VOL. 146, MAY 20, 1914***


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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOL. 146

MAY 20, 1914







CHARIVARIA.


It is comforting to know that we need not yet despair of human nature.
Even the most abandoned politician may have one redeeming quality. For
example, _The Express_ tells us that Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL is a reader
of _The Express._

       * * *

It is reported to be the intention of General BOTHA to visit this
country in June or July, and the Labour Party here are said to be
already taking steps with a view to having him deported as an
undesirable.

       * * *

If Mr. HENRY CHAPLIN has been correctly reported he is even more of a
reactionary than most of his opponents imagined. In the course of the
debate on the Sunday Closing Bill he is said to have delivered himself
as follows:--"Drunkenness is diminishing, and I say Thank God; long may
it continue." The pious ejaculation would seem to be an expression of
gratitude for the joys of inebriety.

       * * *

"Does the nightingale really boycott the land of Llewelyn and Mr. Lloyd
George--and why?" asks an anxious inquirer in a contemporary. If it is
so we suspect the reason is a fear on the part of the bird that the
CHANCELLOR may get to know of the rich quality of his notes and tax him
out of existence.

       * * *

Mr. GEORGE STOREY has been elected a Royal Academician. This will
surprise no one. Burlington House has always favoured the Storey
picture. And as regards Mr. H. S. TUKE, who was promoted at the same
time, his serial tale, "Three Boys and a Boat," has now been running for
quite a number of years.

       * * *

"English," says Mr. BALFOUR, "is abominably difficult." But Erse is
worse.

       * * *

Despatched at Teddington twenty-three years ago a postcard has just been
delivered at Walton-on-Thames. The postal authorities trust that the
publication of this fact will induce people to exercise a little
patience when they do not receive correspondence which they expect,
instead of at once jumping to the conclusion that it has been lost.

       * * *

As a consequence of recent outrages at the Royal Academy the Council is
reported to be testing "unbreakable glass." No doubt the Indestructible
Paint Company is also circularising artists.

       * * *

A man walking across St. Paul's Churchyard gave a remarkable exhibition
of presence of mind one day last week. He was knocked down under a
motor-omnibus, but managed so to arrange himself that the wheels passed
clear of him. Cinema operators will be obliged if he will give them due
notice of any intention to repeat the turn.

       * * *

"The London General Omnibus Company advertises itself, so why shouldn't
we?" said the L.C.C. Tramways--so they had a nice little collision on
the Embankment last week.

       * * *

At the second annual celebration of "Mothers' Day" at the London Central
Y.M.C.A., an eloquent address was delivered by the secretary of the
association, Mr. VIRGO. The thought that, in spite of his name, this
gentleman, try as he might, could never become a mother is said to have
raised a lump in the throat of many a member of the audience.

       * * *

We are glad to hear that "Hospital Egg Week" has been a success. We find
it difficult, however, to believe one account, which states that
sufficient new-laid eggs have been contributed to last the whole year.

       * * *

"If Adam had lived till now," says Mr. SNOWDEN, "and had worked hard at
honest labour the whole time, and had been a thrifty man withal, he
would not have had an income like some of those enjoyed to-day." Mr.
SNOWDEN is apparently presuming that ADAM'S wife would have lived as
long as her husband.

       * * *

At his examination in bankruptcy a Clacton monumental mason attributed
his failure to the healthfulness of the neighbourhood. Suggested motto
for Clacton funeral artists: "_ Si monumentum requiris_--go elsewhere."

       * * *

Among probable forthcoming improvements at the Zoological Gardens is the
provision of a band on Sunday. But one great difficulty, we imagine,
will be to persuade the laughing hyena and certain other rowdy animals
not to take part in the performances.

       * * *

The didactic drama is with us again, and this time we are to be taught
to feel affection for the unpopular. _Love Cheats_ is the hortatory
title of a play to be produced by Miss HORNIMAN'S company next month.

       * * *

Mr. MARGAM JONES has written a volume entitled _Angels in Wales._
Nonconformists, we presume.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE NEW DRESS.

"Going along Oxford Street, are you? I should love to come with you, but
it would be a little hard on Bond Street. You see, I haven't shown it to
Bond Street yet."

       *       *       *       *       *

    "BAD LANGUAGE.
    FROM SIR HERBERT TREE.
    To the Editor of _The Daily Mail._"

We hope the Editor replied suitably.

       *       *       *       *       *

"WHO FEARS TO SPEAK OF"--NINETEEN-SIX?

[_Thoughts on "a Bill for the Better_ (sic) _Government of Ireland."_]


    There was an Isle all green and fair
      Where milk and whisky used to flow,
        Where, thanks to lavish legislators,
        The pious cult of pigs and taters
    Filled with content the balmy air--
      Eight little years ago!

    Distressful she had been, a land
      Of kine curtailed and burning ricks,
        Until we others oped our purses
        To rectify her feudal curses
    And freed the soil with generous hand--
      Prior to nineteen-six.

    Though still the casual moonlight raid
      Occurred at seasons, just for joy,
        New brands of owners, fat and thriving,
        Had lost their use for cattle-driving,
    And agitation's artful aid
      Pined for its old employ.

    Then came the Liberals in and eyed
      This land where Peace had poised her wings;
        And "O!" said they, "how sad a smutch on
        Our clean United Kingdom's'scutcheon!
    It is our duty to provide
      A Better State of Things."

    Eight years ago! And now we see
      The dogs of war about to bay;
        The Bill for Ruling Ireland Better
        (Strangely enough) has so upset her
    That pretty soon there ought to be
      The DEVLIN'S self to pay.

    So, when the general atmosphere
      Becomes opaque with flying bricks,
        And those who ran the Home Rule movement
        Bid me applaud this marked improvement,
    From pure politeness I shall fear
      To speak of nineteen-six.

    O. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

BUSINESSFRIENDSHIP.


Have you heard from ---- this year? Mine came last night. Of course (to
keep it among ourselves) I am not going to say who ---- is beyond
mentioning (for the purpose of handy reference) that he appears to have
been christened Josef and that the capital from which he writes (or
alleges that he writes) is associable with a high standard of musical
comedy. His communication is very much underlined, very profuse of the
mark of exclamation in quite unnecessary places (until, indeed, the sign
begins to assume an absolutely satirical value), and very ornate with
little amputated hands, all pointing out the short cut to illimitable
wealth. Now you understand.

The envelope was addressed, as Josef himself assures me that his future
communications will be, "in the most discreet manner," and yet....

"Put it into the waste-paper basket, my dear," I said to Philippa, who
had brought it in with some curiosity. "We need not open it. It is only
Josef offering us another fortune." Need I say that she at once opened
it?

My address, according to Josef, had been given to him "by a mutual
businessfriend." This threw me into a contemplation. Who could it be?
Spraggs had certainly toured the capitals of Central Europe last autumn,
but he never mentioned Josef on his return. Harris? Well, one would
scarcely call Harris a _business_friend. Filmer? No, Filmer is too
selfish, I fear, to do me so good a turn. Ah, of course! Kelly, dear old
burly rubicund Kelly, with his unfailing memory for an address and his
delightfully abbreviated style. And he goes everywhere too: the very
man. I can almost hear him saying it: "Then there's Johnson, my staunch
old businessfriend Johnson, whom I can trace right back as far as my
impressions of 1912; mustn't leave him out. I think I can--yes, I have
it: John Fdk. Johnson, 72, Chestnut Av., Mayfield Pk., S.W. You've got
that?" Josef has it.

Josef, it appears, possesses a few tickets, and I gather that for some
reason he does not require all of them himself. Naturally he turns to
the friend of our mutual businessfriend. Will I participate in the
distribution of "many, many million within five months?" The first prize
is one--but perhaps I had better express it as Josef loves to do. The
first prize is

                  --->ONE MILLION CRS.<---

The chance, he goes on to say, is "without any risk worth mentioning."
Still, he does mention it. He mentions it quite explicitly so that there
shall be no mistake. The risk is as follows:--

    1/4 Ticket sh 8/6.
    1/2 Ticket sh 17/.
    1/1 Ticket sh 34/.

"All tickets forwarded (paid for) belong to the customer," I am assured,
"from the moment of dispatch and play, of course, on his account."

I fancy I see what Josef means, but I don't think that the expression,
"play, of course, on his account," is altogether well chosen. I think it
might have been phrased more felicitously.

You will not be surprised to know that Josef's interest, stimulated by
our mutual businessfriend, goes beyond my mere personality. He reminds
me--Philippa is quite affected by this--that there are others. "The
astonishing advantages... must induce to serious consideration anyone
who is looking after his own welfare, and that of those near and dear to
him as well."--Yet Josef can be almost stern when there is occasion, and
he tersely warns me that it is a chance which "probably NEVER WILL BE
OFFERED to you AGAIN!"

Ah, well.

I suppose that I shall give a miss as usual. It isn't that I doubt a
single word of Josef's splendid optimism on my behalf. It isn't that I
really mind the always, to me, inexplicable fact that every second
ticket is guaranteed to draw a prize, while the _lowest_ prize is double
the amount charged for the ticket. It isn't (altogether) that I distrust
Philippa's rosy presentiment. I think it is the concluding paragraph
that settles it. I read:--

    Will you become
    A MILLIONAIRE?

    Fill out this Order-Form and send it to me by return of post with
    the necessary remittance!

That last and entirely superfluous note of exclamation seems only to be
adequately vocalised as a chuckle. And as I listen it does not seem to
be myself that is laughing.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is already using his influence with the new WAR
MINISTER. In the Army Orders for March, 1914, we read:--

     "Paragraph 555, line 4. _For '4d.' substitute '9d.'_"

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE CONCERT OF SOUTH AMERICA.

THE MEDIATORS. "PARDON, MADAM, BUT YOU HAVE HAD A LOT OF EXPERIENCE OF
THIS KIND OF THING. HOW DO YOU DO IT?"

EUROPA. "OH, WE JUST TALK AND TALK--AND THEN TALK!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _First Player (encouragingly)._ "Bad luck! Well tried!"

_Second Player (petulantly)._ "I didn't try for anything."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PIERCING OF THE VEIL.


"I think," says Dr. LYNCH in _The Daily Chronicle,_ "that a man leaves
some trace of himself in every sentence that he writes. What then of
works so extensive as Shakspeare's? Certainly we should see him through
and through if we only knew how to look."

_We_ do know how to look, and we have done so with results that can
hardly fail to astonish the reader. It has long been known, for
instance, that SHAKSPEARE was a good man of business, but until our
researches no one had realised quite how good. His theatre had to pay,
and he knew as well as any modern manager how to make it do so. That he
realised, for instance, the attractions of American dance tunes is
evident from his reference to "rags to split the ears of the
groundlings" (_Hamlet_, Act III., Scene 2).

Apart from his business SHAKSPEARE had private ambitions. We all know
that he applied for a grant of arms, but few are aware that he also
stood for Parliament, and, like many another, regretted the expense
after it was incurred. "Almost all," he says feelingly, "repent in their
election" (_Coriolanus_, Act II., Scene 3). His exact political views
are still uncertain, but, at any rate, we may be sure that he
disapproved of the Lords, for he boldly announced the fact in the _Two
Gentlemen of Verona,_ Act V., Scene 4, where he says, "One house, one
mutual happiness."

But these are serious matters. What of his hours of ease? That he golfed
there can now be no manner of doubt. In _The Tempest,_ Act IV., Scene 1,
he refers to the "short grassed green," and in _Hamlet_, Act II., Scene
2, he earns our respect by the simple statement, "I went round," without
any tedious details. Possibly the "thousand marks in links" in the first
part of _Henry IV._, Act III., Scene 3, explains this reticence, but, at
any rate, he occasionally found one whom he fancied he could beat;
witness his remark in _Twelfth Night,_ Act II., Scene 3, "Sir Toby, I
must be round with you."

And, golf over, he liked his pipe and his glass. The "smoke and lukewarm
water" mentioned in _Timon of Athens,_ Act III., Scene 6, only needs the
addition of a dash of whisky to make an evening any of us might enjoy;
and his words in _Anthony and Cleopatra,_ Act I., Scene 2, "We bring
forth weeds when our quick minds are still," will find an echo in many a
chest. In this connection it might be noted that he took an occasional
holiday in France. That at least seems a reasonable assumption when so
keen a smoker cries, as he does in _The Merchant of Venice,_ Act III.,
Scene 1, "I have another bad match."

       *       *       *       *       *

A VAGRANT.


        The humble bee
        No skep has he,
    No twisted, straw-thatched dome,
        A ferny crest
        Provides his nest,
    The mowing-grass his home.

        The crook-beaked shrike
        His back may spike
    And pierce him with a thorn;
        The humble bee
        A tramp is he
    And there is none to mourn.

        O'er bank and brook,
        In wooded nook,
    He wanders at his whim,
        Lives as he can,
        Owes naught to man,
    And man owes naught to him.

        No hive receives
        The sweets he gives,
    No flowers for him are sown,
        Yet wild and gay
        He hums his way,
    A nomad on his own.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SUFFERER.


Having engaged a sleeping-berth I naturally hurried, coin in hand, to
the conductor, as all wise travellers do (usually to their
discomfiture), to see if I could be accommodated with a compartment to
myself and be guaranteed against invasion.

The carriage was full.

I then sought my compartment, to learn the worst as to my position,
whether above or below the necessarily offensive person who was to be my
companion.

He was already there, and we exchanged the hard implacable glare that is
reserved among the English for the other fellow in a wagon-lit
compartment.

When I discovered that to him had fallen the dreaded upper berth I
relaxed a little, and later we were full of courtesies to each
other--renunciations of hat-pegs, racks and so forth, and charming
mutual concessions as to the light, which I controlled from below--so
that by morning we were so friendly that he deemed me a fit recipient of
his Great Paris Grievance.

This