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diff --git a/old/10903-h/10903-h.htm b/old/10903-h/10903-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..42da32a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10903-h/10903-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1977 @@ +<!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=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Oct. 17, 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%;} + + .side { float:right; + font-size: 75%; + width: 25%; + padding-left:10px; + border-left: dashed thin; + margin-left: 10px; + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; + font-weight: bold; + font-style: italic;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, +Oct. 17, 1917, by Various, Edited by Owen Seamen</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Oct. 17, 1917</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Release Date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #10903]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 153, OCT. 17, 1917***</p> +<center><b>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Punch, or the London Charivari, William Flis,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</b></center> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>Vol. 153.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>October 17, 1917.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page263" id="page263"></a>[pg +263]</span> +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> +<p>The mutiny of the German sailors at Kiel is now explained. They +preferred death to another speech from the KAISER.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A Constantinople poet has translated the plays of SHAKSPEARE +into Turkish. The rendering is said to be faithful to the text, and +it is assumed that a keen appreciation of Turkey's military +necessities alone accounts for his reference to the "Swan of Avon" +as the "Bulbul of Potsdam."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The use of flour as an ingredient of sausages is now forbidden. +Young sausages which have hitherto been fed on bread and milk must +either be broken to bones or killed for the table.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An optimist writes to express the hope that by this elimination +of flour the dreadful secret of the sausage may be at last +revealed.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The German Government has created a Pulp Commission. We have +always said they would be reduced to it in time.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The King of SIAM'S royal yacht has been turned into a cargo +boat. Reports that the Sacred White Elephant has been commandeered +for use as a floating dock are still unconfirmed.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>For giving corn to pheasants a fine of ten pounds has been +inflicted on a merchant of New York (Lincs.) The removal <i>en +bloc</i> of this village from the mouth of the Hudson river to its +present site should finally convince the sceptics of the magnitude +of America's war effort.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Vacant Land Cultivation Society offers a prize of ten +shillings for the heaviest potato. Some of our most notorious +potato-tellers are expected to compete.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The provision of steel helmets for the Metropolitan Police is +all right so far as it goes, but the Force is still asking why it +cannot be furnished with some protection for its other +extremities.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>From China it is reported that an aboriginal priest now claiming +the Throne has been accustomed to eat the flesh of tigers, wolves, +leopards, &c., also the human heart. It is, however, only fair +to our own restaurateurs to state that, though China is alleged to +be on the eve of war, there is as yet no food-control in that +country.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An unusual scarcity of wasps is reported from various parts of +the country. Nothing is being done about it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A calf has been sold for two thousand seven hundred guineas in +Aberdeenshire. The plucky purchaser is understood to have had for +some time past a craving for a veal cutlet.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A new form of frightfulness is evidently being practised upon +their guards by our interned Huns. "Some of them," says a +contemporary, "purchase a hundred cigars with a portion of the one +pound a day which is the miserable maximum they may spend on +luxuries."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"People who speak of suicide seldom do anything desperate," says +a well-known mental expert. So that the KAISER'S threat to fight +England to the death may be taken for what it is worth.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>An extraordinary meeting of German Reichstag Members has arrived +at the decision that the Germans cannot hope for victory in the +field. We see nothing extraordinary in this.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Professor BERGEN was once described as "the well-known inventor +and philanthropist." He still invents (his latest is a gas-thrower, +reported by the <i>Berliner Tageblatt</i> to be "a veritable +monster of destruction"), but has dropped the other job.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>A swallow-tail butterfly which escaped from the Zoo has been +re-captured at Eastbourne. When caught it gave the policeman to +understand that it would go quietly.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Two men, we read, took twenty-two hours to chisel a hole through +the three-foot flint concrete roof of the London Opera House. The +report that they did this to avoid the Entertainment Tax has now +been contradicted.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>"The American Winston Churchill," says <i>The Daily Express</i>, +"has to plod through life without a middle name." We all have our +little cross to bear. Even the MINISTER OF MUNITIONS has to plod +through life with the knowledge that there is another Winston +Churchill loose about the world.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>It is proposed that Parliament shall sit from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M., +instead of from 3 to 11 P.M. We do not care for this crude attempt +to mix business with politics.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Boundary Commission Report advocates the creation of +thirty-one new M.P.'s. It will be a bitter disappointment for those +who were sanguine enough to hope that Redistribution would spell +Reform.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>The Government has commandeered all stocks of rum. The rigours +of war, it seems, must be suffered even by our little tots.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href= +"images/263.png"><img width="100%" src="images/263.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>The Wit.</i> "AH, NOW YOU'RE FOR IT, ALBERT?"</p> +<p><i>Tractor-Driver.</i> "WOT'S THE MATTER?"</p> +<p><i>The Wit.</i> "WHY, YOU'VE BEEN AND GONE AND COME ON PARADE +WITHOUT YOUR SPURS."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"The bridegroom, 6 ft. 35 ins. in height, was wearing the +full-dress uniform of a captain in the Army."—<i>Great +Yarmouth Independent</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He would need it all.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Headline to a description of a recent push:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"VONDERFUL RESULTS."—<i>Evening Paper</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The "Hidden Hand" in the composing-room?</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page264" id="page264"></a>[pg +264]</span> +<h2>THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.</h2> +<blockquote class="note"> +<p>["Stedfastness and righteousness are the qualities which the +German people value in the highest degree, and which have brought +it a good and honourable reputation in the whole world. When we +make experiments in lies and deception, intrigue and low cunning, +we suffer hopeless and brutal failure. Our lies are coarse and +improbable, our ambiguity is pitiful simplicity. The history of the +War proves this by a hundred examples. When our enemies poured all +these things upon us like a hailstorm, and we convinced ourselves +of the effectiveness of such tactics, we tried to imitate them. But +these tactics will not fit the German. We are rough but moral, we +are credulous but honest."—<i>Herr DERNBURG, in "Deutsche +Politik."</i>]</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In Eden bowers, so fair to see,</p> +<p>There dwelt, when sin was yet to be,</p> +<p>A guileless Serpent up a tree,</p> +<p class="i2">Sniffing the virgin breezes;</p> +<p>Till EVE (the huzzy!), one fine day,</p> +<p>With evil purpose came his way,</p> +<p>And led that simple worm astray</p> +<p class="i2">By low and wicked wheezes.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A Wolf there was, quite sweet and good,</p> +<p>Till in his path Red Riding-Hood</p> +<p>Went camouflaging through the wood—</p> +<p class="i2">A brazen little terror;</p> +<p>Large teeth she had and bulgy eyes</p> +<p>And told the most amazing lies,</p> +<p>And taught him, in a flowery guise,</p> +<p class="i2">The downward route to error.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Of Fritz's nature, fresh as morn,</p> +<p>Pure as a babe that's just been born,</p> +<p>Clean as a poodle lately-shorn,</p> +<p class="i2">These are symbolic samples;</p> +<p>The Wolf unversed in specious vice,</p> +<p>The Serpent with a taste as nice</p> +<p>As anything in Paradise—</p> +<p class="i2">Debauched by bad examples.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>England seduced us. 'Neath her spell,</p> +<p>Mistress of lies, we fell and fell</p> +<p>Into the poisoned sink, or well,</p> +<p class="i2">Of faked and fabulous rumour;</p> +<p>And there, as we were bound to do,</p> +<p>We failed, because we loved the True,</p> +<p>And loathed the False as alien to</p> +<p class="i2">Our artless German humour.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I speak as one who ought to know;</p> +<p>Myself I tried a trick or so</p> +<p>In U.S.A. and had to go,</p> +<p class="i2">Looking absurdly silly;</p> +<p>And now against us, big with fate,</p> +<p>That Hemisphere has thrown its weight,</p> +<p>Both North and South (though up to date</p> +<p class="i2">We haven't heard from Chili).</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Laughter we've earned—a noble shame!</p> +<p>Built to achieve a higher aim,</p> +<p>We honest Huns can't play the game</p> +<p class="i2">Of shifty propaganders;</p> +<p>Henceforth we'd better all get back</p> +<p>On to the straight and righteous track</p> +<p>And help our HINDENBURG to hack</p> +<p class="i2">(If not too late) through Flanders.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>O.S.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Red heels were much in evidence, both Lady D—— and +Lady C—— affected them, and they were to be seen in +other unexpected places."—<i>Observer</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Certainly their use as ornaments in the small of the back +surprised us a good deal.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>THE CARP AT MIRAMEL.</h2> +<blockquote class="note"> +<p>[In the following article all actual names, personal, +geographical and regimental, have been duly camouflaged.]</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The carp that live in the moat of the Château de Miramel +(in the zone of the armies in France) are of an age and ugliness +incredible and of a superlative cynicism. One of them—local +tradition pointed to a one-eyed old reprobate with a yellow +face—is the richer these hundred years past by an English +peeress's diamond ring.</p> +<p>From the bottom of the moat one world-war is like another, and +none of them very different from peace. It is but a row of grinning +red healthy faces over the coping and a shower of bread and +biscuit.</p> +<p>When the nightmare of BONAPARTE was ended in the Autumn of 1815, +the 22nd K.R. Lancers, commanded by an English peer, billeted +themselves in and around the Château de Miramel. The English +peer, finding time hang heavy on his hands, or my lady's letters +proving insistent, sent for her to come out to him at Miramel. You +could do that sort of homely thing in 1815.</p> +<p>So my lady comes to Miramel, and the very first day, as she +leans out of window in the round tower, mishandles her diamond ring +(gift of my lord) and drops it into the moat. Her host, the good +Comte de Miramel, dredged and drained, but no trace of the diamond +ring was ever found. But old Cyclops, the carp, grinned +horribly.</p> +<p>In due course my lord and lady went home to the Isle of Fogs, +and thence they sent their portraits to their host as a souvenir of +their stay. Here indeed the portraits still hang, very graceful in +the style of the period. And to the appreciative visitor Madame de +Miramel (of to-day) shows a missive of thanks, written in +indifferent bad French, in which my lady refers sorrowfully to +"<i>ma bague diamantée</i>."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Once again the 22nd K.R. Lancers are billeted in Miramel. The +other day I noticed on a worn stone pillar at the great door the +following half-obliterated words:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"ED. WYNN, pikeman of the dashing 22nd King's Ryol ridgemet of +lanciers. Sept. 1815";</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and freshly scratched above the inscription:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Better at piking than at speling.</p> +<p class="i4">22nd K.R. Lancers. JAS. BARNET. Sept. 1917."</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>The old carp seems to be right, and one war is very like +another. There is no radical change in the orthography of the 22nd +King's Royal Lancers, and some-one else's wall is still the medium +for self-expression.</p> +<p>Old Cyclops must be throwing his mind back a hundred years or +so. There is a rain of bread and biscuits into the moat and a ring +of red grinning faces above the coping. Yesterday I threw a disused +safety-razor blade over the old scoundrel's nose. And "Bless my +soul!" he said, as he lazily bolted it, "there hasn't been such a +year for minnows since 1815."</p> +<p>But Armageddon 1917 holds surprises even for those who live at +the bottom of a moat. For very early this morning a bauble fell +into the moat that Cyclops himself couldn't digest. The old cynic +was found floating, scarred belly upwards, on the surface of the +water.</p> +<p>The mess-waiter took charge of the <i>post-mortem</i>. Like the +<i>Duke of Plaza Toro</i>, he "likes an interment" and rarely +misses a last rite. A keen fisherman, he had little difficulty in +extracting an exhibit for the Court's inspection, which he +unhesitatingly pronounced to be a diamond ring in an advanced state +of decomposition.</p> +<p>The mess-cook, on the other hand, identified the relic as the +stopping, recently mislaid, from one of his back teeth.</p> +<p>In any case there seems little room for doubt that a Hun airman +has avenged the long-dead lady.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page265" id="page265"></a>[pg +265]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/265.png"><img width="100%" src="images/265.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>ENIGMA.</h3> +<p>POLICEMAN (<i>on duty at St. Stephen's</i>). "STAND ASIDE, +PLEASE."</p> +<p>MR. PUNCH. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?"</p> +<p>POLICEMAN. "PARLIAMENT REASSEMBLING."</p> +<p>MR. PUNCH. "WHY?"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page266" id="page266"></a>[pg +266]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/266.png"><img width="100%" src="images/266.png" alt= +"" /></a><i>Ex-Bus-driver (in difficulties in the roadless +zone).</i> "'ERE'S OLE PICCADILLY UP AGIN—FAIR IN THE +'IGHTH OF THE SEASON." +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE MUD LARKS.</h2> +<p>All the world has marvelled at "the irrepressible good humour" +of old Atkins. Every distinguished tripper who comes Cook's-touring +to the Front for a couple of days devotes at least a chapter of his +resultant book to it. "How in thunder does Thomas do it?" they ask. +"What the mischief does he find to laugh at?" Listen.</p> +<p>Years ago, when the well-known War was young, a great man sat in +his sanctum exercising his grey matter. Ho said to himself, "There +is a War on. Men, amounting to several, will be prised loose from +comfortable surroundings and condemned to get on with it for the +term of their unnatural lives. They will be shelled, gassed, mined +and bombed, smothered in mud, worked to the bone, bored stiff and +scared silly. Fatigues will be unending, rations short, rum +diluted, reliefs late and leave nil. Their girls will forsake them +for diamond-studded munitioneers. Their wives will write saying, +'Little Jimmie has the mumps; and what about the rent? You aren't +spending all of five bob a week on yourself, are you?' This is but +a tithe (or else a tittle) of the things that will occur to them, +and their sunny natures will sour and sicken if something isn't +done about it."</p> +<p>The great man sat up all night chewing penholders and pondering +on the problem. The BIG IDEA came with the end of the eighth +penholder.</p> +<p>He sprang to his feet, fires of inspiration flashing from his +eyes, and boomed, "Let there be <i>Funny Cuts</i>!"—then went +to bed. Next morning he created "I." (which stands for +Intelligence), carefully selected his Staff, arrayed them in tabs +of appropriate hue, and told them to go the limit. And they have +been going it faithfully ever since. What the Marines are to the +Senior Service, "I." is to us. Should a Subaltern come in with the +yarn that the spook of HINDENBURG accosted him at Bloody Corner and +offered him a cigar, or a balloon cherub buttonhole you with the +story of a Bosch tank fitted with rubber tyres, C-springs and hot +and cold water, that he has seen climbing trees behind St. Quentin, +we retort, "Oh, go and tell it to 'I.'" and then sit back and see +what the inspired official organ of the green tabs will make of it. +A hint is as good as a wink to them, a nudge ample. Under the +genius of these imaginative artists the most trivial incident +burgeons forth into a LE QUEUX spell-binder, and the whole British +Army, mustering about its Sergeant-Majors, gets selected cameos +read to it every morning at roll-call, laughs brokenly into the +jaws of dawn and continues chuckling to itself all day. Now you +know.</p> +<p>Our Adjutant had a telephone call not long ago. "Army speaking," +said a voice. "Will you send somebody over to Rataplan and see if +there is a Town Major there?"</p> +<p>The Adjutant said he would, and a N.C.O. was despatched +forthwith. He returned later, reporting no symptoms of one, so the +Adjutant rang up Exchange and asked to be hooked on to Army +Headquarters. "Which branch?" Exchange inquired. "Why, really I +don't know—forgot to ask," the Adjutant confessed. "I'll have +a try at 'A.'"</p> +<p>"Hello," said "A." "There is no Town Major at Rataplan," said +the Adjutant. "You astound me, Fair Unknown," said "A."; "but what +about it, anyway?" The Adjutant apologised and asked Exchange for +"Q." department. "Hello," said "Q." "There is no Town Major at +Rataplan," said the Adjutant. "Sorry, old thing, whoever you are," +said "Q.," "but we don't stock 'em. Rations, iron; perspirators, +box; oil, whale, delivered with promptitude and civility, but NOT +Town Majors—sorry." The Adjutant sighed and consulted with +Exchange as to who possibly could have rung him up.</p> +<p>Exchange couldn't guess unless it was "I."—no harm in +trying, anyhow.</p> +<p>"Hello!" said "I." "There is no Town Major at Rataplan," the +Adjutant, droned somewhat wearily. "Wha-t!" "I." exclaimed, +suddenly interested. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page267" id= +"page267"></a>[pg 267]</span> "Say it again, clearer." +"RAT-A-PLAN—NO—TOWN—MA-JOR," the Adjutant +repeated. There was a pause; then he heard the somebody give off an +awed "Good Lord!" and drop the receiver. Next morning in <i>Funny +Cuts</i> (the organ of Intelligence) we learned that "Corps +Headquarters was heavily shelled last night. The Town Major is +missing. This is evidence that the enemy has brought long-range +guns into the opposite sector." Followed masses of information as +to the probable make of the guns, the size of shell they preferred, +the life-story of the Battery Commander, his favourite flower and +author.</p> +<p>The Bosch, always on the alert to snaffle the paying devices of +an opposition firm, now has his "I." staff and <i>Funny Cuts</i> as +well. From time to time we capture a copy and read this sort of +thing:—</p> +<p>"From agonised screeches heard by one of our intrepid airmen +while patrolling over the enemy's lines yesterday, it is evident +that the brutal and relentless British are bayonetting their +prisoners."</p> +<p>A Highland Division, whose star pipers were holding a dirge and +lament contest on that date, are now ticking off the hours to the +next offensive.</p> +<p>The Antrims had a <i>cordon bleu</i> by the name of Michael +O'Callagan. He was a sturdy rogue, having retreated all the way +from Mons, and subsequently advanced all the way back to the Yser +with a huge stock-pot on his back, from which he had furnished +mysterious stews to all comers, at all hours, under any conditions. +For this, and for the fact that he could cook under water, and +would turn out hot meals when other <i>chefs</i> were committing +suicide, much was forgiven him, but he was prone to look upon the +<i>vin</i> when it was <i>rouge</i> and was habitually coated an +inch thick with a varnish of soot and pot-black. One morning he +calmly hove himself over the parapet and, in spite of the earnest +attentions of Hun snipers, remained there long enough to collect +sufficient <i>débris</i> to boil his dixies. Next day the +Bosch <i>Funny Cuts</i> flared forth scareheads:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"SAVAGES ON THE SOMME.</p> +<p>"The desperate and unprincipled British are employing black +cannibal Zulus in the defence of their system. Yesterday one of +them, a chief of incredibly depraved appearance, was observed +scouting in the open."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The communiqué ended with a treatise on the Zulu, its +black man-eating habits, and an exhortation to "our old +Brandenburgers" not to be dismayed.</p> +<p>PATLANDER.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/267.png"><img width="100%" src="images/267.png" alt= +"" /></a>OWING TO PRESSURE FROM THE ALL-HIGHEST, HIS ORIENTAL ALLY IS +FORMING A MAGIC-CARPET BOMBING SQUADRON. +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>MORE SEX PROBLEMS.</h3> +<p>From a stock-auction report:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"THE BULL CALVES. THE BULL CALVES."</p> +<p><i>Glasgow Herald.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Notwithstanding the repetition of this statement we find great +difficulty in believing it.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"SOLDIERS' CHRISTMAS GIFTS. POSTING DATES FOR EGYPT AND +SALONIKA."</p> +<p><i>Times.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>It sounds a little like consigning coal to Newcastle.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"AIR RAIDS.—Peaceful country rectory, Hampshire, well out +of danger zone, can receive three or four paying guests. Large +garden, beautiful scenery, high, bracing. Simple life. £10 +each weekly."—<i>The Times.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>This enterprising parson seems to have borrowed his recipe for +the simple life from GRAY'S <i>Elegy</i>:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Along the cool sequester'd vale of life</p> +<p class="i2">They kept the noiseless tenner of their way.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page268" id="page268"></a>[pg +268]</span> +<h2>BEASTS ROYAL.</h2> +<h3>IV.</h3> +<h3>KING HENRY'S STAG-HOUND. A.D. 1536.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ten puffs upon my master's toes,</p> +<p class="i2">And twenty on his sleeves,</p> +<p>Upon his hat a Tudor rose</p> +<p class="i2">Set round with silver leaves;</p> +<p class="i4">But never a hunting-spear,</p> +<p class="i6">And never a rowel-spur;</p> +<p class="i4">Who is this that he calls his Dear?</p> +<p class="i6">I think I will bark at her.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The Windsor groves were fresh and green,</p> +<p class="i2">Dangling with Summer dew,</p> +<p>When my master rode with his Spanish queen,</p> +<p class="i2">And the huntsman cried, "Halloo!"</p> +<p class="i4">Now never a horn is heard,</p> +<p class="i6">And never the lances stir;</p> +<p class="i4">Who is this that he calls his Bird?</p> +<p class="i6">I think I will follow her.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>To-night my master walks alone</p> +<p class="i2">In the pleachéd pathway dim,</p> +<p>And the thick moss reddens on the stone</p> +<p class="i2">Where she used to walk with him.</p> +<p class="i4">When will he shout for the glove</p> +<p class="i6">And the spear of the verderer?</p> +<p class="i4">Where is she gone whom he called his Love?</p> +<p class="i6">For I cannot follow her.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>SECOND CHILDHOOD.</h2> +<p>I must make a confession to someone. I have wasted raw material +which is a substitute for something else indispensable for +defeating the Hun, and probably traitor is the right name for me. +Let me explain.</p> +<p>Somewhere in Nutshire there is a place called Cotterham. It is +one of those little villages which somehow nobody expects to meet +nowadays outside the pages of a KATE GREENAWAY painting book. There +is the village green, with its pond and geese and absurdly pretty +cottages with gardens full of red bergamot and lads'-love, and a +little school where the children are still taught to curtsey and +pull their forelocks when the Squire goes by. And beyond the Green, +at the end of Plough Lane and after you have crossed Leg-o'-Mutton +Common, you come to Down Wood, and if you don't meet Little Red +Riding-Hood on the way or come on Snow White and her seven dwarfs, +that is only because you must have taken the wrong turning after +you came through the kissing-gate at the bottom of Lovers' Lane. I +am a native of Cotterham, and in my more reflective moments I +wonder why such an idyllic place should have produced anything so +unromantic as myself, His Majesty's Deputy Assistant Acting +Inspector for All Sorts of Unexpected Explosives. Cotterham still +has a large place in my affections, and it gave me a considerable +shock the other day to get a letter from the Squire, who is an old +friend, asking me down for a week-end, and adding, "You can do a +little professional job for me too. You really will be interested +to see what splendid work is being done here in your line of fire. +The output is some of the best in the district. But there has been +trouble lately and the leaders of the two biggest shifts were found +to have appropriated a substantial part of the output to their own +uses. I shall rely on you to straighten things out and suggest the +right penalties."</p> +<p>So they were even making munitions in Cotterham. I conjured up +visions of interminable rows of huts, of thousands of overalled +workers swamping Plough Lane, trampling the Green brown, scaring +the geese, obliterating the immemorial shape of Leg-o'-Mutton +Common by a mushroom township, laying Down Wood low, and coming to +me with some miserable tale of petty pilfering for my adjustment. I +must own I got out of the train at Muddlehampstead and into the +station fly feeling distinctly low-spirited. It was some +consolation to find that the railway still stopped seven miles +short of my village, though I reflected gloomily that the place +itself was doubtless a network of light railways by this time. We +bowled along in stately fashion up Plough Lane and past Halfpenny +Cross to the Manor House with its thatched roof and +Virginia-creeper all over the porch. The Squire carried me off at +once for the professional part of my visit, but we fell to talking +of fishing, which had been good, and cubbing, which had been bad, +and were on to Leg-o'-Mutton Common before I remembered to speak of +munitions.</p> +<p>"Not much sign of war here," I said with a relieved sigh. "I was +afraid they'd have spoilt the dear old heath for a certainty. Only +don't say it's Down Wood they've gone to, for that'd be more than I +could stand. I thought there were fairies there long after I ought +to have been a hard-headed young man of six, and if they've gone +and desecrated that wood with factories—"</p> +<p>The Squire smiled.</p> +<p>"I don't think I should worry. Amongst all your Unexpected +Explosives do you happen to condescend to have heard of the gentle +horse-chestnut and the school-children that collect them? Here are +the two delinquents I wrote to you about, and we've caught them in +the act. Just look at them wasting the precious things."</p> +<p>Two small boys were playing at conkers, two small boys with very +earnest faces and grubby clothes which never figured in KATE +GREENAWAY'S pictures, wasting precious material which +five-and-thirty other scholars were diligently collecting and +stuffing into sacks. I ought to have given them a lecture on +patriotism—the army behind the Army. But we each of us keep +one childish passion untamed, even if we are unromantic old +bachelors, and I, His Majesty's Deputy Assistant Acting Inspector +for All Sorts of Unexpected Explosives and his very loyal subject, +who have lived for nearly half-a-century of Octobers in London +town—I borrowed the bigger conker and systematically and in +deadly earnest I fought and defeated the other small boy.</p> +<p>They say that treason never succeeds; so perhaps I can't be a +traitor after all.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE UNDISMAYED.</h3> +<p>In a world of insecurity and change it is good to have one +bedrock certainty upon which the mind can rest. Thrones totter and +fall; Commanders-in-chief are superseded; Admirals of the High +Fleet are displaced; in politics leaders come and go and +reputations pass; in ordinary life a thousand mutations are +visible. But amid all this flux there remains mercifully one +resolute piece of routine that nothing can alter. Whatever may be +happening elsewhere in the world—mutinies in the German Navy, +revolutions in Russia, advances in France, advances in +Flanders—Leicester Square keeps its head. Armageddon may be +turning the world upside down, but it cannot cause those old +antagonists, STEVENSON and REECE, to cease their perpetual contest; +and if the War lasts another ten years you will read in <i>The +Times</i> of October 17th, 1927, a paragraph to the effect that "at +the close of play yesterday in the billiard match of 16,000 points +up between Stevenson and Reece, at the Grand Hall, Leicester +Square, the scores were: Reece (in play), 4,676; Stevenson, +2,837."</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>NOT CANNIBALS AFTER ALL.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"The first contingent of the American troops brought food for +six months, and hence the fears of the peasants in France lest they +should be eaten up are groundless."—<i>Adelaide +Advertiser</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"If the public continue to spend the same sum of money on bread +at 9d. as they did when it was 1s., it is easy to see that the +consumption will rise by a quarter or 25 per +cent."—<i>Glasgow Evening News</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We are always timid about questioning a Scotsman's arithmetic, +but we make the increase a third, or 33-1/3 per cent.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page269" id="page269"></a>[pg +269]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href= +"images/269.png"><img width="100%" src="images/269.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>He (connoisseur of wines)</i>. "WE STAYED SEVERAL DAYS AT AN +INN IN A LITTLE GLOUCESTERSHIRE VILLAGE, AS WE FOUND THEY HAD SUCH +AN EXCELLENT CELLAR."</p> +<p><i>She</i>. "REALLY! I HAD NO IDEA THE RAIDERS HAD GOT SO FAR +WEST AS THAT."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>CROSS-TALK WITH PETHERTON.</h2> +<p>Petherton and I have just emerged from another bombardment. +Certain correspondence in <i>The Surbury Gazette and North Herts +Courier</i> gave me a welcome excuse for firing what I may term a +sighting shot. I wrote to my genial neighbour as +follows:—</p> +<p>DEAR MR. PETHERTON,—No doubt you have seen the recent +letters in the local paper anent the remains of the old Cross, +which are at once an ornament to Castle Street, Surbury, and a +standing menace to the peace of mind of the local antiquarians.</p> +<p>I am exceedingly interested in the matter myself and feel that +the views of one who, I am sure, adds a wide knowledge of +archæology to the long list of his accomplishments, would be +both interesting and instructive to myself and (if you would allow +your views to be published) to our little community in general.</p> +<p>If therefore you will write and let me know your opinion on the +matter I shall take it as a friendly and cousinly (<i>vide</i> +certain eighteenth-century documents in the Record Office) act.</p> +<p>Yours sincerely,</p> +<p>HENRY J. FORDYCE.</p> +<p>Petherton replied with a whizz-bang as thus:—</p> +<p>SIR,—I have read the idiotic correspondence to which you +refer, and am informed that you are the author of the screed which +appeared in last Saturday's issue of the paper. If my informant is +correct as to the authorship of the letter I can only say it is a +pity that, with apparently no knowledge of the subject, you should +venture into print. Anyone enjoying the least acquaintance with the +rudiments of English history would be perfectly aware that the +remains have no connection with QUEEN ELEANOR whatever. The +whereabouts of all the crosses put up to her memory are quite well +known to archæologists.</p> +<p>Yours faithfully,</p> +<p>FREDERICK PETHERTON.</p> +<p>I replied with light artillery:—</p> +<p>DEAR PETHERTON,—Yours <i>re</i> the late Mrs. EDWARD +PLANTAGENET to hand.</p> +<p>Though not a professed archæologist I do know something of +the ruin in question, having several times examined it and having +heard, perhaps, most, if not all, the various theories concerning +it. I have been here a good deal longer than you have, I believe, +and cannot think that you know more of the subject than I.</p> +<p>Have you read Wycherley's treatise on the Eleanor Crosses? [I +invented this monograph for the purpose of inducing Petherton to +reload.] If not, why not? Perhaps you would like to dispute the +existence of a castle on the site where the Castle Farm now stands, +and where such shameless profiteering is carried on in eggs and +butter?</p> +<p>By the way, how is your poultry? I notice that your +<i>seizième siècle</i> rooster wants his tail +remodelling. Perhaps you are not worrying about new plumage for him +till after the War, though it seems like carrying patriotism to +absurd lengths.</p> +<p>Yours sincerely,</p> +<p>HENRY J. FORDYCE.</p> +<p>I hope you will allow your letter to be published in <i>The +Gazette</i>.</p> +<p>In reply to this Petherton discharged with:—</p> +<p>SIR,—I am not concerned with the castle, which may or may +not have existed in Surbury, nor am I interested in your friend's +monograph on Eleanor Crosses. Other people besides yourself have +the impudence to rush into print on matters of which they are +sublimely ignorant.</p> +<p>Perhaps I had better inform you that EDWARD I. reigned at the +end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth centuries +(1272-1307), not in the fifteenth, and a very slight knowledge of +architecture would convince you that the Surbury relics are not +earlier than the fifteenth century.</p> +<p>Trusting you will not commit any further absurdities, though I +am not too sanguine,</p> +<p>I am, Yours faithfully,</p> +<p>FREDERICK PETHERTON.</p> +<p>My views are not for publication. I <span class= +"pagenum"><a name="page270" id="page270"></a>[pg 270]</span> prefer +not to be mixed up in such a symposium.</p> +<p>It was evident that my neighbour's weapon was beginning to get +heated, so I flicked him with some more light artillery to draw him +on, and loosed off with:—</p> +<p>Dear Old Man,—What a historian you are! You have JOHN +RICHARD GREEN beaten to his knees, FROUDE and GARDINER out of +sight, and even the authoress of the immortal <i>Little Arthur</i> +could not have placed EDDY I. with greater chronological +exactitude. In fact there seems to be no subject on which you +cannot write informatively, which makes me sorry that you will not +join in the literary fray in the local paper, as it deprives the +natives of a great treat.</p> +<p>But—there is a but, my dear Fred—I cannot admit your +claim to superior knowledge of the Surbury relics. Remember, I have +grown up with them as it were. Yours ever,</p> +<p>HARRY FORDYCE.</p> +<p>Sir (exploded Petherton),—What senseless drivel you write +on the least provocation! Whether you grew up with the Surbury +relics or not, you have certainly decayed with them. Every stone +that's left of that confounded ruin (probably only a simple +market-cross) proclaims the date of its birth. Even the broken +finial and the two crockets lying on the ground expose your +ignorance. Eleanor Cross, bah!</p> +<p>Yours flly., F. PETHERTON.</p> +<p>I thought it was time to emerge from my literary camouflage and +let off a heavy howitzer; which I did, with the +following:—</p> +<p>Dear Freddy,—I am afraid you have got hold of the wrong +end of the stick and laid an egg in a mare's nest. [These mixed +metaphors were designed to tease him into a further barrage.] I did +not write, and I do not remember saying that I had written, the +letter to the paper which seems to have given you as much pleasure +as it has given me. I had no hand in the symposium, but the way you +have brought your Chesterfield battery into action has been so +masterly that I, for one, can never regret that you were +misinformed. I believe the particular letter to <i>The Gazette</i> +was written by one of the staff, a native of the place, who +probably carved his name on the base in his youth, and has felt a +personal interest in the Cross ever since. I hope with this new +light on the affair you will favour me with your further views on +history and archæology.</p> +<p>Yours ever, Harry.</p> +<p>How lovely the blackberries are looking after the rain!</p> +<p>But I couldn't draw Petherton's fire again, for his gun had been +knocked out by this direct hit.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/270.png"><img width="100%" src="images/270.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<i>Excitable Lady (describing to wounded Tommies the appearance +of a bomb-hole on the London Front).</i> "You could have buried a +horse in it. You never saw such a thing in your life!" +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>Sugar Control</h3> +. +<p>Thanks to the new sugar regulations we now expect half a pound +of sugar per head per week instead of half a pound of sugar per +head per-haps.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"HOGS STILL SOARING."</p> +<p><i>Headline in Canadian Paper.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>The shortage of petrol seems to have driven them from the +roads.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Sir John Hare declares that there is no truth in the statement +that he is saying '——' to the +stage."—<i>Bournemouth Echo.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Personally, we never believed that he would be guilty of such +language.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"The only thing which will actually bring peace is an army of +occupation standing on its own flat feet, either in Germany or on +the German frontier."—<i>Weekly Dispatch.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>But why this preference for the flat-footed? Are not the +hammer-toed to have a chance?</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page271" id="page271"></a>[pg +271]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/271.png"><img width="100%" src="images/271.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>THE DANCE OF DEATH.</h3> +<p>THE KAISER. "STOP! STOP! I'M TIRED."</p> +<p>DEATH. "I STARTED AT YOUR BIDDING; I STOP WHEN I CHOOSE."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page272" id="page272"></a>[pg +272]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/272.png"><img width="100%" src="images/272.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Officer</i>. "I SAY—LOOK HERE. I TOLD YOU TO GO TO +PADDINGTON, AND YOU'RE GOING IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION."</p> +<p><i>Taxi-Driver</i>. "ORL RIGHT—ORL RIGHT! YOU'RE LUCKY TO +GET A CAB AT ALL INSTEAD OF GRUMBLIN' ABAHT WHERE YER WANTS TER GO +TO!"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE NEW MRS. MARKHAM.</h2> +<h3>CONVERSATION ON CHAPTER LX.</h3> +<p><i>Mary.</i> I wish, Mamma, that there were not so many shocking +stories in history.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> History is, indeed, a sad catalogue of human +miseries, and one is glad to turn aside from the horrors of war to +the amenities of private life. Shall I tell you something of the +domestic habits of the English in the early twentieth century?</p> +<p><i>Mary.</i> Oh do, Mamma; I shall like that very much.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> The nobility and the well-to-do classes no longer +lived shut up in gloomy castles, but made a point of spending most +of their time in public. They never took their meals at home, but +habitually frequented large buildings called restaurants, fitted up +with sumptuous and semi-Sultanic splendour. In these halls, while +the guests sat at a number of tables, they were entertained by +minstrels and singers. It was even said that they acquired the +habit of eating and drinking in time to the music. They were waited +upon for the most part by foreigners, who spoke broken English, and +what with the babel of tongues, the din of the music and the +constant popping of corks, for alcohol had not yet been prohibited, +the scene beggared description.</p> +<p><i>Richard.</i> Well, I am sure I would rather dine in our neat +little dining-room, with our silent wireless waiter, than partake +of the most extravagant repasts in those sumptuous halls.</p> +<p><i>George.</i> I must just ask you, Mamma, about one thing that +has all along puzzled me very much. What was the House of Lords +about all this time that they let the House of Commons govern the +country and have their own way in everything?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> I am afraid, my dear George, that you are +animated by a somewhat reactionary bias in favour of feudalism, +which in your own best interests you would do well to curb. It is +enough to say that some of the peers supported the House of +Commons, and the majority were too timid to make any stand against +the numbers and violence of the other House. Nowadays, thanks to +the wide diffusion of peerages and the fact that they are conferred +far more freely on persons of advanced political views, this lack +of independence has largely been eliminated.</p> +<p><i>Richard.</i> I am sure we must all thank you for the trouble +you took to explain about Free Trade and Protection; but if you are +not too tired will you kindly tell us something about the learned +and clever men who lived at this time?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> You know, my dear boy, that I am always happy to +impart information, and am pleased to have such attentive +listeners. The authoress of your favourite poems, Mary, lived in +this reign. I mean Mrs. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. The Rev. H.G. WELLS, +the famous theologian who abolished the Latin and Greek grammars; +the Baroness Corkscrew—to call her by the name under which +she was ultimately elevated to the peerage—who wrote so many +beautiful historical romances that she quite superseded Sir WALTER +SCOTT; Sir JOHN OXENHAM, one of England's greatest poets; and Lord +HALL-CAINE, author of <i>Isle of Man Power</i>, were commanding +figures in this period.</p> +<p><i>Richard.</i> Oh, Mamma, did not Lord HALL-CAINE discover the +North Pole?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Not that I am aware of, my dear boy, though it is +quite possible. But you are probably confusing him with the Arctic +explorer, Dr. KANE. Among the scientific men I must mention Sir +WILLIAM ROBERTSON NICOLL, <span class="pagenum"><a name="page273" +id="page273"></a>[pg 273]</span> the great Scots agriculturist who +first applied intensive culture to the kailyard; General BELLOC, +the illustrious topographer, and HAROLD BEGBIE, who discovered and +popularized Sir OLIVER LODGE.</p> +<p><i>Richard.</i> Ah, Mamma, I know enough about the Georgians to +feel sure that you have left out a great many things. You have +never told us about the Marquis of NORTHCLIFFE'S discovery of +America, his introduction of the potato to that Continent, and his +building of the Yellow House in the Yellowstone Park.</p> +<p><i>George.</i> And you have not fully satisfied our curiosity +about Sir GEORGE ROBEY, Baronet, Lord LAUDER, Sir CHARLES CHAPLIN +and other great Leaders of English Society.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> True, my dear, but you must read their lives in +the <i>Dictionary of National Biography</i>, for here is the tea, +and I must leave off.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>ALLIRAP ASRAS.</h2> +<p>It would be interesting to know more of this great Persian +ruler, but history being reticent our chance has gone, unless it +should be the good fortune of some member of Sir STANLEY MAUDE'S +expedition, rummaging in the archives of Baghdad, to come upon new +facts. Meanwhile I offer the name as a terse and snappy one for a +Persian kitten, such as I saw the other day convert several +shillings'-worth of my aunt's Berlin wool (as it is still, I +believe, called, in spite of <i>The Daily Mail</i>) into sheer +scrap. Knitting however is not what it was in the early days of the +War and the tragedy led to no bloodshed, my aunt, who has evidently +an emulative admiration for Sir ISAAC NEWTON, merely shaking her +finger. But self-control among women must be on the increase, for +in a hotel the other day I overheard a coffee-room conversation in +which two cases were instanced of supreme heroism under agonising +conditions—one being when a butler (an old and honoured +butler too, who had never misconducted himself before) fainted +while carrying round the after-dinner coffee and poured most of it +over the ample shoulders of a dowager. This lady not only +disregarded the pain and the damp, but assisted in bringing the +butler to. The Distinguished Service Order has been given for less +than that.</p> +<p>It was either in this hotel or another that I met the Naval +officer among whose duties is the granting or refusing of permits +to amateur photographers in districts where "Dora" does not wish +for enemy cameras. Among the requirements of the form which has to +be filled up is one asking the applicant, in the interests of +identification, to specify any peculiar skin marks. One lady, with +a conscientiousness not excelled by the actor who blacked himself +all over to play <i>Othello</i>, stated that she had only an +appendicitis scar.</p> +<p>But I am digressing. Where was I? Oh yes, we were discussing +that great Persian, Allirap Asras. Those authorities who think that +he was a predecessor of BAHRAM, the hunter, are wrong, for there +was never any Persian of the name at all. I am sorry to have +deceived you, but you must blame not me but a certain domestic +remedy. If one bright cart, drawn by a mettled steed and dispensing +this medicinal beverage at a penny a glass, will insist upon being +outside Westminster Abbey and another at the top of Cockspur Street +every working day of the week for ever and ever, how can one help +sooner or later spelling its staple product backwards and +embroidering a little on the result?</p> +<p>But what I want to know is—who drinks sarsaparilla, +anyway?</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href= +"images/273.png"><img width="100%" src="images/273.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<p><i>Vague Tommy (writing letter).</i> "WOT DAY IS IT?"</p> +<p><i>Chorus.</i> "THE FOURTEENTH."</p> +<p><i>Tommy.</i> "WOT MONTH?"</p> +<p><i>Chorus.</i> "OCTOBER."</p> +<p><i>Tommy.</i> "WOT YEAR?"</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"What fine fellows we might have been had we lived in those +bygone times. We too, perhaps, would have influenced history and +our names might have been inscribed in the book of +immorality."—<i>New Ireland.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>We understand now why they call it Sin-Fain.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page274" id="page274"></a>[pg +274]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/274.png"><img width="100%" src="images/274.png" alt= +"" /></a>LAMENTABLE LARCENY IN A BOARDING-HOUSE. +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>A DECLARATION OF WAR.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>This is the yarn that M'Larty told by the brazier fire,</p> +<p>Where over the mud-filled trenches the star shells blaze and +expire—</p> +<p>A yarn he swore was a true one; but Mac was an awful +liar:—</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"'Way up in the wild North Country, a couple of years ago</p> +<p>I hauled Hank out of a snowdrift—it was maybe thirty +'below,'</p> +<p>And I packed him along to my shanty and I took and thawed him +with snow.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"He was stiff as a cold-store bullock, I might have left him for +dead,</p> +<p>But I packed him along, as I've told you, and melted him out +instead,</p> +<p>And I rolled him up in my blankets and put him to sleep in my +bed.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"So he dwelt in my humble shanty while the wintry gales did +roar,</p> +<p>While the blizzards howled in the passes and the timber wolves +at the</p> +<p class="i4">door,</p> +<p>And he slept in my bunk at night-time while I stretched out on +the floor.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"He watched me frying my bacon and he said that the smell was +grand;</p> +<p>He watched me bucking the stove-wood, but he never lent me a +hand,</p> +<p>And he played on my concertina the airs of his native land.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"And one month grew into two months and two months grew into +three,</p> +<p>And there he was sitting and smiling like a blooming Old Man of +the Sea,</p> +<p>Eating my pork and beans up and necking my whisky and tea.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"You say, 'Why didn't I shift him?' For the life o' me I +dunno;</p> +<p>I suppose there's something inside me that can't tell a fellow +to go</p> +<p>I hauled by the heels from a snowdrift at maybe thirty +'below.'...</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"But at last, when the snows were going and the blue Spring +skies</p> +<p class="i4">were pale,</p> +<p>Out after bear in the valley I met a chap on the +trail—</p> +<p>A chap coming up from the city, who stopped and told me a +tale—</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"A tale of a red war raging all over the land and sea,</p> +<p>And when he was through I was laughing, for the joke of it +seemed to be</p> +<p>That Hank was a goldarn German—and Hank was rooming with +me!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"So off I hiked to the shanty, and never a word I said,</p> +<p>I floated in like a cyclone, I yanked him out of my bed,</p> +<p>And I grabbed the concertina and smashed it over his head.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"I shook him up for a minute, I stood him down on the floor,</p> +<p>I grabbed the scruff of his trousers and ran him along to the +door,</p> +<p>And I said, 'This here, if you get me, is a Declaration of +War!'</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"And I gave him a hoist with my gum-boot, a kind of a lift with +my toe;</p> +<p>But you can't give a fellow a hiding, as anyone sure must +know,</p> +<p>When you hauled him out of a snowdrift at maybe thirty +'below.'"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>C.F.S.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A Good Day's Work.</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>"He left Flanders on leave at one o'clock yesterday morning and +was in London after fourteen months' fighting before +sundown."—<i>Daily News</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Why can't we find machies for long-distance raids since Germans +can?"—<i>Evening News</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Personally, if distance is required, we prefer a brassie. We can +only assume that the iron club is chosen in consequence of the +number of bad lies there are about.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>On the German Naval mutiny:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"They may be divided into two camps. One holds that it is not an +affair to which too much importance can be attached; the other that +it is an affair to which one cannot attach too much +importance."—<i>Star</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We cannot help feeling that these two factions might safely be +accommodated in the same camp.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page275" id="page275"></a>[pg +275]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/275.png"><img width="100%" src="images/275.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>A LONG-SIGHTED PATRIOT.</h3> +<i>Aunt Susie (whose charity begins as far as possible from +home).</i> "HAVE YOU FOUND OUT WHETHER THEY WEAR KNITTED SOCKS IN +ARGENTINA?" +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>AT THE PLAY.</h2> +<h3>"ONE HOUR OF LIFE."</h3> +<p>In Captain DESMOND COKE'S extravaganza a group of +philanthropists adopt the time-honoured procedure of ROBIN HOOD and +his Greenwood Company, robbing Dives on system to pay Lazarus. +Their economics are sounder than their sociology, which is of the +crudest. They specialize in jewellery—useless, barbaric and +generally vulgar survivals—which they extract from shop and +safe, and sell in Amsterdam, distributing the proceeds to various +deserving charitable agencies. In this particular crowded hour of +life the leader of the group, a fanatical prig with hypnotic eyes, +abducts the beautiful <i>Lady Fenton</i>, with ten thousand pounds' +worth of stuff upon her, from one of the least ambitious of Soho +restaurants.</p> +<p>How came she there, thus bedizened? Well, her husband, eccentric +peer with a priceless collection of snuffboxes and a chronic +deficiency of humour, had arranged the little dinner to effect a +reconciliation, away from the prying eyes of their set. It was not +a success. She felt that she sparkled too much, was piqued, and +dismissed her lord. Enter the hypnotic prig, who adroitly conveys +her to his headquarters, preaches to her and converts her to the +point of surrendering her jewels without a pang, and offering to +assist in the lifting of the snuffboxes. I can't say more without +endangering the effect of Captain COKE'S ingenious shifts and +spoofs.</p> +<p>The author seemed to me to tempt Providence by placing his +perfervid philanthropist and his serious doctrines against a +background of burlesque. But he succeeded in entertaining his +audience. Miss LILLAH MCCARTHY, looking her very best as <i>Lady +Fenton</i>, and Mr. COWLEY WRIGHT, looking quite plausible as the +irresistible chief of the General Charities Distribution Bureau, +shared the chief honours of the evening.</p> +<p>T.</p> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>"The views expressed by Mr. Roosevelt are crystallising +everywhere, and are bearing excellent fruit."—<i>Daily +Paper.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>How does he get his sugar?</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<blockquote> +<p>"Two million troubles are now standing to Koslovsky's account in +Petrograd banks."—<i>Rangitikei Advocate (N.Z.).</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>We knew conditions were very trying in Russia, but had no idea +any one man had such a burden as this.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>RHYMES FOR THE TIMES.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>There was a false Pasha named BOLO,</p> +<p>Who sank in iniquity so low.</p> +<p class="i2">That the dirtiest work</p> +<p class="i2">Of the Hun and the Turk</p> +<p>Never made him ejaculate <i>Nolo!</i></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>There was a stout fellow called YAPP,</p> +<p>A great Red Triangular chap;</p> +<p class="i2">Now he's working still harder</p> +<p class="i2">To stock the State larder,</p> +<p>And never has time for a nap.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The manners and customs of Clare</p> +<p>Have long been admittedly "quare,"</p> +<p class="i2">But the tolerance shown</p> +<p class="i2">To sedition full-blown</p> +<p>Is enough to make CADBURY swear.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Politicians unstable and vague</p> +<p>May well take example from HAIG,</p> +<p class="i2">Who talks to the Huns</p> +<p class="i2">In the voice of his guns</p> +<p>Till they dread him far worse than the plague.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Renowned for her fine macaroni,</p> +<p>And also for Signor MARCONI,</p> +<p class="i2">Now Italy sends,</p> +<p class="i2">To enrapture her friends,</p> +<p>(And to finish these rhymes), the Caproni.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page276" id="page276"></a>[pg +276]</span> +<h2>MISSING.</h2> +<blockquote> +<p>"He was last seen going over the parapet into the German +trenches."</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>What did you find after war's fierce alarms,</p> +<p class="i2">When the kind earth gave you a resting place,</p> +<p>And comforting night gathered you in her arms,</p> +<p class="i2">With light dew falling on your upturned face?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Did your heart beat, remembering what had been?</p> +<p class="i2">Did you still hear around you, as you lay,</p> +<p>The wings of airmen sweeping by unseen,</p> +<p class="i2">The thunder of the guns at close of day?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>All nature stoops to guard your lonely bed;</p> +<p class="i2">Sunshine and rain fall with their calming breath;</p> +<p>You need no pall, so young and newly dead,</p> +<p class="i2">Where the Lost Legion triumphs over death.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When with the morrow's dawn the bugle blew,</p> +<p class="i2">For the first time it summoned you in vain;</p> +<p>The Last Post does not sound for such as you;</p> +<p class="i2">But God's Reveillé wakens you again.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>SUGAR.</h2> +<p>"Francesca," I said, "you must be very deeply occupied; for ten +minutes I have not heard your silvery voice."</p> +<p>"I am attempting," she said, "to fill up our sugar form."</p> +<p>"Is it a tremendous struggle?"</p> +<p>"Yes," she said, "it is a regular brain-smasher."</p> +<p>"Give me the paper, and let me have a go at it."</p> +<p>With a haggard face, but without a word, she handed me the buff +form, and sat silently while I read the various explanations and +directions.</p> +<p>"Francesca," I said, "you are doing wrong. It says that the form +must be filled up and signed by a responsible member of the +household. Now you can say that you're brilliant or amiable or +handsome or powerful or domineering, but can you honestly say +you're responsible? No, you can't. So I shall keep this form and +fill it up myself in due time, and leave you to look after the hens +or talk to the gardener."</p> +<p>"Anybody," she said, "who can wring a smile from a gardener, as +I have this morning, is entitled to be considered responsible. +Infirm of purpose! hand me the paper."</p> +<p>"Very well," I said, "you can have the paper; only remember +that, if we get fined a thousand pounds for transgressing the +Defence of the Realm Act, you mustn't ask me for the money. You +must pay it yourself."</p> +<p>"I'll chance that," she said, as I handed back the paper.</p> +<p>"Now then, we shan't be long. Which of these two addresses shall +we have?"</p> +<p>"How do you mean?"</p> +<p>"Why, they tell you to fill in the address in capital letters, +and then they give you two to pick from. One is 1000, Upper +Grosvenor Street, W. 1—"</p> +<p>"It is a longer street than I had supposed."</p> +<p>"And the other," she continued, "is 17, Church Lane, Middlewich, +Cheshire."</p> +<p>"Let it be Middlewich," I said. "Since boyhood's hour I have +dreamt of living in Middlewich. As for the other, I simply couldn't +live in a street of a thousand houses. Could you?"</p> +<p>"No," she said, "I couldn't. We'll be Middlewichians.... There, +it's done. Capital letters and all."</p> +<p>"Don't slack off," I said. "Fill it all up now that you've got +started."</p> +<p>"I suppose I'd better begin with myself."</p> +<p>"Yes," I said, "you may have that privilege. Put it down quick: +Carlyon, Francesca; age blank, because they don't want ages over +eighteen; F for female, and Married Woman for occupation. Then +treat me in the same way, putting M for F, and 2nd Lieutenant of +Volunteers instead of Married Woman."</p> +<p>"Why shouldn't I put Married Man as your occupation?"</p> +<p>"Simply because it isn't done. It's a splendid occupation, but +it isn't recognised as such in formal documents."</p> +<p>"Another injustice to women. I shall enter you as Married +Man."</p> +<p>"Enter me as anything you like," I said, "only let's get on with +the job."</p> +<p>"Very well; you're down as Married Man."</p> +<p>"Now get on with the children. Muriel first. What about +her?"</p> +<p>"But she's away having her education finished."</p> +<p>"Yes," I said, "but she'll be back for the holidays, and she'll +want her sugar then, like the rest of us. And Frederick is away at +<i>his</i> school, probably getting much better sugar than we are. +He'll be wanting his ration in the holidays. You'd better put a +note about that."</p> +<p>"A note?" she said. "There's no room for notes on this form. All +they want is a bald statement. And that's just what they can't get. +They'll have to take it with the hair on. I'm cramming in about the +holidays, and I hope Lord RHONDDA will be pleased with all the +information he's getting about our family."</p> +<p>"Keep going," I said; "you've still got the servants to do."</p> +<p>"Yes, but the kitchenmaid's gone, and I haven't engaged another +one yet."</p> +<p>"Don't let that worry you," I said. "Write +down—Kitchenmaid about to be engaged. Name will be supplied +later.'"</p> +<p>"You're quite brilliant to-day. There, that's finished, thank +Heaven."</p> +<p>"Not yet. You've got to address it to the Local Food +Office."</p> +<p>"But I haven't the remotest where the Local Food Office is. It +can't have been there more than a short time, anyhow."</p> +<p>"Hurrah!" I said, looking over her shoulder at the document. "It +says if you are in doubt as to the name of the district of your +Local Food Office you are to inquire of any policeman or special +constable."</p> +<p>"That's all very well," she said, "but how are we to find a +policeman in this remote and peaceful place? I've never seen one. +Have you?"</p> +<p>"Yes," I said, "I think I saw one last year on a bicycle."</p> +<p>"Well, he's probably arrived somewhere else by this time. He's +no good to us."</p> +<p>"No, but we might find a special constable."</p> +<p>"I'll tell you what," she said, "old Glumgold is a special +constable. I heard him complaining bitterly of having been hauled +out of bed during the last air-raid on London. 'No nigher to we nor +forty mile,' he said it was. He's sure to be among the cabbages. Be +a dear and dash out and ask him."</p> +<p>So I found Glumgold in among the cabbages and asked him where +the Local Food Office was, and he said he'd be gingered if he knew, +he or his old woman either; and that was the question they was +a-going to arst of us, because to-day was the last day for sending +in. So I advised him to chance it with Nebsbury, which happens to +be eight miles off and possesses a High Street; and then I went +back to Francesca and told her that Glumgold advised +Nebsbury—which was cowardly, but one can't spend a lifetime +over a fiddle-headed document like that. Anyhow, we folded it up +and posted it, and we've heard nothing since.</p> +<p>R.C.L.</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page277" id="page277"></a>[pg +277]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href= +"images/277.png"><img width="100%" src="images/277.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<h3>ECHOES OF THE AIR-RAIDS.</h3> +<p><i>First Souvenir-hunter</i>. "FOUND ANYFINK, 'ERB?"</p> +<p><i>Second ditto</i>. "NO; BUT THAT'LL BE ALL RIGHT. THEY'RE SURE +TO COME AGAIN TERMORRER NIGHT."</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> +<h4>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</h4> +<p>Not for a great while have I met a story at once so moving and +so simply made as <i>Summer</i> (MACMILLAN). Of course at this time +the art of EDITH WHARTON is no new discovery; but to my thinking +she has never done better work than this tale of a New England +village, and the wakening to love of the girl who was drowsing away +her youth there. It is all, as I say, so simple, and written with +such apparent economy of effort, that only afterwards does the +amazing cleverness of Mrs. WHARTON'S method impress itself upon the +reader. <i>Charity Royall</i> was a waif, of worse than ambiguous +parentage, brought up in a community where her passionate and +violently sensitive nature was stifled. Two men loved +her—dour middle-aged Lawyer <i>Royall</i>, whose house she +kept, and <i>Lucius Harney</i>, the young visitor from the city, +the fairy-prince of poor <i>Charity's</i> one great romance, +through whom came tragedy. You see already the whole stark +simplicity of the theme. What I cannot convey to you is that secret +of Mrs. WHARTON'S that enables her by some exquisitely right word +or phrase so to illuminate a scene that you see it as though by an +inspiration of your own, and feel that thus and thus did the thing +in fact happen. There are episodes in <i>Summer</i>—for +example the Fourth of July firework evening, or the wildly macabre +scene of the night funeral on the mountain—that seem to me to +come as near perfection in their telling as anything I am ever +likely to read, and when you have enjoyed them for yourself I fancy +you will be inclined to join me in very sincere gratitude for work +of such rare quality.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Those who admired (which is the same as saying those who read) +that excellent book, <i>The Retreat from Mons</i>, will be glad to +hear that its author, Major A. CORBETT-SMITH, has now continued his +record in a further volume, called <i>The Marne and After</i> +(CASSELL). In it you will find all those qualities, a sane and +soldier-like common-sense, an entire absence of gush, and a saving +humour in the midst of horrors, which made the earlier installment +memorable. Above all else I have been impressed by the first of +these characteristics. Major CORBETT-SMITH writes from the +viewpoint of one to whom even this ghastliest of wars is part of +the day's work. That he sees its human and hideous sides by no +means impairs this quiet professional outlook. I recall one phrase +in his chapter on the secret agents of the enemy: "At the Aisne +German spies were a regular plague"—just as one might speak +of wasps or weather—which somehow conveyed to me very vividly +the secret of our original little army's disproportionate influence +in the early weeks of the War. The operations which we call the +actual Battle of the Marne (surely fated to be the most +fought-again engagement in history) are here very clearly +described, with illustrative plans; while one other chapter, called +suggestively "<i>Kultur</i>," may be commended to those +super-philosophers amongst us who are already beginning an attempt +to belittle the foul record of calculated crime that must for at +least a generation place Germany outside the pale of civilization. +For this grim chapter alone I should like to see Major +CORBETT-SMITH'S otherwise cheery volume scattered broadcast over +the country.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p><i>June</i> (METHUEN) is saturated with the simple +sentimentality in which American authors excel. I do not know +whether British novelists could write this sort of book +successfully if they would, but I do know that they don't. Miss +EDITH BARNARD DELANO, however, succeeds in getting considerable +charm into her story, and if it leaves rather a sweeter taste in +the mouth than some of us relish there are others who like their +fiction to be strongly sugared. <i>June</i>, <span class= +"pagenum"><a name="page278" id="page278"></a>[pg 278]</span> an +orphan child, was looked after by nigger servants, and by one, +<i>Mammy</i>, in particular. She possessed a house and a valley; +and a young man prospecting in the latter met with an accident and +was discovered by the child. Hence complications, and the removal +of <i>June</i> from her home to be educated with some cousins. Then +poverty, hard times and plenty of pluck. But the clouds began to +lift when <i>June</i> discovered that an emerald cross of hers was +worth four thousand dollars; and finally the sun burst forth when, +through the agency of the accidental young man, her property was +found to be very valuable, and she more valuable still—to the +young man. It sounds ingenuous, doesn't it? But not nearly so easy +to write as it seems, for to produce anything as artless as +<i>June</i> is an art in itself.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>In <i>The Book of the Happy Warrior</i> (LONGMANS) a chivalrous +modern knight holds up to our youngsters the patterns of an older +chivalry to teach them courage, clean fighting and devoted service. +Sir HENEY NEWBOLT claims that the tradition of the public schools +is the direct survival of the mediæval training for +knighthood, and incidentally defends flannelled and muddied youth +from hasty aspersions. ROLAND and his OLIVER, RICHARD LION-HEART, +EDWARD the Black Prince and CHANDOS, DU GUESCLIN and BAYARD, if +they revisited this tortured earth, would be dismayed by the +procedure and the chilling impersonality of modern war. Perhaps in +the glorious single combats of the Flying Corps they might +recognise some faint semblance of their ancient method. Sir HENRY, +rightly from his point of view, chooses to ignore the wholesale +horrors of to-day's warfare and to emphasize the ideal of fighting +service as a fine discipline and proof of manly worth. He shows an +obvious, honest, aristocratic bias, but he does not forget another +side of the matter, as a fragment of an imaginary conversation +between a young lord and a squire present at the great tourney at +St. Inglebert's between the Gentlemen of England and of France +pleasantly shows. The Englishmen were worsted and took their defeat +in a fine sporting spirit. "How is it we're beaten? We always win +the battles, don't we?" asks the boy. "The archers win them for +us," says the Squire. Quite a characteristic little touch of +subaltern modesty! One thought occurs to me especially. It is +unthinkable that a book like this should appear in the Germany of +to-day. It will be worth your while giving it to your boy to find +out why.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Since the practice of writing first novels is becoming +increasingly popular with young authors it was inevitable that a +"First Novel Library" should find its way on to the market. Whether +the classification is to be construed as an appeal for forbearance +for the shortcomings of the neophyte, or as a warning which a +considerate publisher feels is due to the public, is not for me to +say. But the policy of charging six shillings for these maiden +efforts—all that is required of us for the mature +masterpieces of our MAURICE HEWLETTS and ARNOLD BENNETTS—is +open to question. <i>The Puppet</i>, by JANE HARDING (UNWIN), is +not without merit, but the faults of the beginner are present in +manifold. The heroine tells her story in the first person—a +difficult method of handling fiction at the best—and in the +result we find a young lady of no particular education or apparent +attainments holding forth in the stilted diction of a rather prosy +early-Victorian Archbishop. The effect of unreality produced goes +far to spoil a plot which is wound and unwound with considerable +skill. Miss HARDING will write a good novel yet, but she must learn +to make her characters act the parts she assigns to them.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>We all must be writing books about the War. It is natural enough +to suppose one's own share of war-work is worthy of record, and +indeed, when we come to think of it, the historian of the future +will get his complete picture of the time only when he realises how +every scrap of the national energy was absorbed in the one master +purpose. That being so it is arguable that Mr. WARD MUIR was +thinking far ahead in compiling his hospital reminiscences, +<i>Observations of an Orderly</i> (SIMPKIN). One hastens to make it +clear that the last thing intended or desired is to disparage the +usefulness or the stark self-sacrifice of the men who are serving +in menial capacities in our war hospitals, but to tell the truth +this account of sculleries and laundry-baskets, polishing paste and +nigger minstrels, bathrooms and pillow-slips, has not much +intrinsic interest about it, nor are the author's general +reflections very different from what one could supply oneself +without much effort. His notes on war slang are about the best +thing in the volume, and I liked the story of the blinded +soldiers—feeling anything in the world but mournful or +pathetic—who played pranks on the Tube escalator; but on the +whole this is a book which will be of considerable interest only to +the writer's fellow-labourers. They, beyond any doubt, will be glad +to read this history of their familiar rounds and common tasks.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p><i>Wanted, a Tortoise-Shell</i> (LANE) would have made an +excellent short story, but to pursue its farcical developments +through three hundred pages requires a considerable amount of +perseverance. The scene of Mr. PETER BLUNDER'S book is laid in +tropical Jallagar, where the British Resident was keener on cats +than on his duties. A male tortoise-shell was what he fanatically +and almost ferociously desired, and to obtain it he was ready to +barter his daughter to one <i>Kamp</i>, who is tersely described as +"a fat Swede." I conceived a strong distaste for this large and +perspiring man, and can congratulate Mr. BLUNDELL on having created +a character odious enough to linger in the memory. For the rest +there are some gleams of real fun where a beach-comber tries to +palm off a dyed cat as the long-deferred tortoise-shell, and the +exit of this animal from a world too covetous to hold it is +thoroughly sound farce. But on the whole I failed to get many of +those quiet gurgles of delight which are the best tribute one can +pay to a funny man's work.</p> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href= +"images/278.png"><img width="100%" src="images/278.png" alt= +"" /></a> +<i>Chairman at Farmers' Ordinary.</i> "NOW, GENTLEMEN, FILL UP +YOUR MATCHBOXES TO THE VERY GOOD HEALTH OF THE CATERER." +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 153, OCT. 17, 1917***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 10903-h.txt or 10903-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/9/0/10903">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/9/0/10903</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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