Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, Feb. 5, 1919 by Various
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 156
FEBRUARY 5, 1919.
CHARIVARIA.
The Germans refer to the Armistice negotiations as
_Waffenstillstandeverhandlungen_. We hope it will be worse even than
they think.
***
There is no truth in the rumour that among the many new performances
of _Hamlet_ which are promised there will be one in aid of the fund
for brightening the lives of the clergy, with the Gloomy Dean as the
Gloomy Dane.
***
"We Americans do not consider ourselves the salt of the earth," says
Senator HENRY. No, but their bacon certainly is.
***
In view of the fact that there is a large quantity of marmalade
in the country, it has been decided to release it. This is such a
satisfactory solution of the problem that people are wondering whether
the Food Ministry thought of that one themselves.
***
Our heart goes out to the soldier who, when offered, on
demobilisation, the option of fifty-two shillings and sixpence or a
standard suit, replied that he would rather pay the fine.
***
The only surprising thing about Mr. C.B. COCHRAN'S proposal for a
Peace Fair in Hyde Park, to be arranged largely by himself, is that
there is no mention of a Serpentine dance for DELYSIA.
***
The Australian Government proposes to send returned Australian
soldiers to prospect for minerals in the Northern Territories. Whether
they will be interested in them after their experience in England in
failing to locate quarts is another matter.
***
Sir EDWARD ELGAR has dedicated his new orchestral work, "Polonia," to
M. PADEREWSKI. The report that the distinguished pianist-politician is
thinking of retorting with a fugue, "Stiltonia," is not confirmed.
***
The Aircraft Salvage branch announces that not less than one thousand
five hundred yards of the aeroplane linen which is being disposed
of to the public will be sold to one purchaser. In the event of the
purchaser deciding to use it as a pocket-handkerchief he can have it
hemstitched for a trifling sum.
***
Improvement is reported in the condition of the taxi-cab driver who
had a seizure in Piccadilly Circus while attempting to say "Thank you"
to a fare.
***
We are pleased to be able to announce that the Kensington man who last
week managed to board a tube train has consented to write a book about
it.
***
Writing to a contemporary a Leeds correspondent says that he does not
think much of an inactive corporation. As a matter of fact, since the
introduction of rationing we didn't think active ones were being worn.
***
As a result of munition work, says a health journal, quite a number of
men have given up smoking tobacco. We suppose the theory is that they
have now taken to smoking threepenny cigars.
***
Mrs. MAGGIE HATHWAY of Montana is to be congratulated upon running a
six-hundred-acre farm without the help of men's labour. After all we
men must admit that her sporting effort is a distinct score for the
second oldest sex in the world.
***
Anglesea Police Commission are offering one shilling and sixpence a
dozen for rats' tails to residents of the county. Some difficulty is
expected in distinguishing local from imported tails once they are
separated from the rat.
***
In connection with the offers for Drury Lane Theatre it appears that
one of the would-be purchasers declares that he was more syndicate
than sinning.
***
In connection with the epidemic of burglaries in London, _The Daily
Express_ has now published a leader note saying there have been too
many of late. It is hoped that this will have the desired effect.
***
We are glad to report that the gentleman who, at the BURNS festival,
upon being asked if he would take a little haggis replied that he
wouldn't mind trying a wing, managed to escape with his life.
***
A West Hampstead architect has designed a cottage in which there will
be no bricks in the walls, no timber in the roof, no slates or tiles
and no register grates. Too late. Jerry-builders accomplished that
trick years ago.
***
While walking in Highams Park, Chingford, says a contemporary, a
postman picked up a package containing one ounce of butter. To his
eternal credit let it be said that he at once took it to the nearest
police station.
***
The best brains of the country are still exercised by the alleged need
of brightening cricket. One of our own suggestions is that the bowler
should be compelled to do three Jazz-steps and two Fox-trots before
delivering the ball.
***
A typist recently fell from a moving train on the Isle of Wight
railway, but was able to get up and walk towards her destination.
We hear she had a good deal to say to the guard when she overtook
the train.
* * * * *
[Illustration: DEPARTURE FROM DOWNING STREET 10 A.M.
ARRIVAL AT THE QUAI D'ORSAY 10.5 A.M.
THE NEW AERO-GUN SERVICE BETWEEN LONDON AND PARIS.
SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM OF HOW MR. LLOYD GEORGE CAN BE IN BOTH PLACES
MORE OR LESS AT ONCE.]
* * * * *
From a _feuilleton_:--
"He had a cleft in his chain which Rosemarie thought most
attractive."--_Evening News_.
There is no accounting for tastes. _We_ should have thought it
suggested the Missing Link.
* * * * *
EVICTED.
(_A COMMON SCANDAL, INVITING THE ATTENTION OF THE GOVERNMENT._)
I was amazed the other day to hear that my landlord had called to
see me. Hitherto our intercourse had been by letter and we had had
heated differences on the subject of repairs. His standpoint seemed
to be that landlords were responsible for repairs only to lightning
conductors and weathercocks. My house possesses neither of these
desirable adjuncts.
I moved an armchair so that no one sitting in it could fail to see the
dampest wall and ordered him to be shown in.
He was a most benevolent-looking old gentleman, and I felt I had done
him an injustice in regarding him as a property shark.
"Glad to see you," he said, shaking me warmly by the hand.
"Do sit down," I said. "That chair is the most comfortable. Don't be
afraid. At that distance from the wall the damp won't affect you."
"So glad to see how comfortable you are here," said the benevolent
one.
"If we could occasionally have a hot bath we should be more
comfortable, but the kitchen range is impossible."
"What you need, my friend, is a house of your own so that you can
adapt it to your own ideas. How would you like this house?"
My breath was taken away. Had the kindly one come to present me with a
house? Was I to be the object of an amiable plutocrat's benevolence?
"I should like it very much," I said.
"You shall have it," he said, slapping me amiably on the knee.
I gasped for breath. In my time I had had boxes of cigars given me,
but never houses.
"For fifteen hundred pounds, as you are the tenant," continued the
benevolent one.
I gasped for breath again.
"But you bought it for five hundred and fifty pounds just before the
War," I said when I had recovered.
"Ah, before the War," chuckled the philanthropist.
"I don't think I can afford fifteen hundred pounds."
The benevolent one looked disappointed in me. "Dear me," he said,
"and I wanted so much to sell it to you. Well, I shall have to give
you notice to quit in June. This house must be sold."
"But I can't get another house."
"You can have this house. But surely you have some friend who will
advance you fifteen hundred pounds?"
"You don't know my friends. It would be very awkward to be turned
into the street."
"You should have a house of your own and be independent. Every man
should own his home. Now can't you think of some friend who could
assist you?"
"Could you lend me fifteen hundred pounds for a rather speculative
investment?" I inquired.
"Since my kindly consideration for a tenant is treated with mockery I
give you written notice to leave. A 'For Sale' board will be placed
in your garden. A clause in the lease authorises me to do that. I wish
you good morning."
Well, I am to be evicted, and, as I'm not an Irishman, no one will
care. I shall not lie in wait with a shot-gun for my landlord. But
there is no clause in the lease forbidding me from putting up my sale
announcement beside the landlord's. It will run:--
_FOR SALE_
THIS UNDESIRABLE PROPERTY
COST L550 IN 1913.
Never been repaired since.
Damp guaranteed to come through every wall.
Mice can run under the doors but there is
not sufficient space for cats to follow them.
The Kitchen Range is unusable.
All hope of baths abandon ye who enter here.
One half of the windows won't
open--the others won't shut.
All chimneys smoke in all winds.
A unique chance for the War-rich.
* * * * *
THE PUFF ERRATIC.
_The New Statesman_ contains a letter from Mr. ARNOLD BENNETT,
disclaiming all responsibility for the publisher's official
description of his new novel printed on the "jacket" or paper cover
thereof. It had not been submitted to him for approval and he knew
nothing of it. Mr. BENNETT is, of course, entitled to his protest,
but we greatly hope that publishers will not be induced thereby to
abstain from supplying these interesting summaries. If only the method
could be applied to standard works the results would be even more
illuminating. As for example:
"HAMLET."
This delicious comedy is the romance of the _Prince of Denmark_,
which, unlike other romances, begins after his marriage: with
_Polonia_, daughter of _Horatio_, who had been previously engaged to
both _Rosenstern_ and _Guildencranz_. _Hamlet_, by joining a troupe of
strolling players, offends his uncle, the reigning sovereign, and is
confined in a lunatic asylum.
Brilliant pictures of society in Copenhagen, Denmark Hill and
Heligoland alternate with sparkling studies of the inner life of a
touring company on the Continent.
"Can a woman love three men?" is the theme of this engrossing
extravaganza.
"IDYLLS OF THE KING."
In a series of exciting episodes, written in fluent heroic couplets,
the author gives us a thrilling picture of the manners and customs of
the Court of _King Arthur_, an early British sovereign, whose stately
home was situated on the Cornish Riviera.
Owing to the compromising attentions which he pays to _Elaine_,
the Lady of Shalott, the _King_ alienates the affections of _Queen
Guinevere_ and is slain by one of his knights, _Lancelot_ by name.
Winsome women, gallant paladins and mysterious magicians throng
these fascinating pages, which incidentally throw much light on the
theological problems discussed by the Knights of the Round Table,
among whom _Merlin_, _Vivien_ and _Enid_ are especially, prominent.
"VANITY FAIR."
_Major Dobbin_, a _beau sabreur_ of irresistible charm, is on the
point of eloping with _Amelia Osborne_, the wife of a brother-officer,
when the Battle of Waterloo breaks out and _Dobbin_ is slain. _Captain
Osborne_, in the mistaken impression that _Amelia_ has shared her
betrayer's fate, marries the beautiful _Becky Sharp_ and is tried
for bigamy, but is acquitted, as _Becky Sharp_ is proved to have been
already married to an Indian Nabob of the name of _Crawley_. On the
death of _Crawley_, _Becky_ marries the _Marquis of Steyne_, becomes
deeply religious and dies in the odour of sanctity.
"Is marriage a failure?" is the problem of this kaleidoscopic drama,
which is handled with all the author's well-known soulful _verve_.
* * * * *
"SMITH MINOR" AGAIN.
"_Apelles fuit carus Alexandro propter comitate._"
"Apples were dear in the days of Alexander on account
of the Committee." (? Food Controller.)
* * * * *
"A resolution was passed requesting the responsible local
authority to provide thirty new houses in accordance
with the Local Government Board's scheme. The houses
required were--first, those which were unfit for human
habitation."--_Sussex Paper_.
And, to judge by some of the fantastic designs for rural cottages
published in the newspapers, those are what they will probably get.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE ORDER OF RELEASE.
PIVOTAL PIG (_demobilised_). "SO LONG, LEAGUE OF RATIONS, SEE YOU
LATER."]
* * * * *
THE REAL DALRYMPLE.
You would feel quite uncomfortable if you heard Dalrymple talk. He
conveys the impression that everything is badly in the way and ought
to be removed at once. That's his view. Dalrymple has no patience with
the social system. This includes everything, from the washing bill to
the House of Commons.
Dalrymple said the General Election made him impatient. By the way,
Dalrymple is a fine upstanding personage, with just the coloured
hair the lady novelists dote on, and eyes in harmony; but despite his
handsome placid bearing Dalrymple is a fire-eater of the hungriest.
"What you want to do is to make a clean sweep of everything," he said.
"Money is an anachronism, and in a perfectly ordered State would not
be required."
Of course it is no more use arguing with Dalrymple than it would be
to attempt a controversy on naval affairs with Lord Nelson on his
pedestal.
And then there is this about Dalrymple--you remember what some Court
poet said concerning Louis THE FOURTEENTH; it was to the effect that
_quand le Roi parle_--well, apparently everything and everybody else
had to put up the shutters. I forget exactly how the thing ran. It
is just so with Dalrymple. He comes into my room in the City and
warms himself, though no fire is needed to fan his enthusiasm for
destruction. The Bolsheviks are peaceable Sunday folk compared with
him. A Nihilist on a war footing would be considered Quaker-like in
his symptoms.
Dalrymple is neck or nothing. He is a whole-hogger even to the most
indigestible bit of crackling.
"What we want is a fresh start," he said. "Then you could begin anew
and everybody would have a chance. Burn things, blow them up, leave
nothing; then we should see something. Your whole scheme is faulty.
Your Underground--" Dalrymple has an irritating habit of fathering
things on me, which is unfair, for, as regards the Tubes, for
instance, I am sorry to say I have not even a share, and often not
as much as a strap.
"But the Underground is only a bit overcrowded," I ventured to say.
"It can't help that, you know."
"It is all wrong," said Dalrymple. "The entire gadget is defective.
Look at France, look at America, look at Germany and Russia and the
Jugo-Slavs."
It was rather breathless work looking at all these nations and
peoples, but I did my best. Dalrymple is particularly strong when it
is a question of the Jugo-Slavs, and he always gave me the idea that
he spent his Saturday afternoons enunciating chatty pleasantries in
Trafalgar Square and on Tower Hill.
But--you might just see the finish--Dalrymple was not doing anything
of the sort the afternoon that I was out house-hunting. Yes, it is
true. You will scarcely credit the fact that I found any difficulty
in tracking down an eligible villa, but that is the case.
The quest took me to a pleasant semi-rural neighbourhood where
there was room for gardens with the borders edged with the nice soft
yellow-tinted box, and rose walks, and dainty little arbours, and
fandangled appurtenances which amateur gardeners love with perfect
justification.
And there was Dalrymple. I won't deceive you. I recognised him on
the other side of a low oak fence. He was wearing an old hat of the
texture of the bit of headgear which the man who impersonates Napoleon
at the music-hall doubles up and plays tricks with, only Dalrymple's
hat had obviously been white and was now going green and other colours
with wear and tear.
And wherever Dalrymple went a small cherub in a holland frock went
too. The cherub would be about five. Dalrymple was fashioning a
hen-coop out of two or three soap-boxes. Both he and the cherub ceased
activities when I hailed and approached; and I stopped to dinner.
Dalrymple told me he rather fancied he could wangle me a bungalow.
"I know the agent chap," he said, as we sampled a very pleasant glass
of port. "Of course they want to keep it fairly dark or we should be
swamped. I have taken a lot of trouble myself, you know, and am just
starting gardening lectures at our club."
So he went on--the house, his new roses, the hens, the jam his wife
made, the idea he had for a winter garden in the interests of his
wife's mother, who could then take the air in her Bath-chair.
"But," I said, "you want to sweep everything away. You aim at sending
villages like this to pot--your own word, you remember. And then there
are the Jugo-Slavs--"
Dalrymple winked and handed me the cigars.
I fancy he is a fraud.
* * * * *
"AEROPLANE FLIGHT TO INDIA.
"PREPARATIONS FOR DECEPTION IN DELHI."--_Englishman_
(_Calcutta_).
But the aviators, in order that there might be no doubt about their
_bona fides_, wisely landed at Karachi.
* * * * *
MY SERGEANT-MAJOR-DOMO.
When WILSON has abolished War
And grim Bellona claims no more
The greatest of her sons,
What job has Peace to offer thee
That shall fulfil thy destiny,
O Sergeant-Major Buns?
Shall thy great voice, at whose behests
Trembled a hundred martial breasts,
Be heard without a smile
Urging astonished Cingalese
To tap the tapering rubber trees
Upon their distant isle?
Shall thy dread presence clothed in tweed
Be seen, O Buns, without the meed
Of some regretful sigh,
Fresh from the triumphs of the trench
Upon the Opposition Bench
Begging the SPEAKER'S eye?
Nay, rather let thy mighty mind
At length its true vocation find
In the domestic sphere;
The trivial round, the common task
Shall furnish all thou needst to ask--
There shalt thou earn thy beer.
Yes, thou shalt play a worthy role,
Thou great unconquerable soul,
Within my humble flat;
For when thy voice shall thunder, "Where
Is master's cream?" what maid shall dare
Invoke the mystic cat?
And what or volatile Miss Gripps?
The weekly notice on her lips
Shall wither at thy look.
And still one triumph waits for thee--
And, oh! may I be there to see--
When thou shalt face my cook!
* * * * *
"DATE FIXED FOR HANGING RETAILERS."--_Provincial Paper_.
And some of them richly deserve it.
* * * * *
"The League will reconsider traety obligations from time
to time.
"The League will reconsider traeyt obligations from time
to time."--_Evening Paper_.
And then the printer gave it up.
* * * * *
"A Handley Page, with two Rolls-Royce engines, was the
first and only machine to fly to India, and was the first
and only machine to fly to India, and is the second to fly
to India."--_Daily Paper_.
Not the third and only, as for the moment we were tempted to believe.
* * * * *
"Young Educated Girl Pupil Wanted, help animals; live
clergyman's family; pocket-money."--_Newcastle Journal_.
We are glad to hear of a really live clergyman. So many parsons
nowadays are accused of being dead-alive.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SPREAD OF EDUCATION.
_Maid_. "NO, MUM, I'M NOT GOING TO STAY IN THIS HOUSE TO BE INSULTED
BY HAVING 'SLAVEY' WRITTEN ON THE MAT."]
* * * * *
DAILY AND MAILY.
Mr. Daily burst into the room, slamming the door behind him, to find
Mr. Maily seated before the fire.
"Maily, you're not getting things done," he shouted as he walked
swiftly up and down the Turkey carpet.
"Only buttoning my spat, Daily," said Mr. Maily. Then he too,
springing from his chair, walked rapidly to and fro. But whereas Mr.
Daily chose the route between the window and the motto, "Do something
else NOW!" Mr. Maily took the line between the fireplace and "Keep on
keeping on!" for they seldom felt compelled to stick to one direction.
"Maily, I'm worried," exclaimed Mr. Daily in passing. "Things seem to
be easing down. Even you are not so nimble as you were. This silence
of the public troubles me--haven't been saying things about us for a
long time."
"Some people even praise us," remarked Mr. Maily, disgust mingling
with the perspiration on his face.
"We'll be damned if we put up with praise," Mr. Daily declared.
"We shall. We'd give praise if they'd damn us," said Mr. Maily.
"Never be funny, Maily, if you can help it," warned Mr. Daily. Then
he remarked wistfully, "If they'd only burn us again!"
"Couldn't we go for the Archbishop of CANTERBURY?" asked Mr. Maily.
"To be burnt during morning service in a cathedral--"
"No, these church-people couldn't be roused, Maily. Too much
dillydally about them. They'd never fall to it."
Mr. Daily jabbed his thumb against a white bell-push, and a clerk
appeared. "Got enough work to do?" asked Mr. Daily.
"And then some," said the clerk.
"Well, get on with it," shouted Mr. Daily impatiently, and pressed a
red bell-push.
"Plenty doing?" he asked the compositor who appeared.
"Twice that," said the compositor.
"Then go to it," barked Mr. Daily. Turning to behold Mr. Maily mopping
his brow, he cried, "For heaven's sake don't let anybody see you
standing still, Maily."
"I was only thinking," said Mr. Maily.
"Whatever for?" asked Mr. Daily.
"Do you suppose--"
"Suppose nothing. Know!"
"How would it be to--to denounce beer?" asked Mr. Maily.
"Gad, but you've still got pluck," said Mr. Daily with something like
admiration. "They'd burn us right enough. But there is such a thing as
too much pluck, Maily. Think again, if you must think."
"No," Mr. Daily went on, "I doubt if a satisfactory burning can be
worked--it only comes by accident. Meanwhile, if the public won't
talk about us, we must boom ourselves;" and he sprinted to a yellow
bell-push to summon the editor.
"This peace business," said Mr. Daily to him--"_Peace must be signed!_
How's that for a new stunt? Cut out 'The Soldiers' Paper' and call
ourselves 'The Paper that gets Peace.' Get the boys together, work out
a scheme and come and show us in half-an-hour."
"But, Daily, is there any likelihood of peace not being signed?" asked
Mr. Maily, when the editor had gone.
"For goodness' sake, Maily, pull yourself together. Don't you
understand that one of the principles of our job is to back certs?"
said Mr. Daily.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Manager of Kinema Theatre_ (_referring to the two
turbulent members of audience who have been ejected_). "HOW DID THE
QUARREL COMMENCE?"
_Doorkeeper_. "THEY WERE FIGHTING, SIR, ABOUT WHICH OF THEM THE GIRL
IN THE PICTURE WAS WINKING AT."]
* * * * *
LINES TO A LEGIONARY.
(_MEMBERS OF THE NEW CORPS OF DOMESTIC SERVANTS ARE CALLED
LEGIONARIES_.)
Sole hope of this my household, martial maid
Whom ordered ranks and discipline austere
Have shaped (I gather) for a braver trade,
So that respect, not all unmixed with fear,
Informs my breast as I await you here,
Your title, with its stern Caesarian touch,
Does, to be frank, alarm me very much.
Come not, I pray you, to my casual home
(Where moulting cats usurp the best arm-chair)
With the harsh practices of Ancient Rome,
The brow severe, the you-be-careful air
Which (on the film) all legionaries wear;
My dream is just a regulated ease;
Rules, if you like, but not too stringent, please.
Come not with rude awakenings, nor request
That I at stated hours must rise and feed;
I like my morning slumber much the best
And hate a life by drastic laws decreed
(I'm not a Persian born, nor yet a Mede);
No, but with step demure and tactful come,
And if soft music greet you, oh, be dumb!
In careless comfort let my days be spent!
And, maiden, mutual happiness shall reign;
The crash of crockery I'll not lament
Nor (when I fain would sing) will I complain
Though you should raise the far from dulcet strain;
But with a sweet content I'll bless the day
My legionary came, and came to stay.
* * * * *
"LOST, large retriever dog, flat-coated; when pleased or
expectant he grins, showing all his teeth; information leading
to his recovery will be rewarded."--_Glasgow Herald_.
It is supposed that he has been studying the portraits of "Variety"
ladies in the illustrated papers.
* * * * *