Chapter I: Part 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 156.

June 11, 1919.

CHARIVARIA.

"Every British working man has as much right as any Member of Parliament to be paid £400 a year," states a well-known Labour paper. We have never questioned this for a moment.

***

"Women," says a technical journal, "are a source of grave danger to motorists in crowded city streets." It is feared in some quarters that they will have to be abolished.

***

"Are you getting stout?" asks a Sunday contemporary. Only very occasionally, we regret to say.

***

The heat was so oppressive in London the other day that a taxi-driver at Euston Station was seen to go up to a pedestrian and ask him if he could do with a ride. He was eventually pinned down by some colleagues and handed over to the care of his relatives.

***

"I do not care a straw about Turkey," writes Mr. LOVAT Fraser in _The Daily Mail_. It is this dare-devil spirit which has made us the nation we are.

***

Superstition in regard to marriage is dying out, says a West End registrar. Nevertheless the superstition that a man who gets married between January 1st and December 31st is asking for trouble is still widely held.

***

Mr. VAN INGEN, a New York business man, has just started to cross the Atlantic for the one hundred and sixtieth time. It is not known whether the major ambition of his life is to leave New York or go back and have a last look at it.

***

"There is no likelihood," says the FOOD-CONTROLLER, "of cheese running out during the coming winter." A pan of drinking water left in the larder will always prevent its running out and biting someone during the dog-days.

***

Sympathetic readers will be glad to hear that the little sixpence which was found wandering in Piccadilly Circus has been given a good home by an Aberdeen gentleman.

***

Aeroplane passengers are advised by one enterprising weekly not to throw bottles out of the machine. This is certainly good advice. The bottles are so apt to get broken.

***

Germany, it is expected, will sign the Peace treaty this once, but points out that we must not allow it to happen again.

***

Of two burglars charged at Stratford one told the Bench that he intended to have nothing further to do with his colleague in future. It is said that he finds it impossible to work with him owing to his nasty grasping ways.

* * * * *

Sixty-seven fewer babies were born in one Surrey village last year than in previous years. It would be interesting to have their names.

***

A grocer, according to a legal writer, is not compelled to take goods out of the window to oblige a customer. The suggestion that a grocer is expected to oblige anybody in any circumstances is certainly a novelty.

***

Uxbridge, says _The Evening News_, has no bandstand. Nor have we, but we make no fuss about it.

***

The Bolshevists in Russia, we are told, are busy sowing seeds of sedition. For some time it has been suspected that the Bolshevists were up to no good.

***

HERBERT WELSH, aged sixty-seven, has started to walk from New Jersey to New Hampshire, U.S.A., a distance of five hundred miles. In the absence of fuller details we assume that HERBERT must have lost his train.

***

"Postage stamps," says a weekly snippets paper, "can be obtained at all post-offices." This should prove a boon to those who have letters to write.

***

It is thought if a certain well-known judge does not soon ask, "What is whisky?" he will have to content himself with the past tense.

***

"What to do with a Wasp" is a headline in a contemporary. We have not read the article, but our own plan with wasps is to try to dodge them.

***

We hear that complications may arise from an unfortunate mistake made at a Jazz Competition held in London last week. It appears that the prize was awarded to a lady suffering from hysteria who was not competing.

***

A taxi-driver in a suburb of London was married last week to a local telephone operator. Speculation is now rife as to which will be the first to break down and say "Thank you."

***

The Press reports the case of a young lady who received slight injuries from a slab of ceiling which fell on her head whilst she was asleep in bed, but was saved from further damage by the thickness of her hair. This should act as a warning to those ladies who adopt the silly habit of removing their tresses on retiring for the night.

* * * * *

_Patient_. "SIR BRUCE BLAZEAWAY."

_Hospital Orderly_. "RANK?"

_Patient_. "LIEUTENANT-GENERAL."

_Hospital Orderly_. "BATTALION?"]

* * * * *

TO SIGN OR NOT TO SIGN?

As Count BROCKDORFF-RANTZAU puts it, quoting from his German translation of _Hamlet: "Sein oder nicht sein, dass ist hier die Frage_."

* * * * *

"The recommendations of the Jerram Committee came before a
conference between a representative body of lower deck ratings
and members of Parliament who sit for naval constituencies. The
veterinary chief petty officer presided."--_Sunday Paper_.

The rank is new to us; but he must be just the man to look after the interests of our sea-dogs.

* * * * *

From the "Transactions" of a photographic society:--

"Mr. ---- stated that as Architectural Photography covered a large
and varied field he purposed to confine his remarks to the line of
work most familiar to him, namely, The Interiors of some of the
great English Ministers."

Now at last we shall know if the Government's heart is in the right place.

* * * * *

TO ROBERT OF THE FORCE.

Since first you loomed upon my infant ken
My firm belief has ever been, and still it is,
That you are fashioned not as other men
(Subject, at best, to mortal disabilities),
But come of more than human kin,
Immune, or practically so, from sin.

Godlike the poise that to your bearing lends
The aspect of a tower that never totters;
There's a divinity hath shaped your ends
(Rough-hewn, perhaps--especially your trotters);
Your ample chest, your generous girth
Have no precise similitude on earth.

I cannot picture you (though I have tried)
Wearing a bowler hat and tweed apparel,
Or craving sustenance for your inside
Drawn either from the oven or the barrel;
Scarcely you figure in my eye
As liable, in Nature's course, to die.

And it was you who almost fell from grace,
Striking, like Lucifer, against authority,
Leaving your Heaven for another place
Not mentioned by your ten-to-one majority,
And doomed, to your surprise and pain,
Never, like Lucifer, to rise again.

But you were wise, my Robert, wise in time;
And I, who set you far above humanity,
High-pedestalled upon my lofty rhyme,
Rejoice with you in your recovered sanity;
To me I feel it would have mattered
Enormously to see my idol shattered.

But 'ware the Bolsh, who fain would lure your feet
To conduct unbecoming in a copper;
Once you betrayed us, going off your beat,
And now you've nearly come another cropper;
If, tempted thrice, you break your trust,
You'll have no halo left to readjust.

O.S.

* * * * *

EMBARRASSMENT AND THE LAWYER.

Watson is a young barrister who is feeling rather pleased with himself. I confess that he has deserved it.

The situation was as follows. Before the War he had had no briefs, but had always had a conscience. A hopeless state of affairs. Then he went to the War and shed his conscience somewhere in the Balkans. So far so good. But, when he was demobilised and began to take stock of what had been happening at home in the meanwhile, he found to his horror that a conscience had again been thrust upon him by the General Council of the Bar.

Such was the situation he had to face, and he has won through.

How, you ask, did the G.C.B. play this trick on him? It happened in this way. Having nothing better to do during Watson's absence and at a critical moment of the War, these idle elderly well-fed lawyers solemnly deliberated upon the following fantastic problem:--

"What is the duty of counsel who is defending a prisoner on a plea of Not Guilty when the prisoner confesses to counsel that he did commit the offence charged?"

With a cynical disregard of their own past these sophists propounded the following answer:--

"If the confession has been made before the proceedings have been commenced it is most undesirable that an advocate to whom the confession has been made should undertake the defence, as he would most certainly be seriously embarrassed in the conduct of the case, and no harm can be done to the accused by requesting him to retain another advocate."

The new Watson was unable to agree with this doctrine, so far as it * * * * * The legal conscience thus gratuitously thrust upon him was soon to undergo its first ordeal. An acquaintance of his, in a moment of absent-mindedness, murdered somebody, and asked Watson to persuade the inevitable jury that he hadn't. The said acquaintance explained to Watson that he simply did it when he wasn't thinking.

Watson was in a hole. Obviously this was a case to which the embarrassment prescribed by the General Council of the Bar was applicable. This legal embarrassment, which, strictly speaking, ought now to be his, would not, however, have worried him in the least had it not been for another consideration. Suppose, after Watson had triumphantly got his client acquitted, it got about that the "innocent" had confessed his crime to counsel beforehand? That would mean an end to Watson's professional career. One does not thus slight the edicts of the mighty with impunity.

Watson was too proud to ask his client to keep the deadly secret, or to apply the famous wriggle of _Hippolytus_: "My tongue hath sworn, but my heart remains unsworn."

Nevertheless Watson gave his mind to the problem. In the end he decided on the following line of defence: "Not Guilty," and in the alternative "Guilty under justifiable circumstances, without malice aforethought but with intent to benefit the person murdered."

Happily the General Council of the Bar has not yet assigned any moral embarrassment to a counsel who pleads "Not Guilty," and in the alternative, "Guilty." Watson therefore reasoned that if the jury returned a verdict of "Not Guilty," his client's alternative confession could be written off as an obvious mistake; on the other hand, if he were found "Guilty," the fact of confession would be an ethical asset towards securing for him a lenient view of the case.

As I said, Watson behaved well. He proved to his own and the jury's satisfaction (1) that his client did not commit the murder; (2) that alternatively he did commit the murder, but that he did so for the good of everybody concerned; and (3) that in either case he never meant to do it.

In the event the prisoner was acquitted without a stain upon his * * * * * Watson is now well established as the last hope of abandoned causes. He is a specialist in defence, and criminals of every shade throng to him. When a new one swims into his ken Watson meets him on the threshold and says, "Don't speak a word. Read this;" and he puts into his hand a printed slip. The slip reads:--

"_ Conditions of Advocacy_.

"(1) If you put your case into my hands it ceases at once and from
that moment to be any concern of your own. You are not entitled, for
instance, to express any opinion as to whether you committed the
alleged crime or not. That is my affair exclusively.

"(2) If however there is anything which lies so heavily on your
conscience that it must out sooner or later, let it be later. I
am open to receive confessions at any time after proceedings have
begun.

"If you accept these conditions, good; if not, go."

Watson says they always accept them, so he never worries about the General Council of the Bar.

* * * * *

OIL GENIE _(gushingly, to Coal-Owner and Mr. SMILLIE)._ "CAN I DO ANYTHING TO ALLAY THE TROUBLED WATERS?"

[The discovery of oil in Derbyshire, which threatens the supremacy of the mining industry, may affect the questions now in dispute before the Coal Commission.]

* * * * *

* * * * *

AN ERROR IN TACTICS.

In the heart of the Forêt de Roumare there is a spot called Rond du Chêne à Leu, where eight paths meet. Why they choose to meet there, unless it is for company, one can't imagine. The fact that there is not an estaminet within five kilometres nullifies its value as a military objective. Therefore, having been decoyed thither by a plausible guide-book, it was with surprise that I beheld an ancient representative of the British Army smoking his pipe with the air of having been in possession for centuries.

"Bit lonely here," I said.

"Rumble's Moor on a wet Friday's busy to it," he said emphatically. "Is it reet the War's over?"

"Yes."

He puffed his pipe for a few minutes while the information soaked in.

"Who won?"

"The Peace Conference haven't decided yet."

Conversation languished until I remembered the guide-book.

"According to tradition," I said, "it was at this identical spot that ROLLO, first Duke of Normandy, hung his golden chain on a sign-post for a whole year without having it stolen."

"Tha-at ud be afore we brought our Chinese Labour gang felling timber," he said firmly; "I wudden give it five minutes now."

"I understand, too, that there is a historic ruin hereabouts."

"Theer was," he said; "but he's in hospital."

"What do you mean?"

"Ratty Beslow; my owd colleague an' sparring pardner. It's 'im you weer talking of, ain't it?"

"It wasn't; but I'm interested in him," I said, sitting down on a pile of logs. "How did he get to hospital?"

"Through a mistake in Nacheral 'Istory. You see, me an' Ratty had been in th' War a goodish time an' ha-ad lost our o-riginal ferociousness. So they put us to this Chink Labour gang for a rest-cure. Likewise Ratty 'ad got too fa-amous as a timber-scrounger oop th' line, and it was thought that if 'e was left in th' middle of a forest, wheer it didn't matter a dang if he scrounged wood fra' revally to tattoo, it might reform him. But it was deadly dull. We tried a sweepstake f'r th' one as could recognise most Chinks at sight, and a raffle for who could guess how many trees in a circle; but there wasn't much spice in it. So at last Ratty suggested we should try a bit o' poaching.

"'Ah doan't know th' first thing about it,' I says; 'Ah'm town bred. Nobbut Ah could knock a few rabbits over if Ah'd got a Lewis gun handy.'

"'Rabbuts be danged!' says he; 'Ah've no use f'r such vermin. Theer's stags, so Ah've heerd tell, in this forest.'

"'Ah wudden say no to a haunch o' venison,' I answered; 'but stags is artillery work.'

"'They is not,' says Ratty. 'Nor yet rifles nor bombs.'

"'Ah s'pose you stops theer holes an' puts in a ferret,' says I, sarcastic; 'or else traps 'em wi' cheese.'

"'That's the only kind o' hunting you've bin used to,' replies Ratty. 'Stags is caught wi' tactics, a trip-wire an' a lasso.'

"'Well, la-ad,' I says, 'you'd best do th' lassoing. I doan't know the habits o' stags.'

"Ratty scrounges a prime rope fra' somewheers, an' we creeps out after nightfall. It was a dree night, the owd bracken underfoot damp an' sodden, an' th' tall firs looking grim an' gho-ostly in th' gloom. Soon theer was a crackling o' twigs, like a tank scouting on tiptoe.

"'Bosch patrol half-left!' whispers I.

"'Stow it, you blighter,' says Ratty. 'This is serious. Can't you see th' stag?'

"I peeps round and, loomin' in the da-arkness, see th' hindquarters of a stag sticking out ayant a tree. It looked bigger 'n Ah 've seen 'em in pictures, but Ah 've noticed Fritzes look bigger in th' dark.

"'Now's your chance, la-ad,' I whispers. 'Trip round an' slip th' noose over 'is horns.'

"'Not me,' growls Batty. 'T'other end's safer.'

"He crawls up to it wi' th' rope all ready, but just as he was going to slip it over its leg it seemed to stand on its head, feint wi' its left an' get an upper-cut wi' its right under Ratty's chin. A shadow passed across th' fa-ace o' the moon, which I judged to be Ratty.

"'Ratty's after altitude records,' says I to meself, 'an' there'll be th' ellanall of a row if that rope's lost.'

"However, in a few minutes he started to descend an' made a good landing in some soft bracken. By th' time I'd felt him all over, an' found 'e'd be fit to go to hospital in th' morning, th' stag had disappeared."

"I never heard of stags kicking like that before," I interrupted.

"Nor hadn't Ratty," said the ancient warrior. "Ah towd you he made a mistake in Nacheral 'Istory.

"The next night, feeling mighty lonely, Ah walked five kilometres to th' nearest estaminet, the 'Rondyvoo de Chasers,' an' looked upon the _vang_ while it was _rouge_. When I'd done lookin' and started home th' forest looked more gho-ost-like than ever wi' th' young firs bowing an' swaying, and drifts o' cloud peeping through the branches. All at once I heerd a crackling o' twigs like th' night afore, an' then someone stole acrost th' road carrying a rope.

"Ah says to myself, 'It's one of th' Chinks poaching, an' it's 'evin 'elp 'im if 'e 's after what Ratty nearly caught last night!'

"Seemingly 'e was, for 'e follered th' noise, an' Ah follered 'im--at a safe distance. Then, dimlike an' looming big, Ah saw th' stag, an' the Chink stealing up behind it.

"'Tother end, you fool!' I whispered; an' he jumps round to its head, slips th' noose round its neck an' leads if off as quiet as a lamb."

"You don't expect me to believe," I broke in indignantly, "that a stag can be led like a poodle on a lead?"

"P'r'aps not stags," said the veteran, relighting his pipe. "That's weer Ratty made the mistake that sent 'im to hospital. But you can do it now and then with a transport mule what's broke away, and the Chink done it."

* * * * *

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.

"In reply to your letter to hand, we are very sorry for the delay in
sending the Jumper, but the tremendous demand for these has denuded
our stock. We are, however, expecting a further delay now in a day
or so.

Yours obediently,

BROTHERS, LTD."

* * * * *

"The spell of hot weather is causing large numbers of the public
to migrate to the Kent coast. Thanet, owing to greatly improved
travelling facilities, is being specially flavoured. The public well
know the magical properties of Thanet air."--_Evening Paper_.

Then why bother about flavouring it?

* * * * *

"The Food Controller announced that canned salmon is now free of
control, and that chocolates and other sweetmeats will be freed on
July 1.

He also intimates that canned salmon is now free of control,
and that chocolates and other sweetmeats will be freed on July
1."--_Daily Paper_.

We hope he will say it once more, on the Bellman's principle that "what I tell you three times is true."

* * * * *

* * * * *

HINTS ON SELECTING AN AEROPLANE.

As all the world will soon be in the air a few words of advice on choosing an aerial steed may be of assistance to intending fliers who have so far had no experience as owners of winged craft.

The first thing is to locate the whereabouts of the best park, for one speaks of a park of aeroplanes just as one speaks of a school of whales, a grove of wombats or a suite of leeches. Having arrived (wearing, if you are wise, a full-grown check cap, with the back to the front and the peak protecting the nape of the neck from the bites of savage vendors), take a deep breath and look round you knowingly.

By the way, what are you--peer, profiteer, or plain _pater-familias_ looking for a family air-bus? It is impossible to advise you how to select a plane without knowing whether you want one for long-distance journeys (with non-starting attachment), for stunting, or merely for gadding about and dropping in on your friends. There is a sad story afloat of a man who bought an air-bus the other day for world-touring and only discovered the insufficiency of cupboards and the want of a bathroom after starting on his maiden trip to Patagonia (where the nuts drop off).

Let us suppose that you are one of the majority of heavier-than-air persons who will shortly be wanting a good steady machine to rise to any ordinary occasion.

Well, then, look round you carefully. Observe the demeanour of the machines that are trotted out (if such a term may be used) for your inspection. The flick of a tail, the purr of an engine or the slope of a wing may give the observant a clue as to the disposition of an aerial Pegasus.

But however reassuring a preliminary canter may be (to borrow another horsey simile) insist on a thorough personal inspection of all parts of the machine. Test the musical capacity of the wire entanglement, screw and unscrew the turnbuckles till the seller cries for mercy, and run your hands well over the body (the aeroplane's, of course) to make quite sure that it will support the weight of yourself, of your family and of your parasites--remembering in this connection that Aunt Louisa kicks the beam at 15.7. Make sure also that the body will not part company with the rest of the box of tricks at one of those awkward corners in the sky. Also, if you have time, it might be well to glance at the engine, the petrol tank and the feed-pipe, as experts consider these of importance.

Having satisfied yourself that all these things are as they should be in the best of all possible aeroplanes, that the joy-stick works as smoothly as a beer-pull, and that the under-carriage has the necessary wheels, axles and other things that under-carriages are licensed to carry, little remains but to pay for the machine and make a nosedive for home.

A longer and more detailed article on "How to Choose a Stunter," by the Bishop of Solder and Man, with which is incorporated "A Few Hints on Banking for Beginners," by Sir JOHN BRADBURY, will appear in next week's issue.

[This is the first I have heard of it.--ED.]

* * * * *

From a Menu:--

"Special this day: Boiled Rabbi and Pork."

A clear case of adding insult to injury.

* * * * *

_Nurse_. "PLEASE IS THIS THE WAY TO THE GRAND PARADE?"

_Soured Spinster_. "DON'T MENTION THE HORRID THING, YOUNG WOMAN, AND ME WITH HALF-A-MONTH'S PENSION ON THE PANTHER."]

* * * * *

BALLADE OF APPROACHING BALDNESS.

I'm back in civil life, all brawn and chest,
Lungs made of leather, heart as right as rain;
I still could dine off bully-beef with zest;
I've never had a scratch or stitch or sprain;
Life seems to throb in every single vein.
Yet I'm a whited sepulchre, in brief;
I've one foot in the grave, I'm on the wane,
I'm heading for the sere and yellow leaf.

From Mons to Jericho I've borne my crest
And back from Jericho to Mons again;
I've sampled smells in Araby the Blest
Would burst a boiler or corrode a drain;
The Blankshires have a port that raises Cain--
I've messed with them and never come to grief;
And yet I'm dashing like a non-stop train
Full steam into the sere and yellow leaf.

It caught me hard this morning when I dressed
And read the mirror's verdict. Ah, the pain
Is gnawing like a canker at my breast,
Is beating like a hammer in my brain;
I must speak out or break beneath the strain.
_I'm going bald on top_. O cruel reef
Where youthful hopes lie wrecked! O dismal lane
Whose end is but the sere and yellow leaf!

ENVOI.

Prince (Mr. Punch)! on Armageddon's plain
My love-locks fell a prey to Time, the thief.
Regrets are useless, unguents are in vain;
Only remains the sere and yellow leaf.

* * * * *

THE COMMERCIAL TOUCH.

"Presiding at the concert given in connection with the ---- Art
Club's annual exhibition of oil and water-colours, Mr. ----
congratulated the club on the quality of its paintings, which, he
thought, were remarkably cheap when cognisance was taken of the
present high prices of materials."--_Provincial Paper_.

This critic has, as the Art jargon puts it, "a nice feeling for values."

* * * * *

"HOW I DIFFER FROM MY MOTHER."

By A Modern Woman.

'_Women differ by the width of Heaven from what their mothers
were_.'--MR. JUSTICE DARLING.

"I do not smoke and I do not wear bare-back dresses, but I agree with
Mr. Justice Darling--there is the width of Heaven between my mother
and I."--_Evening News_.

Let's hope so, in the matter of grammar.

* * * * *

HUMOUR'S LABOUR LOST.

_Lochtermachty, N.B. May 29th, 1919._

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--My father and I have fallen out over the question
of your literary judgment and sense of humour. If I weren't a filial
daughter I'd say that he's a ----; but I am, so I won't call him
names.

The fact is that, before he became a professional Padre, he didn't
know that such things as senses of humour existed. All that mattered
in his life were Latin and Greek and Hebrew and the other pursuits
of the classical scholar. However, during his wanderings with
the Army he has somehow managed to acquire what he calls "an
appreciation of the laughable." And that is the cause of our divided
house.

This morning at breakfast, while he was reading out the account
of the proceedings of the General Assemblies, he came upon the
interesting statement--volunteered by an eminent Edinburgh
divine--that all the ministers of the Kirk have lost a stone in
weight during the War, and that this works out at a loss of five
tons of ministerial flesh to the United Free Church of Scotland.
Then, after he had tested the accuracy of the statistics, which he
found quite incorrect, and I had meditated upon the bulk of matter
encircled by the parental Sam Browne, we were both seized with an
idea, and said "_Punch!_" at the same instant.

It took us some time to get rid of the accumulation of marmalade,
margarine and bacon fat which we amassed in our attempts to link
fingers across the table; but about 10.30 or so we got settled down
to work on your behalf.

Until lunch-time we were fully occupied in giving each other ideas
and then explaining why they wouldn't work. After lunch the
Padre retired to his study to work out, he said, a satire--after
ARISTOPHANES--which would afford him an opportunity of introducing
the Archbishop of CANTERBURY'S speech, and making some whimsical
allusions to the legend of the strayed lamb come back to tell his
lean Scotch brethren of the green meadows and luscious feeding to be
had across the Borders.

My own ambitions were slighter. I would do a conversation perhaps
between the shades of JOHNSON and his BOZZY, or a Limerick, or even
just an original witty remark, or, failing all of these, I would
select an "apt quotation." About tea-time I retired to the garden
with a notebook, a pencil and a book of quotations. By 6.30 I had a
list of one hundred and two, and was wavering over the final choice
of a parody on "Some hae meat wha canna eat," and an adaptation of
"Be sooople, Davie, in things immaterial," when my parent came
out to the lawn, flushed and excited, with his last three hairs
triumphantly erect, and brandished a document in my face.

It was an ode, Mr. Punch--an ode five (foolscap) pages long, written
in Greek!

I gave him best at once, and then very gently suggested that his
composition might not in its present unmitigated form be _quite_
suited to your tastes and requirements.

I shall spare you the details of the ensuing controversy, but I want
you to know that I have spared you much else, and in so doing have
forfeited not only my father's affection but a projected advance on
my next quarter-but-three's dress allowance.

I hope you need no further proof of my devotion.

Yours, etc.,

A DAUGHTER OF THE MANSE.

P.S.--I was forgetting to say that you will find the bit about the
ministers near the bottom of the third column of the tenth page of
Thursday's _Scotsman_. Perhaps you can think of a funny treatment
yourself.

* * * * *

SONGS OF SIMLA.

III.--THE FURRIER.

Akbar the furrier squats on the floor
Sucking an Eastern pipe,
Thumbing the lakhs that he's made of yore,
Lakhs which creep to the long-dreamed crore
In a ledger of Western type.

And all around him the wild beasts sway,
Cured of their mortal ills--
Flying squirrels from Sikkim way,
Silver foxes that used to play
Up on the Kashmir hills.

On the shelf of a cupboard a polecat lies
Laughing between his paws,
And there's more than a hint of amused surprise
In the gape of the lynx, in the marten's eyes,
In the poise of the grey wolf's claws.

And, should you enter old Akbar's lair
And hear what he wants for his skins,
You will know why the little red squirrels stare,
Why the Bengal tiger gasps for air
And the gaunt snow-leopard grins.

J.M.S.

* * * * *

The Telephone Girl's motto: _Nulla linea sine die_--"Number engaged; ring again and again, please."

* * * * *

ALAS! POOR PANTHER.

I went to the Derby fully intending to back the favourite--The Panther.

But the cross-currents immediately set in--as they always do.

I began by making the mistake of reading the forecasts of all the experts--the gallant Captains and Majors, the Men on the Course, the Men on the Heath, the Men on the Spot--all of whom, although they mostly favoured The Panther, had serious views as to dangerous rivals, supported by what looked like uncontrovertible arguments.

I also had an early evening paper with a summary of forecasts, none of which (as it was to turn out) mentioned the winner at all.

I was even so foolish as to glance at some of the advertisements of the wizards who are so ready to put the benefit of their knowledge at the service of the public and make fortunes for others rather (apparently) than for themselves, all of whom hinted at some mysterious long-priced outsider whose miraculous qualities of speed were a secret. But of course I was too late to profit by these; they merely unsettled me.

Not content with this I was forced to overhear the conversation of others in our compartment, each of whom fancied a separate animal, arguing with reasons that could not be gainsaid.

In this way I learned that The Panther would win in a canter and would be badly beaten; that he was a stranger to the Epsom course; that he was ready for anything; that he liked soft going; that he was no good except when he could hear his hoofs rattle; that his jockey was not strong enough; that his jockey was ideal; that he was sounder than any horse had ever been, and that trouble was brewing.

All this naturally left me shaken as to my first decision. Was I wise, I asked myself, to trust all my eggs (forgive, Sir ALEC BLACK, the poorness of this metaphor) to one doubtful basket?

Having admitted an element of doubt I was the prey of every suspicion and began to consider the other candidates. All Alone headed the list. I liked the name, because it suggested the corollary: the rest nowhere. Also it belonged to a lady--to the only lady owner, in fact--and lady--owners were said (by a man with a red beard opposite me who smoked cigarettes so short that I was certain it was made of dyed asbestos) to be in luck this season. "Always follow the luck," he added. But then, on the other hand, what could be more lucky than Colonel BUCHAN, author of _Mr. Standfast_ and an excellent History of the War, into whose lap so many good things fall? Why not back a horse named after him? Besides, was not Buchan third favourite?

I was making a note of Buchan's claims, when a man with a Thermos flask lashed to his side began to praise Dominion. Dominion, it seems, was third in the Two Thousand Guineas--only just behind Buchan, who was just behind The Panther. Many people thought The Panther unduly lucky that day. A very different course, too, at Newmarket from that at Epsom. Obviously Dominion must be remembered. Moreover he was being greatly fancied and some of the best judges looked to him to win the Blue Riband for Lord GLANELY. The fact that Lord GLANELY drew his own horse in the Baltic Sweep was not to be sneezed at either, said some one. That's an omen if there ever was one! And it knocked out Lord GLANELY'S other horse, Grand Parade.

"Well, here's a tip," cried a man with a frock-coat and a straw hat. "Blest if I've got a single coin left--nothing but paper money. That's good enough for me. I shall back Paper Money."

The carriage agreed that that was his duty. "Of course you must," they said. "When everyone disagrees in the way that the experts do, you might as well take a tip like that as anything."

Paper Money had therefore to be added also to my list of possibles.

"Besides," said another man, "DONOGHUE rides him; our leading jockey, you know." I had forgotten to look at the jockeys' names. How absurd! Of course one must back DONOGHUE.

But just then, "Give me WHALLEY," said the man with the asbestos beard, and, as WHALLEY was riding Bay of Naples, I had to consider him too. Naples was a jolly place and I had had a lot of fun there. Hadn't I better make that my tip?

But, on the other hand, what about Tangiers? I had had fun there too, and more than one fellow-passenger had darkly hinted that this was a much better animal than public form proclaimed. Looking for particulars, I found that he once "ran Galloper Light to a head;" which had a promising sound. He was trained at Lambourne too, and I like Lambourne. There is a good inn there and it is a fine walk to White Horse Hill.

"Well," said another man, who had been borrowing matches from his neighbour ever since Victoria, "I always had a feeling for a Marcovil colt. Marcovil is a good sire. I 've had some very special information about Milton, the Marcovil colt, to-day."

MILTON!--one of my favourite poets, and also one of Mr. ASQUITH'S, as he said in that lecture last week. Yes, but is Mr. ASQUITH exactly lucky just now? Perhaps not. And did not MILTON write _Paradise Lost_? True. But, on the other hand, he wrote _Paradise Regained_. You see how difficult tip-hunting can be!

And so it went on and I emerged from the Epsom Downs station in a maze of indecision, in which one fact and one only shone with crystal clearness, and that was that whatever won the race The Panther had no better chance, even though it had been made favourite, than any other.

"Besides," as one of the two men who sat on my knees had said, "What's a favourite anyway? Very often a horse is made a favourite by the bookies, in conjunction with the Press, just so as everyone will back it. No, no favourites for me. Give me a likely outsider at good odds. Look what you have to put on The Panther to win anything."

In the result I backed--well, I am not going to tell you; but they "also ran."

The moral of this story--if it has one--is either don't bet at all, or, if you do bet, draw the horse from a hat at random, and, having drawn it, stick to it. No one, as the failure of The Panther proves, can possibly _know_ more than you.

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Profiteer_. "NOT OUR CLASS, MY DEAR. TOO QUIET--SORT O' PLACE THE _NOUVEAUX PAUVRES_ GO TO."]

* * * * *

TECHNICAL TERMS.

When Ernest asked me to take a run in his car I took advantage of the invitation because there are times when I think that life is less joyful without a car and that one day I shall slip out and buy one. I should love to grip the wheel and sweep the countryside and listen to the soft purr of the engine. So we started sweeping the countryside, Ernest and I; but we had not swept very much of it before the soft purr developed a kind of cough and the car stopped.

Ernest coaxed and petted her. He tried kindness, while I helped him with sarcasm. He tried hauteur and then a little bad temper.

Eventually he decided to send for the local motor engineer, and it was when this gentleman arrived with his mate that I decided that motoring was not for me and that I should have to fall back on fretwork or tame mice for my recreation.

"Here, Bill," said Overalls-in-Chief, "just hold up the Ding-dong."

His mate did as instructed and up went the Ding-dong.

"Now hand me the Doo-dal," he went on; "and while I tune up the old Jig-jig you get the Pipety-pip and clean it out.

"Now get the Tick-tick and just give me a tap here with the Ooh-jah, while I give the Thing-a-me-tight a couple for his nob.

"See that?" he shouted at me. "Would you believe it? Easy as winking. See, it was like this. The What's-a-name here, as kept the Tiddley-um-tum in place, was sort of riding on the Squeak-box, so as the Tiddley-om-pom and the other Jigger sort of gave the half-seas-over to the Thing-a-me-bob and missed the Rum-ti-tum. Simple, ain't it, Guv'nor?"

"Yes," I answered, "quite simple."

But I have decided to give up all idea of buying a car. I should never learn the language.

* * * * *

LITTLE GREY WATER.

Little Grey Water, my heart is with you
In the loop of the hills where the lone heron feeds,
Where your cloak is a cloud with a lining of blue,
And your lover a wind riding over the reeds.

Little Grey Water, I know that you know
What the teal and the black duck are dreaming at noon,
And the way of the wistful wild geese as they go
Through the haze of the hills to keep tryst with the moon.

Little Grey Water, folk say and they say
That the homing hill-shepherd, benighted, has heard
A song in the reeds, 'twixt the dawn and the day,
That was never the song of a breeze or a bird.

But I know you so silent, so silent and still,
And so proud of your trust that you'll never betray
What the fairies that gather from Grundiston Hill
Tell the stars before morning to witch them away.

W.H.O.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH. "STANDS ROBERT WHERE HE DID? GOOD! I WAS AFRAID FOR A MOMENT THAT MY IDOL HAD FEET OF CLAY."]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, June 2nd_.--The Lords seldom sit _die Lunae_, and were perhaps feeling what humbler folk call "rather Mondayish" at being summoned from their week-end pleasaunces to put the Local Government (Ireland) Bill through its final stages. Anyhow they developed some eleventh-hour criticisms. The sad case of the Belfast Water Commissioners attracted Lord STUART OF WORTLEY. There are fifteen of them--one each for the existing wards. But under the Bill Belfast is to be divided into ten wards; and fifteen into ten won't go, even in Ireland. Lord PEEL considered that while Lord STUART'S arithmetic was impeccable his fears were exaggerated. If Belfast drinks its whiskey neat it will not be for want of Water Commissioners.

In the Commons Members were disappointed to learn from Sir AUCKLAND GEDDES that he had no idea of the time when railway-fares would be reduced to the amount printed on the tickets. Nor were they much consoled by his promise to consider the suggestion that as the fare cannot be brought down to the ticket the ticket shall be brought up to the fare. We should not lightly part with our few reminders of the cheap dead days that are no more. In fact it would be a salutary thing if other tradesmen imitated the "commercial candour" of the railways and ticketed their goods with the pre-war value in addition to the present charge.

There is a juvenile impulsiveness about Sir HENRY CRAIK which reminds one of "the boy who wouldn't grow up," and may account for his keen interest in Kensington Gardens. Dissatisfied with an assurance of the FIRST COMMISSIONER OF WORKS that he was doing his best to get the War Office to clear away their hutments he burst out, "Could he not attempt to use some disciplinary action against the obstinacy, the stupidity, the slackness, the carelessness of those who are responsible?" Swept away by this spate of sibilants Sir ALFRED MOND essayed no further answer.

After less than an hour's debate the House gave the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER power to borrow a trifle of two hundred and fifty millions, to square this year's account, _plus_ an undefined sum to enable him to fund the floating debt, now amounting to close on two thousand millions. Even Sir FREDERICK BANBURY had no serious objection to raise, his chief anxiety being that everyone, and not merely the plutocratic holders of Treasury Bills, should be permitted to subscribe to the new loan. Mr. CHAMBERLAIN assured him that it was a case of "Let 'em all come."

MR. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN.]

"AM I REALLY SUFFERING FROM SENILE DECAY?"]

_Tuesday, June 3rd_.--According to the view of Major WOOD and his friends the Mother of Parliaments is played out. The Grand Committees which were to have restored her vigour have left her more enfeebled than ever, and unless she devolves a large part of her duties upon subordinate assemblies her end is near. But I noticed that, although Ireland was expressly excepted from their resolution, most of them talked of little else, and I fancy that but for Dublin we should not have heard much of devolution.

As a statesman His Grace of CANTERBURY has hitherto enjoyed the reputation of being "safe" rather than dashing. But that is evidently a mistake, for in introducing the Bill which is to enable the Church to free itself from some of the trammels imposed upon it by the State he begged his hearers not to be afraid of "brave adventurous legislation." His appeal was quite lost upon Lord HALDANE, who was shocked by the terrible possibilities of the measure, and warned the PRIMATE that if the Bill became law he would have signed the death-warrant of the Establishment. Coming from a Presbyterian who helped to disestablish the Church in Wales, this showed the heights of altruism to which a real philosopher may rise.

Colonel WEDGWOOD was shocked to learn that in the occupied territories Germans had to take off their hats when addressing British officers. But it would be a mistake to assume that his concern was due to any tenderness for our foes. On the contrary, it was exhibited out of regard for the feelings of British officers. Mr. CHURCHILL regretted the inconvenience, but pointed out that it had always been the practice--even in Belgium--for an Army of Occupation to exact certain acts of respect from the inhabitants.

Mr. KELLAWAY, who announced last week with such pride that "the Government have struck oil," was now able to state that the oil had reached a height of 2,400 feet and was still rising steadily. There is some talk of inviting the successful engineers to put down bores at Westminster.

_Wednesday, June 4th_.--Complaint was made recently that under the new Rules of Procedure Members were expected to be in three places at once. I fancy that a good many of them settled their difficulty to-day by betaking themselves to a fourth place, not in the precincts of the Palace of Westminster.

There was anything but a Grand Parade on the green benches, and the faithful few who were present put a good many questions "on behalf of my honourable friend." The Front Benches were well manned, however, and Mr. LONG had quite a busy time explaining to Commander BELLAIRS why the Admiralty thought it inadvisable at this date to hold courts-martial in regard to the Naval losses of 1914. The House was more interested to hear that the Peace celebrations will include a Naval procession through London, and that there will be a display in the Thames of war-ships of various classes, including, possibly, some of those captured from the enemy.

A feature of the afternoon was Mr. MACQUISTEN'S brief comments upon Ministerial replies. Divorced from their setting, such remarks as "Fish is very dear!" (_à propos_ of Admiralty parsimony in compensating the owners of drifters) or "By thought-reading?" (when the best method of ascertaining native opinion on the future of Rhodesia was in question), may not sound particularly funny, but, when delivered in a voice of peculiar penetration and "Scotchiness," at precisely the right moments, they were sufficient to convulse the Benches. Mr. MACQUISTEN must be careful or he will soon be a spoiled DARLING.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"Cigar smokers will be interested very much in the likelihood of
that luxury being soon dearer than ever.... It will most likely
develop into a habit of getting the very last whiffff ffffout of
every cigar."--_Provincial Paper_.

The printer would seem to be practising already.

* * * * *

"HOW TO HEAR MUSIC."

_(With humble acknowledgments to the critic of "The Times.")_

We were grateful to Mlle. Snouck Hugronje for giving us an opportunity of hearing the Violin Concertos of Prenk Bib Doda in C sharp minor, and of Basil Tulkinghorn in the composite key of F.E. The latter work, we may explain, is dedicated to Lord BIRKENHEAD. Doda's work is so rarely played that Mr. ERNEST NEWMAN has wittily suggested that he ought to be renamed Dodo. But let that pass. Here he is abundantly like himself, rich in self-determining phrases which emerge from a Hinterland of wild surmise, and tower aloft in peaks of Himalayan majesty like Haramokh or Siniolchum ---- Mr. CANDLER must finish this sentence.

Tulkinghorn is also a master of transcendental effects, and as relentless in pushing home his points as Mr. SMILLIE when examining a duke before the Coal Commission. But he is not always to be trusted. He lacks the architectonic faculty. In between the clusters of clear-cut phrases there are too many nebulae of gaseous formation and spiral type, which deflect the orbital movement of his essentially electronic melody and impair its impact on the naked ear.

But when Mlle. Snouck Hugronje plays you forget all about self-determination, syndicalism, guild-control, proletariats, sunspots and even Mr. SMILLIE. If you are a poet, and we are all poets nowadays, you dream yourself into a punt on the Sonning backwater, wondering if the summer was ever so amazing before, nearly being shipwrecked on a sandy spit, startling moorfowl or it may be dabchicks, sending a _frisson_ into the fritillaries, losing and regaining your punt-pole, always believing that the next bend ---- Mr. FILSON YOUNG must really finish the sentence.

If you are a musician and an occultist you will, by due concentration of your pineal gland and pituitary body, rise with the rapidity of a HAWKER to astral altitudes immune from all mundane disquiet. You will notice ---- However, this is best, left to Mr. CYRIL SCOTT or Sir RABINDRANATH TAGORE or Sir OLIVER LODGE. But if you are a mere listener you will listen and be thankful. But if you never go to concerts you will still be able, by the aid of the New Criticism, to attain to an ecstasy of appreciation far greater than if you had relied on the crude medium of your senses.

* * * * *

_Aunt_. "_EXACTLY_, MY DEAR. MUCH TOO POLITE TO BE UNPLEASANT TO ONE."]

* * * * *

THE CONSCRIPTION OF BRAINS.

PROGRESS OF THE COMMISSION.

The Literary section of the Nationalisation Commission met last Friday. Before evidence was taken the Chairman, Mr. ROBERT WILLIAMS, said that as their Report must be delivered in less than a week the Commission had decided not to summon Lord MORLEY, Lord ROSEBERY or Mr. THOMAS HARDY, but hoped in the few days still available, to hear the evidence of Sir THOMAS HALL CAINE, Lady WARWICK, Mrs. BARCLAY, Mr. SPACKMAN and Mr. SMILLIE.

Mr. EDWARD MARSH read an interesting Report on the State Remuneration of Poets. He was of opinion that poets, if they could be shown to be of the authentic Georgian brand, ought to be secured a reasonable salary quite irrespective of the views which they expressed. They must never be expected to glorify or approve of the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, but should be perfectly free to criticise or attack him. No attempt should be made to impose any metrical constraint on their verse. But he thought it desirable that for the purpose of bringing them to the notice of the public a State chaperon should be appointed to provide suitable introductions and biographical details. He also advocated the multiplication of poetry tea-shops, where pure China tea and wholesome confectionery should be supplied gratis to all poets whose works had been favourably noticed in _The Times Literary Supplement_.

The CHAIRMAN. What is your idea of the minimum wage for poets?--In view of the present purchasing power of the sovereign I should put it at eight hundred pounds a year. Modern poets require an extra amount of nourishment, owing to the nervous strain involved in production, and their requirements in the matter of dress are often difficult to satisfy. I understand that the price of sandals has gone up two hundred per cent.

Mr. CHARLES GARVICE, the next witness, stated that he did not think the literary quality of novels would be necessarily improved by nationalisation. Speaking for himself he did not think it would affect his output. But if the State took over this industry it should be liberal in affording novel-producers facilities for obtaining fresh material, local colour, etc. At all costs the output of salubrious and sedative fiction must be maintained if only as an antidote to the subversive and revolutionary literature now freely disseminated among the proletariat.

COLONEL WEDGWOOD. HOW do you expect a workman earning only three pounds a week to afford seven shillings for every novel that he buys?--Personally I should like to see the cost reduced, but I understand that if the price of novels were fixed at one shilling it would involve the State in an expenditure of ten million pounds annually, even with the present reduced output of novels, which has fallen during the War to little over twenty million tons.

Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE declared himself a whole-hearted supporter of nationalisation. There was something extraordinarily uplifting in the notion of consecrating one's talents to the State. Publishers were too often callous individualists. Here one would be working for humanity. If his interview with the KAISER had been issued under State sanction he believed that the Peace would have been signed months sooner.

* * * * *

OFFICIAL CANDOUR.

"TELEGRAPHIC NOTICE.

Public is hereby informed that delays to and from offices in Punjab
are normal."--_Indian Paper_.

Same here.

* * * * *

OUR VETERANS.

"London Rifle Brigade, 40 strong, of the 1st Battalion, which
went out in 1814, arrived in London from France at mid-day
yesterday."--_Daily Paper_.

* * * * *

A ROYAL INTERVIEW.

"Someone to see you, Miss."

Thus Mary at about nine o'clock on an April evening at the door of my tiny sitting-room.

There was a strange little quiver in her voice.

Mary is so extremely well trained, and so accustomed, moreover, to queer visitors at the flat, that I looked up in surprise.

"Yes?" I said. "Is it a lady?"

Mary did not reply immediately; she seemed half-dazed.

"Is it a lady?" I repeated a little sharply. My usually imperturbable parlourmaid appeared to have taken leave of her senses.

"She said she was a queen, Miss," she gasped.

At that moment the visitor, evidently grown tired of waiting, calmly floated in through the half-open door and settled down gracefully in the centre of a large gold cushion lying on the end of the Chesterfield.