Punch, Volume 156, 26 March 1919 by Various
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Various >> Punch, Volume 156, 26 March 1919
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 156.
March 26, 1919.
CHARIVARIA.
WILLIAM HOHENZOLLERN is reported to be busy sawing trees. Some declare
that his energy is due to an hallucination that they are German
generals. Others say the whole story is a clumsy attempt to discredit
him with the Labour party.
***
Dublin Corporation has decided to increase its revenue by eight
thousand pounds by raising the charge on water. Citizens are urged to
put patriotism before prejudice and give the stuff a trial.
***
The inconveniences that attend influenza reached their climax a few
days ago when an occupant of a crowded tube train blew the nose of the
man next to him in mistake for his own.
***
The beggar who has been going about telling a pitiful story of being
wounded by a trench-mortar during the Jutland battle is now regarded
by the police as an impostor.
***
A defendant in a County Court case at Liverpool last week stated in
his evidence that he had been on the telephone for the last twenty
years. In fairness to the Postal authorities he should have admitted
that it was a trunk call.
***
[Illustration: _Foreman (late R.S.M.)._ "'ERE! YOU AIN'T IN THE ARMY
NOW. THERE'S NO CALL FOR _YOU_ TO KEEP A WATCH ON THE RHINE."]
***
A lady-correspondent, writing to a daily paper, laments the fact
that the War has changed a great many husbands. Surely the wife who
receives the wrong husband can get some sort of redress from the War
Office.
***
All the main-line railways are to be electrified, Sir ERIC GEDDES told
the House of Commons. Meanwhile he has successfully electrified all
the old buffers.
***
A number of women are doing good work as mates on Medway sailing
barges. The denial of the report that one of them recently looked at
a Wapping policeman for five minutes on end without once repeating
herself may be ascribed to professional jealousy.
***
"The small car," says a trade contemporary, "has come to stop." We can
well believe it. It is an old habit.
***
It has been discovered that the new Education Act, which prohibits
boys under twelve being worked for more than two hours on Sunday, may
apply to choir-boys. A Commission, we understand, is to be called upon
to decide finally whether they are really boys or just little demons.
***
A man who applied to the Bloomsbury County Court for relief against an
eviction order stated that he could find no other suitable house, as
he had nine children under fourteen years of age. His residential
problem remains unsolved, but we understand, with regard to the other
difficulty, that the Board of Works has offered to sell him a card
index at considerably below cost.
***
"Bridegrooms," says a contemporary, "are discovering that weddings
cost more." The growing practice among fathers-in-law of delivering
their daughters "free at rail," instead of, as formerly, "from house
to house," may have something to do with it.
***
"Ramsgate," says _The Daily Mail_, "is racing Margate in Thanet's
reconstruction." At present Margate still claims to lead by one
nigger and two winkle-barrows.
***
The Colorado Legislature has passed a resolution in favour of Irish
independence. The remark attributed to Mr. A.J. BALFOUR, that he
always thought Colorado was the name of a twopenny cigar, has failed
to make the situation easier.
***
"A pupil at a West London 'out-of-work' school," says a news item,
"daily attends his studies in an opera-hat." On being informed of this
fact, Sir THOMAS BEECHAM is reported to have expressed the opinion
that its significance was obvious.
***
President WILSON, it is announced, hopes to visit Scotland shortly for
some golf. He believes that some adjustment of the dispute as to the
respective merits of the running-up and pitch-and-stop methods of
approach should be embodied in the Peace terms if international
harmony is to be really secured.
***
Primroses and crocuses are blooming in North London. Pending an
official announcement by _The Daily Mail_ people are requested to
accept this as a preliminary Spring.
***
Concrete ships, says a Government official, can be made in moulds. But
of course you must not forget to grease the tin.
***
A Sinn Feiner, arriving home in Crossgar, Co. Down, last week, had
a very hearty welcome. Thirteen spectators and seven policemen were
injured.
***
Many members of the Bar are greatly afraid that some learned judge
will ask, "What is the Jazz-step?" before the question has really been
settled by the dancers themselves.
***
The young lady who, on receiving a proposal of marriage over the
telephone last week, replied, "Yes, who's speaking?" turns out to be
an ex-typist recently demobilised from the Air Ministry.
***
It is interesting to note that to-day is the anniversary of the day
that was not a Flag-day last year.
* * * * *
ANOTHER SEX-PROBLEM.
"Information Wanted as to the whereabouts of James ---- (nee Liza
----), ship agent. Last heard of 30 years ago."--_Glasgow Paper_.
* * * * *
THE PRELIMINARY DOVE: ITS PROSPECTS.
Within a little week or two,
So all our sanguine prints declare,
The Dove (or Bird of Peace) is due
To spread its wings and take the air,
Like Mr. THOMAS when he flew
Across the firmamental blue
To join the PREMIER in communion
Touching the Railway Workers' Union.
We've waited many a weary week
With bulging eyes and fevered brow,
While WILSON pressed upon its beak
His League-of-Nations' olive bough,
Wondering what amount of weight
Its efforts could negotiate,
How much, in fact, the bird would stand
Without collapsing on the land.
And, even though it should contrive
To keep its pinions on the flap,
And by a _tour de force_ survive
This devastating handicap,
Yet are there perils in the skies
Whereon we blandly shut our eyes,
But which are bound to be incurred,
And, notably, the Bolshy-bird.
This brand of vulture, most obscene,
May have designs upon the Dove;
Its carrion taste was never keen
On the Millennial reign of Love;
And I, for one, am stiff with fear
About our little friend's career,
Lest that disgusting fowl should maul
And eat it, olive-branch and all.
I mention this to mark the quaint
Notion of "Peace" the public has,
That wants to smear the Town with paint,
To whoop and jubilate and jazz;
And while our flappers beat the floor
There's Russia soaked in seas of gore,
And LENIN waxing beastly fat;
Nobody seems to think of that.
O.S.
* * * * *
PERFECTLY UNAUTHENTIC ANECDOTES.
_which may be reproduced (with the permission of Mr. Punch) in any
forthcoming volume of Anybody's Reminiscences_.
"You do things so sketchily and casually," said FRITH to WHISTLER one
day. "Now when I paint a picture I take pains. 'The Derby Day' cost me
weeks and months of sleeplessness. I did nothing else; I gave my whole
mind to it." "Oh," said WHISTLER, "that's where it's gone to, is it?"
* * * * *
When Mr. BERNARD SHAW made his tour of the ports in order to
popularise Socialism in the Navy, he was courteously received at
Portsmouth by Sir HEDWORTH MEUX. The talk happened to turn on the
theatre, and the Admiral was candid enough to confess himself somewhat
at sea with regard to the merits of contemporary writers. "Now, Mr.
SHAW," he said in his breezy way, "I wish you would tell me who is the
most eminent of the playwrights of to-day?" "Ay, ay, Sir," said Mr.
SHAW promptly.
* * * * *
Dr. Brotherton told me that he was once with MATTHEW ARNOLD in an
election crowd at Oxford, when the Professor of Poetry accidentally
collided with a working-man flown with Radicalism and beer. "Go to
blazes!" said the proletarian. "My friend," replied ARNOLD, "we are
well met. In me you see the official representative of Literature,
whereas you, I perceive, stand for Dogma."
* * * * *
Mrs. Brown of Newquay, who claims to be the original _Mrs.
Partington_, told me that SYDNEY SMITH'S last years were overclouded
by his inability to discover the riddle to which the answer is
contained in the words, "The one rode a horse and the other rode a
dendron."
* * * * *
Probably few people remember a Nottinghamshire poet of an earlier
day who fulfilled with much conscientiousness the duties of local
laureate. It was the age of Notts's pre-eminence in cricket, and that,
with other reasons, inspired the bard to write some verses which
opened with the line, "Is there a county to compare with Notts?" The
county of Derby was jealous of its neighbour in other things besides
sport, and considered itself to have scored when its own tame minstrel
retorted with a parody ending:--
"Is there a county to compare with Notts?
Lots!"
Unfortunately the thing was catching, and other counties did their
best to follow suit, though with considerable difficulty as to rhymes.
I think it was a singer of Tavistock who won the laurels. After
disposing of an adjacent rival with the contemptuous jingle,
"Dorset--Curse it!" he wound up:--
"Is there a country to compare with Devon?
Heaven!"
* * * * *
Lady Crownderby once told me that she was among the first to see Lord
HOUGHTON on his return from Spain, and she asked him what he thought
of Spanish women in comparison with those of our own country. "My dear
lady," replied HOUGHTON, "I feel like LOT when he escaped from the
Cities of the Plain."
* * * * *
At a dinner given in honour of her nephew's appointment to a Rural
Deanery, Mrs. Hinkson-Hanksey told me that she once rallied DISRAELI
on his lack of religious profession, saying how much it compromised
him in the eyes of many of his fellow-countrymen in comparison with
his great rival. "My dear lady," said DISRAELI, "you are aware that
the New Testament divides all men into two categories. Without
specifying the class to which I personally belong, I am quite willing
to admit that Mr. GLADSTONE is a sheep and possesses many of the
characteristics of that admirable animal."
* * * * *
When I was at Hawarden in the summer of 1893, little DOROTHY DREW
asked her grandfather for the loan of a book "to press flowers in."
It is a process, as readers may know, not good for the book, and I
thought the illustrious statesman and bibliophile looked a little
embarrassed. But his face cleared in a moment, and he went out of the
room and presently returned with a sufficient volume, in which the
flowers were duly laid, the book being then, with the united efforts
of the company, subjected to the necessary pressure under a heavy
cabinet. Anxious to know which volume of his beloved library Mr.
GLADSTONE had selected for desecration, I took an early opportunity
of furtively examining the title of the tortured tome. It was
_Coningsby_.
* * * * *
ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.
"Councillor ----'s son will be married to the eldest daughter of
Councillor ----. The members of the Corporation are invited to the
suspicious event."--_Local Paper_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE DISTRACTIONS OF AN INDISPENSABLE.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Sergeant_. "Now, ME LAD, A SUIT OF MUFTI OR FORTY-FIVE
SHILLINGS?" _Tommy_. "OO, LUMME! I'LL PAY THE FINE."]
* * * * *
GALLERY PLAY.
It wasn't till Panmore noticed its absence on his return from France
that I remembered the little oil painting which I had left at the
Ferndale Gallery on sale or return, during the early days of the War,
when my financial outlook was bad.
Panmore said he had always wanted to buy it, but hadn't liked to ask
me if I would part with it. I assured him that excess even of delicacy
was a mistake and that I would try to get the picture back.
So I wrote to the Gallery thus:--
DEAR SIRS (it seemed absurd to write "Dear Gallery"),--In 1914 or
1915 I brought you a small oil painting, which you agreed to sell
or return to me. As I haven't heard from you since, I conclude
that there has been nothing doing in such pictures and I should
like to have it back. The picture is quite a small one, about the
size of an ordinary book, and so far as I recollect it portrays
a man looking at a horse, to see if its withers stand where they
did; or perhaps wondering whether he would sell it and buy a
scooter. As a matter of fact I never took particular notice of the
picture, not caring for it, but a friend of mine who knows it well
appears interested in it and wants to buy it. So please let me
have it back as soon as possible.
Yours faithfully,
THEOPHILUS B. PIPER-CARY.
P.S.--By the way, there's a cow, I remember, in the background; a
red one. Not a red background; a red cow.
This was the answer I received:--
DEAR SIR,--In reply to yours of the 13th inst., we remember your
visit, but cannot trace having such a picture as you describe in
our possession at present. We believe you dealt with our Mr. James
Langford, who joined up in May, 1915, and is not yet demobilised.
He is in Egypt at the moment, we understand, and we are afraid it
would take some time to get into communication with him.
We shall be glad if under the circumstances you will allow the
matter to rest until his return.
In any case we are afraid we cannot hold ourselves responsible for
the picture, unless you can produce a receipt from us proving that
it reached us.
We are, Yours obediently,
_pp_. THE FERNDALE GALLERY.
J.S.
The last paragraph in their letter gave me the impression that they
knew they had the picture but had mislaid it. Meanwhile Panmore seemed
so hot on it and I was so badly hit by the War that I thought I would
have another shot at recovering it. So I addressed the Gallery as
follows:--
DEAR SIRS,--Thanks for your letter, and in reply I should be
obliged if you could get another search party out. I have found
a receipt for the picture, signed with a name that might, if
straightened out, be James Langford.
My friend is getting quite excited about it, and he is the sort
of person one wants to humour. He is a Lieut.-Colonel, an O.B.E.,
and, what is more important still, one of the feoffees of
Buckley's Hospital (a fifteenth-century foundation here), and
whatever a feoffee may be he is not the kind of man to toy with in
a small town like this.
I forgot to mention that there is an inn on the left of the
picture, and a girl coming out of it carrying, perhaps, a
bran-mash for the horse or some Government dope for the man, and
there are some hens, all fully regardant and expectant, at her
feet.
Hoping to hear in the course of a post or two that you have found
the painting,
I am, Yours anxiously,
THEOPHILUS B. PIPER-CARY.
P.S.--Don't forget there's a cow in the background; a red cow.
Three days later I received a picture (not mine) from the Gallery with
this letter:--
DEAR SIR,--After a most exhaustive search we have found and send
herewith what we believe to be your picture, though it does not
quite answer to your description. It is, however, the only one of
which we do not appear to have any record.
Our Mr. Langford seems likely to be abroad for some months, so
unless you will accept this picture in settlement of the matter we
do not see any present way out of the difficulty.
Confident that, if it is not yours, it is at least just as good,
we trust that you will agree to cry quits.
We are, Yours obediently,
_pp._ THE FERNDALE GALLERY.
J.S.
Why they should feel sure it was just as good, unless they remembered
my picture, wasn't very clear, but evidently the receipt had put the
wind up them, and I wrote and accepted the substitute at once, because
Panmore liked it better even than the original picture. He said it was
an Alken and gave me far more than I would have thought of asking for
it, or for the original one.
About a week after selling it I received this wire from the Gallery:--
Please return painting sent in error. Very valuable Alken. Have
customer.
FERNDALE.
"Diamond cut diamond," I said to myself. And I replied thus:--
DEAR SIRS,--I received your wire, but regret that I cannot comply
with your request. Firstly, because I have already accepted the
picture which you regarded as mine or its equivalent, in place of
the one that was mine and is now yours; and, secondly, because my
friend the feoffee has already bought it, the one that was yours
and is now mine, or rather his (you know what I mean, don't you?),
and I haven't the heart to ask him to return it.
Perhaps yours (the one that is now yours and was mine before),
being the equivalent of the one that was yours and is now mine (or
rather the feoffee's), would suit your client. I can only suggest
your having another look for it; the matter so far as I am
concerned is at an end. Yours faithfully,
THEOPHILUS B. PIPER-CARY.
P.S.--You'll know it when you find it. There's a red cow in the
background.
* * * * *
"Sentence of Mike Ancon, found guilty of housekeeping, was
postponed yesterday afternoon."--_Manitoba Free Press._
This species of crime is almost extinct in England.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE "HESITATION" WALTZ.]
* * * * *
THE RISING EGG.
Whatever may be the decline in the price of eggs their social
movement is clearly upwards. The following passage from _The Croydon
Advertiser_ gives an admirable life-history of the egg, from shell to
profit-sharing:--
"Eggs will be dated and graded and sold accordingly, and as soon
as they have done laying fattened for table purposes, also young
cockerels. They will be killed and plucked, and the feathers will
be sorted and sold in the best markets. So you see they will
receive full market price for their produce; then if they are
shareholders they will receive a further profit in the difference
between the cost and the selling, also the very big amounts
received for the skins and the feathers."
* * * * *
[Illustration: HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL.
_Oldest Inhabitant._ "I NEVER EXPECTED TO LIVE TILL THE END OF THE
WAR, MA'AM; BUT NOW I'M HOPING TO BE SPARED TO SEE THE BEGINNING OF
THE NEXT ONE."]
* * * * *
CHOICE BOOKS OF THE WEEK.
THE NEW PARIS SKETCH-BOOK; OR, THE FIRST FIFTY THOUSAND.
By GLADYS FLAPPERTON, O.B.E., Author of _Peace and Plenty of It._
This charming volume describes in detail the delightful Parisian
holiday which has been provided by the Government under the best
possible conditions for young ladies with (and without) a knowledge of
typewriting.
* * * * *
_TIGER LILY,
A POEM IN FOURTEEN SPASMS._
By WOODROW WILSON.
Affectionately dedicated to M. CLEMENCEAU.
* * * * *
THE HISTORY OF FREDERICK THE GREAT.
BY HAROLD SMITH, M.P.
("England's Harold.")
With an Introduction by the LORD CHANCELLOR.
* * * * *
O SMILLIE, WE HAVE MISSED YOU, AND OTHER LYRICS.
Highly recommended by Messrs. MUDIE and SANKEY (the Author).
Copies of this beautiful work have been accepted by several mining
royalties.
* * * * *
THE GEDDES BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY.
Publication of the Second Volume (AUC--ERIC).
It is hoped to complete in twelve handsome volumes this the first
attempt to record and codify the achievements and services of the
GEDDES family in the Great War.
* * * * *
WASTEWARD HO!
A ROMANCE OF CIPPENHAM.
With an Introductory Apologia by Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL.
* * * * *
THE NEXT WAR.
["As the result of a conference called by the War Office it has
been decided to wage a war of annihilation against the warble-fly.
It is hoped that by means of concerted action through the country
this pestilent insect, so injurious to the hides of horses and
cattle, may be completely stamped out." _Daily Paper._]
The warble-fly, the warble-fly
Is absolutely doomed to die.
They've summoned all the General Staff,
There's going to be a mighty "strafe,"
And soon the land from shore to shore
Will echo with the din of war,
As armed hosts with martial cries
Descend upon the warble-flies.
We've got the shells, we've got the guns
(The same that overwhelmed the Huns),
And, what is more, we've got the Man;
With WINSTON riding in the van
I do not think there's any doubt
That we shall put the foe to rout,
And, scorning peace by compromise,
Annihilate the warble-flies.
In tranquil peace the gentle beeves
Shall chew their cud through summer eves;
No more shall that alarming warble
Affright the calm of heifer or bull,
And send them snorting round the croft
With eyes of fear and tails aloft.
Till every warble-fly be floored
Whitehall will _never_ sheathe the sword.
* * * * *
The Growth of Impropriety.
"Her hair is always exquisitely dressed, and her shoes in perfect
shape. No more in the way of dress is required of any woman."
_Daily Mirror._
* * * * *
"PROPOSED IMPROVEMENT OF A DANGEROUS CORONER."
_Headline in Provincial Paper._
The best plan, possibly, would be to get the jury to sit on him.
* * * * *
[Illustration: NEWSPAPER HEADINGS POPULARLY ILLUSTRATED.
"INFLUENZA MICROBE DISCOVERED AT A LONDON HOSPITAL."]
* * * * *
MRS. BLOGGINS'S STATEMENT.
It is not too much to say that bed-making circles in Cambridge have
been agitated to their utmost depths by the recent advent of some
hundreds of American youths who have come to pursue certain courses
of study within the University walls. Let us make one thing perfectly
clear. Bed-makers do not object to Americans as Americans, but this
avalanche of Transatlantics arrives on the very eve of the vacation,
just when the bed-makers are packing off the contingent of young Naval
officers who have been making things hum during the past term.
Persuaded that their too-brief holidays will be entirely absorbed in
attending to the Americans, the bed-makers urge with some justice that
they too are entitled to enjoy the beautiful things of this enchanting
world quite as much as miners and railway-men. We understand that
meetings of their Association are being held, and that the University
authorities are faced by a situation which is rapidly passing beyond
their control. Bed-makers are amongst the most loyal members of the
community, but they feel, as a prominent member of the profession
put it, that "the last camel breaks the straw's back," and they are
determined to uphold their immemorial rights.
We have thought it our duty therefore to interview the celebrated Mrs.
Bloggins, the _doyenne_ of the Corps of Bed-makers of Trinity College.
We found the lady in her home in Paradise Walk, where she was engaged
in eating some excellent buttered toast. We lost no time in explaining
the purport of our visit.
"We desire to know, Mrs. Bloggins," we began, "what your feelings are
with regard to the Americans."
"Ah," said Mrs. Bloggins, speaking with deep emotion, "you may well
call 'em Americans, for I've never bin so troubled about anythink
before. Some people seem to git the notion into their 'eads that
bed-makers do no work. Why we're arst to slave from mornin' till
night, and our pay is paltry. Things in Cambridge isn't like what they
was. Time was when our young gentlemen used to 'ave big dinners
in their rooms, and a careful bed-maker could save a bone or two.
Nowadays they,'re only cheese-parers, that's what I call 'em. You
won't believe me, I know, but my mother, who was a bed-maker afore me,
used to 'ave a month at the seaside every year, all paid for out of
money give to 'er by 'er young gentlemen. To be sure there was a
wrangler, or somethink of that kind, who didn't come up to the mark,
so she soon got rid of 'im; 'e used to find 'is butter was took by the
cat, and accidents of that kind.
"Mind yer," she continued, "I ain't got nothink to say against the
Americans. They may be the most liberal-'earted gentlemen in the world
for all I know. But it's the principle of the thing I'm objectin' to.
It's a case of kill me quick or cure me to-morrow, and if President
WILSON was to talk till next week 'e couldn't make it no different.
You can't make a silk sock out of a side of bacon, and that's true
whichever way you look at it."