Chapter I: Part 1

* * * * *

Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 146, March 4th 1914

_edited by Owen Seaman_

* * * * *

CHARIVARIA.

According to _The Globe_ Mr. YEO, in returning thanks after the Poplar election, shouted to a female interrupter; "Shut up, you silly cat, shut up!" To this, we understand, the cat retorted generously, "My-Yeo!"

* * *

The GABY DESLYS' tradition? Miss LOTTIE VENNE is appearing at the Criterion in a _Pair of Silk Stockings_, and Miss MARY MOORE is touring the provinces in _Mrs. Gorringe's Necklace_.

* * *

The KAISER has forbidden the production at Herr REINHARDT'S Deutches Theater of a play called _Ferdinand, Prince of Prussia_, on the ground that one of the characters is a member of the Prussian Royal Family. We ourselves should never have dared to hint that this fact renders the play unfit for the public.

* * *

Cheery notice on the window of an insurance office in New Broad Street, E.C.:--

"GUARANTEES,
SICKNESS
COMBINED
WITH ACCIDENT."

* * *

Dr. DURHAM lectured last week on Explosives as an aid to Gardening; but many persons think that the quiet man who does not lose his temper gets better results.

* * *

Burglars, last week, broke into a synagogue at Newcastle-on-Tyne and removed practically all the articles of value, including a silver cup and a pointer. Surprise is expressed in some quarters that the pointer should not have given the alarm by barking.

* * *

Living artists sometimes complain that it is only the Old Masters who are appreciated nowadays. Authors would seem to be more fortunate. Take the following paragraph from _The Bedford Express_:--"On Sunday the well-known elocutionist, Mr. FREDERICK DUXBURY, visited Stevenage. He preached morning and evening at the Wesleyan Church, and in the afternoon he gave a sacred recital. His principal item on Sunday afternoon was Coulson Kernahan's 'God and the Ant,' but he included one or two lesser pieces, including a chapter from the book of Job."

* * *

It was stated last week in the Marylebone Police Court that there is a gang of thieves in London who do not hesitate to steal motor-cars whenever they find them unattended in the street. These scoundrels are crafty enough not to pick up the cars and put them under their arm, for they realise that this might attract attention, but they just jump in and drive off.

* * *

We are glad to note a renewed outcry against the unearthly noises made by many motor-car hooters. If they must run over us, the least they can do is to let us die in peace.

* * * * *

_Harold_ (_unconsciously ranking himself with the Great_). "FATHER, I CANNOT TELL A GOOD LIE."]

* * * * *

It seems a pity that so little is done to encourage the growing love of art among the criminal classes. The Italian gentleman who guarded "La Gioconda" so carefully has not been so much as thanked for his pains, and now it is stated that six persons have been arrested in Paris and Brussels for removing art objects from the admittedly unsafe custody of museums.

* * *

Stout residents of Cornforth, Durham, having protested against the narrowness of some of the gateways on the local paths, the parish council has decided to widen them. It was found that this would be more economical than to send these citizens to Marienbad to have their bulk reduced.

* * *

Publishers are continually making finds, and Messrs. DUCKWORTH AND CO. have been peculiarly fortunate. In their current list they announce the publication of "Lost Diaries" and "The Lost Road."

* * *

"Sale of Votes by Women.

Incidents in a Chicago Election."

_Daily Express._

By a curious coincidence we have seen ladies selling _Votes for Women_ in the streets of London.

* * *

Yet another example of the industry of the foreigner. A pamphlet issued by the Lincolnshire Chick Farm informs us that "On the Cyphers' Co. Poultry Plant, one flock of 400 White Leghorns shows an average of 185.2 eggs per bird in 36.5 days." This, we need scarcely tell our readers, works out at 5.06849315 eggs per bird per day.

* * * * *

Another Episcopal Scandal.

"KING AND NEW BISHOPS.

The King received at Buckingham Palace to-day the new Bishops
of Chelmsford and St. Edmundsbury and Ipswich. The Home
Secretary administered the oath.

FOUND TO BE INSANE.

Judgment was reserved."

_Westminster Gazette._

* * * * *

"Much the largest of all the woodpeckers in this country is the
great black woodpecker (_Picus martius_). This is a very rare
species, occurring only in the wilds of the wooded mountain areas.
It is about 18 miles in length."

_Pekin and Tientsin Times._

As the crow flies.

* * * * *

England's far-reaching Influence.

"RESULT OF THE POPLAR ELECTION.

NO FOREIGNER SAFE IN MEXICO."

"_Yorkshire Observer" Placard._

* * * * *

"SIR WILLIAM RAMSAY'S POSER STARTLES AUDIENCE.

Special Cable to the New York Times and Montreal Gazette.

London, February 4.--Sir William Ramsay raised the question
whether the unfit should be left to die at the annual dinner
of the Institute of Sanitary Engineers to-night."

_The Gazette (Montreal)._

There would, of course, be no difficulty about the "funeral baked meats."

* * * * *

IN MEMORIAM.

John Tenniel.

BORN 1820.
DIED FEBRUARY 25TH, 1914.

Now he whose gallant heart so lightly bore
So long the burden of the years' increase
Passes at length toward the silent shore,
From peace to deeper peace.

And we, his honoured comrades, by whose side
His haunting spirit keeps its ancient spell,
We bring our tribute, woven of love and pride,
And say a last farewell.

Yet not farewell; because eternal youth
Still crowns the craftsmanship where hand and eye
Saw and interpreted the soul of Truth,
Letting the rest go by.

Thus for his pictured pageant, gay or grave,
He seized and fixed the moving hour's event,
Maker of history by the life he gave
To fact with fancy blent.

So lives the Artist in the work he wrought;
Yet Nature dowered the Man with gifts more dear--
A chivalrous true knight in deed and thought,
Without reproach or fear.

O. S.

* * * * *

THE PERFECT CONDUCTOR.

"GOOD MORNING, Sir," he said, as I boarded a leviathan one day last week. "What a beautiful morning, isn't it? What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?" He daftly pulled half-a-dozen tickets from his stock and permitted me to inspect them.

"Fresh in this morning, Sir," he continued. "White, one penny; a great many people prefer them because they go well with any colour. For the blue ones we are asking twopence; they have only the same amount of information but take you twice as far. Sweet shade, isn't it?" He stepped back and held one up to the light for my benefit.

"Well, I really only wanted a pennyworth, but I _must_ have one of the blue ones--they _are_ attractive, as you say. I shall keep it in memory of you."

"Very good of you, Sir. You won't mind my making a little hole in it? A mere matter of form; and the bell, which rings to announce the conclusion of the operation, is, as you will notice, quite musical. A sovereign? I shall be delighted to change it for you." He gave me the correct change, bowed, and turned to answer a lady passenger.

"Have we passed Sloane Street?" she had enquired.

"We passed it at least five minutes ago, madam. Were you wishing to alight there?"

"I was," replied the lady; "but don't trouble--I can walk back."

He was horrified at the thought.

"Certainly not, my dear madam," he protested. Turning to the little ventilator-window by which he could communicate with the driver, he rapped. "William," he called, "a lady here desired to get down at Sloane Street. Do you mind...?"

"Charles," responded the driver, stopping the 'bus, "you know our one ambition is to please the passengers who so trustfully commit themselves to our charge. Mingle my regrets with yours, as representing the Company, that we should have omitted clearly to intimate when we were in the vicinity of Sloane Street. We will lose no time in correcting the error."

"William," said Charles, "it is only what I should have expected of you. It is the least we can do." William turned the 'bus carefully and ran quickly back, to the admiration of the other passengers, who murmured unanimous approval of such graceful courtesy.

"This," announced Charles, as we pulled up after a while, having recovered the lost ground, "is South Kensington Station. We stay here one full minute for the advantage of any person who wishes to visit the neighbourhood; after which we shall proceed, if all goes well, to Putney, taking with us perchance those who have business in that direction."

I prepared to alight, and Charles shook my hand warmly.

"Speaking for William and myself, Sir, representing the Company," he said with emotion, "we are indeed sorry to lose you. It would have given us both great pleasure could your presence have graced the remainder of the journey. Still, doubtless your private affairs compel you to sever this so charming acquaintanceship, and on some future occasion I trust we may again meet?"

"I trust so, Charles," I answered. "Farewell."

"_Au revoir_," said Charles, waving a hand. Sorrowfully I left him, hearing as I departed his dulcet tones addressing the passers-by: "If anyone would care to step on, we are going to...."

* * * * *

MANNERS FOR PARENTS.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Instead of writing all this nonsense about the behaviour of boys at school, why doesn't someone write about the behaviour of parents at school--at their son's school, I mean? That is a subject which really requires ventilation, for the behaviour of most parents at school is _positively mouldy_.

Of course it's very nice for your people to come down and see you and all that, but there's a good deal of anxiety about it which might easily be avoided, and I have therefore written out a few simple RULES FOR PARENTS AT SCHOOL which I hope you will publish.

(I.) Do not greet your son upon your arrival with "Well, boysie," or some such rotten expression as that. It's the sort of thing that it may take him years to live down.

(II.) Do not insist upon attaching the son of your old friend Smith to the party. Old Smith may be all right, but young Smith may be in a House you can't mix with, or something like that.

(III.) Do not say to your son, of someone else's cap, "That's a pretty cap; why don't you have one like it?" because it's probably either the First XI. colours, or the cap of a House you wouldn't be seen dead in.

(IV.) Do not tell the House Master how well your son played in the boys' cricket match last summer holidays. Your son is probably a perfect rabbit, and the master is certain to know it.

(V.) Do not discuss such subjects as "The Public School and the Development of Character" with the masters in your son's presence. It's very unpleasant to have the development of your character discussed. In fact it's hardly decent.

(VI.) Do not treat a member of the XI. as if he were an ordinary person; and--

(VII.) For Heaven's sake don't walk across Great Green. Only fellows who have been in the XI. two seasons may do so, yet I've known parents wander all over it before their sons could stop them, and only laugh when told what they had done!

Hoping you will publish this, as I think you ought to do,

Yours truly,
CHUBB Minor.

* * * * *

RAMSAY MACSINDBAD. "WELL, WELL, IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN WORSE. THERE MIGHT HAVE BEEN TEN OF 'EM."]

* * * * *

INTRIGUED BY THE ACTION OF THE GREAT EASTERN RAILWAY AUTHORITIES IN IMPORTING A NEW MANAGER FROM THE STATES, THE GOVERNMENT, IT IS RUMOURED, ARE ABOUT TO GO EVEN FURTHER AFIELD IN SEARCH OF PROMISING TALENT FOR THE FRONT BENCH.]

* * * * *

MY HEROES.

Every day of my life I am more and more impressed by the genius of two men. These men are GUTENBERG and MORSE. GUTENBERG invented printing and MORSE was more or less in at the birth of telegraphy. What should we do without either?

It is morning and I turn to the paper. It happens to be _The Daily Graphic_. What do I find? I find GUTENBERG and MORSE once more in collaboration. Thus:--

"MR. BALFOUR LOSES HIS WAY.

CANNES, Monday.

Mr. Balfour paid a visit yesterday in pouring rain to Mr.
Chamberlain at the Villa Victoria. Mr. Balfour lost his way,
and passing the house strolled along the Frejus road, scanning
the name of every house until he found a chauffeur who
directed him to the Villa Victoria. Subsequently Mr.
Balfour returned to the Hotel Continental and motored out to
dinner.--Central News."

What, privileges we enjoy, we moderns! Five hundred years ago, four hundred, the world would have been in ignorance of any event of this kind. Statesmen would have lost their way in foreign towns and no one at home would have known. Think of the privation! But now, not only, thanks to GUTENBERG, do we know it and think accordingly, but, thanks to MORSE, we know it the next day and our thrills are not delayed.

So much for the morning.

It is a few minutes later--evening. Not really evening, because it is before lunch, but evening enough for the Tenth Muse, bless her! I open _The Evening News_ and what do I find? GUTENBERG alone; but how full of matter! Thus:--

"SEVEN.

The mystic number seven is curiously associated with the
baby daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Knight, of Old Swinford,
Worcestershire.

She was born at the Seven Stars Hotel at the seventh hour of
the seventh day of the seventh month.

There were seven customers in the bar when her birth was
announced, seven persons were present at the christening, and
there are seven letters in her Christian name.

Her father is the eldest of seven children and her mother the
youngest of seven. She has seven uncles."

There's for you! But of course this is not enough. The chronicler, try as he might, is but a scamper after all. Not only were there seven customers in the bar, but each had had seven drinks. Whiskey (there are seven letters in whiskey, spelt my way) punch. Each had a slice of lemon and there were seven pips in the lemon. Of the seven uncles each had a watch, making seven watches, and a cigar case, making seven cigar-cases. So it might go on for ever.

Similarly the nine deported Labour leaders arrived in the Thames nine minutes after somebody else and nine minutes before somebody else. The term "dock-berth" has nine letters in it, and Nine Elms is on the Thames too. Whew!

* * * * *

"We find ourselves generally in agreement with the writer Dr.
Figgis, so our enjoyment of his books is the keener and less
critical. When we do criticise it is as though we found faults
in a friend whom we know very well and regard very highly.
This position Dr. Figgis has won for himself by the
thoroughness as well as the cleverness of his literary
work."--_Athenaeum._

Dr. FIGGIS must be a proud man to-day.

* * * * *

INTERVIEWING FATHER.

SIR GEORGE is not a nice man. He is a mercenary, narrow-minded person. I never really liked him, but then he never really liked me. However, he is Miranda's father, so I decided to interview him. The interview took place at his office. He waved me to a chair, and, as it seemed all that I was likely to get, I took it.

"Well?" Sir George grunted.

His tone indicated an unfriendly spirit, so I retorted, "Well."

There was a slight pause. Then he said, rather aggressively. "I never lend money."

"I suspected it," I replied; "I practically never borrow money, but that is my misfortune and not my fault."

"Then what can I do for you?"

"You have a daughter----"

"I have," he interrupted.

"I knew we should find a common basis of agreement. Miranda is unmarried; I am unmarried."

"You suggest marrying my daughter?"

"I make no suggestion, but the idea had crossed my mind."

"Can you keep a wife?"

"I never lost one yet. I think that with a little tact----"

"I mean, have you any money?"

"Eighteen shillings and fourpence," I answered, producing that sum as evidence of my _bona fides_.

"That is not a very large capital on which to start married life."

"True, but I'm not mercenary. Yet perhaps, as we seem to have drifted on to the question of money, I might mention that I have property--house property."

"I don't believe much in house property in these days."

"I don't either. Though I lay no particular stress on the matter, I also have some mortgages."

"I don't care much about mortgages."

"I agree with you. Beastly things, I call them."

"What income do you derive from the property and the mortgages?"

"I don't exactly derive any income from either. You see, the two things go together--I mean the property and the mortgages. I don't fancy the mortgagees get much income from the property, though I suppose they try their best. Perhaps, strictly speaking, I can hardly call the property mine since the mortgagees took possession. The mortgages however are undoubtedly mine. I created them, you know."

Sir George rose pompously, so I went on at once:

"I have some shares. I should like your opinion on them."

"What kind of shares?"

"The usual kind--paper, but quite nice artistic designs on them."

"In what companies?"

"I forget the names of the companies, but I think that they had something to do with rubber."

"Then you can take my advice and sell them."

"Thanks awfully," I said, "if that means that you'll buy them. I always thought that I should eventually find someone to help me out."

"I will not buy your shares. But before I finally close this interview I should like to know, as a matter of curiosity, on what you live?"

"Meat and things, like other people. I'm no vegetarian."

"I mean, how do you obtain food and clothes? I see that you do wear clothes. At present I'm a little puzzled."

"It's a matter which has often puzzled me. I get them somehow. Sometimes I work and sometimes, but not very often, I get paid for my work. I believe that if I were married I could earn more."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you see, I couldn't very well earn less."

"Then am I to understand that you have practically no income?"

"If it comes to that, has Miranda any income?"

"My daughter will have what I choose to allow her."

"And I shall have what I choose to earn, so it seems that we should be fairly well matched."

"Sir, I consider your request to marry my daughter an impertinence, and the flippancy with which you have conducted this interview an insult."

"Sir George," I said impressively, "be just before you are generous. If you think over the matter calmly you will recognise that I have made no such request. You are an older man than I, so I pass over anything that you may have said in the heat of the moment. I am willing to part friends."

For a moment I thought he would burst. He ignored my outstretched hand and almost shouted, "I don't care how we part, so long as we do part. You will oblige me by not seeing or communicating with my daughter again."

As I was passing through the door I remarked, "Without making any rash promises, I will endeavour to oblige you. I gather, as much from your demeanour as anything else, that you do not favour me as a suitor for your daughter's hand. As a matter of fact, I look with equal disfavour on you as a possible father-in-law. My real object in seeking this interview was to remove any misapprehension you might have on the subject."

When I was well outside the door, laughter really took hold of me for the first time since Miranda refused to marry me.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"Mr. Hartley is the proud possessor of the English
championship belt for running broad jump, having cleared
something over 45 feet."

_The Morning Albertan._

His pride is very excusable.

* * * * *

"In our day when many women consider the art of managing a
home beneath the dignity of their supposed sex, not everyone
knows how to make a pancake."

_Liverpool Daily Post and Mercury._

"Supposed" is good.

* * * * *

_Short-sighted Official (to gentleman pursuing hat)._ "CALL YOUR DOG OFF, SIR, CALL YOUR DOG OFF," ETC., ETC., ETC.]

* * * * *

MOVING.

(_A Suburban Elegy._)

WHEN I remember I shall tread no more
In such a short time now the well-known street,
And never to these ears shall sound the roar
Of Perkins' cart-wheels, dangerously fleet,
Bringing the boon of Ceres to the door,
Nor those of Batson (Batson is the meat);--

When I recall that in the hours to come
My eyes may never see the shape of Pott
Planting his fish down, then methinks it's rum
That mortal men should move and be forgot
By those that serve their household daily, some
Sending the right delivery, some not.

Full often on my homeward way I pause
Where Jones is standing at his shop-front trim;
We pass remarks about the nation's laws
And how it still keeps up, though skies are grim;
And Jones is most polite to me, because
We've always got our groceries from him.

But the old orders soon shall cease to be,
And I must pass into an unknown land,
And at the corner by The Holly Tree
Where now he lifts a ceremonious hand
Yon constable shall scarce remember me,
Not that he ever----Quite. You understand.

And alien lips from mine must move to swear
Over the mangled remnants of a shirt
Brutally done to death with fiendish care
By yon steam laundry. Last I come to Bert;
Bert's is the best known face in all the Square,
Being the milk, and something more--a flirt.

Yes, for not only bleeds this heart of mine;
There shall be tenderer spasms when we shift,
Such bits of cheek, such observations fine,
Such honied whispers have been heard to drift
From Susan at the casement of her shrine
To Romeo managing the tradesmen's lift.

Hers shall be all the loss; he'll soon forget.
Others shall ope accounts when we are gone;
Movings are all too frequent for regret;
Yet one methinks there is shall dream upon
Our name with soft remembrance, guard it yet
Like some pressed violet. I refer to John.

I know our postal service, know full well,
Though we have told them to what bourn we flit,
How many a missive shall obey the spell
Of the old false address inscribed on it.
And John shall bring them. And John's heart shall swell
For Harriet while he stuffs them through the slit.

EVOE.

* * * * *

OUR LITERARY ADVICE DEPARTMENT.

CANDID advice given to the literary aspirant on easy terms by an old journalist. His fame is world-wide, but he prefers to be known as THE OLD NIB. Anyone sending him threatening letters will be prosecuted.

Frankly, LANCELOT, your _Passionate Pangs; or, Heart Throbs of a Retired Government Clerk_, will never bring you in a large income. You say friends have praised them highly, and you point out that TENNYSON had to wait years for recognition. Well, you must do the same. You could not have a better precedent.

You have a strong grasp of a situation, BENJAMIN, and the scene where _Uncle Henry_ slips on the butter slide is quite thrilling. But you must compress a little and avoid certain faults of style. "She hove a sigh" is wrong; and I do not like "'Pshaw,' he _shouted_"; I do not think it could be done. I tried myself in my bath and swallowed a lot of soapy water. Pray be more careful.

I certainly like to hear from such an enthusiastic reader as WIGWAM. His idea, of going to a fancy-dress ball dressed in a number of old copies of _Wopple's Weekly_ is excellent and, if they let him in, ought to be a great success. I hope he wins the hair comb. As to his verses I have often seen worse. With a rhyming dictionary (for rhyming) and an ordinary one (for spelling) WIGWAM should go far.

ANGELINA'S poem shows a nice domestic feeling which I appreciate. In these days of Suffragettes it is not every authoress who will say--

"I like to see a familiar face
And I think home is a beautiful place."

But though "mother," as she says, is a very beautiful word it does not rhyme with "forever." "Other," "brother" and "smother" are the rhymes that I always recommend.

LEONIDAS has made a great improvement since I had to speak to him so severely last spring. _Sly Sarah_ is quite a clever tale, and before very long LEONIDAS will find himself writing for _Soapy Bits_ and papers of that calibre. Of this I am sure. His characterization is strong, his style is redolent of _bravura_ and his general atmosphere is _fortissimo_. The character of the archdeacon might be improved; indeed, if LEONIDAS is going to send it to _The Diocesan Monthly_, I should say it must be improved. Why should he slap _Sarah's_ face? No reason is given for this, and it is surely a very questionable action. Human nature may be human nature, but archdeacons are archdeacons. By the way there is only one _l_ in spoonful.

HENRY must be careful. This is the third time he has sent me his epic. There are limits.

There is not much demand for tales of this description, HOPEFUL. But as you say you like writing them I do not see who is to prevent you. If you can get the permission of the local authorities by all means give a reading at the Home for the Half-Witted.

I have no doubt CLAPHAM ROVER means well, but he has a lot to learn. There are no events of any kind in the three tales he sends me. The only thing that ever happens is that the hero is kicked downstairs. Even then he lies prostrate in the hall for two days. Surely the maids might have swept him up. CLAPHAM ROVER must remember the great words of DEMOSTHENES when he swallowed a pebble on the sea beach: "Action, action, and again action." He was thinking of lawyers, of course, but his words have a lesson for us all.

INGENUOUS is the exact opposite of CLAPHAM ROVER. I rise from his tale an absolute wreck. "Splash, she was in the river;" "plonk, he was on the floor;" "whiz, a bullet shot past him." INGENUOUS must really go more quietly and make a little less noise. Why not write a few essays on some of our lesser known female didactic writers, or some such subjects as "People one is surprised to hear that Dr. JOHNSON never met?" It would do him a lot of good. But above all he must study that master of Quietism, the incomparable author of _The Woman's Touch_, _The Silent Preacher_, _Through a College Key-hole_.

PARSIFAL has pained me very much. He sent me a long poem, and after I had given him a very detailed criticism I discovered that he had simply copied out a poem of WORDSWORTH'S familiar to us all from our earliest childhood. I have lost his address, so I cannot tell him privately what I think of him, but it was a dirty trick.

CIUDAD RODRIGO (I don't know why he calls himself that; he writes from Balham) sends me an essay on GEORGE BORROW. It follows with great fidelity the line of established fact, never deviating into the unknown. After reading it I felt that I did not want to hear any more about GEORGE BORROW for a long time.

ARRIERE PENSEE, TOOTLES, PONGO and HUGGING: see answer to CIUDAD RODRIGO.

I did an injustice to PARNASSIAN in my answer to him last week. Owing to a misprint I was made to say that "his poems were written" (which they were not, but typed, and very excellently typed too). What I meant to say was that his poems were rotten. Sorry.

* * * * *

THE MILITANT'S SONG.

EACH morning, vigorous and bright,
I sing my little song:--
"If I don't do the thing that's right
I'll do the thing that's wrong."

And if I chance to miss my aim
By slight miscalculation
I go on singing just the same
With equal exaltation.

So when I light my little sticks
To burn up "No. 8"
And find I've kindled "No. 6"
My joy is just as great.

And when my little stones I dash
At windows in a hurry
And hear the corner lamp-post smash
I see no cause to worry.

And when I take my little whip
To punish "Mr. A."
And find I've made another slip
I giggle out, "Hurray!"

And under lock and key I trill,
Although my cell's a strong one:--
"I didn't hit the right man, still
At least I hit the wrong one."

* * * * *

Bethnal Green and Leith.

We are asked to say that some of the best friends of the Government take a grave view of the acclamations with which the Liberal Press has been greeting the recent "moral victories" of the Party at the polls. A few more of these moral victories and the language oL triumph will, they fear, be exhausted before an actual victory occurs.

* * * * *

"Lord Plymouth's donation of L30,000 completes the purchase of
the Crystal Palace. The shortage was due to Mr. Camberwell's
refusal to contribute, and also to a reduction in Mr. Pinge's
contribution by L15,000."

_Otago Daily Times._

On the other hand we are glad to be in a position to say that Lord Penge, the Hon. Mrs. Sydenham Hill and the Dowager Lady Dulwich have behaved most generously.

* * * * *

"Respecting Ichthemic Guano, you can make use of my name, as
it is one of the best fertilisers on the market."

_From a Trade Circular._

We should like to know what our old friend Ichthemic Guano has to say about this. He will not like to hear that anybody else's name competes with his in the fertilising market.

* * * * *

_Her Ladyship._ "SO YOU ARE LEAVING TO GET MARRIED, THOMPSON? I MUST COME AND SEE YOUR WIFE WHEN YOU ARE COMFORTABLY SETTLED."

_The Lover._ "THANK YOU, ME LADY. SHE SEEMS A NICE QUIET SORT OF GIRL, AND I 'AVE HEVERY 'OPE SHE'LL MAKE ME COMFORTABLE."]

* * * * *

BELLES LETTRES AND OTHERS.

Most of us have been startled to observe how very far real life falls short of the standard of books. The realisation has come home to me with great force after reading _Whispers of Passion_, a collection of love-letters by "Amorosa," which I could not refrain from comparing with certain authentic love-letters (as I suppose I must call them) which happen to be in my possession.

What a contrast! What a melancholy contrast!

Here, for example, is the tender opening of one of "Amorosa's" efforts:

"BELOVED,--This morning I saw the sun rise from behind the
grey hills that rampart our secluded vale. Slowly, almost
imperceptibly, as I watched, the sombre robes of the Night
were irradiated and enrosed by the mysterious fires of the
Dawn. And herein, my dear one, I seemed to grasp a deathless
symbol of the awakening of Love between us, the first
slow gilding of our grey lives by the roseate glamour of
romance...."

And so on. Now read this, taken from one in my own collection treating of the same subject:--

"DEAR WOGGLES,--How _dare_ you hint that I'm lazy? As a matter
of fact I saw the sunrise only this morning, which reminds me
of a story. I daresay you know it already. A small boy decided
to keep a diary, and the first entry he made was: '_1st
January--Got up at 8.15._' His mater objected to this on the
ground that _got up_ was too slangy. 'Look at the sun,'
she said. 'The sun doesn't _get up_; it _rises_.' The same
evening, after the boy had gone to bed, she looked at the
diary again. There was only one other entry: '_Set at 9._'

Not much of a yarn, is it, Woggles? But still it's good enough
for you...."

Or consider this beautiful conclusion:

"... Dear, I am all thine. My soul calls to thee across
the night; the beating of my heart cries through the
darkness--Thine, thine, thine!

Good night, adored one, good night.

AMOROSA."

And contrast it with the following:--

"... And now I must dry up or I shan't be in bed by midnight,
and the old man will lose his hair and say I'm ruining my
precious constitution. Ta ta. Be a good infant.

Yours,
MADGE."

"Amorosa's" lover appears to have sent her a bracelet, and must have felt richly repaid when he received this:--

"... As I clasped the slender circlet around my wrist I seemed
to hear a voice which said, 'This is pure gold; let your
love be pure. It is an emblem of infinity; let your trust be
infinite. It is a pledge of fidelity; let your faithfulness be
immutable...."

But this is how Madge expresses herself on a similar occasion:--

"... Thanks very much for the bracelet. It seems pretty
decent...."

Let me give two other extracts which happen to treat of similar themes. Here is the first:--

"... I heard music surging in great waves of divine beauty
from Belnobbio's 'cello, and, magically, wonderfully, it lured
and compelled my thoughts, beloved one, to you. In all those
immortal harmonies I heard your voice; the Master's rapt
features faded into mist, and I saw instead your own grave,
strong face. Tell me, what is this power which can so converge
all beauties to one centre?..."

And here is the second:--

"... I went to hear Kranzer yesterday, and oh, Woggles, I tell
you, he is the edge, the very ultimate edge! I _rave_ over
him day and night. I'm madly, head-over-heels,
don't-know-how-to-express-it in love with him. I'm going to
throw you over and follow him about all round the world, and
whenever I get the chance just lie down and let him wipe his
boots on me. So--resign yourself to it; you'll probably never
see again,

Your fatally smitten
MADGE."

Occasionally, it is true, there occurs in these deplorable letters just a touch of sentiment, but how crudely, how prosaically expressed. Immediately after the passage quoted above, for instance, I find this:--

"P.S.--Dear old boy, you don't mind when I rag you, do you?
Here's just a teeny-weeny x for you.
M."

How does "Amorosa" phrase such a sentiment?

"... My lips cannot touch your lips, but my soul seeks yours,
and in that spiritual embrace there is something of eternity."

* * *

And yet, after all----

* * * * *

_Exasperated Backer._ "'IT 'IM CHARLEY; DON'T LOOK AT THEM PICTURES."]

* * * * *

GNOMES FOR GOLFERS.

In April when the cuckoos call
Glue both your optics on the ball.

In May avoid the water-ouzel
Whose warning note predicts a foozle.

In Summer when the lies are good
Propel it smartly with the wood.

In August should the peacock shriek
Renounce the baffy for the cleek;

But if your stroke becomes too "sclaffy"
Give up the cleek and use the baffy.

In Autumn when the lies are clammy
Replace the brassie by the "Sammy."

But when the course is dry and grassy
Replace the "Sammy" by the brassie.

In Winter when the lies are slimy
Be up or in, or lay a stymie.

When caddies chatter on the green
Rebuke them, but remain serene.

But when they hiccough on the tee
Pay them their regulation fee.

Whene'er you chance to top your drive
Before you speak count twenty-five.

But if you slice into the rough
Thirty will hardly be enough.

When beaten by a single putt
You may ejaculate, "Tut, tut."

But if you're downed at dormy nine
Language affords no anodyne.

Where frequent pots the green environ
Take turf approaching with the iron.

No game is lost until it's won;
The duffer may hole out in one.

If down the course the pill you'd punch
Be careful what you eat at lunch.

A simple cut from off the joint
May cure your shots to cover-point.

But lobsters, trifle and champagne
May even prove the plus-man's bane.

* * * * *

The Nine St. Denys's.

"Thereupon the Labour party sang 'The Red Flag,' the deportees
joining in the chorus, bearing their heads during the
singing."

_South Wales Echo._

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.)

_House of Lords, Monday, February 23rd._--Temporarily relieved from thoughts of Ulster or meditations upon Marconi, House gave itself up to bright debate on question not less attractive because of spice of personality. Spice acquired additional piquancy since it was not supposed to be there. Its absence was indeed formally insisted upon. "Oh no, we never mention him. His name is never heard." All the same, as debate went forward, names _did_ occur. Glances, furtively shot from side to side of House, casually rested upon particular seats, whether empty or occupied.

SELBORNE introduced subject by moving Resolution condemning principle that a contribution to Party funds should be a consideration to a Minister recommending to the Sovereign bestowal of a titular honour. Subject delicate one to handle. As SELBORNE admitted, WILLOUGHBY DE BROKE and RIBBLESDALE in succession concurring, it was not a Party question. Notorious that since the days of Lord NORTH both political parties are tarred with same brush. Through difficult circumstances SELBORNE adroitly picked his way in lively speech. Sorely handicapped by Resolution, the effect of which, even with assistance of other House, would, as RIBBLESDALE pointed out, be absolutely nil. "In the end," he said, "both Houses would be only expressing a pious, almost a Pharisaical opinion."

This conceded, the Lords, having no work to do, might have done much worse than devote sitting to breezy debate.

WILLOUGHBY DE BROKE at his best in his enunciation of principles upon which, were he dispenser of honours in the Radical camp, he would choose his peers. Whilst taking broad view of case on eugenic principles, he would be inclined to make selection in favour of childless candidates.

"The sons of newly-created Radical peers are," he shrewdly remarked, "almost certain to be Tories, while a Radical grandson of a Radical peer is a phenomenon never seen."

Incidentally the bold Baron took occasion to remark that his own title was conferred upon an ancestor in reward for active part taken in placing the Tudor dynasty on the throne. Some noble lords, whose patent to peerage is of rather more recent date, whilst agreeing generally with his views, thought this remark superfluous. Why drag in the Tudors?

WILLOUGHBY'S graphic account of an interview with the agent of a moneyed applicant for honours was capped by RIBBLESDALE, who confided to listening Senate particulars of occasions when, as a Whip he had from time to time been "approached."

MILNER, shocked by what he regarded as frivolity, proposed to treat the subject "with a slight approach to seriousness." Proposal cast a blight over proceedings which were hurried to conclusion.

_Business done._--SELBORNE'S Resolution agreed to with verbal amendment.

_Lord SELBORNE._ "I'm entirely with you. Too much stained-glass about, what?"]

_House of Commons, Tuesday._--Resemblance of House of Commons to the sea never more strikingly illustrated than at to-night's sitting. For five hours and a half deadliest calm reigned. Benches less than half full. Questions droned through appointed period. House got into Committee of Supply on Civil Service estimates. Votes for Colonial Service offered occasion for debate on Camel Corps disaster in Somaliland last August. LULU defended in detail the policy and action of his department. At half-past eight, talk still dragging slow length along, he moved closure. Division on proposal to reduce the estimate, equivalent to vote of censure, ran Government majority up to 125.

Suddenly scene changed. It was the mid-dinner hour, period at which House is as a rule dismally empty. The four-hundred-and-seventy Members who had taken part in the division, instead of fleeing in accordance with custom as if fire had broken out, made for their seats, whence rose the buzz of excited talk that presages a tempest.

The miracle was worked by Ulster. FALLE, having by favour of fortune at ballot-box secured portion of sitting as Private Member's property, moved Resolution calling upon PRIME MINISTER, forthwith to submit to House his proposals for alteration of Government of Ireland Bill. Opposition mustered in support. Ministerialists whipped up to last man. When, following mover and seconder of Resolution, PREMIER appeared at the table he was welcomed by shout of exultant cheering. Significant contrast with his reception when, a fortnight earlier, he stood in same place and seemed inclined to dally with proposal for exclusion of Ulster. Instinctively, or through whispered information, Ministerialists knew he was now, as they put it, "going straight."

Their most sanguine expectation justified. PREMIER in fine fighting form.

"Gentlemen opposite," he scornfully said, "seem to think we here can be likened to a beleaguered garrison, driven by the stress of warfare into an untenable position with failing supplies, with exhausted ammunition, with shaken nerves, and that it is for them, the minority of this House, to dictate the terms of capitulation that are to determine whether we are to be allowed to surrender with or without the honours of war."

That sufficed to indicate his position. Whilst disclosure increased enthusiasm on Ministerial side it correspondingly inflamed passion on benches opposite.

There was an anxious moment when fisticuffs seemed imminent across the table in close proximity to shocked Mace. CARSON making interruption (one of a continuous series), PREMIER thought it was WALTER LONG, and severely enjoined him to restrain himself. LONG hotly retorted that he had not spoken. Angry cheers and counter-cheers resounded in opposing camps. PREMIER, accepting assurance of his mistake, apologised. Fisticuffs postponed.

Warned by experience, PREMIER took no notice when MOORE OF ARMAGH shouted, "Why do you funk a General Election?" or when later he received from same source disclaimer of belief in his sincerity; or when another Ulster Member characterised forceful passage in his speech as "Tomfoolery."

Fresh roar of cheering broke over excited host of Ministerialists when by way of last word PREMIER declared, "We are not going at the eleventh hour to betray a great cause."

_Business done._--Proverbially swift descent from sublime to ridiculous. Demand of Opposition for instant disclosure of Ministerial plan altering Home Rule Bill met by Amendment from Liberal side declaring confidence in Government. This carried by majority of 73. When put as substantial Resolution eleven o'clock had struck. No opposed business may be taken after that hour. House accordingly forthwith adjourned. Record of night's business in Journals of House prepared for perusal of posterity is comprehended in word "That----"

_Thursday._--House puzzled by question on Paper standing in name of H. P. CROFT. Member for Christchurch desires "to ask the Secretary of State for the Colonies whether he has received petitions in favour of immediate legislation dealing with imported plumage through all or any of the Prime Ministers of the States of Australia."

How, why and under what circumstances plumage should be "imported through" Prime Ministers of the Australian Commonwealth no one can guess. Generally agreed that, if such painful procedure actually be the Colonial custom, prohibitive legislation cannot be too soon undertaken.

SYDNEY HOLLAND, for many years the prop and stay of the London Hospital, has taken his seat in the House of Lords on accession to the Viscountcy of Knutsford. Apart from hereditary claim, he is the ideal type of the class of peer whom reformers on both sides look to for restoration of the prestige and usefulness of the Upper Chamber. Nevertheless it is hoped he will not give up to Westminster what was meant for mankind--the splendid devotion of capacity and energy to the service of the sick poor of London.

_Business done._--In Committee on Supplementary Estimates.

* * * * *

The New Matrimonial Insurance.

"HUSBAND INSURED AWAY."

"_Daily Mail" Heading._

* * * * *

* * * * *

The Land Campaign once more.

"Large Foot Path, very strong, reduced to 6s. 11d., less than
half-price."

_Advt. in "The Accrington Observer._"

* * * * *

"Are we not having just a little too much London? A glance
over our rapidly growing fixture list suggests that the
predominance of the great Metrolopis in matters of golfing is
becoming rather too pronounced."--_Golfing._

It's not fair to the privonces.

* * * * *

"Members of the Chicago Bachelor Girls' Club, who number sixty
at present, say they must receive affirmative answers to this
list of questions before they will marry:

... Have you bad habits, such as drinking or smoking to
excess?..."--_Daily Mirror._

"The answer is in the affirmative."

"Then I am yours."

* * * * *

A SIGN OF DECAY.

(_A bull recently got into a china shop, but was coaxed out before any damage was done._)

WE cut but a decadent figure;
Our virtues grow sickly and pale;
Our forefathers' valour and vigour
Live only in poem and tale;
Our thews are beginning to soften;
No more are we sturdy and hard;
These facts have been often and often
Explained to the bard.

But still to despondent repining
He never consented to yield;
For comfort amid our declining
He looked to the beasts of the field;
Though others grew haggard with grief, he
Maintained a refusal to quake
So long as our bulls remained beefy
And a steak _was_ a steak.

But now there _is_ cause to repine, a
Dread portent of what to expect:
A bull has got loose in the china
And nothing, no, nothing's been wrecked.
Where fragments were wont to be scattered
Like forest leaves under a gale
Not even a saucer was shattered
By a flick of the tail.

Oh, say, can this care for the teacup
Proclaim that the common decay
Is busting the bovine physique up
And hasting the horrible day
When the bard, too, must take up the story
That the halo of England grows dim,
Since the beef, whence she gathered her glory,
Is void of its vim?

* * * * *

Honours Easy.

"L25 Reward. Lost, either at Folkestone Harbour or from a
Pullman Car, a Gentleman's Fur Coat, lined with minx."

_Morning Post._

* * * * *

"Miss Trenerry, wearing a coat of rose charmeuse, with
white fur collar, and several gentlemen."--_Express and Echo
(Exeter)._

* * * * *

"Young Man requires board and lodging in Carshalton; hot and
cold bath preferred."

_The Herald (Sutton)._

He can't have it both ways at once.

* * * * *

"At the Gare de Lyon this afternoon Rolland was welcomed by
General de Castelnau, who embraced him and took his arm to the
buffet of the station, where a reception was held."--_Daily
Telegraph._

General DE CASTELNAU. "_Donnez-le un nom._"

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE TELEPHONE AGAIN.

TING-A-LING.

_Patient Subscriber._ Hullo.

_Gruff Voice._ Are you Bond and Lapel?

_Patient Subscriber._ I'm afraid you've got the wrong number. We're Gerrard 932041. The Society for the Prevention of Wet Feet amongst the Genteel Poor.

* * * * *

Ting-a-ling.

_Same Patient Subscriber._ Hullo.

_Same Gruff Voice._ Bond and Lapel?

_S. P. S._ No, they've given you the wrong number again. We're Gerrard 932041. Ring off, please.

* * * * *

Ting-a-ling.

_S. P. S._ Hullo.

_S. G. V._ Bond and Lapel? I'm Major----

_S. P. S._ My dear Sir, will you believe me that we're _not_ Bond and Lapel? We're Gerrard 9-3-2-0-4-1. Don't let me have to speak to you again, there's a good fellow.

* * * * *

Ting-a-ling.

_Exchange._ You're thr-r-r-rough.

_S. G. V._} Hullo.
_S. P. S._}

_S. G. V._ Bond and Lapel, dammit! I want----Don't you "tut" me, Sir. I TELL YOU YOU ARE.

_S. P. S._ Oh, all right. Well, what can I do for you?

_S. G. V._ EH?

_S. P. S._ I said, What can I do for you?

_S. G. V._ I'm Major Smith. I want you to make me----

_S. P. S._ Marjorie who? Speak up, please.

_S. G. V._ MAJOR, M-A-J-O-R, MAJOR. MAJOR SMITH. CAN YOU HEAR THAT? I WANT YOU TO MAKE ME A BLUE SERGE SUIT BY TO-MORROW WEEK.

_S. P. S._ A little louder.... That's better. If you'll wait a moment I'll just jot down your measurements.

_S. G. V._ Measurements! What the----! I'm Major Smith.

_S. P. S._ Hold the line a moment and I'll see if we have them. Are you holding on?... Hullo. Major Smith, you said? Sorry, but the fact is we've got two Major Smiths on our books. Would you kindly tell me which one you are?

_S. G. V._ I'm Major--Smith--of--3--Mecklington--Gardens--Kensington.

_S. P. S._ Oh, yes. Close to the Oval.

_S. G. V._ KENS-S-SINGTON!

_S. P. S._ Oh, Kensington with an "s." Yes. I know. Well now, how would you like it made? Will you have the trousers to match? We're doing a very smart line in buff canary trouserings, just----

_S. G. V._ I said A BLUE SERGE SUIT, Sir!

_S. P. S._ Sorry. I was thinking of the other Major Smith. Then we'll say trousers to match. Yes, I've got that. Do you wear them turned up or down? Down. Trousers turned down and sleeves turned up. No, both down. Yes. Now what about box pleats? Shall we say box pleats?

_S. G. V._ Don't you put any of your new-fangled dodges on _my_ clothes, young man, because I won't have it.

_S. P. S._ _No_ box pleats. I'll make a special note of it. Then to-morrow fortnight without fail.

_S. G. V._ To-morrow WEEK. And if you don't send that dress suit of mine by six to-night----

_S. P. S._ Dress suit? Dress suit? What dress suit? This is the first I've heard of any dress suit.

_S. G. V._ WHAT?

_S. P. S._ It can't be done, old chap. You'll have to borrow one for to-night.

_S. G. V._ Y-y-you insolent p-puppy. P-put me through to the manager. AT once.

_S. P. S._ Thanks so much. Then I'll put you down for a subscription. The Society for the Prevention of Wet Feet amongst the Genteel Poor, you know.

_S. G. V._ ----! ----! ----! (Biff ... bang ... ting-a-ling ... buz-z-z-z-z-z.)

_S. P. S._ Exchange.

_Exchange._ Number, please.

_S. P. S._ Put me through to the Repairs Department.... Oh, Repairs Department. I'm ringing up on behalf of Major Smith, of 3, Mecklington Gardens, Kensington. Send someone round at once, please. His telephone has burst.

* * * * *

"ST. PAUL'S.

L70,000 WANTED FOR THE FABRIC."

_Standard._

Another chance for Mr. MALLABY-DEELEY.

* * * * *

THE WEDDING PRESENT.

"At last," I said, putting down my newspaper, "there is hope for England. Here is a man who announces his approaching marriage and hopes that wedding presents will not be sent."

"Pooh," said the lady of the house.

"Why," said I, "do you say 'pooh'?"

"Because," she said, "it's not a bit of good hoping for anything of, the sort. You might just as well abolish weddings at once. People won't go to one unless they have a chance of seeing their own present and admiring it so much that the detective begins to suspect them."

"Yes," I said, "isn't the detective splendid? Nobody ever fails to spot him, and yet there he is every time, firmly convinced that everybody takes him for the bridegroom's uncle or the bride's godfather by a former marriage, or something of that sort. I really do feel I couldn't do without the detective."

"There you are," she said. "You can't have the detective without the presents."

"Very well," I said, "we'll let presents go on a bit longer and chance it."

"And don't you forget," she said firmly, "that you've got to choose a present for George Henderson to-day."

"George Henderson?" I said dreamily. "Do you think George Henderson _wants_ a present? Isn't he the sort which 'hopes that wedding presents will not be sent'? I've always felt he had a look in his eye which said, 'Dear old chap, I shall be married some day.--Whatever you do, don't send me a present.' Haven't you felt that about him, too?"

"No," she said, "I haven't. In fact George has always seemed to me the very man for a present. And now he's going to be married. It's the chance of a lifetime."

"Well, then," I said, "if you feel like that _you_ ought to buy the present. You'll do it better. You'll put more real feeling into it."