Chapter 3

London, Paris or Petrograd (official)............... 100 " " " (semi-official).......... 50 Berlin (official)................................... 25 It is believed in military circles here that----.... 24 A correspondent who has just returned from the firing-line tells me that----....................... 18 It is freely stated in Brussels that----............ 17 Our correspondent at Amsterdam wires that----....... 13 Our correspondent at Rome announces that----........ 11 Berlin (unofficial)................................. 10 I learn from a neutral merchant that----............ 7 A story is current in Venice to the effect that----. 5 It is rumoured that----............................. 4 I have heard to-day from a reliable source that----. 3 I learn on unassailable authority that----.......... 2 It is rumoured in Rotterdam that----................ 1 Wolff's Bureau states that----...................... 0

We didn't put in my wife's other sister who lives on the East coast, because I don't like to hurt people's feelings. My wife hears from her frequently. Her average is about nineteen to one against, so that her proper place on the list would be bracketed with the story from Venice.

* * * * *

TREASURES IN STORE.

He is a great man in the Pantomime world. As he rose from his roll-top desk with the evident intention of kicking me, I hastened to explain that I was only a harmless reporter come to look at some of the new lyrics.

"Ah," said he, "that alters the case. I thought you were another topical songster. Now here's a clever little piece about the Navy."

I stretched out my hand for it.

"No," he said. "So much depends on intelligent expression and emphasis that I'd better read it to you. I think of calling this one 'The Battle of the Brine.'

"The seas roll high, and the smoke around does hang, And the Dreadnoughts steam along in line; The big guns boom and the little fellows bang, And the shells go bumping in the brine! The flags run up, and the Admiral says, '_Now_, Sirs, Buck up and send the Huns to Davy Jones!' Then the Captain cheers, and the men hitch up their trousers, And they all give Hohenzollern three groans!

"There it is;" and the Great Man fairly purred with satisfaction. "_Une petite pièce de tout droit_, isn't it?" he said. "I gave you a hint of the tune. It needs a stirring one."

"It does," said I, delighted to be able to agree with him on one point. "And you have other songs equally topical?"

He pointed to a bale in the corner that I had taken for a new carpet. "I've had a good few to choose from," he said. "I fancy this one is about the best. My leading low-comedian writes all his own lyrics--extraordinarily adequate little man. He opens briskly:--

"Pip-pip, girls! As I was walking down the street, Because it couldn't walk down me, One day last week I chanced to meet A German en-ee-mee. He had a notebook in his hand (not a sausage) And I said, ''Ere's a spy! Wot O!' So I gripped him by the collar and-- And--then--I--let--him--go! For he (ha! ha! he! he!) Was bigger than me, you see, So I thought it well to run and tell The speshul constabularee!

"Yes," he gasped, "I thought that 'ud hit you. That's what I call a real live piece of work. Here's another--in the old-fashioned style. Not quite so much snap about it. But my fourth low-comedian thinks he can make it go. It's called, 'When Father Threw his Wages at the Cat.'

"We're not a happy family, we're always on the nag, Our miseries are dreadful to relate; I've got two little sisters who are both a mass of blisters From settling disagreements in the grate;

This afternoon my Uncle Charlie kicked me down the stairs And walloped me for crumpling up the mat; But this, though far from nice, is simply nothing to the crisis When father threw his wages at the cat!

There _have_ been other ructions, and especially the day That mother lent our dicky to the sweep, When all of us were weeping and the baby gave up sleeping Because it was impossible to sleep; But all the rows that ever raged in any British home Were never half so horrible as that Which made the coppers rally to the storming of our alley When father threw his wages at the cat!"

"Is that out of date?" said I. "If so, I like the old style best.'

He grunted. "It'll pass," he said; "but the other's the business."

"Well, give me pleasure first," said I. "As a true Briton I can always take it sadly."

* * * * *

BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY BEAR.

Barbara's birthday comes once a year, And Barbara's age you may surely know If into the toy-box depths you'll peer And count the Teddy-bears all in a row.

For by Barbara's law, which we all obey, She claims each year, as the birthday-due That her loyal subjects must cheerfully pay, A new Teddy-bear for the toy-box Zoo.

Some of them growl and some of them squeak, And one can play on a rub-a-dub drum, But till Barbara's birthday last Wednesday week Not one of the Teddy-bears was dumb.

The latest addition to Barbara's bears Was a splendid fellow when well displayed In one of the smallest of nursery chairs, And his label declared he was "English made."

Barbara called him her "bestest bear," But he tumbled soon from this place of pride; For she squeezed him here and she pounded him there, And "Daddy, he doesn't growl," she cried.

Barbara shook him and flung him down; She turned her back and refused to play; And to every argument said with a frown, "He's my worstest bear; he can go away."

We took him back, and we asked instead For "A bear like this, that can growl, you see;" But the shopman smiled and he darkly said, "All growls are made, Sir, in Germany."[1]

Footnote 1: No doubt this defect in the British industry has by now been made good.

* * * * *

THE NEW REPORTING.

TONBURY _V._ HAILEYBRIDGE.

(_A Rugby Match reported after the style of the German General Staff. The passages in brackets are the work of a neutral correspondent._)

Our brave Tonburians kicked off against the wind and immediately assumed a strong offensive along the whole line, forcing the enemy to evacuate his positions. When we reached their Twenty-five it became clear, after a furious struggle, that a decision was inevitably about to be postponed on account of the unexpected strength of their defence. (One try to Haileybridge which was converted.)

After some fierce scrummaging in mid-field, in which we had all the best of it, it was found necessary, owing to strategic reasons, for our forces to occupy entirely new positions some thirty yards nearer to our own touchline. Thereafter there was nothing whatever to report. (Try to Haileybridge.)

When the game was resumed it soon became evident that the situation was developing according to our expectations. (A dropped goal to Haileybridge.)

Fighting continued, but there was no new development to report. (Two tries.)

At half-time the head-master heartily congratulated the Tonbury Fifteen upon the magnificent victories they were gaining against superior forces, and assured them that it would soon be over, and they would all be back in time for tea. He then conferred their caps upon the whole Fifteen and an extra tassel upon the Captain. It is understood that the school-house will be decorated with bunting.

The second half was largely a repetition of the first. We continued to keep up a powerful pressure all along the line, varied only by frequent occupation of new strategic lines, occasional postponements of decision, several stages of development according to anticipation, and some rapid re-grouping of our forces. The whistle found us pressing heavily, just outside the goal-line (the Tonbury one).

(Result: Haileybridge, 43 points; Tonbury, _nil._)

* * * * *

Illustration: THE JOY OF BILLETING IN A FRENCH CHATEAU.

_Time, 6 A.M._

_Brigade Major._ "I SAY, SIR, MAY I FINISH DRESSING IN HERE? THEY'RE SHELLIN' THE NORTH BEDROOMS!"

* * * * *

THE BERLIN CHRISTMAS SEASON.

YULE LOGS.

Made from the finest Belgian church carved oak. A Prussian General writes: "This wood burns admirably. I speak from personal observation of experiments carried out under my orders."

An admirably suitable present for this year is a

WAR MAP.

Those we offer are calculated to be particularly popular, the little Imperial flags _not being detachable but painted on to the map_--at Paris, London, Petersburg, etc. Thus, whatever may be happening in the field, you may continue cheerful.

AMERICAN MIRRORS.

As many of our most exalted customers complain of the quality of these goods, considering them too crude and glaring in their effect, we have prepared, with the help of our Ambassador at Washington, a special glass which provides a less realistic reflection. Sold in various shapes--the Kaiser mirror, the Dernburg reflector, etc. Try one.

A BEAUTIFUL SOUVENIR.

CALAIS-BEACH PEBBLE BROOCHES.

(We regret to announce that at the last moment our buyer writes that he is unable to procure the last-named article.)

* * * * *

TOPICAL GEOGRAPHY.

STUDIES IN THE ART OF DRAGGING-IN.

["Though the Falkland Islands are dreary and uninviting enough, they have added their quota to the gaiety of the world. It should not be forgotten that Miss Ellaline Terris is a native of Stanley, the capital of the islands."--_Pall Mall Gazette._]

The town of Bonn, in Rhenish Prussia, which has recently been in evidence owing to the enterprise of French aviators, is the seat of a university, of an Old Catholic bishopric and a school of agriculture. But it owes its chief title to fame to the fact that it was the birthplace of BEETHOVEN, the eminent composer. BEETHOVEN was a man of a serious character, but thanks to the genius of Sir HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE, who impersonated the illustrious symphonist in one of his notable productions, he has contributed substantially to the general gaiety.

Scarborough's unhappy plight under the shells of the German Navy will not soon be forgotten, and the sympathies of us all are with the unfortunate townsfolk of the Northern resort. Brighton, however, which shares with Scarborough the claim to be called the Queen of Watering Places, is unharmed and no doubt will remain a favourite recreation ground for tired Londoners on Sunday, among whom that mirth-provoking comedian, Mr. GEORGE GRAVES, is often to be seen.

The strategical and political importance of Egypt has of late somewhat overshadowed its picturesque aspect. But Memphis, Luxor, the Pyramids are still names to conjure with, as anyone will readily admit who recalls the wonderful stage pictures in _Bella Donna_, in which the _rôle_ of good genius was sustained with such consummate skill and sympathy by Sir GEORGE ALEXANDER, whose smile is as irresistible as the sword of his Macedonian namesake.

Tokio, the capital of the Japanese Empire, has re-emerged into prominence owing to the celebrations over the fall of Tsingtau. But it must never be forgotten that Miss GERTIE MILLAR'S _espièglerie_ has caused many critics to compare her with the famous Japanese actress, Madame SADA YACCO, who, so far as we know, was born at Tokio and is one of its brightest jewels.

All eyes have recently been turned towards Ypres, and every one not of Teutonic caste must regret the damage that has been wrought there by the War. The word Ypres, however, to many persons, is chiefly interesting as giving its name to the old tower at Rye, in Sussex, where Mr. HENRY JAMES, whose sprightly and fertile pen has added so much to the dubiety of nations, has long resided.

* * * * *

"Il verso di Shaeckspeare 'Rules, Britain, on the suaves.'"--_Corriere delle Puglie._

Not KIPLING'S after all, you see.

* * * * *

TOO MUCH NOTICE.

I decided to go home by bus. My season-ticket had expired painlessly the previous day, and twice already that morning I had had to satisfy the curiosity of the railway officials as to my name and address. Although I had explained to them that I was on half-salary and promised to renew business relations with the company as soon as the War was over or Uncle Peter died--whichever event happened first--they simply would not listen to me, and hence my decision to adopt some other means of transport. I signalled to a bus to stop, and, as the driver, seeing my signal, at once put on his top speed, I just managed to fling myself on to the spring-board as the vehicle tore past.

I ran up to the first storey, and sat down in the front seat. Then I took out my cigarette-case and was about to light a cigarette when a printed notice caught my eye--

PASSENGERS WISHING TO SMOKE ARE KINDLY REQUESTED TO OCCUPY THE REAR SEATS.

If the notice had been put a little less politely I should have ignored it; but I can refuse nothing to those who are kind to me, so I refrained from lighting up, and contented myself with looking round to see if there was a rear seat vacant. There wasn't. A cluster of happy, smoking faces confronted me. I turned round again, and wished I had learnt to take snuff.

"Cheer-o, Bert!" said a refined voice just behind my ear, and at the same moment a walking-stick playfully tapped the head of the young fellow sitting next to me. My neighbour faced about, kicked me on the shin, dug the point of his umbrella into my calf, knocked off my _pince-nez_ with his newspaper, and spread himself over the back of the seat.

"'Allo, Alf!" he said. "Thought it must 've been you. Look 'ere, I want to see you----"

"Perhaps," I interrupted, "your friend would like to change places with me. Then you can scrutinise him at your ease--and mine."

"You're a sport," remarked Bert.

He spoke truly. Little did he guess he was addressing a Double-Blue--bowls and quoits. Alf and I changed places, and my attention at once became absorbed by a notice headed

BEWARE OF PICKPOCKETS.

I had just reached the exciting part when two girls arrived on the landing.

"There aren't two together; we shall have to divide," I heard one say.

"Excuse me," I said, rising. "Don't divide. I'll get into a single seat if you care to take this double one."

I was rewarded with the now almost obsolete formula of "Thank you," and moved a seat further back. Here I found some fresh reading material provided for me in the shape of a notice to the effect that

PASSENGERS ARE WARNED NOT TO PUT THEIR ARMS OVER THE SIDE OF THE BUS.

When I had probed its beauties to the utmost depth I again turned round to see if there was a vacant seat among the smokers. To my joy I saw one. Quickly I rose and hastened to secure it, but at the same moment the bus turned a sharp corner and I sustained a violent blow on the back of my head which left me half-stunned.

The conductor, who had just appeared on deck to collect fares, helped me to my feet. Then he rounded on me.

"Why don't you read the notices?" he said by way of peroration. "Then it wouldn't've 'appened."

"The notices?" I repeated, handing him my fare. "I've done nothing else but read notices ever since I got on this wretched reading-room. I know where I may smoke and where I may not. I know that I must beware of pickpockets, and I know that I mustn't waggle my arms over the side-rails. Further, I have read Mr. Pinkerton's personal assurance that his Pills are the Best. If I'd had more time I daresay I should have worked my passage to the notice you refer to. I haven't reached it yet."

"Look 'ere," said the conductor, thrusting me into the vacant smoker's seat and pointing with what I at first took to be a saveloy, but which upon closer inspection proved to be his fore-finger, "what does that say?--

TO AVOID ACCIDENTS PASSENGERS SHOULD REMAIN SEATED WHILE THE BUS IS PASSING UNDER RAILWAY BRIDGES.

There nar. Some of you blokes never look any farther than the end of your noses."

"Then if I had your nose," I retorted, "I should need a telescope to see even as far as that."

I was much disappointed that, just as I got to the caustic part, the exigencies of his profession demanded that he should punch six tickets in rapid succession. My repartee was consequently drowned amid a perfect _carillon_ of bells. But meanwhile I had found another notice--

TO STOP THE BUS STRIKE THE BELL ONCE.

It was a friendly and sensible notice, for, to tell the truth, I was beginning to feel afraid of a bus that carried so much free literature. It could not hope to be a thoroughly reliable bus and a library at the same time. I therefore determined to forfeit several divisions of my ticket, and give my "season" one more chance. I got up and struck the bell once. As the driver didn't know it was just an ordinary passenger that struck it he pulled up immediately. I had got halfway down the staircase when somebody--it must have been that offensive conductor--gave the game away, for the bus jerked badly and started off again at a rare pace. So did I. But as I flew through the air I could not help catching a fleeting glimpse of a final advisory notice--

PASSENGERS ARE CAUTIONED AGAINST ALIGHTING FROM THE BUS WHILE IN MOTION.

* * * * *

Illustration: THE IRON CROSS EPIDEMIC.

CAPTAIN OF A GERMAN CRUISER, HURRYING HOME AFTER SHELLING HEALTH-RESORT, GIVES ORDERS TO LIGHTEN THE SHIP FOR THE SAKE OF SPEED.

* * * * *

From _The Evening Standard's_ racing news:

"That's Enough, 19st 2lb (Mr. R. Cavello)

_J. Killalee O_"

We agree with the horse.

* * * * *

Illustration: _General._ "GLAD TO SEE YOU WALKING, MY LAD. I ALWAYS LIKE TO SEE A MAN WHO CONSIDERS HIS HORSE."

_Recruit._ "THANK YOU, SIR. BUT MY NEAR SIDE STIRRUP'S BROKE, AND I CAN'T GET ON."

_General._ "THEN WHY THE DEUCE DON'T YOU GET ON WITH THE OFF-SIDE ONE?"

_Recruit_ (_after some consideration_). "BUT I'D BE SITTIN' WRONG WAY ROUND."

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

I am sorry that I cannot now be the first to call _King Albert's Book_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) The Golden Book. But, since this term has already been applied, I can only applaud it. I suppose never in the history of books has such a one as this been put together, just as never in the line of kings has monarch received, under such circumstances, so rare a tribute. If in the Belgian heart, from ruler to refugee, there is room for more pride than should of right be there already, surely these pages, voicing the homage of all that counts in the world to-day, will bring it. We are all KING ALBERT'S men now, and in this book we have a welcome chance of proving our fealty. You will observe that I say nothing about the volume as commercial value for the three shillings that it costs to buy. One glance at the list of those who contribute (a kind of international supplement to _Who's Who_) is all that is needed to satisfy you on this point. _The Daily Telegraph_ is primarily responsible for gathering together a greater assembly of the names that matter than was ever collected between covers. To the proprietors, to Mr. HALL CAINE, who edits the book, and to the printers (especially for the illustrations in colour, which are triumphs of reproduction) I can only offer my thanks and congratulatory good wishes. Certainly, _The Daily Telegraph_ Belgian Fund, to which will go the entire proceeds of the sale, deserves well the shillings that this splendid effort will bring to it. _King Albert's Book_ is indeed a noble tribute to nobility--one that for every sake will become an historic souvenir of the Great Days. And (if I may confess the secret wickedness of my heart as I read) how I should love to see the Berlin Press notices!

* * *

When Mr. THEODORE ROOSEVELT stated on page 25 of _Through the Brazilian Wilderness_ (MURRAY) that his was not a hunting-trip, but a scientific expedition, I winked solemnly, so often have I read books in which science is used as an excuse for a slaughter that to the unbloodthirsty seems to be more than a little indiscriminate. Now, however, there is nothing to do but to withdraw that wink and to say that Mr. ROOSEVELT and his companions killed only for the sake of food and specimens, though on one very exciting occasion a man called JULIO displayed a most unwholesome desire to slay anybody or anything. This renegade's lust for murder was merely a side-show, but it serves vividly to illustrate the dangers and risks that the travellers took as they fought their way along the River of Doubt. No escape is possible from the buoyancy of Mr. ROOSEVELT'S style; as frankly as any schoolboy enjoying a holiday he revelled in the ups and downs of his adventures; and if his enthusiasm for the important work that he was helping to accomplish occasionally leads him to relate trivialities, and also prevents him from advancing a few kilometres without adding up the total number he has travelled, the essential fact remains that his tale of exploit and exploration is told with a _joie de vivre_ that carries everything before it. Among the many discoveries that he made is one from which time has taken away any cause for surprise. "There was," he says, "a German lieutenant with the Paraguayan officers--one of several German officers who are now engaged in helping the Paraguayans with their army." _Through the Brazilian Wilderness_ is packed with wonderfully good photographs, two of which introduce us to a game played by the Parecis Indians, of which the initial rule requires the "kicker-off" to lie flat on the ground and butt the ball with his head. One wonders if Brazil's future battles will be won in the playing fields of the Parecis.

* * *

The opening lines of the Preface to Sir CHARLES VILLIERS STANFORD'S book of reminiscences contain so good a story that I cannot forbear to quote them. The tale concerns the famous conductor HANS VON BUELOW, who (says Sir CHARLES) was once taking the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra through a rehearsal at which some ladies had been invited to be present. They indulged in whisperings and chatterings which greatly disturbed the players. BUELOW turned round and said, "Ladies, we are not here to save the Capitol, but to make music." Pretty neat that for a Prussian! It is an example of the many excellent tales to be found in _Pages from an Unwritten Diary_ (ARNOLD). Some of the best of them concern this same BUELOW, and have done much to disprove my personal belief in the non-existence of German humour. But throughout his book Sir CHARLES is the best of good company. Whether he is chatting about Royalty--there is a rather moving little anecdote of QUEEN VICTORIA and TENNYSON that was new to me--or telling again the often-told history of the Cambridge Greek Plays and the A.D.C., he has a happy pen for a point, and even the chestnuts inevitable in such a collection are served with a flavour of originality. I must be allowed to quote one more of VON BUELOW'S good things. A gushing lady at a musical party begged for an introduction to the great man. Which being given, "_Oh, Monsieur von Bülow_," she said, "_vous connaissez Monsieur Wagner, n'est-ce pas?_" Bowing, and without a shade of surprise, BUELOW answered at once, "_Mais oui, Madame; c'est le mari de ma femme!_" A great man!

* * *