Part 1

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Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 146, March 4th 1914

_edited by Owen Seaman_

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CHARIVARIA.

According to _The Globe_ Mr. YEO, in returning thanks after the Poplar election, shouted to a female interrupter; "Shut up, you silly cat, shut up!" To this, we understand, the cat retorted generously, "My-Yeo!"

* * *

The GABY DESLYS' tradition? Miss LOTTIE VENNE is appearing at the Criterion in a _Pair of Silk Stockings_, and Miss MARY MOORE is touring the provinces in _Mrs. Gorringe's Necklace_.

* * *

The KAISER has forbidden the production at Herr REINHARDT'S Deutches Theater of a play called _Ferdinand, Prince of Prussia_, on the ground that one of the characters is a member of the Prussian Royal Family. We ourselves should never have dared to hint that this fact renders the play unfit for the public.

* * *

Cheery notice on the window of an insurance office in New Broad Street, E.C.:--

"GUARANTEES, SICKNESS COMBINED WITH ACCIDENT."

* * *

Dr. DURHAM lectured last week on Explosives as an aid to Gardening; but many persons think that the quiet man who does not lose his temper gets better results.

* * *

Burglars, last week, broke into a synagogue at Newcastle-on-Tyne and removed practically all the articles of value, including a silver cup and a pointer. Surprise is expressed in some quarters that the pointer should not have given the alarm by barking.

* * *

Living artists sometimes complain that it is only the Old Masters who are appreciated nowadays. Authors would seem to be more fortunate. Take the following paragraph from _The Bedford Express_:--"On Sunday the well-known elocutionist, Mr. FREDERICK DUXBURY, visited Stevenage. He preached morning and evening at the Wesleyan Church, and in the afternoon he gave a sacred recital. His principal item on Sunday afternoon was Coulson Kernahan's 'God and the Ant,' but he included one or two lesser pieces, including a chapter from the book of Job."

* * *

It was stated last week in the Marylebone Police Court that there is a gang of thieves in London who do not hesitate to steal motor-cars whenever they find them unattended in the street. These scoundrels are crafty enough not to pick up the cars and put them under their arm, for they realise that this might attract attention, but they just jump in and drive off.

* * *

We are glad to note a renewed outcry against the unearthly noises made by many motor-car hooters. If they must run over us, the least they can do is to let us die in peace.

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* * * * *

It seems a pity that so little is done to encourage the growing love of art among the criminal classes. The Italian gentleman who guarded "La Gioconda" so carefully has not been so much as thanked for his pains, and now it is stated that six persons have been arrested in Paris and Brussels for removing art objects from the admittedly unsafe custody of museums.

* * *

Stout residents of Cornforth, Durham, having protested against the narrowness of some of the gateways on the local paths, the parish council has decided to widen them. It was found that this would be more economical than to send these citizens to Marienbad to have their bulk reduced.

* * *

Publishers are continually making finds, and Messrs. DUCKWORTH AND CO. have been peculiarly fortunate. In their current list they announce the publication of "Lost Diaries" and "The Lost Road."

* * *

"Sale of Votes by Women.

Incidents in a Chicago Election."

_Daily Express._

By a curious coincidence we have seen ladies selling _Votes for Women_ in the streets of London.

* * *

Yet another example of the industry of the foreigner. A pamphlet issued by the Lincolnshire Chick Farm informs us that "On the Cyphers' Co. Poultry Plant, one flock of 400 White Leghorns shows an average of 185.2 eggs per bird in 36.5 days." This, we need scarcely tell our readers, works out at 5.06849315 eggs per bird per day.

* * * * *

Another Episcopal Scandal.

"KING AND NEW BISHOPS.

The King received at Buckingham Palace to-day the new Bishops of Chelmsford and St. Edmundsbury and Ipswich. The Home Secretary administered the oath.

FOUND TO BE INSANE.

Judgment was reserved."

_Westminster Gazette._

* * * * *

"Much the largest of all the woodpeckers in this country is the great black woodpecker (_Picus martius_). This is a very rare species, occurring only in the wilds of the wooded mountain areas. It is about 18 miles in length."

_Pekin and Tientsin Times._

As the crow flies.

* * * * *

England's far-reaching Influence.

"RESULT OF THE POPLAR ELECTION.

NO FOREIGNER SAFE IN MEXICO."

"_Yorkshire Observer" Placard._

* * * * *

"SIR WILLIAM RAMSAY'S POSER STARTLES AUDIENCE.

Special Cable to the New York Times and Montreal Gazette.

London, February 4.--Sir William Ramsay raised the question whether the unfit should be left to die at the annual dinner of the Institute of Sanitary Engineers to-night."

_The Gazette (Montreal)._

There would, of course, be no difficulty about the "funeral bakéd meats."

* * * * *

IN MEMORIAM.

John Tenniel.

BORN 1820. DIED FEBRUARY 25TH, 1914.

Now he whose gallant heart so lightly bore So long the burden of the years' increase Passes at length toward the silent shore, From peace to deeper peace.

And we, his honoured comrades, by whose side His haunting spirit keeps its ancient spell, We bring our tribute, woven of love and pride, And say a last farewell.

Yet not farewell; because eternal youth Still crowns the craftsmanship where hand and eye Saw and interpreted the soul of Truth, Letting the rest go by.

Thus for his pictured pageant, gay or grave, He seized and fixed the moving hour's event, Maker of history by the life he gave To fact with fancy blent.

So lives the Artist in the work he wrought; Yet Nature dowered the Man with gifts more dear-- A chivalrous true knight in deed and thought, Without reproach or fear.

O. S.

* * * * *

THE PERFECT CONDUCTOR.

"GOOD MORNING, Sir," he said, as I boarded a leviathan one day last week. "What a beautiful morning, isn't it? What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?" He daftly pulled half-a-dozen tickets from his stock and permitted me to inspect them.

"Fresh in this morning, Sir," he continued. "White, one penny; a great many people prefer them because they go well with any colour. For the blue ones we are asking twopence; they have only the same amount of information but take you twice as far. Sweet shade, isn't it?" He stepped back and held one up to the light for my benefit.

"Well, I really only wanted a pennyworth, but I _must_ have one of the blue ones--they _are_ attractive, as you say. I shall keep it in memory of you."

"Very good of you, Sir. You won't mind my making a little hole in it? A mere matter of form; and the bell, which rings to announce the conclusion of the operation, is, as you will notice, quite musical. A sovereign? I shall be delighted to change it for you." He gave me the correct change, bowed, and turned to answer a lady passenger.

"Have we passed Sloane Street?" she had enquired.

"We passed it at least five minutes ago, madam. Were you wishing to alight there?"

"I was," replied the lady; "but don't trouble--I can walk back."

He was horrified at the thought.

"Certainly not, my dear madam," he protested. Turning to the little ventilator-window by which he could communicate with the driver, he rapped. "William," he called, "a lady here desired to get down at Sloane Street. Do you mind...?"

"Charles," responded the driver, stopping the 'bus, "you know our one ambition is to please the passengers who so trustfully commit themselves to our charge. Mingle my regrets with yours, as representing the Company, that we should have omitted clearly to intimate when we were in the vicinity of Sloane Street. We will lose no time in correcting the error."

"William," said Charles, "it is only what I should have expected of you. It is the least we can do." William turned the 'bus carefully and ran quickly back, to the admiration of the other passengers, who murmured unanimous approval of such graceful courtesy.

"This," announced Charles, as we pulled up after a while, having recovered the lost ground, "is South Kensington Station. We stay here one full minute for the advantage of any person who wishes to visit the neighbourhood; after which we shall proceed, if all goes well, to Putney, taking with us perchance those who have business in that direction."

I prepared to alight, and Charles shook my hand warmly.

"Speaking for William and myself, Sir, representing the Company," he said with emotion, "we are indeed sorry to lose you. It would have given us both great pleasure could your presence have graced the remainder of the journey. Still, doubtless your private affairs compel you to sever this so charming acquaintanceship, and on some future occasion I trust we may again meet?"

"I trust so, Charles," I answered. "Farewell."

"_Au revoir_," said Charles, waving a hand. Sorrowfully I left him, hearing as I departed his dulcet tones addressing the passers-by: "If anyone would care to step on, we are going to...."

* * * * *

MANNERS FOR PARENTS.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Instead of writing all this nonsense about the behaviour of boys at school, why doesn't someone write about the behaviour of parents at school--at their son's school, I mean? That is a subject which really requires ventilation, for the behaviour of most parents at school is _positively mouldy_.

Of course it's very nice for your people to come down and see you and all that, but there's a good deal of anxiety about it which might easily be avoided, and I have therefore written out a few simple RULES FOR PARENTS AT SCHOOL which I hope you will publish.

(I.) Do not greet your son upon your arrival with "Well, boysie," or some such rotten expression as that. It's the sort of thing that it may take him years to live down.

(II.) Do not insist upon attaching the son of your old friend Smith to the party. Old Smith may be all right, but young Smith may be in a House you can't mix with, or something like that.

(III.) Do not say to your son, of someone else's cap, "That's a pretty cap; why don't you have one like it?" because it's probably either the First XI. colours, or the cap of a House you wouldn't be seen dead in.

(IV.) Do not tell the House Master how well your son played in the boys' cricket match last summer holidays. Your son is probably a perfect rabbit, and the master is certain to know it.

(V.) Do not discuss such subjects as "The Public School and the Development of Character" with the masters in your son's presence. It's very unpleasant to have the development of your character discussed. In fact it's hardly decent.

(VI.) Do not treat a member of the XI. as if he were an ordinary person; and--

(VII.) For Heaven's sake don't walk across Great Green. Only fellows who have been in the XI. two seasons may do so, yet I've known parents wander all over it before their sons could stop them, and only laugh when told what they had done!

Hoping you will publish this, as I think you ought to do,

Yours truly, CHUBB Minor.

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* * * * *

* * * * *

MY HEROES.

Every day of my life I am more and more impressed by the genius of two men. These men are GUTENBERG and MORSE. GUTENBERG invented printing and MORSE was more or less in at the birth of telegraphy. What should we do without either?

It is morning and I turn to the paper. It happens to be _The Daily Graphic_. What do I find? I find GUTENBERG and MORSE once more in collaboration. Thus:--

"MR. BALFOUR LOSES HIS WAY.

CANNES, Monday.

Mr. Balfour paid a visit yesterday in pouring rain to Mr. Chamberlain at the Villa Victoria. Mr. Balfour lost his way, and passing the house strolled along the Fréjus road, scanning the name of every house until he found a chauffeur who directed him to the Villa Victoria. Subsequently Mr. Balfour returned to the Hotel Continental and motored out to dinner.--Central News."

What, privileges we enjoy, we moderns! Five hundred years ago, four hundred, the world would have been in ignorance of any event of this kind. Statesmen would have lost their way in foreign towns and no one at home would have known. Think of the privation! But now, not only, thanks to GUTENBERG, do we know it and think accordingly, but, thanks to MORSE, we know it the next day and our thrills are not delayed.

So much for the morning.

It is a few minutes later--evening. Not really evening, because it is before lunch, but evening enough for the Tenth Muse, bless her! I open _The Evening News_ and what do I find? GUTENBERG alone; but how full of matter! Thus:--

"SEVEN.

The mystic number seven is curiously associated with the baby daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Knight, of Old Swinford, Worcestershire.

She was born at the Seven Stars Hotel at the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month.

There were seven customers in the bar when her birth was announced, seven persons were present at the christening, and there are seven letters in her Christian name.

Her father is the eldest of seven children and her mother the youngest of seven. She has seven uncles."

There's for you! But of course this is not enough. The chronicler, try as he might, is but a scamper after all. Not only were there seven customers in the bar, but each had had seven drinks. Whiskey (there are seven letters in whiskey, spelt my way) punch. Each had a slice of lemon and there were seven pips in the lemon. Of the seven uncles each had a watch, making seven watches, and a cigar case, making seven cigar-cases. So it might go on for ever.

Similarly the nine deported Labour leaders arrived in the Thames nine minutes after somebody else and nine minutes before somebody else. The term "dock-berth" has nine letters in it, and Nine Elms is on the Thames too. Whew!

* * * * *

"We find ourselves generally in agreement with the writer Dr. Figgis, so our enjoyment of his books is the keener and less critical. When we do criticise it is as though we found faults in a friend whom we know very well and regard very highly. This position Dr. Figgis has won for himself by the thoroughness as well as the cleverness of his literary work."--_Athenæum._

Dr. FIGGIS must be a proud man to-day.

* * * * *

INTERVIEWING FATHER.

SIR GEORGE is not a nice man. He is a mercenary, narrow-minded person. I never really liked him, but then he never really liked me. However, he is Miranda's father, so I decided to interview him. The interview took place at his office. He waved me to a chair, and, as it seemed all that I was likely to get, I took it.

"Well?" Sir George grunted.

His tone indicated an unfriendly spirit, so I retorted, "Well."

There was a slight pause. Then he said, rather aggressively. "I never lend money."

"I suspected it," I replied; "I practically never borrow money, but that is my misfortune and not my fault."

"Then what can I do for you?"

"You have a daughter----"

"I have," he interrupted.

"I knew we should find a common basis of agreement. Miranda is unmarried; I am unmarried."

"You suggest marrying my daughter?"

"I make no suggestion, but the idea had crossed my mind."

"Can you keep a wife?"

"I never lost one yet. I think that with a little tact----"

"I mean, have you any money?"

"Eighteen shillings and fourpence," I answered, producing that sum as evidence of my _bona fides_.

"That is not a very large capital on which to start married life."

"True, but I'm not mercenary. Yet perhaps, as we seem to have drifted on to the question of money, I might mention that I have property--house property."

"I don't believe much in house property in these days."

"I don't either. Though I lay no particular stress on the matter, I also have some mortgages."

"I don't care much about mortgages."

"I agree with you. Beastly things, I call them."

"What income do you derive from the property and the mortgages?"

"I don't exactly derive any income from either. You see, the two things go together--I mean the property and the mortgages. I don't fancy the mortgagees get much income from the property, though I suppose they try their best. Perhaps, strictly speaking, I can hardly call the property mine since the mortgagees took possession. The mortgages however are undoubtedly mine. I created them, you know."

Sir George rose pompously, so I went on at once:

"I have some shares. I should like your opinion on them."

"What kind of shares?"

"The usual kind--paper, but quite nice artistic designs on them."

"In what companies?"

"I forget the names of the companies, but I think that they had something to do with rubber."

"Then you can take my advice and sell them."

"Thanks awfully," I said, "if that means that you'll buy them. I always thought that I should eventually find someone to help me out."

"I will not buy your shares. But before I finally close this interview I should like to know, as a matter of curiosity, on what you live?"

"Meat and things, like other people. I'm no vegetarian."

"I mean, how do you obtain food and clothes? I see that you do wear clothes. At present I'm a little puzzled."

"It's a matter which has often puzzled me. I get them somehow. Sometimes I work and sometimes, but not very often, I get paid for my work. I believe that if I were married I could earn more."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you see, I couldn't very well earn less."

"Then am I to understand that you have practically no income?"

"If it comes to that, has Miranda any income?"

"My daughter will have what I choose to allow her."

"And I shall have what I choose to earn, so it seems that we should be fairly well matched."

"Sir, I consider your request to marry my daughter an impertinence, and the flippancy with which you have conducted this interview an insult."

"Sir George," I said impressively, "be just before you are generous. If you think over the matter calmly you will recognise that I have made no such request. You are an older man than I, so I pass over anything that you may have said in the heat of the moment. I am willing to part friends."

For a moment I thought he would burst. He ignored my outstretched hand and almost shouted, "I don't care how we part, so long as we do part. You will oblige me by not seeing or communicating with my daughter again."

As I was passing through the door I remarked, "Without making any rash promises, I will endeavour to oblige you. I gather, as much from your demeanour as anything else, that you do not favour me as a suitor for your daughter's hand. As a matter of fact, I look with equal disfavour on you as a possible father-in-law. My real object in seeking this interview was to remove any misapprehension you might have on the subject."

When I was well outside the door, laughter really took hold of me for the first time since Miranda refused to marry me.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"Mr. Hartley is the proud possessor of the English championship belt for running broad jump, having cleared something over 45 feet."

_The Morning Albertan._

His pride is very excusable.

* * * * *

"In our day when many women consider the art of managing a home beneath the dignity of their supposed sex, not everyone knows how to make a pancake."

_Liverpool Daily Post and Mercury._

"Supposed" is good.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MOVING.

(_A Suburban Elegy._)

WHEN I remember I shall tread no more In such a short time now the well-known street, And never to these ears shall sound the roar Of Perkins' cart-wheels, dangerously fleet, Bringing the boon of Ceres to the door, Nor those of Batson (Batson is the meat);--

When I recall that in the hours to come My eyes may never see the shape of Pott Planting his fish down, then methinks it's rum That mortal men should move and be forgot By those that serve their household daily, some Sending the right delivery, some not.

Full often on my homeward way I pause Where Jones is standing at his shop-front trim; We pass remarks about the nation's laws And how it still keeps up, though skies are grim; And Jones is most polite to me, because We've always got our groceries from him.

But the old orders soon shall cease to be, And I must pass into an unknown land, And at the corner by The Holly Tree Where now he lifts a ceremonious hand Yon constable shall scarce remember me, Not that he ever----Quite. You understand.

And alien lips from mine must move to swear Over the mangled remnants of a shirt Brutally done to death with fiendish care By yon steam laundry. Last I come to Bert; Bert's is the best known face in all the Square, Being the milk, and something more--a flirt.

Yes, for not only bleeds this heart of mine; There shall be tenderer spasms when we shift, Such bits of cheek, such observations fine, Such honied whispers have been heard to drift From Susan at the casement of her shrine To Romeo managing the tradesmen's lift.

Hers shall be all the loss; he'll soon forget. Others shall ope accounts when we are gone; Movings are all too frequent for regret; Yet one methinks there is shall dream upon Our name with soft remembrance, guard it yet Like some pressed violet. I refer to John.

I know our postal service, know full well, Though we have told them to what bourn we flit, How many a missive shall obey the spell Of the old false address inscribed on it. And John shall bring them. And John's heart shall swell For Harriet while he stuffs them through the slit.

EVOE.

* * * * *

OUR LITERARY ADVICE DEPARTMENT.

CANDID advice given to the literary aspirant on easy terms by an old journalist. His fame is world-wide, but he prefers to be known as THE OLD NIB. Anyone sending him threatening letters will be prosecuted.

Frankly, LANCELOT, your _Passionate Pangs; or, Heart Throbs of a Retired Government Clerk_, will never bring you in a large income. You say friends have praised them highly, and you point out that TENNYSON had to wait years for recognition. Well, you must do the same. You could not have a better precedent.