Chapter 3

It is a strange thing that, much as women have entered the writing lists with men, there is one branch of literature which they rarely attempt. Take away Mrs. BROWNING and CHRISTINA ROSSETTI and you will scarcely find a love poem by a woman, or, at any rate, a love poem which takes the woman's point of view. Probably many of the most cherished sentimental songs which wake the echoes of the drawing-room and conservatory are the work of women; but they write as men. It is always the masculine aspect which is set before the public; the beloved is always feminine. And yet marriage statistics show that precisely as many men have married as women. But during the preliminary period of exalted emotion any love poetry that was written was written by the men.

Surely, as the advancement of woman proceeds, and she adds territory upon territory to her kingdom, she will redress the balance and write love poetry too.

A very few changes in certain of the classic lyrics indicate how near the two varieties of love poems can be: male and female. Thus, why should not "he" as well as "she" have dwelt among untrodden ways? Why should not "he" have walked in beauty like the night? POE wrote magically about ANNABEL LEE; why should not one of his female relatives, for example, have written in a similar strain? Something like this:--

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a gentleman lived whom you may know By the name of Hannibal Lee; And this gentleman lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

Women must see to it that men do not have it all their own way for ever. LANDOR was moved to a perfect lyric by love of ROSE AYLMER. Is the following any less perfect?

Ah! what avails the sceptred race? Ah! what the form divine? What every virtue, every grace? George Aylmer, all were thine.

George Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and sighs I consecrate to thee.

George is of course not the only name, nor is Aylmer. The adaptrix, however, must be careful that the Christian name is a monosyllable and the other a dissyllable.

Again, in the following feminine version of a Shakspearean song the name is subject to alteration:--

Who is Bertie? What is he That all the girls commend him? Handsome, brave and wise is he; The heavens such grace did lend him That he might admired be.

Examples might be adduced from many poets, but two more will suffice. A female TENNYSON might have begun a song in the following terms:--

It is the youthful miller, And he is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the pencil That trembles on his ear: For 'midst his curls by day and night I'd touch his neck so warm and white.

Finally, let us look at the very prince of love poets--ROBBIE BURNS. Two of his most famous songs might as well have been written of swains as maidens. Here is one in which in the most natural way in the world lassie becomes laddie, and Mary, Harry:--

Go, fetch to me a cup o' tea, And take it from a silver caddie, That I may drink a health to thee, A service to my bonnie laddie! The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-Law, And I maun leave my bonnie Harry.

Is that injured by the change? Not a bit. And here is another in which we have successfully introduced a variation of the original name:--

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie laddie lives, The laddie I lo'e best. There wild woods grow, and rivers row By mony a fleecy flock, But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jock.

After reading these famous stanzas in their amended form our women poets may perhaps take heart and emulate them: to the immense delight of their _fiances_, who like to be wooed as well as to woo, and have never shied very much at adulation.

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MR. PUNCH'S HOLIDAY STORIES.

III.--THE FIGHT OF THE CENTURY.

For weeks past the press had discussed little but the coming boxing contest between Smasher Mike and the famous heavy-weight champion, Mauler Mills, for a purse of L20,000 and enormous side stakes. Photographs of the Mauler in every conceivable attitude had been published daily, together with portraits of his wife, his two children, his four maiden aunts and the pink-eyed opossum which he regarded as his mascot. Full descriptions of his training day by day, with details of his diet, his reading, his amusements and his opinions on war, divorce, the clergy and kindred subjects, testified to the extraordinary interest taken by the public in the titanic struggle.

But with regard to Smasher Mike the newspapers were at a loss. _The Daily Flash_ indeed declared him to be the son of a popular Cabinet Minister, and triumphantly published photographs of Downing Street, the Woolsack, the Ladies' Gallery and Black Rod. _The Daily Rocket_, on the other hand, described him as a herculean docker, discovered and trained by a syndicate of wealthy Americans, and issued photographs of Tilbury Station, Plymouth Hoe and the Statue of Liberty in New York harbour. The fact remained that the identity of the daring challenger was a well-kept secret.

Mauler Mills was too experienced a pugilist to be perturbed by the mystery surrounding his adversary. The stakes had been handed in, and the purse of L20,000, in one pound-notes, had formed a full-page illustration in _The Trumpet_, with a photo of the Mauler eating gooseberries inset. Content with this knowledge, he trained faithfully and well, treated the interviewers with great courtesy, and publicly announced that Smasher Mike would be knocked out early in the third round by means of a left hook to the jaw.

The betting on Mauler Mills was a hundred to one.

Young Lord Tamerton was in desperate straits. The estate to which he had succeeded at the age of ten had been administered during his minority by a fraudulent executor, who had absconded to South America with his ill-gotten wealth. Matters had since gone steadily from bad to worse, and the young peer was now face to face with utter ruin.

An effort had been made to retrieve the family fortunes by the marriage of his sister, the beautiful Lady Margaret Tamerton, to her cousin, the wealthy Sir Ernest Scrivener, but the providential discovery that the latter was already married under the _alias_ of Marmaduke Moorsdyke had prevented the match. Since then Sir Ernest had been their implacable and relentless enemy, and his desperate attempt to kidnap Lady Margaret had only been frustrated by the skill and courage of the famous athlete, Ralph Wonderson.

Lord Tamerton was seated at a grand piano, playing BACH and moodily reflecting on these matters, when Ralph Wonderson himself entered the room, vaulting lightly over piano and performer as he did so.

"What's the matter, Fred?" he asked. "You look blue."

Lord Tamerton dramatically threw L8 4_s._ 6_d._ on the table.

"This morning I pawned the Island Cup, which you won for us," he said bitterly. "That is the result, and that is what stands between me and starvation." His voice broke, "And--and between Madge and starvation," he added.

Ralph laughed gaily. "I'm not rich," he said, "and if I were I don't suppose you'd accept money from me. But I came here purposely to put you in the way of making it. Wager as heavily as you can on Smasher Mike. The odds are a hundred to one against him. I can introduce you to a man who will consider your name sufficient security for a loan of L5,000. That will bring you in L500,000, which should secure you at any rate from absolute privation. As for little Madge--well, I have a bare L8,000 a year, but if----"

A light step was heard behind him, and a small hand stole into his own.

"I would marry you," said Lady Margaret, "I would marry you if it were only L7,000."

As the lovers gazed fondly into each other's eyes, a sinister figure emerged from the grand piano and slipped out noiselessly through the open door.

(_To be concluded in our next._)

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Illustration: _Burglar (to his mate)._ "SEE WOT PEOPLE GITS FUR BEIN' UNPATRIOTIC! IT'S A PURE TREAT TO GIVE THESE 'ERE GOLD 'OARDERS A LESSON."

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Sad Case of Cannibalism by Robert.

"Milton scarcely heard her. He was too intent upon wondering how Robert came to be dining tete-a-tete with the one-time Adeline Goodrin, and--if the truth be told--upon that amazing woman, herself."

_"Daily Mail" feuilleton._

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From _Chemistry of Plant Products_:--

"D'Arbamont concludes that starch, and presumably also sugar, may or may not be essential for the formation of chlorophyll."

We came to the same conclusion long ago.

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Illustration: _Excited Veteran._ "THE ALLIES WILL PROBABLY REACH HERE AND THEN SWEEP ROUND WITH A SUDDEN FLANKING MOVEMENT."

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

The heroine of _Alberta and the Others_ (SIDGWICK AND JACKSON) was the eldest of an orphaned family of girls and boys who were finding life a little boring in an English village; and when an unexpected legacy made her mistress of a couple of town lots in a place called Sunshine, in Western Canada, nothing would content her but to emigrate with the whole tribe--reinforced by a delightful _Aunt Mary_ and an animal known as the Meritorious Cat--to the Land of Promise. The book is the history of how they got on there. Naturally, from the circumstances of their start and the giddy altitude of _Alberta's_ hopes, you will be prepared for its being, to some extent at least, a story of disillusion. Miss MADGE S. SMITH, who wrote it, says that it is all true; and indeed there is much in the tale that stamps it as the outcome of personal experience. This being so, I could wish that her attitude in the matter had been a little less uncompromisingly English. In many ways the language and general outlook of the daughter of an Oxford don will no doubt differ considerably from that of a Canadian-born inhabitant of a prairie township; but that is no good reason for assuming an air of patronage. However, this defect, though it exists, is not so pronounced as to spoil one's enjoyment of an entertaining record, written, as the publishers say, "in high spirits throughout," and having, I fancy, just this much fiction mingled with its obvious fact, that it ends with a general pairing off and the prospect of three weddings--which seems, as _Lady Bracknell_ observed in a similar connection, "a number considerably above the average that statistics have laid down for our guidance." But at least it is the _amende honorable_ to the Land of Promise.

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From the cover of _A Tail of Gold_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) I gather with respectful interest that its author, Mr. DAVID HENNESSEY, recently won four hundred pounds with another story in open competition. I did not read the story in question, but in view of its satisfactory financial result I may be permitted to express a hope that it was considerably better work than the present volume. Let me be entirely fair. _A Tail of Gold_ has some pictures of Australian mining life that are not without interest; but I am bound to add that a careful and sympathetic perusal has failed to disclose any other reason for its existence. The plot, so far as there is one, concerns the chequered career of a certain _Major Smart_, who seems to have been by no means all that a major should be. Amongst other unpleasing peculiarities, he was apparently possessed of a fetish that brought misfortune or death to all who were associated with him. These results were in the main involuntary; but it is only just to add that _Smart_ was not above assisting nature to take her course. Thus, some years before the opening of the story, he had deliberately buried one poor lady alive in a cave containing sulphide of mercury. Never ask me why. I am as muddled by this as I am over his further conduct in leaving with the corpse every possible clue in the way of letters and ciphers that could bring his guilt home to him. In any ordinary novel he would have been convicted in a few chapters; but _A Tail of Gold_ wags (if I may use the term) so leisurely, and its action is so much impeded by false starts and repetitions and general haphazardness, that there is no telling how long it might not have continued but for the limitations of volume form. No, I can't pretend I liked it much.

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Madame ALBANESI, in _The Cap of Youth_ (HUTCHINSON), cannot be accused of excessive kindness to her own sex, for the charming women of the book are almost snuffed out by two poisonous females, _Lady Bollington_ and _Lady Catherine Chiltern_. Indeed these ladies are a little too much of a bad thing, and, not for the first time, I am left thinking how wonderfully Madame ALBANESI'S novels might be improved if she could persuade herself to bestow an occasional virtue upon her wicked characters. The heroine, _Virginia_, escaped from the hands of one of the pair only to fall under the thumb of the other. I must admit, however, that _Lady Catherine_ had some reason to be angry at having _Virginia_ suddenly dumped upon her as a derelict daughter-in-law. Why _Brian Chiltern_ married in haste and then left his wife to endure such impossible conditions you must find out for yourself, but I fancy you will agree that his delicacy of feeling amounted to sheer stupidity. Nevertheless this story is bound to be popular, and I should have had no complaint to make if I did not feel that its author has it in her to do better work.

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Even readers to whom American humour is generally a little indigestible may glean some smiles from _Penrod_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON), provided that it is taken in small doses and not in the lump. If this book were to be considered a study of the normal American boy I should cry with vigour, "Save me from the breed," but as a fanciful account of a thorough and egregious imp of mischief I can, within limits, offer my congratulations to Mr. BOOTH TARKINGTON. The triumph of _Penrod_ lies in the fact that, although he brought woe and tribulation to his relations and exasperated his friends to the point of insanity, it is nevertheless impossible to suppress an affection for him. Ofttimes and hard his father chastised him with rods, but _Penrod_ merely accepted these beatings as the price that had to be paid for leading an adventurous life, and showed not the smallest signs of repentance. Yes, I like _Penrod_, though I have not any great desire to meet him in the flesh. It grieves me, however, that such a character as _Mr. Kinosling_ should have been dragged in by the heels. If fatuous clerics are worth any novelist's attention they certainly are not worth Mr. TARKINGTON'S, and the only effect _Mr. Kinosling_ had upon me was to fortify my conviction that it is far easier to begin a book of humour than to finish it.

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Illustration: THE NORTH SEA PERIL.

"BY JOVE, I PITY THE GERMANS IF _SHE_ GETS HOLD OF 'EM!"

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_EN PASSANT._

Loud swells the roar of traffic in the street, The motor-buses rumble on and wind Their plaintive warnings as they come behind Faint folk who dally, dazed by summer heat; The reckless taxis seem a deal too fleet To country cousins nervously inclined, And raucous news-boys fret the curious mind With spicy rumours of the foe's defeat.

But suddenly a hush falls everywhere: Stopp'd is each taxi with its languid load, And, as the City's silence deeper grows, Only a barrel-organ churns the air While Peggy (in the middle of the road) Pauses to put some powder on her nose!

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Mr. Chaplin as an Apache.

"RETIREMENT OF MR. HENRY CHAPLIN.

SAFETY OF THE STREETS."

_The Times._

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