Punch, 1917.07.04, Vol. 153, Issue No. 1 by Various
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Various >> Punch, 1917.07.04, Vol. 153, Issue No. 1
Fain would I spend my summers high in air;
At least there are no privet-hedges there.
But even then I have no doubt the smell
From slopes celestial of asphodel
Would fill the firmament and give me hell--
A-tish-oo!
They tell me 'tis the man of intellect
The baneful seeds especially affect;
And I that sneeze one million times a year--
I ought to have a notable career,
Though, at the price, an earldom would be dear--
A-tish-oo!
Gladly, indeed, to some less gifted swain
Would I concede my fine but fatal brain,
Could I like him but sniff the jasmine spray
Or couch unmoved within a mile of hay,
And not explode in this exhausting way--
A-tish-oo!
* * * * *
Wanted, a Faith-healer.
Dear Madam,--We have received your enquiry for Sergeant ----, and
wish to inform you that he was transferred to ---- Hospital,
suffering from a slightly sceptic toe. Trusting this information
may be of some value,
Yours faithfully, ----
* * * * *
"It scarcely seems as if the Premiership of Graf Moritz Esterhazy,
with all his Oxford education and the vigour of his thirty-six
years, will be able to bruise the serpent's heel."--_Observer_.
The serpent is so beastly cunning; he always sits on it.
* * * * *
"MARRIAGES.--All contemplating Marriage consult Proprietors ----
Matrimonial Bureau, Melbourne, opposite Old Cemetery. Specially
erected for the purpose."--_The Age_ (_Melbourne_).
This recalls the description of a famous football-ground in Dublin,
"conveniently situated between the Mater Misericordiae Hospital and
Glasnevin Cemetery."
* * * * *
"Margaret was clinging to Dick's arm as she walked, looking up
adoringly into his handsome, tanned face, with her blue eyes.
A week later Dick led Margaret into Suburban Garden, where he had
wooed and won her so long ago.
Dick's voice was very tender as he looked down into two grey
eyes."--_Manchester Evening Chronicle_.
If Margaret is not careful to be a little more consistent she will
finish with two black eyes.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SAVING OF THE RACE.]
["National Baby Week" is being celebrated during the current week. The
object of the movement is to educate the Mothers of the Nation in the
care of their children's health and their own. Universal sympathy will
be felt for a cause to which our heavy losses in the War have given an
added urgency. Those who desire to give practical help towards the cost
of the scheme will kindly address their gifts to the Hon. Treasurer,
National Baby Week Council, 6, Holles Street, Oxford Street, W.I.]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, June 25th_.--Mr. LYNCH is beginning to pine for the return of
Lord ROBERT CECIL. He does not quite know what to make of Mr. BALFOUR,
who politely represses his honest endeavours to elucidate the situation
in Greece, and actually declared to-day that the difficulties of the
Allies would only be increased by the hon. Member's attempts to deal
with them piecemeal. Mr. LYNCH was not entirely done with, however. "Is
that reply," he asked in a "got-him-this-time" manner, "given by reason
of freedom of choice or ineludible necessity?" "Sir," replied the
apologist of philosophic doubt with Johnsonian authority, "questions of
freewill and necessity have perplexed mankind for ages."
The House will be delighted to welcome back to its fold Sir ROBERT
HERMAN-HODGE, whose flowing moustaches, once described as "the best
definition of infinity," have been, at intervals, its pride and joy for
over thirty years. But it will have to wait a while, for--strange lapse
on the part of a hero of half-a-dozen contests!--Sir ROBERT had omitted
to bring with him the returning-officer's certificate. Lord HALSBURY,
delayed by a similar accident on his first appearance in the House forty
years ago, systematically turned out the contents of seemingly endless
pockets and eventually discovered the missing document in his hat.
At this crisis in Ireland's affairs you might suppose that all good
Nationalists would remain in their country, doing their best to make the
Convention a success. Mr. DILLON prefers to attack the Government at
Westminster, because it proposes to set up a Conference to consider the
future composition and powers of the Second Chamber. Was it not, he
asked, a breach of privilege to do this without the express consent of
the House of Commons? The SPEAKER thought not, and referred his
questioner to the preamble of the Parliament Act of 1911, in which such
action was distinctly contemplated. Mr. DILLON, thus suddenly
transported to the dear dead days before the War, when he was
hand-in-glove with the present PRIME MINISTER, considers that Mr.
LOWTHER is open to censure for possessing a memory of such indecent
length and accuracy.
_Tuesday, June 26th_.--A gentle creature at ordinary times, Lord
STRACHIE has been roused to unexpected ferocity by the German air-raids,
and advocates a policy of unmitigated reprisals upon the enemy's cities.
Had his appeal been successful he would have been recorded in history as
the mildest-mannered man that ever bombed a German baby. But Lord DERBY
would have none of it. British aeroplanes--of which, like every nation
engaged in the War, we have none too many--shall only be employed in
bombing when some distinctly military object is to be achieved.
[Illustration: THE RIVALS. MR. BRACE. SIR ROBERT HERMAN-HODGE.]
After much consultation with the military authorities the Government has
decided that to issue general warnings on the occasion of an air-raid
would tend to do more harm than good; and the LORD MAYOR (_teste_ Mr.
CATHCART WASON) has announced that he will not ring the great bell of
St. Paul's. The DEAN and Chapter, while regretting that Sir WILLIAM DUNN
should be deprived of a health-giving exercise, had, as a point of fact,
declined to countenance his contemplated invasion of their belfry.
[Illustration: A FIRM CHIN IN ANNIE'S DEFENCE. COMMANDER WEDGWOOD.]
Commander WEDGWOOD, I am sorry to observe, has almost exhausted the
store of commonsense that he brought back with him from the trenches at
Gallipoli. Otherwise he would hardly have championed the cause of Mrs.
ANNIE BESANT, upon whose activities the Government of Madras have
imposed certain salutary restrictions. What India wants, I understand,
is less Besant and more Rice.
Now that young soldiers are to have votes as a reward for fighting there
is logically a strong argument for taking away the franchise from those
who have refused to fight. It was well expressed by Mr. RONALD MCNEILL
and others, but, apart from the objections urged on high religious
grounds by Lord HUGH CECIL, the Government was probably right in
resisting the proposal. Parliament made a mistake in ever giving a
statutory exemption to the conscientious objector. The most that person
could claim was that he should not be called upon to take other people's
lives; he had no right to be excused from risking his own. But having
deliberately provided a loophole it is hardly fair for Parliament to
inflict a penalty upon those who creep through it. And so the House
thought, for it rejected the proposal by a two-to-one majority.
_Wednesday, June 27th_.--There is a general impression that
membership of the House of Commons is in itself a sufficient excuse
for the avoidance of military service. This, it appears, is
erroneous. Only those are exempt whom a Medical Board has declared
unfit for general service; and even these, according to Mr. FORSTER,
may now be re-examined. This ought to prove a great comfort to
certain potential heroes.
_Thursday, June 28th_.--Mr. JOSEPH KING'S chief concern at the moment is
to get Lord HARDINGE removed from the Foreign Office, where he suspects
him of concocting the devastating answers with which Mr. BALFOUR
represses impertinent curiosity. Accordingly he raked up the old story
of Lord HARDINGE'S letter to Sir G. BUCHANAN, and inquired what action
the FOREIGN SECRETARY proposed to take. Mr. BALFOUR proposed to take no
action. The letter was a private communication, which would never have
been heard of but for its capture by a German submarine. Even Mr. KING'S
own correspondence, he suggested, could hardly be so dull that
everything in it would bear publication.
Mr. KING justly resented this imputation. Dull? Why, only this week his
letter-bag brought him news of the great reception accorded in Petrograd
to one TROTSKY, on his release from internment; and would the HOME
SECRETARY be more careful, please, about interning alien friends without
trial? Sir George Cave was sorry, but he had never heard of TROTSKY.
There was a certain KAUTSKY, who had been interned--by the Germans.
Perhaps Mr. King would address himself to them.
The MINISTER OF MUNITIONS had a good audience for his review of the
wonderful work of his department. Who could refuse the chance of
listening to ADDISON on Steel? I cannot honestly say that the result of
this combination was quite so sparkling as it should have been, for the
orator stuck closely to his manuscript and allowed himself few flights
of fancy. But the facts spoke for themselves, and the House readily
endorsed the verdict already given by Vimy Ridge and Messines.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
"DOES GOD MAKE LIONS, MOTHER?"
"YES, DEAR."
"BUT ISN'T HE FRIGHTENED TO?"
* * * * *
"You remember that lachrymose elegiac of Tom Moore, The
Exile's Lament,
'I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side.'"
--_Canadian Courier._
No, frankly, we don't. But we seem to have a dim recollection that Lady
DUFFERIN wrote something very like it.
* * * * *
A RESOLUTION.
I'll tell you what I mean to do
When these our wars shall cease to rage:
I'll go where Summer skies are blue
And Spring enjoys her heritage;
I shall not work for fame or wage,
But wear a large black silk cravat,
A velvet coat that's grey with age
Beneath a high-crowned broad-brimmed hat.
I'll journey to some Tuscan town
And rent a palace for a song,
And all the walls I'll whitewash down
Some day when I am feeling strong;
And there I'll pass my days among
My books, and, when my reading palls
And Summer days are overlong,
I'll daub up frescoes on the walls.
The world may go her divers ways
The while I draw or write or smoke,
Happy to live laborious days
There among simple painter folk;
To wed the olive and the oak,
Most patiently to woo the Muse,
And wear a great big Tuscan cloak
To guard against the heavy dews.
Between the olive and the vine
I'll make heroic mock of Mars,
And drink at even golden wine
Kept cool in terra-cotta jars;
And afterwards harangue the stars
In little gems of fervid speech,
And smoke impossible cigars
Which cost at least three _soldi_ each.
Let more ambitious spirits spin
The web of life for weal or woe,
Whilst I above my violin
Shall sit and watch the vale below
All crimson in the afterglow;
And when the patient stars grow bright
I'll draw across the strings my bow
Till Chopin ushers in the night.
Such things as these I mean to do
When Peace once more resumes her sway;
To walk barefooted through the dew
And while the sunlit hours away,
If haply I may find some gay
Conceit to light a sombre mind,
As gracious as a Summer day,
As wayward as an April wind.
* * * * *
A Legitimate Inference.
"FOUND, Brown Dog, very clever begging, great pet, believed property
clergyman."--_Belfast Evening Telegraph_.
* * * * *
"The Molahiz of the district ordered to arrest the criminals and
hand them to the Dilitary Authorities for trial has been able to
seize the materials stolen. Enquiry is still going
on."--_Egyptian Mail_.
The authorities seem to be living up to their title.
* * * * *
THE TWO MISSING NUMBERS.
A CONTRAST.
I.
My friend X. is normally the mildest of men. His temper is under perfect
control; and in his favourite part of the angels' advocate he finds
palliations and makes allowances for all those defections in the
servants of the public which goad men to fury and which, since the War
came in to supply incompetence with a cloak and a pretext, have been
exasperatingly on the increase. Thus, serene and considerate, has X.
gone his uncomplaining way for years.
But yesterday I found him on the kerb in the Strand inarticulate and
purple with rage. His face was hardly recognisable, so distorted
were those ordinarily placid features. His eyes were fixed on a
receding taxi.
Fearing that he might be ill I took his arm; but he flung himself free.
"Don't touch me," he said; "I can't bear it." Having reached a point in
life when tact is second nature, I waited silently near him until the
storm should have passed.
His eyes were still fixed.
After a short time he recovered sufficiently to turn to me and explain.
"I could have killed that fellow," he said.
"What fellow?"
"That taxi-driver. He went by slowly with his flag up and wouldn't look
at me. I hailed him, and I know he heard, but he wouldn't look at me.
Now I don't mind when they point, or make any kind of sign that they
don't want to be hired, or say that they have no petrol, even if I don't
believe it; but when they won't turn their heads or pay any attention
whatever I could kill them. And there's such a lot of them like that. I
swear," he went on, beginning to go purple again--"I swear that, if I
had had a revolver just now, I should have shot him. When one man hails
another, the man who is hailed must give some kind of an indication.
It's only human. Society would fall to pieces if we all behaved like
that chap. It's awful, awful! If I'd only thought of taking his number
I'd run him in, and I'd carry it to the House of Lords if necessary.
Such men--ugh!"
He broke down, smothered by righteous anger.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed as I was leaving, "if I'd only taken
his number!"
II.
The same night a miracle happened. It was very late, and the _debris_ of
a little charity performance at an assembly-room had to be cleared away.
The last guests had gone--in this or that conveyance, or on our best
friends in war-time, the feet--and that hunt for a taxi, which has now
taken the place of all other sport, was being prosecuted with more or
less energy by a policeman, a loafer and two or three amateurs, all of
whom returned at intervals while the packing-up was in progress, to say
how hopeless the case was and how independent the men had become.
One passing cab I hailed myself, but he did no more than laugh a loud
laugh of mere incivility and ironically remark, "Ter-morrer!"
signifying, as I understood it, that nothing on earth should interfere
with his homeward journey that night, since he had done enough and was
tired, but that on the succeeding day, if I still required his services,
he was at my disposal.
The various bags and parcels being now all ready, we waited patiently in
the hall, and from time to time received reports as to the progress of
the chase.
At last, when things seemed really hopeless, a taxi arrived, driven by a
young man in spectacles, which were, I am convinced, part of a disguise
covering one of the noblest personalities in the land--some Haroun al
Raschid, filled with pity for lost Londoners, who is devoting his life
to redressing the wrongs inflicted upon poor humanity by taxi
tyrants--for he said nothing about having no petrol, nothing about the
lateness of the hour, nothing about the direction in which we wished to
go, but quietly and efficiently helped to get the things in and on the
cab; and then drove swiftly away, and when we got to the other end
insisted on carrying some of the bundles up three flights of stairs, and
had no objection to make when asked to wait a little longer and go on
elsewhere.
All this time I was, I need hardly say, in a dream. Could it be
true? Could it?
And when he was at last paid off he said both "Good night" and "Thank
you," although it was I in whom gratitude should have thus vocally
burned. Perhaps it did; I was too dazed to remember.
How I wish I had taken his number, that all the world might know it and
look for it, assured of a gentleman on the box!
III.
So you see there are both kinds of taxi-drivers still--only the bad ones
are more difficult to get hold of.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
"SMART GIRL, THAT NEW GOVERNESS--GOT ME TO LOOK AT THE
TAPESTRY WHILE SHE PINCHED MY BREAD!"
* * * * *
Caveat Emptor.
"Leopard for Sale.--A full grown animal, about 6-1/2 feet.
Purchaser will have to make his own arrangements for
removal."--_The Statesman (India)._
This species of animal being notoriously unable of its own accord to
change its spot.
* * * * *
"There are ninety million tons of tea in bond in the United Kingdom.
This is sufficient to supply our needs for about fifteen
weeks."--_Greenock Telegraph._
May we suggest that our contemporary should spare a few tons for the
staffs of other journals?
* * * * *
"One Royal Family Member, who has rendered services to 4 big
states as also the Government (and yet in service) and obtained a
great deal of experience is entirely willing to accept a
respectable post either of a Companion or a Household Controller
or A.D.C."--_Indian Paper._
Can this be TINO?
* * * * *
"Mr. Herbert Samuel asked if the Government would give an
undertaking that nothing would be done to expend public money in
this connection before the House had had the opportunity of
discussing the question?"--_Provincial Paper._
Fie, fie, Mr. SAMUEL.
* * * * *
"It is the new magistrates who have broken the ice, and the
supporters of both camps are curiously watching to see if they will
now find themselves in hot water."--_Liverpool Echo._
We thought this sort of thing only happened in the geyser-region.
* * * * *
"Home offered delicate person on small farm; partner pig, poultry,
dairy."--_Observer._
This ought to cure any delicacy he might start with.
* * * * *
TO LORD RHONDDA.
DEAR LORD RHONDDA,--When you were an unassuming undergraduate at Caius
College, spending your leisure-time in an eight-or a pair-oar, and
stirring up the muddy shallows of the Cam, as you did to some purpose, I
cannot believe that any premonitions of the heights of celebrity to
which you would some day attain disturbed your mind. And yet here you
are, a survivor from the foul and murderous shattering of the
_Lusitania_, a coal-owner, a member of the Government, a peer, and the
Food-Controller of a whole nation at war.
Your predecessor, Lord DEVONPORT, had no very happy experience of the
post you now hold, and I can well understand that his life during his
tenure of it cannot have been a pleasant one. Every crank with an
infallible recipe for catching sunbeams in cucumber-frames and turning
them into potatoes, or whatever might be the fashionable food at the
moment; every grumbler who imagined that every rise in prices must be
entirely due to the malignity of men and not to the scarcity of the
article; every politician with a grudge to satisfy or an axe to
grind--all these pounced upon Lord DEVONPORT as a victim made ready to
their hands, and gave him a time which can only be described as a very
bad one. Add to this the mistakes almost necessarily made by an office
which was entirely new and dealt with unexampled conditions, and it is
not on the whole surprising that difficulties were encountered and that
the right way for overcoming them was not always taken. Indeed there was
or there seemed to be at one time a lively controversy between Lord
DEVONPORT and Mr. PROTHERO about the true meaning of the words _maximum_
and _minimum_ as applied to prices, and we were left to infer that these
Latin monsters are virtually indistinguishable from one another.
However, all that is now over; Lord RHONDDA reigns in Lord DEVONPORT'S
place and can profit by his experience. I don't want to delude you into
the belief that all is plain sailing for you. You couldn't be made to
believe that if I tried for a month of Sundays, and I don't mean to
spend my time to no purpose. But I think the great body of the nation is
determined that you shall have fair play and will support you through
thick and thin in any policy, no matter how drastic, that you may
recommend to their reason and their patriotism. This business of
food-controlling is new to us as well as to you, but we are willing to
be led, we are even willing to be driven, and we are grateful to you for
having engaged your reputation and your skill and your firmness in the
task of leading or driving us. And if in the course of your duty you
encounter any genuine rascal endeavouring to grind the faces of the poor
or to find his own profit in the misery of his fellow-men we look to you
to give him short shrift.
I am, my Lord, with all goodwill, your Lordship's obliged and
faithful Servant,
THE GATE OF HUMILITY.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
_Officer (having pulled up recruit for not saluting)._ "NOW THEN, MY
MAN, DON'T THEY TAKE ANY NOTICE OF OFFICERS IN YOUR BATTALION?"
_Recruit_. "WELL, SIR, IT AIN'T THAT EXACTLY; BUT I'VE ALWAYS BEEN ONE,
AS YOU MIGHT SAY, TO KEEP MESELF TO MESELF."
* * * * *
"WANTED, Second-hand Invalid's Chair (tired
wheels)."--_Kentish Mercury_.
Just the thing for a second-hand invalid; even the wheels show a
sympathetic fatigue.
* * * * *
"Delirant Reges."
The Kaiser, prodigal of verbal boons,
Congratulates his brave Bayreuth Dragoons
Upon their prowess, which, he tells them, yields
Joy "to old Fritz up in Elysian fields."
Perhaps; but what if he is down below?
In any case what we should like to know
Is how his modern namesake, Private Fritz,
Enjoys the fun of being blown to bits
Because his Emperor has lost his wits.
* * * * *
One of the "Illuminate."
"Unfurnished room wanted by elderly lady with gas
connections."--_Montreal Daily Star_.
* * * * *
AT THE PLAY.
THE ROYALTY TRIPLE BILL.
First a quite charming and, what is not so usual, a quite intelligible
fantasy in mime--_The Magic Pipe_: Pierrot, faithless mistress, despair,
sympathetic friend, adoring midinette, and so on. But Mr. JULES DELACRE,
who played his own part, _Pierrot_, with a fine sincerity and a sense of
the great tradition in this _genre_, got his effect across to us with an
admirable directness. Miss PHYLLIS PINSON looking charming in a
mid-Victorian Latin-Quarterly sort of way (which is a very nice way),
danced seriously, fantastically, delightfully, and with quite
astonishing command of her technique--the sort of thing that nine
infallible managers out of ten who know what the public wants would
condemn out of hand as impossible. The intelligent tenth must have been
consoled by the enthusiastic applause which greeted the little piece. I
have a fancy that mime would go far to restore sanity and tradition to
the English stage, and every creditable essay in a delightful art
deserves the fullest support.
It is amusing to see our solemn Mr. JOHN GALSWORTHY in labour for three
Acts over a rude joke. I frankly confess I enjoyed the joke. Cisterns
(its theme) have no terrors for me even in mixed company. But the joke
was not the really serious thing about _The Foundations_, a play that
starts (some years hence) with a mob of starving people yelling outside
the house--dear, stupid, kindly _Lord William Dromondy's_ house. _Lord
William_ was a god of an infantry captain in the great War, and his four
footmen--particularly _James_, the first of them--though revolutionaries
at heart, are ready to stand between their master and any other
revolutionaries in London town. Well, a bomb is found in the foundations
of _Lord William's_ Park Lane palace, and explodes to embarrassed
laughter of shocked stall-holders in the Third Act.
The plot's nothing, and the main joke, as I say, nothing to get excited
over. But the whole effect of the tremendous trifle, admirably cast as
it was, was diverting in the extreme.
Of course it is like our Mr. GALSWORTHY to assume that things will be as
black as ever a few years hence. 'Tis, no doubt, what encourages us to
keep our end up in the great War. But we know the customs of leopards,
and can forgive our pessimist for his creations (for all the world as if
he were a milliner) of _Poulder, Lord William's_ butler, rounded pillar
of the eternal old order of things; of _James_, revolutionary but
faithful (of course _James_ never would in fact have kept this absurd
job); of a light yellow pressman; of a feckless, torrentially eloquent
plumber, whose solution of the class war was loving-kindness and the
letting of the blood of all who were not kind.