORRY HIM. HIS TROUBLE IS THAT, WHEN HE +DOES FULFIL HIS OBLIGATIONS, YOU MAKE SO LITTLE USE OF HIM."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page218" id="page218"></a>[pg +218]</span> +<h2>SUGAR CONTROL.</h2> +<p>"Good evening, Sir," said Lord RHONDDA'S minion (the man who +does his dirty work), moistening his lips with a bit of pencil. +"You were allocated one hundredweight of sugar for jam-making in +respect of your soft fruit, I believe?"</p> +<p>"How <i>did</i> you guess?" I said. "I say, do tell me when the +War's going to end. Just between ourselves, you know."</p> +<p>"This being the case," he went on (evidently trying to change +the subject—no War Office secrets to be got out of +<i>him</i>, you notice), "I must request you to show me your +fruit-trees and also your jam cupboard."</p> +<p>"The latter," I said—for he had called just after +tea—"is rather full at present, but doing nicely, thanks. As +you observe, however, we think it wiser not to try to close the +bottom button of the door."</p> +<p>"Perhaps your wife—" suggested the man tentatively.</p> +<p>"My wife does her best, of course. She often says, 'Dearest, a +third pot of tea if you <i>like</i>, but I'm sure a third cup of +jam wouldn't be good for you.' By the way, don't you want to see +the tea-orchard too? The Cox's Orange Pekoes have done frightfully +well this year—the new blend, you know; or should I say +hybrid?"</p> +<p>At this moment my wife appeared, looking particularly charming +in a <i>mousseline de soie aux fines +herbes—anglicé</i>, a sprigged muslin. I seized her +hand and led her aside.</p> +<p>"Lord RHONDDA'S myrmidon is upon us!" I hissed. "'Tis for your +husband's life, child. Hold the minion of the law in +check—attract him; fascinate him; play him that little thing +on the piano—you know, 'Tum-ti-tum'—while I slope off +to the secret chamber, where my ancestor lay hid before—I +mean after—the Battle of Worcester. By the way, I hope it's +been dusted lately? Hush! if he sees us hold secret parlance I'm +lost."</p> +<p>"Alas!" said my wife, "the secret chamber is where we keep the +jam."</p> +<p>She smiled subtly at me and then winningly at the inspector as +she turned towards him.</p> +<p>"Step this way, please," she continued.</p> +<p>I caught the idea at once and, blessing the quick wit of woman, +followed in the victim's wake, ready to close the secret panel +behind him and leave him to a lingering death.</p> +<p>My wife slid open the trap, turning with a triumphant smile as +she did so, and I saw at once that the death of anyone shut up +inside would be a lot more lingering than I had imagined, for the +place seemed full of jam. I was surprised.</p> +<p>"Can I be going to eat all that?" I thought; and life seemed +suddenly a very beautiful thing.</p> +<p>The inspector ran a hungry eye over it all, and if he had tried +to clamber inside for a closer inspection I should not have given +him the quick push I had planned. I should have held him back by +his coat. My own way of testing the amount of jam which my wife had +made was not for the likes of him.</p> +<p>"About a hundred-and-fifty pounds," he said at last.</p> +<p>"Just a little over," nodded my wife.</p> +<p>"I tell you," I whispered, "this chap knows everything." Then +aloud, "I say, Sir, if you wouldn't mind putting me on to something +for the Cotsall Selling Plate. Simply," I added hastily, "in the +national interest, of course. Keeping up the breed of horses."</p> +<p>The inspector changed the subject again. "You were allocated one +hundredweight of sugar, I believe, Ma'am," he said.</p> +<p>"Oh, yes," replied my wife. "But you see some of our jam is +still sticking to the trees. Perhaps this gentleman would like to +see the orchard, Wenceslaus," she added, turning to me.</p> +<p>(Of course, you know, my Christian name isn't really Wenceslaus, +but we authors enjoy so little privacy nowadays that I must really +be allowed to leave it at that.)</p> +<p>So I took the inspector off to see the orchard, pausing on the +way at the strawberry bed.</p> +<p>"This," I explained, "was to have made up quite fifty pounds of +our allocation, but I'm afraid the crop failed this year. So that +must account for any little discrepancy in the weight of fruit." I +was very firm about this.</p> +<p>"Strawberries have done well enough elsewhere," said Nemesis +suspiciously. "I'm surprised that yours should have failed."</p> +<p>"When I say 'failed,'" I explained, "I mean 'failed to get as +far as the preserving pan.' I always retain an option on eating the +crop fresh."</p> +<p>The inspector frowned and was going to make a note of this, so I +tried to distract his attention.</p> +<p>"Do you know," I said, "a short time ago people persisted in +mistaking me for a brother of the Duke of Cotsall?"</p> +<p>"Why?" he asked—rather rudely.</p> +<p>"Because of the strawberry mark on my upper lip. Ah, I think +this is the orchard. There was a wealth of bloom here when I put in +my application."</p> +<p>"Applications were not made till the fruit was on the trees," +said Lord RHONDDA'S minion, sharply. "Ah, there's a nice lot of +plums."</p> +<p>This seemed more satisfactory.</p> +<p>"Yes, isn't there?" I said enthusiastically. "Now I'm sure +<i>this</i> makes up the amount all right."</p> +<p>"Plums are stone fruit," he observed stonily, "and you were +allocated one hundredweight of sugar for your <i>soft</i> fruit, I +believe?"</p> +<p>One really gets very tired of people who go on harping on the +same thing over and over again.</p> +<p>"What about raspberries?" I inquired.</p> +<p>"Soft fruit, of course," said the inspector.</p> +<p>"But they contain stones," I urged. "Nasty little things wot +gits into the 'ollers of your teeth somethink cruel, as cook says. +Really, the Government ought to give us more careful instructions. +And what about the apples? Are pips stones?"</p> +<p>"Apples are not used for jam-making," he retorted.</p> +<p>"What!" I exclaimed. "Tell that to the—to the Army in +general! Plum-and-apple jam, my dear Sir! And that reminds me: a +jam composed of half <span class="pagenum"><a name="page219" id= +"page219"></a>[pg 219]</span> stone and half soft fruit—how +do we stand in respect to that?"</p> +<p>"Well, Sir," said the inspector, closing his notebook +grudgingly, "I don't think we need go into that. I think you've got +just about the requisite amount of soft fruit for the one +hundredweight of sugar which, I believe, you were allocated."</p> +<p>"There's still the rose garden," I said, "if you're not +satisfied."</p> +<p>"Been turning that into an orchard, have you?" he asked. "Very +patriotic, I'm sure."</p> +<p>"Well, I don't know," I said. "My wife wants to make +<i>pot-pourri</i> as usual, but what I say is, in these +days—and with all that sugar—it would surely be more +patriotic (as you say) to make <i>fleurs de Nice.</i>"</p> +<p>"It would be more patriotic perhaps," observed Lord RHONDDA'S +minion sententiously, "not to make jam at all."</p> +<p>"Ah!" I said. "Have a glass of beer before you go."</p> +<p>W.B.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/218.png"><img width="100%" src="images/218.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Chorus</i>. "HERE SHALL HE SEE</p> +<p class="i10">NO ENEMY</p> +<p>BUT WINTER AND ROUGH WEATHER."</p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/219.png"><img width="100%" src="images/219.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Taxi-driver (who has forced lady-driver on to the +pavement).</i> "NOW, THEN, IF YOU WANT TO LOOK IN THE SHOP WINDOWS +WHY DON'T YOU TAKE A DAY OFF?"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>Headline in <i>The Yorkshire Daily Observer</i>:—</p> +<blockquote>"KAISER'S 1904 PLOTS"</blockquote> +<p>No doubt there were quite as many as that, but we should like to +know how our contemporary arrives at the exact number.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>AN EXTRAORDINARY DAY.</h3> +<p>1. A Staff Officer came back from the line without having had a +narrow escape.</p> +<p>2. A General visited the line and expressed unqualified approval +of everything he saw.</p> +<p>3. A Quartermaster-Sergeant put <i>all</i> the contents of the +rum-jar into the tea.</p> +<p>4. A sniper fired at a Hun and reported a miss.</p> +<p>5. A bombing-party threw bombs into a sap without reporting +"shrieks and groans were heard, and it is thought that many +casualties were inflicted."</p> +<p>6. A Sergeant-Major complimented a new squad of recruits.</p> +<p>7. Somebody read an Intelligence Summary.</p> +<p>8. A very high official fired the first shot to open the new +rifle-range and failed to hit the bull.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>NOTE—(<i>a</i>) The Marker was not court-martialled for +spreading alarm and despondency in His Majesty's forces; but</p> +<p>(<i>b</i>) The quality of mercy was fearfully strained.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>9. A bombing-class came back from practice without a single +casualty.</p> +<p>10. A Subaltern got leave on compassionate grounds. He wanted to +be married.</p> +<p>11. A Corps Commander was punctual at an inspection. And</p> +<p>12. It did not rain on the day of the offensive.</p> +<p>Truly an extraordinary day. Shall we ever live to see it, I +wonder?</p> +<hr /> +<h3>MORE SEX PROBLEMS</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"For Sale.—Dark red Shorthorn Bulls, from two years +downwards, bred to milk for thirty years."—<i>Farmer's +Weekly</i>.</p> +<p>"For Sale by Auction, one Mare Colt."—<i>Kent and Sussex +Courier</i>.</p> +<p>"Then again the cockerel is a summer layer."—<i>Irish +Farming World</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote>"Sir Godfrey Baring, the sitting Liberal member, is not +standing again."—<i>Evening Paper</i>.</blockquote> +<p>If he's not going to sit or stand, he'll have to take it lying +down.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A Venetian boy-scout on the Lido</p> +<p>Had sighted a hostile torpedo,</p> +<p class="i2">So he cried, "Don't suppoge</p> +<p class="i2">You can blow up the Doge;</p> +<p>You must do without him—as we do."</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"WEST OF ENGLAND.—To be Sold, a perfect gentleman's +Residence, in faultless condition and all modern improvements, and +a pedigree Stock Farm of 150 acres adjoining, with +possession."—<i>Daily Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We hope the pedigree of the perfect gentleman is included as +well as that of the stock farm.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220" id="page220"></a>[pg +220]</span> +<h2>PETHERTON AND THE RAG AUCTION.</h2> +<p>A letter I received last Friday gave me one of those welcome +excuses to get into closer touch with my neighbour, Petherton, than +our daily proximity might seem to connote. I wrote to him +thus:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>DEAR MR. PETHERTON,—Miss Gore-Langley has written to me to +say that she is getting up a Rag Auction on behalf of the Belgian +Relief Fund, and not knowing you personally, and having probably +heard that I am connected by ties of kinship with you, she asked me +to approach you on the subject of any old clothes you may have to +spare in such a cause.</p> +<p>Of course I'm not suggesting you should allow yourself to be +denuded in the cause (like Lady GODIVA), but I daresay you have +some odds and ends stowed away that you would contribute; for +instance, that delightful old topper that you were wont to go to +church in before the War, and that used to cause a titter among the +choir—can't you get the moths to let you have it? Neckties, +again. Where are the tartans of '71? Surely there may be some bonny +stragglers left in your tie-bins. And who fears to talk of '98 and +its fancy waistcoats? All rancour about them has passed away, and +if you have any ring-straked or spotted survivors, no doubt they +would fetch <i>something</i> in a good cause. I hope you will see +what you can do for</p> +<p>Yours very truly,</p> +<p>HENRY J. FORDYCE.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Petherton's reply was brief. He wrote:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>SIR—Had Miss Gore-Langley chosen a better channel for the +conveyance of her wishes I should have been only too pleased to do +what I could to help. As it is, I do not care to have anything to +do with the affair.</p> +<p>Yours faithfully,</p> +<p>FREDERICK PETHERTON.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But he was better than his word, as I soon discovered. So I +wrote:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>DEAR PETHERTON,—I have had such a treat to-day. I took one +or two things across to Miss Gore-Langley, who was unpacking your +noble contributions when I arrived. Talk about family histories; +your parcel spoke volumes.</p> +<p>I was frightfully interested in that brown bowler with the flat +brim, and those jam-pot collars. Parting with them must have been +such sweet sorrow.</p> +<p>I feel like bidding for some of your things, among which I also +noted an elegantly-worked pair of braces. With a little grafting on +to the remains of those I am now wearing, the result should be +something really serviceable. I don't mind confessing to you that I +simply can't bring my mind to buying any new wearing apparel just +now. I'd like the bowler too. It should help to keep the birds from +my vegetables, and incidentally the wolf from the door. And seeing +it fluttering in the breeze you would have a continual reminder of +your own salad days.</p> +<p>Surely the priceless family portrait in the Oxford oak frame got +into the parcel by mistake. I am expecting to acquire that for a +song, as it cannot be of interest except to one of the family, and +I should be glad to number it among my heirlooms.</p> +<p>Miss G.-L. is awfully braced with the haul, and asked me to +thank you, which is one of my objects in writing this.</p> +<p>Yours sincerely,</p> +<p>HARRY FORDYCE.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Petherton was breathing hard by this time, and let drive +with:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>SIR,—It is like your confounded impertinence to overhaul +the few things I sent to Miss Gore-Langley, and had I known that +you would have had the opportunity of seeing what my wife insisted +on sending I should certainly not have permitted their +despatch.</p> +<p>I have already told you what I think of your ridiculous claims +to kinship with my family, and shall undoubtedly try to thwart any +impudent attempts you may make to acquire my discarded belongings. +The photograph you mention was of course accidentally included in +the parcel, and I am sending for it.</p> +<p>Yours faithfully,</p> +<p>FREDERICK PETHERTON.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the cause of charity I rushed over to the Dower House, and +pointed out to Miss Gore-Langley how she might swell the proceeds +of the sale. I then wrote thus to Petherton:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>DEAR OLD MAN,—Thanks for your jolly letter. I'm sorry to +tell you that Miss G.-L. holds very strong views on the subject of +charitable donations, and you will have to go and bid for anything +you want back. I'm very keen on that photograph, if only for the +sake of your pose and the elastic-side boots you affected at that +period. Everyone here is quite excited at the idea of having Cousin +Fred's portrait among the family likenesses in the dining-room, and +its particular place on the wall is practically decided upon.</p> +<p>I shall probably let the braces go if necessary, but I shall +contest the ownership of the bowler up to a point.</p> +<p>Why not have your revenge by buying one or two of my things? +There is a choice pair of cotton socks, marked T.W., that I once +got from the laundry by mistake; they are much too large for me, +but should fit you nicely. There's a footbath too. It leaks a bit, +but your scientific knowledge will enable you to put it right. It's +a grand thing to have in the house, in case of a sudden rush of +blood to the head.</p> +<p>Cheerio!</p> +<p>Yours ever,</p> +<p>HARRY.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Petherton simply replied:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>SIR,—It is, I know, absolutely useless to make an appeal +to you, and I shall simply outbid you for the portrait if possible; +if not, I shall adopt other measures to prevent your enjoying your +ill-mannered triumph.</p> +<p>Yours faithfully,</p> +<p>F. PETHERTON.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Auction was held last Wednesday. I didn't attend it, but got +Miss Gore-Langley to run up the price of the portrait as far as +seemed safe, on my behalf, which resulted in Mrs. Petherton getting +it for £5 15s. I got the hat, but Mrs. Petherton outbid my +agent for the braces.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>DEAR FREDDY (I wrote), Wasn't it a roaring success—the +Auction, I mean? I didn't manage to attend, but have heard glowing +accounts from its promoter.</p> +<p>The most insignificant things, I hear, went for big prices; one +patriotic lady, I'm told, even going to £5 15s. for a faded +photograph of a veteran in the clothes of a most uninteresting +sartorial period. It was in a cheap wooden frame, of a pattern that +is quite out of the movement. Fancy, £5 15s.!</p> +<p>Did you buy anything?</p> +<p>In haste,</p> +<p>Yours, H.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>If you have any stout safety-pins, lend me a couple, old boy. I +failed to secure the braces. They fetched 1s. 9d., which was +greatly in excess of their intrinsic value.</p> +<p>There has been no reply from Petherton to date.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>Journalistic Candour.</h3> +<blockquote>"Mr. Wells has no master in controversy with ordinary +mortals, but I would seriously warn him that arguing with the +'Morning Post' leads after a certain point to softening of the +brain."—"<i>Diarist" in "The Westminster +Gazette</i>."</blockquote> +<p>We have always taken a painful interest in <i>The +Westminster's</i> quarrels with <i>The Morning Post</i>.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"In 1914-15 there was for the first time a surplus of cereals of +about 27,475 tons produced in Egypt."—<i>Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For the first time? Shade of JOSEPH!</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"A Young Lady is desirous of CHANGE. Has wholesale and retail +military experience. Also knowledge of practical."—<i>Daily +Telegraph</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, then, HAIG.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221" id="page221"></a>[pg +221]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/221.png"><img width="100%" src="images/221.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>DOING THEIR BIT.</h3> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>BEASTS ROYAL.</h3> +<h4>I.</h4> +<h4>QUEEN HATSHEPSU'S APE.</h4> +<h4>B.C. 1491.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Now from the land of Punt the galleys come,</p> +<p class="i2">HATSHEPSU'S, sent by Amen-Ra and her</p> +<p class="i2">To bring from God's own land the gold and myrrh,</p> +<p>The ivory, the incense and the gum;</p> +<p class="i2">The greyhound, anxious-eyed, with ear of silk,</p> +<p class="i2">The little ape, with whiskers white as milk,</p> +<p>And the enamelled peacock come with them.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The little ape sits on HATSHEPSU'S chair,</p> +<p class="i2">And with a solemn and ironic eye</p> +<p>He sees TAHUTMES strap the balsamed hair</p> +<p class="i2">Unto his royal chin and wonders why;</p> +<p>He sees the stewards and chamberlains bow down,</p> +<p>Plays with the asp upon HATSHEPSU'S crown,</p> +<p class="i2">And thinks, "A goodly land, this land of Khem!"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The little ape sits on HATSHEPSU'S knee</p> +<p class="i2">While the great lotus-fans move to and fro;</p> +<p class="i2">Outside along the Nile the galleys go</p> +<p>And the Phoenician rowers seek the sea;</p> +<p class="i2">Outside the masons carve TAHUTMES' chin,</p> +<p class="i2">Tipped with the beard of Ra, and lo, +within—</p> +<p>The ape, derisive and ineffable.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The little ape from Punt sits there beside</p> +<p class="i2">TAHUTMES and HATSHEPSU on their throne,</p> +<p>Dissembling courteously his inward pride</p> +<p class="i2">When the great men of Egypt, one by one,</p> +<p>Their oiled and shaven heads before him bend,</p> +<p>And thinking, "I was born unto this end;</p> +<p class="i2">I am the King they honour. It is well."</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>THE CLINCHOPHONE.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>["WANTED.—Loud gramophone (second-hand) for +reprisals."—<i>Advt. in "The Times."</i>]</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is just to meet such pressing demands as this that the +Gramophobia Company have introduced their remarkable instrument or +weapon, described as The Clinchophone. No home is complete without +it.</p> +<p>It is supplied with little oil bath, B.S.A. fittings and kick +start.</p> +<p>A child can set it in motion, but nothing on earth will stop it +until its object is achieved and there is peace with honour.</p> +<p>Installed in a neighbourhood bristling with pianos, amateur +singers, gramophones, and other grind boxes it saves its cost in +doctors' bills.</p> +<p>It is fatal at fifty yards, and there has been nothing like it +since the "Tanks." It can do almost everything except stop before +its time.</p> +<p>Read the following testimonials:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"GENTLEMEN,—While the grand piano next door was playing +last evening I pressed the button of The Clinchophone. The piano +immediately sat back on its haunches, gibbered and then fell on the +player."</p> +<p>"DEAR SIR,—At the first trial of my new Clinchophone my +neighbour's gramophone rushed out of the house and has not been +heard of since."</p> +<p>"SAVED" says: "Last night the <i>basso profondo</i> two doors +away started singing, 'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep.' He sang +two bars and then crawled round to my house on his hands and knees +and collapsed on the doorstep with the word 'Kamerad!' on his +lips."</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<h3>Our Stylists.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"The look from his eyes, the ashen colour of his face, the +passion in his voice, mute though it was, frightened and bewildered +her."—<i>Story in "Home Notes."</i></p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page222" id="page222"></a>[pg +222]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/222.png"><img width="100%" src="images/222.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p>"DEARIE ME, NOW, I SHOULDN'T HA' THOUGHT THEY GIVES YOU ENOUGH +MONEY IN THE ARMY TO FILL ALL THEM THERE LITTLE PURSES."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>PATROLS.</h2> +<p>The Scout Officer soliloquises:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The lights begin to leap along the lines,</p> +<p class="i2">Leap up and hang and swoop and sputter out;</p> +<p>A bullet hits a wiring-post and whines;</p> +<p class="i2"><i>I wish to Heaven that I was not a Scout!</i></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Time was (in Dorsetshire) I loved the trade;</p> +<p class="i2">Far other is this battle in the waste,</p> +<p>Wherein, each night, though not of course afraid,</p> +<p class="i2">I wriggle round with ill-concealed distaste,</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Where who can say what menace is not nigh,</p> +<p class="i2">What ambushed foe, what unexploded crump,</p> +<p>And the glad worm, aspiring to the sky,</p> +<p class="i2">Emerges suddenly and makes you jump.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Where either all is still, so still one feels</p> +<p class="i2">That something huge must presently explode,</p> +<p>And back, far back, is heard the noise of wheels</p> +<p class="i2">From Prussian waggons on the Douai road;</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And flares shoot upward with a startling hiss</p> +<p class="i2">And fall, and flame intolerably close,</p> +<p>So that it seems no living man could miss—</p> +<p class="i2">How huge my head must look, my legs how +gross!—</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Or the live air is full of droning hums</p> +<p class="i2">And cracking whips and whispering snakes of fire,</p> +<p>And a loud buzz of conversation comes</p> +<p class="i2">From Simpson's party putting out some wire.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Or else—as when some soloist is done</p> +<p class="i2">And the hushed orchestra may now begin—</p> +<p>A sudden rage inflames the placid Hun</p> +<p class="i2">And scouts lie naked in a world of din.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The sullen bomb dissolves in singing shapes;</p> +<p class="i2">The whizz-bang jostles it—too fast to flee;</p> +<p>Machine-guns chatter like demented apes—</p> +<p class="i2">And, goodness, can it <i>all</i> be meant for me?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>It can and is. And such are small affairs</p> +<p class="i2">Compared with Tompkins and his Lewis gun,</p> +<p>Or eager folk who play about with flares,</p> +<p class="i2">And, like as not, mistake me for a Hun;</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Compared with when some gunner, having dined,</p> +<p class="i2">To show his guest the glories of his art</p> +<p>'Poops off a round or two,' which burst behind,</p> +<p class="i2">But fail to drown the beating of my heart</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Sweet to all soldiers is the rearward view;</p> +<p class="i2">To infanteers how grand the gunners' case!</p> +<p>And I suppose men pine at G.H.Q.</p> +<p class="i2">For the rich ease of people at the Base.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>To me is sweet this mean and noisome ditch,</p> +<p class="i2">When on my belly I must issue out</p> +<p>Into the night, inscrutable as pitch—</p> +<p class="i2"><i>I wish to Heaven that I was not a Scout!</i></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A.P.H.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Good Donkey for Sale: musical."—<i>Louth +Advertiser</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Sings "The Vicar of Bray."</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page223" id="page223"></a>[pg +223]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/223.png"><img width="100%" src="images/223.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>THE INSEPARABLE.</h3> +<p>THE KAISER (<i>to his People</i>). "DO NOT LISTEN TO THOSE WHO +WOULD SOW DISSENSION BETWEEN US. <i>I WILL NEVER DESERT +YOU</i>."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page224" id="page224"></a>[pg +224]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/224.png"><img width="100%" src="images/224.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>AFTER THE INSPECTION.</h3> +<p><i>Orderly (to Colonel)</i>. "CAN I GET YOU A TAXI, SIR?"</p> +<p><i>Colonel</i>. "YES, PLEASE, DEAR."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>A LONDON MYSTERY SOLVED.</h2> +<p>Everyone must have observed a phenomenon of the London streets +which becomes continually more noticeable. And not only must they +have observed it, but have suffered from it.</p> +<p>At one time the omnibuses, which are rapidly becoming the only +means of street transport for human beings, had regular +stopping-places at the corner's of streets, at Piccadilly Circus, +at Oxford Circus, and so forth.</p> +<p>The corner was the accepted spot; the crowds gathered there, and +the omnibus, stopping there, emptied and refilled. But there has +been a gradual tendency towards the abandonment of the corners, +causing the omnibuses to pull up farther and farther from them, so +that it seems almost as if a time may come when, instead of +Piccadilly Circus, for example, the stopping-place for west-bound +omnibuses will be St. James's church.</p> +<p>Everyone, as I say, must have noticed this change in traffic +habits, and most people believe that police regulations are at the +bottom of it.</p> +<p>But I know better; and the reason why I know better is a little +conversation I have had with a driver.</p> +<p>It was during one of the finest efforts towards depressing +dampness that even this Summer has put up, and the driver dripped. +A great crowd of miserable mortals awaited his omnibus at a certain +recognised halt, all desperately anxious for a seat or even +standing room; but these he disregarded and carefully urged the +vehicle on for another twenty yards.</p> +<p>While the wretched people were running along the pavement to +begin their struggle for a place, I asked him why he had put them +to all that trouble.</p> +<p>"I suppose it's the police," I said, to make it easier for +him.</p> +<p>"Not as I know of," he replied.</p> +<p>"But why not stop where the public expect you to?" I asked.</p> +<p>"Why?" he inquired.</p> +<p>"Well, it would be more reasonable, more helpful," I +suggested.</p> +<p>"Who wants to help or be reasonable?" he replied. "Here, look at +me. I'm driving this bus for hours and hours every day. I'm cold +and wet. I'm putting on the brakes from morning to night, saving +people's silly lives, until I'm sick of the sight of them. If you +was to drive a motor bus in London you'd want a little amusement +now and then, too."</p> +<p>"So it's just for entertainment that you dodge about over the +stopping-places and keep changing them?" I asked.</p> +<p>"Yes," he replied.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>Another Impending Apology.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"I was sorry to hear that Lady Diana had met with a nasty motor +accident; but had escaped with only slight injuries."—<i>Mrs. +Gossip in "The Daily Sketch."</i></p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<h5>"STOP-PRESS NEWS.<br /> +GERMAN OFFICIAL.</h5> +<p>"Also ran: Julian, The Vizier, Siller and +Pennant."—<i>Manchester Evening Chronicle</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is not often that the German official communiqués +admit defeat.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"The Poor's Piece appears to be a sort of No Man's Land, and +ever since the extinction of Vestrydom has been within the +parochial administrative parvenu of the Urban District +Council."—<i>Essex Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Who is this municipal upstart?</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<h5>A SIGNIFICANT STEP.</h5> +<p>The <i>Evening Post's</i> Washington correspondent states: "Mr. +Lloyd George's speech at Glasgow is a significant step in the +process of winning the war by liplomatic strategy."—<i>Sydney +Daily Telegraph</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There's many a slip 'twixt the dip and the lip; but "liplomatic" +is not a bad word.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page225" id="page225"></a>[pg +225]</span> +<h2>THE MUD LARKS.</h2> +<p>Nobody out here seems exactly infatuated with the politicians +nowadays. The Front Trenches have about as much use for the Front +Benches as a big-game hunter for mosquitoes. The bayonet professor +indicates his row of dummies and says to his lads, "Just imagine +they are Cabinet Ministers—go!" and in a clock-tick the +heavens are raining shreds of sacking and particles of straw. The +demon bomber fancies some prominent Parliamentarian is lurking in +the opposite sap, grits his teeth, and gets an extra five yards +into his bowling.</p> +<p>But I am not entirely of the vulgar opinion. The finished +politician may not be a subject for odes, but a political education +is a great asset to any man. Our Mess President, William, once +assisted a friend to lose a parliamentary election, and his +experience has been invaluable to us. The moment we are tired of +fighting and want billets, the Squadron sits down where it is and +the Skipper passes the word along for William. William dusts his +boots, adjusts his tie and heads for the most prepossessing farm in +sight. Arrived there he takes off his hat to the dog, pats the pig, +asks the cow after the calf, salutes the farmer, curtseys to the +farmeress, then turning to the inevitable baby, exclaims in the +language of the country, "Mong Jew, kell jolly ong-fong" (Gosh, +what a topping kid!), and bending tenderly over it imprints a +lingering kiss upon its indiarubber features and wins the freedom +of the farm. The Mess may make use of the kitchen; the spare bed is +at the Skipper's disposal; the cow will move up and make room for +the First Mate; the pig will be only too happy to welcome the +Subalterns to its modest abode.</p> +<p>Ordinary billeting officers stand no chance against our William +and his political education. "That fellow," I heard one disgruntled +competitor remark of him, "would hug the Devil for a knob of coke." +Once only did he meet his match, and a battle of Titans +resulted.</p> +<p>In pursuit of his business he entered a certain farm-house, to +find the baby already in possession of another officer, a heavy red +creature with a monocle, who was rocking the infant's cradle +seventy-five revolutions per minute and making dulcet noises on a +moustache comb.</p> +<p>William's heart fell to his field boots; he recognised the red +creature's markings immediately. This was another politician; no +bloodless victory would be his; fur would fly first, powder +burn—Wow!</p> +<p>The red person must have tumbled to William as well, for he +increased the revolutions to one hundred and forty per minute and +broke into a shrill lullaby of his own impromptu +composition:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Go to sleep, Mummy's liddle Did-ums;</p> +<p>Go to sleep, Daddy's liddle Thing-ma-jig."</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Nevertheless this did not baffle our William. He approached from +a flank, deftly twitched the infant out of its cradle by the scruff +of its neck, and commenced to plaster it with tender kisses. +However the red man tailed it as it went past and hung on, kissing +any bits he could reach. When the mother reappeared they were +worrying the baby between them as a couple of hound puppies worry +the hind leg of a cub. She beat them faithfully with a broom and +hove both of them out into the wide wet world, and we all slept in +a bog that night, and William was much abused and loathed. But that +was his only failure.</p> +<p>If getting billets is William's job, getting rid of them is the +Babe's affair. William, like myself, has far too great a mastery of +the <i>patois</i> to handle delicate situations with success. For +instance, when the fanner approaches me with tidings that my +troopers have burnt two ploughshares and a crowbar and my troop +horses have masticated a brick wall I engage him in palaver, with +the result that we eventually part, I under the impression that the +incident is closed, and he under the impression that I have +promised to buy him a new farm. This leads to all sorts of +international complications.</p> +<p>The Babe, on the other hand, regards a knowledge of French as +immoral and only knows enough of it to order himself <span class= +"pagenum"><a name="page226" id="page226"></a>[pg 226]</span> a +drink. He is also gifted with a slight stutter, which under the +stress of a foreign language becomes chronic. So when we evacuate a +billet William furnishes the Babe with enough money to compensate +the farmer for all damages we have not committed, and then effaces +himself. Donning a bright smile the Babe approaches the farmer and +presses the lucre into his honest palm.</p> +<p>"Hi," says the worthy fellow, "what is this, then? One hundred +francs! Where is the seventy-four francs, six centimes for the +fleas your dog stole? The two hundred francs, three centimes for +the indigestion your rations gave my pig? The eight thousand and +ninety-nine francs, five centimes insurance money I should have +collected if your brigands had not stopped my barn from +burning?—and all the other little damages, three million, +eight hundred thousand and forty-four francs, one centime in +all—where is it, <i>hein</i>?"</p> +<p>"Ec-c-coutez une moment," the Babe begins, "Jer p-p-poovay +expliquay +tut—tut—tut—tut—sh-sh-shiss—" says +he, loosening his stammer at rapid fire, popping and hissing, +rushing and hitching like a red-hot machine-gun with a siphon +attachment. In five minutes the farmer is white in the face and +imploring the Babe to let by-gones be by-gones. "N-n-not a b-bit of +it, old t-top," says the Babe. "Jer p-p-poovay exp-p-pliquay +b-b-bub-bub-bub—" and away it goes again like a combined +steam-riveter and shower-bath, like the water coming down at +Lodore. No farmer however hardy has been known to stand more than +twenty minutes of this. A quarter-of-an-hour usually sees him +bolting and barring himself into the cellar, with the Babe blowing +him kisses of fond farewell through the keyhole.</p> +<p>We are billeted on a farm at the present moment. The Skipper +occupies the best bed; the rest of us are doing the <i>al +fresco</i> touch in tents and bivouacs scattered about the +surrounding landscape. We are on very intimate terms with the +genial farmyard folk. Every morning I awake to find half-a-dozen +hens and their gentleman-friend roosting along my anatomy. One of +the hens laid an egg in my ear this morning. William says she +mistook it for her nest, but I take it the hen, as an honest bird, +was merely paying rent for the roost.</p> +<p>The Babe turned up at breakfast this morning wearing only half a +moustache. He said a goat had browsed off the other half while he +slept. The poor beast has been having fits of giggles ever +since—a moustache must be very ticklish to digest.</p> +<p>Yesterday MacTavish, while engaged in taking his tub in the +open, noticed that his bath-water was mysteriously sinking lower +and lower. Turning round to investigate the cause of the phenomenon +he beheld a gentle milch privily sucking it up behind, his back. +There was a strong flavour of Coal Tar soap in the <i>café +au lait</i> to-day.</p> +<p>This morning at dawn I was aroused by a cold foot pawing at my +face. Blinking awake, I observed Albert Edward in rosy pyjamas +capering beside my bed. "Show a leg, quick," he whispered. "Rouse +out, and Uncle will show boysey pretty picture."</p> +<p>Brushing aside the coverlet of fowl I followed him tip-toe +across the dewy mead to the tarpaulin which he and MacTavish call +"home."</p> +<p>Albert Edward lifted a flap and signed me to peep within. It +was, as he had promised, a pretty picture.</p> +<p>At the foot of our MacTavish's mattress, under a spare blanket +lifted from that warrior in his sleep, lay a large pink pig. Both +were occupied in peaceful and stertorous repose.</p> +<p>"Heads of Angels, by Sir JOSHUA REYNOLDS," breathed Albert +Edward in my ear.</p> +<p>PATLANDER.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href= +"images/225.png"><img width="100%" src="images/225.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Old Lady from the Country</i>. "I'VE ASKED FOUR PORTERS, AND +THEY ALL TELL ME DIFFERENT."</p> +<p><i>Porter</i>. "WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT, MISSUS, IF YER ASKS FOUR +DIFFERENT PORTERS?"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"1913 Touring Ford, in splendid condition, fitted with new +coils, parafin vaporiser; has been little use."—<i>Irish +Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<h3>THE TWO LETTERS.</h3> +<p>I had as usual two letters to write. There are always two and +often twenty, but this morning there were two only. One was to my +old friend, A., who had just gone into bankruptcy; the other was to +my young friend, B., whose sporting efforts in France have won him +very rapid promotion. He was just bringing his new captain's stars +to England on a few days' leave.</p> +<p>A. is a somewhat austere and melancholy man; B. is just as +different as you can imagine.</p> +<p>I wrote thus. First to A.:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"MY DEAR MAN,—I am sorry to hear your bad news. The times +are sufficiently depressing without such a blow as this having to +fall on you. I am certain that you don't deserve such treatment, +and you have all my sympathy. As for the disgrace—there is +none. You are simply a victim of the War. If there is anything I +can do to cheer you up, let me know.</p> +<p>"I am, yours, etc.,—."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To B. I wrote thus:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"DEAR OLD TOP,—This is the best news I have heard for a +long time. I always knew you would bring it off soon; but I wasn't +prepared for anything quite so sudden. There is, of course, only +one thing to do when a man fulfils his destiny in this way. The +custom is immemorial, and, war or no war, we must crack a bottle. +Tell me where you would like to dine, and when, and I'll fix it up, +and some jolly show afterwards. Occasions like This must be +celebrated.</p> +<p>"I am, yours, etc.,—."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So far it is a somewhat feeble narrative, nor has it any point +beyond the circumstance that I posted the letters in the wrong +envelopes.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>What to do with our Critics.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"The Ministry of Munitions has for disposal approximately 75 +TONS WEEKLY of PRESS MUD."—<i>Advt. in "The +Engineer."</i></p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"In consequence of the epidemic at the Royal Naval College, +Osborne, in the spring of this year, it has been decided to reduce +the number of cadets at the College from 500 to 300. This reduction +will not affect the numbers to be entered, as a larger number of +cadets will be accommodated at Dartmouth +Colliery."—<i>Scotsman</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Where they will be trained, we suppose, as mine-sweepers.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/226.png"><img width="100%" src="images/226.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>THE REDUCED TRAIN SERVICE AT SLOWGRAVE.</h3> +<p>"NO NEED TO IDLE YOUR TIME AWAY. JUST GET A SHEET OF EMERY-PAPER +AND TAKE THE RUST OFF O' THEM RAILS."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page227" id="page227"></a>[pg +227]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/227.png"><img width="100%" src="images/227.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>TRIALS OF A CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER.</h3> +<p><i>Sergeant-Major</i>. "BEG PARDON, SIR, I WAS TO ASK YOU IF +YOU'D STEP UP TO THE BATTERY, SIR."</p> +<p><i>Camouflage Officer</i>. "WHAT'S THE MATTER?"</p> +<p><i>Sergeant-Major</i>. "IT'S THOSE PAINTED GRASS SCREENS, SIR. +THE MULES HAVE EATEN THEM."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>"GOG."</h2> +<h3>(<i>To the Author of "Jong," Punch, September 19th.</i>)</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>O singer sublime of Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong,</p> +<p class="i2">It isn't envy, the green and yellow,</p> +<p class="i2">That makes me take up my lyre, old fellow,</p> +<p class="i2">And burst with a fierce cacophonous bellow</p> +<p class="i4">Across the path of your song.</p> +<p class="i2">I want to propose another name,</p> +<p class="i2">Unknown to you and unknown to fame;</p> +<p class="i2">It is like the sound of a hand-sawn log</p> +<p class="i2">Or the hostile hark of a husky dog:</p> +<p class="i4">Chagogagog-munchogagog-chabun-agungamog!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>This cracker of jaws is a lake, I'm told, a lake in the U.S.A.,</p> +<p class="i2">And first the Indians, the red sort, owned it,</p> +<p class="i2">But later to Uncle Sam they loaned it,</p> +<p class="i2">Who afterwards made no bones, but boned it</p> +<p class="i4">In the fine Autolycus way;</p> +<p class="i2">And though life wasn't a matter vital</p> +<p class="i2">He kept with the lake its rasping title,</p> +<p class="i2">Which recalls the croak of an amorous frog</p> +<p class="i2">Or a siren heard in an ocean fog:</p> +<p class="i4">Chagogagog-munchogagog-chabun-agungamog!</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>The Butterfly.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"Two thousand cabbage butterflies have been captured by +Huntingdon school-children, but more stern measures for their +capture must be introduced."—<i>Evening Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In order to capture the cabbage butterfly the first thing to do +is to interest the creature by giving it a cabbage-leaf to play +with. Then take the kitchen-chopper in the right hand, lift it high +and bring it down with a crash on the third vertebra. Few +butterflies repeat any offence after this is severed.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>The Invincible Argentine.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"There is a most useful Navy, including two or three +super-Dreadnoughts, and the best-bred racehorses in the +world."—<i>Irish Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Further instructions as regards the allowance to householders +which have increased in size will be issued later. The issue of +temporary cards is under consideration."—<i>Food Control +Notice in "Liverpool Daily Post."</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>"Who have increased in size" would be better grammar and just as +good sense.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>A Lesson for the National Service Department.</h3> +<p>Words under a picture in <i>The Daily Mail</i>:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"Chiropodists are attending to the feet of America's new army, +and dentists are paying attention to the teeth."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Whereas in the British Army it might so easily have been the +other way round.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>Our Stylists Again.</h3> +<p>From <i>The Tatler</i> on the subject of the little Stork, which +is the badge of Capt. Guynemer's squadron:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"What emblem could, indeed, be more appropriate as well as +beautiful as the bird which is the symbol of Alsace?"</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Wanted, Girls, age 18 to 22, for Jam Jars."—<i>Manchester +Evening Chronicle</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As a substitute for sugar, we presume; but wouldn't "Sweet +Seventeen" be even more suitable?</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"In almost every part of England and Wales there are now some +200,000 women who are doing a real national work on the +land."—<i>Mr. PROTHERO'S letter in "The Daily +Telegraph."</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>If there are 200,000 women in almost every part of England there +can't be much chance for the men, particularly the single men.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page228" id="page228"></a>[pg +228]</span> +<h2>THE WAR DOG.</h2> +<p>Never confuse the "War dog" with the "dog of War." The War dog +is a direct product of the War, but you never yet met him +collecting for a hospital, or succouring the wounded, or assisting +the police, or hauling a mitrailleuse if he could help it. Yet the +War dog worships the Army; it represents a square meal and a +"cushy" bed. The new draft takes him for a mascot; but the old hand +knows him better. A shameless blend of petty larceny, mendacity, +fleas, gourmandism, dirt and unequalled plausibility.</p> +<p>You meet the War dog on some endless road. He will probably be +wearing round his neck a piece of dirty card analogous to the eye +patch and drooping Inverness cape of some mendicants nearer +home—a "property" in fact, and put there by himself, the +writer is convinced, although he has not yet actually caught the +War dog dressing for the part. The War dog on the road has +"spotted" you long before you have seen him, and he has marked you +for his own. You become conscious of a piteous whine just behind +you and, turning, see the War dog, his eyes filled with tears of +entreaty, crawling towards you on his stomach. He advances inch by +inch, and on being encouraged with comfortable words of invitation +the parasite wriggles his lean body (it is trained to <i>look</i> +lean—actually it is well padded with stolen food from +officers' kitchens) up to your feet, and, selecting a puddle in +token of his deep humility, rolls upon his back and smiles +tearfully up at you from between his grimy fore-paws. Then the game +goes forward merrily as per schedule.</p> +<p>Of course you take him back to camp and give him your last piece +of Blighty cake. You introduce your +protégé—always crawling on his stomach—to +the cook; swear to the dog's immaculate conduct; beg a trifle of +straw from the transport, and in short see him comfortably settled +for the night.</p> +<p>The War dog has you now well beneath his paws. He joins the Mess +and listens with an ill-concealed grin as each in turn boasts of +the rat-catching powers of his dog at home. Then the War dog +retreats hurriedly as a mouse appears; and you, his victim, +apologise for him and explain how he has been shaken by adversity +and what a noble creature a few days of good food and kind +treatment will make of him. The rest is simple. The War dog (with +his court) invades your bed and home parcels, and brings you into +disrepute with all and sundry—especially the Cook and +Quarter. He is fought and soundly thrashed by the regimental mascot +(half his size), and the battalion wit composes limericks about you +and your pet.</p> +<p>Then suddenly your War dog disappears. You are just beginning to +live him down—having moved into another area—when you +espy him from the street, the centre of a noisy group in a not too +reputable wine-shop. But the War dog never recognises you. He has +finished with you—grown tired of you, in fact (he rarely +"works" the same victim for more than three weeks). You and your +battalion are to him as it were a bone picked clean; and you depart +with a prayer that he may die a stray's death at the hands of the +Military Police.</p> +<p>One month travelling snugly in a G.S. waggon (you never catch +him marching like an honest mascot), the next "swinging the lead" +in some warm dug-out—there are few moves on the board of the +great War game that he does not know. He will patronise a score of +regiments in three months; travel from one end of the Western Front +to the other and back again, taking care never to attempt to renew +an old acquaintance. Occasionally he makes the mistake of running +across a mitrailleuse battery with its dog-teams needing +reinforcements, or tries to billet himself on a military +pigeon-loft and meets a violent death. But whatever fortune may +bring him we can confidently assert that he is much too fly to +chance his luck across the border and into the land where the +sausage-machines guard the secret of perpetual motion.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>IN WILD WALES.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Dwarfing the town that to the hillside clings</p> +<p class="i2">On terraced slopes, the castle, nobly planned</p> +<p>And noble in its ruined greatness, flings</p> +<p class="i2">Its double challenge to the sea and land.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, if the ancient spirit of the place</p> +<p class="i2">Could win free utterance in articulate tones,</p> +<p>What tales to hearten and inspire and brace</p> +<p class="i2">Would issue from these grey and lichened stones!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Once manned and held by paladin and peer,</p> +<p class="i2">Now tenanted by jackdaws, bats and owls,</p> +<p>Save when the casual tourist through its drear</p> +<p class="i2">And grass-grown courts disconsolately prowls.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Once famous as the scene of Border fights,</p> +<p class="i2">Now watching, in the greatest war of all,</p> +<p>Old men, with their bilingual acolytes,</p> +<p class="i2">Beating, outside its gates, a little ball;</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>While on the crumbling battlements on high,</p> +<p class="i2">Where mail-clad men-at-arms kept watch and ward,</p> +<p>Adventurous sheep amaze the curious eye</p> +<p class="i2">Instead of grazing on the level sward.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But though such incongruities may jar</p> +<p class="i2">The sense of fitness in a mind fastidious,</p> +<p>Modernity has wholly failed to mar</p> +<p class="i2">The face of Nature here, or make it hideous.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Inland the amphitheatre of hills</p> +<p class="i2">Sweeps round with Snowdon as their central crest,</p> +<p>And murmurs of innumerable rills</p> +<p class="i2">Blend with the heaving of the ocean's breast.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Already Autumn's fiery finger laid</p> +<p class="i2">On heath and marsh and woodland far and wide</p> +<p>In all their gorgeous pageantry has arrayed</p> +<p class="i2">The tranquil beauties of the countryside.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Here every prospect pleases, and the spot,</p> +<p class="i2">Unspoilt, unvulgarised by man, remains,</p> +<p>Thanks largely to a System which has not</p> +<p class="i2">Accelerated or improved its trains.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet even here, amid untroubled ways,</p> +<p class="i2">Far from the city's fevered, tainted breath,</p> +<p>Yon distant plume of yellow smoke betrays</p> +<p class="i2">The ceaseless labours of the mills of death.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"William Arthur Fletcher, ship's apprentice, of South Shields, +was remanded for a week on a charge of being absent from his ship. +His captain alleged that he had found Fletcher asleep on the +bridge."—<i>Daily Dispatch</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It must have been his mind that was absent.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"At St. Peter's, Vere Street, where he is going to preach from +the 30th of this month to the end of this year, the Rev. R.J. +Campbell will speak from the pulpit of Frederick Denison Maurice, +like himself a convert to the Church of England ... To hear him was +an experience never forgotten."—<i>Guardian</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And this although MAURICE rarely preached for more than one +month on end.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page229" id="page229"></a>[pg +229]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/229.png"><img width="100%" src="images/229.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>MANNERS IN MACEDONIA.</h3> +<h5>LADIES FIRST.</h5> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> +<p>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks</i>.)</p> +<p>I can't help thinking that <i>Gyp</i>, the central figure in Mr. +JOHN GALSWORTHY'S new story, <i>Beyond</i> (HEINEMANN), was unhappy +in her encounters with the opposite sex. But if memory serves me +this is an experience familiar to Mr. GALSWORTHY'S heroines. Men +were always wanting to kiss <i>Gyp</i>, or to marry her, or both, +and after a time kept going off and repeating the process with +somebody else; so that one can't fairly be astonished if towards +the end of the book her outlook had become rather cynical. The +character who might have preserved her estimate of mankind in +general, and the best and most sympathetically drawn figure in the +book, is <i>Gyp's</i> perfectly delightful old father, who +throughout the conspicuous failure of her two unions, legitimate +and other, retained his fine and chivalrous regard and unfailing +care for a daughter who might well have been a thorn in the flesh +of a conventional parent. But the relations of these two were never +conventional. <i>Gyp</i> had been herself a love-child, and the +knowledge of this is shown very clearly in its influence upon their +mutual attitude. As for her own affairs, these were, first—to +her father's unbounded astonishment—marriage with a +temperamental violinist, who ran rapidly down the scale from +adoration of his own wife to intrigue with another's; second, +clandestine relations with a man of her own race and breed, who +loved her to idolatry, and within a few months was found embracing +his cousin. Poor <i>Gyp</i>! I jest; but you will need no telling +that for sincerity and beauty of writing here is a book that you +cannot afford to miss. Sometimes I am a little uncertain what Mr. +GALSWORTHY is driving at, but I never fail to admire his drive.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Unless Mr. S.P.B. MAIS learns to curb his enthusiasms and to rid +himself of certain prejudices he will be wantonly seeking trouble. +<i>Rebellion</i> (GRANT RICHARDS) is in some respects a more +thoughtful and promising book than <i>Interlude</i>, but it is +marred by what can only be called the same narrow point of view. +With everybody and everything modern Mr. MAIS shows an ardent +sympathy, but if he is ever to give a comprehensive picture of life +he must contrive to be more patient with the old-fashioned. Here +his strong personality obtrudes itself too often, and he is +inclined to forget that he is a novelist and not a preacher. I +could imagine him throwing off a fine comminatory sermon from the +text, "Cursed be he who does not admire the genius of Mr. COMPTON +MACKENZIE." This homily is drawn from me with reluctance, because +in the main I am a strong believer in Mr. MAIS, and (with his +connivance) have every intention of retaining that attitude. With +all its faults <i>Rebellion</i> remains gloriously distinct from +the rubbish-heap of fiction by virtue of its intense sincerity and +its frequent flashes of fine descriptive writing. The question of +sex dominates it, and those of us who still think that such +problems are merely sustenance for the prurient-minded may cast it +impatiently aside. But others who like to watch a clever man +feeling his way towards the light, and regard a novel as neither a +bait nor a bauble, can be confidently advised to read it. They may +be irritated, but they will be intrigued.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>On the cover of <i>One Woman's Hero</i> (METHUEN) you will read +that "This book has been designed to cheer and strengthen those for +whom, from bereavement owing to the War, the days and nights are +sometimes only a procession of sad and torturing visions." Which of +course <span class="pagenum"><a name="page230" id="page230"></a>[pg +230]</span> disarms criticism, other than what may be expressed in +a question whether a book less exclusively preoccupied by the War +might not more surely have attained this end. But again, of course, +maybe it wouldn't. The tale (for all our pretendings) is not yet +written that can actually bring oblivion to bereavement, so perhaps +the next best thing is topical chatter of the bright and +unsentimental kind with which SYBIL CAMPBELL LETHBRIDGE has filled +her entertaining pages. Chatter is the only term for it, though it +is quite good of its style; the form being a series of letters +written to a friend by the young wife of a soldier at the front. +Her neighbours, their households and dinners and affectations and +courage, are what she writes about; especially do I commend her +handling of the "Let us Forget and Forgive" tribe. To all such (and +most of us know at least one) I should suggest the posting of a +copy of <i>One Woman's Hero</i>, with the page turned down (an act +permissible in so good a cause) at the report of the annihilation +of one of these well-intentioned but infuriating philosophers. The +combined logic and equity of this suggest that the Government might +do worse than commandeer the services of Miss LETHBRIDGE as a +dinner-table propagandist.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>I think BEATRICE GRIMSHAW tortures overmuch her tough bronzed +Australian hero, who "could fight his weight in wild cats," and her +beautiful slender heroine, "daughter of castles, descendant of +crusaders." First the twain fall desperately in love, and +<i>Edith</i>, the Catholic, discovers <i>Ben</i> to be an innocent +<i>divorcé</i>. Marriage impossible, they part. But it is +apparently quite in order for her to marry, without loving, a cocoa +king who drinks—anything but cocoa; which done, to add to the +bitterness of the cup, <i>Ben's</i> wife is reported dead. +Whereafter the king in a drunken fit poisons himself, and the +widow, fearing to be suspect, flies with her big <i>Ben</i> to his +secret <i>Nobody's Island</i> (HURST AND BLACKETT), off the New +Guinea coast, where they live comfortably off ambergris. Eventually +tracked down by the dead king's brother, who allows himself to be +persuaded of <i>Edith's</i> innocence on what seems to me the most +inadequate evidence, the lovers, after protracted mental agonies +and physical dangers, are about to enjoy deserved peace when +<i>Ben's</i> wife turns up again, necessitating further separation; +till finally <i>Edith</i>, with a handsome babe and the news that +after all <i>Ben's</i> first wife wasn't a wife at all, finds her +way back to Nobody's Island. Now that does seem to be rather +overdoing it. But I hasten to credit the writer with a very happy +gift of description, which brings the Papuan forests and mountains +(or something plausibly like them) vividly before the reader, while +the characters, including a boy villain ingenuously bizarre, are +amusing puppets capably manipulated.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Mrs. BARNES-GRUNDY possesses a wonderful supply of sprightly +humour. <i>Her Mad Month</i> (HUTCHINSON) is funny without being +flippant, and although the heroine is very naughty she is never +naughty enough to shock her creator's unhyphened namesake. Perhaps +<i>Charmian's</i> exploits in escaping from a severe grandmother, +and going unchaperoned to Harrogate (where a very pretty piece of +philandering ensued), do not amount to much when seriously +considered, but it is one of Mrs. BARNES-GRUNDY'S strong points +that you cannot take her seriously. I am on her side all the time +when she is giving me light comedy, but when she leaves that vein +and bathes her heroine in tears I cannot conjure up any real +sympathy. I never for a moment doubted that <i>Charmian's</i> +lover, though reported as having "died from wounds," would turn up +again. I am afraid the War is responsible for a great deal of +rather obvious fiction.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Miss MARIE HARRISON has investigated the condition of Ireland, +and in <i>Dawn in Ireland</i> (MELROSE) she presents the results of +her studies. The book is inspired by a great deal of the right kind +of enthusiasm, and the advice given is so excellent as to arouse +the fear that it will not be taken. Yet Miss HARRISON is justified +of her endeavours. She shows how often the English governors of +Ireland have failed, in spite of the best intentions, only because +they applied their remedy too late and thus, to their own great +surprise, wasted the generosity of which they were perhaps too +conscious. According to Miss HARRISON the gombeenman is the curse +of Ireland, the serpent whose presence, if only he can be reduced +to being an absentee, warrants us in regarding Ireland as a +possible Eden. Miss HARRISON will please to take the preceding +sentence as proving my entire sympathy with Irish modes of thought +and expression and, generally, with Ireland. Against the gombeener +(who is a shop-keeper running his business on the long-credit +system) she invokes a vision of the blessings of co-operation. One +of her heroes is Sir HORACE PLUNKETT, and, indeed, the work of the +Irish Agricultural Organisation Society, over which he has +presided, has been an unmixed benefit to Ireland. I heartily +endorse Miss HARRISON'S hope that "at no distant period all will be +well with Ireland." Her book should certainly help towards this +result.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Captain VERE SHORTT fell at Loos in September of 1915, and left +twelve chapters of a story, <i>The Rod of the Snake</i> (LANE), +which his sister has finished and very capably finished; helped by +the recollection of many intimate conversations about the plot and +its development. It tells how young <i>Charlie Shandross</i>, +bidding his preposterous soldier uncle be hanged, shook the stale +dust of Ballybar off his feet, served three years in the C.M.R., +and so prepared himself for the deadly adventure of the rod of the +snake, the image of the ape, the Haytian attaché and the +sinister priestess of Voodoo rites—Paris its setting. I won't +spoil your pleasure by giving the details away; I will only say it +is all very splendidly incredible, but not unplausible, and the +authors do take pains with their puzzles, as where the hero and his +party find the secret spring of the panel in the vault by the blood +tracks of their enemy, who has been thoughtfully wounded in the +hand. A small point but significant; too many writers in this kind +being given to whisking their favourites out of danger in the most +arbitrary manner. A good railway book, of the sort you can +confidently pass on to the soldiers' hospitals after reading +it.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/230.png"><img width="100%" src="images/230.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h4>THE LAST VISITOR AND THE NATIONAL ANTHEM.</h4> +</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10663 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/10663-h/images/215.png b/10663-h/images/215.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9664b40 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/215.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/217.png b/10663-h/images/217.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f75d830 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/217.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/218.png b/10663-h/images/218.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e686fe --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/218.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/219.png b/10663-h/images/219.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..378ac20 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/219.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/221.png b/10663-h/images/221.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac27bd4 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/221.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/222.png b/10663-h/images/222.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..db8eb90 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/222.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/223.png b/10663-h/images/223.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a722281 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/223.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/224.png b/10663-h/images/224.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ccc312a --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/224.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/225.png b/10663-h/images/225.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf5db32 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/225.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/226.png b/10663-h/images/226.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..963420c --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/226.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/227.png b/10663-h/images/227.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..db254a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/227.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/229.png b/10663-h/images/229.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..53850ec --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/229.png diff --git a/10663-h/images/230.png b/10663-h/images/230.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..07487cc --- /dev/null +++ b/10663-h/images/230.png |
