Chapter 2

[_The Hospital for Sick Children in Great Ormond Street, where many Belgian children are now being cared for, is in very urgent need of funds to enable it to maintain its beneficent work. The Treasurer will gladly receive and acknowledge any subscriptions that may be sent._]

O generous hearts that freely give, Nor heed the lessening of your store, So but our well-loved land may live, Much have you given--give once more!

For little children spent with toil, For little children worn with pain, I ask a gift of healing oil-- Say, shall I ask for it in vain?

For, since our days are filled with woe, And all the paths are dark and chill, This thought may cheer us as we go, And bring us light and comfort still;

This, this may stay our faltering feet, And this our mournful minds beguile:-- We helped some little heart to beat And taught some little face to smile.

R. C. L.

* * * * *

"MONITORS AT WORK OFF KNOCKE," says _The Daily Mail_, and by way of reply the Germans knocked off work.

* * * * *

THE PATRIOT.

This is a true story. Unless you promise to believe me, it is not much good my going on.... You promise? Very well.

Years ago I bought a pianola. I went into the shop to buy a gramophone record, and I came out with a pianola--so golden-tongued was the manager. You would think that one could then retire into private life for a little, but it is only the beginning. There is the music-stool to be purchased, the library subscription, the tuner's fee (four visits a year, if you please), the cabinet for the rolls, the man to oil the pedals, the----however, one gets out of the shop at last. Nor do I regret my venture. It is common talk that my pianola was the chief thing about me which attracted Celia. "I _must_ marry a man with a pianola," she said ... and there was I ... and here, in fact, we are. My blessings, then, on the golden tongue of the manager.

Now there is something very charming in a proper modesty about one's attainments, but it is necessary that the attainments should be generally recognized first. It was admirable in STEPHENSON to have said (as I am sure he did), when they congratulated him on his first steam-engine, "Tut-tut, it's nothing;" but he could only say this so long as the others were in a position to offer the congratulations. In order to place you in that position I must let you know how extraordinarily well I played the pianola. I brought to my interpretation of different Ops an _élan_, a _verve_, a _je ne sais quoi_--and several other French words--which were the astonishment of all who listened to me. But chiefly I was famous for my playing of one piece: "The Charge of the Uhlans," by KARL BOHM. Others may have seen Venice by moonlight, or heard the Vicar's daughter recite _Little Jim_, but the favoured few who have been present when BOHM and I were collaborating are the ones who have really lived. Indeed, even the coldest professional critic would have spoken of it as "a noteworthy rendition."

"The Charge of the Uhlans." If you came to see me, you had to hear it. As arranged for the pianola, it was marked to be played throughout at a lightning pace and with the loudest pedal on. So one would play it if one wished to annoy the man in the flat below; but a true musician has, I take it, a higher aim. I disregarded the "FF.'s" and the other sign-posts on the way, and gave it my own interpretation. As played by me, "The Charge of the Uhlans" became a whole battle scene. Indeed, it was necessary, before I began, that I should turn to my audience and describe the scene to them--in the manner, but not in the words, of a Queen's Hall programme:--

"Er--first of all you hear the cavalry galloping past, and then there's a short hymn before action while they form up, and then comes the charge, and then there's a slow bit while they--er--pick up the wounded, and then they trot slowly back again. And if you listen carefully to the last bit you'll actually hear the horses limping."

Something like that I would say; and it might happen that an insufferable guest (who never got asked again) would object that the hymn part was unusual in real warfare.

"They sang it in this piece anyhow," I would say stiffly, and turn my back on him and begin.

But the war put a stop to music as to many other things. For three months the pianola has not been played by either of us. There are two reasons for this: first, that we simply haven't the time now; and secondly, that we are getting all the music we want from the flat below. The flat below is learning "Tipperary" on one finger. He gets as far as the farewell to Leicester Square, and then he breaks down; the parting is too much for him.

I was not, then, surprised at the beginning of this month to find Celia looking darkly at the pianola.

"It's very ugly," she began.

"We can't help our looks," I said in my grandmother's voice.

"A bookcase would be much prettier there."

"But not so tuneful."

"A pianola isn't tuneful if you never play it."

"True," I said.

Celia then became very alluring, and suggested that I might find somebody who would like to be lent a delightful pianola for a year or so by somebody whose delightful wife had her eye on a delightful bookcase.

"I might," I said.

"Somebody," said Celia, "who isn't supplied with music from below."

I found John. He was quite pleased about it, and promised to return the pianola when the war was over.

So on Wednesday it went. I was not sorry, because in its silence it was far from beautiful, and we wanted another bookcase badly. But on Tuesday evening--its last hours with us--I had to confess to a certain melancholy. It is sad to part with an old and well-tried friend, particularly when that friend is almost entirely responsible for your marriage. I looked at the pianola and then I said to Celia, "I must play it once again."

"Please," said Celia.

"The old masterpiece, I suppose?" I said, as I got it out.

"Do you think you ought to--now? I don't think I want to hear a charge of the Uhlans--beasts; I want a charge of our own men."

"Art," I said grandly, "knows no frontiers." I suppose this has been said by several people several times already, but for the moment both Celia and I thought it was rather clever.

So I placed the roll in the pianola, sat down and began to play....

Ah, the dear old tune....

Dash it all!

"What's happened?" said Celia, breaking a silence which had become alarming.

"I must have put it in wrong," I said.

I wound the roll off, put it in again, and tried a second time, pedalling vigorously.

Dead silence....

Hush! A note ... another silence ... and then another note....

I pedalled through to the end. About five notes sounded.

"Celia," I said, "this is wonderful."

It really was wonderful. For the first time in its life my pianola refused to play "The Charge of the Uhlans." It had played it a hundred times while we were at peace with Germany, but when we were at war--no!

We had to have a farewell piece. I put in a waltz, and it played it perfectly. Then we said good-bye to our pianola, feeling a reverence for it which we had never felt before.

* * * * *

You don't believe this? Yet you promised you would ... and I still assure you that it is true. But I admit that the truth is sometimes hard to believe, and the first six persons to whom I told the story assured me frankly that I was a liar. If one is to be called a liar, one may as well make an effort to deserve the name. I made an effort, therefore, with the seventh person.

"I put in 'The Charge of the Uhlans,'" I said, "and it played 'God Save the King.'"

Unfortunately he was a very patriotic man indeed, and he believed it. So that is how the story is now going about. But you who read this know the real truth of the matter.

A. A. M.

* * * * *

Things worth waiting for.

"Other pictures are announced, among them 'Trilby,' with Sir H. Beerbohm Tree in the title-rôle."--_Blackheath Local Guide_.

* * * * *

THE TRUTH ABOUT ----.

FACSIMILE SKETCHES BY OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT AT ----.

* * * * *

To the Memory of Field-Marshal Earl Roberts of Kandahar and Pretoria.

BORN, 1832. DIED, ON SERVICE AT THE FRONT, NOV. 14TH, 1914.

He died, as soldiers die, amid the strife, Mindful of England in his latest prayer; God, of His love, would have so fair a life Crowned with a death as fair.

He might not lead the battle as of old, But, as of old, among his own he went, Breathing a faith that never once grew cold, A courage still unspent.

So was his end; and, in that hour, across The face of War a wind of silence blew, And bitterest foes paid tribute to the loss Of a great heart and true.

But we who loved him, what have we to lay For sign of worship on his warrior-bier? What homage, could his lips but speak to-day, Would he have held most dear?

Not grief, as for a life untimely reft; Not vain regret for counsel given in vain; Not pride of that high record he has left, Peerless and pure of stain;

But service of our lives to keep her free, The land he served; a pledge above his grave To give her even such a gift as he, The soul of loyalty, gave.

That oath we plight, as now the trumpets swell His requiem, and the men-at-arms stand mute, And through the mist the guns he loved so well Thunder a last salute!

O. S.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.)

_House of Commons, Monday, 16th November._--"Let us think imperially," said DON JOSÉ in a famous phrase. Just now we are thinking in millions. Suppose it's somewhere about the same thing. Anyhow PREMIER to-day announced with pardonable pride that we are spending a trifle under a million a day in the war forced upon mankind by the Man Forsworn. To meet necessities of case he asked for further Vote of Credit for 225 millions and an addition of a million men to Regular Army.

Here was a chance for a great speech. Never before had English Minister submitted such stupendous propositions. Some of us remember how, thirty-six years ago, DIZZY, by way of threat to Russia, then at war with Turkey, created profound sensation in town and country by asking for Vote of Credit for six millions. At close of Boer War HICKS-BEACH, then Chancellor of Exchequer, launched a War Loan of 30 millions. 'Twas thought at the time that we were going it, taking a long stride towards national Bankruptcy Court. Now it is 225 millions in supplement of a hundred millions voted in August. Moreover, the two together do not carry us further than end of financial year, 31st of March. Then we shall begin again with another trifle of same dimensions or probably increased.

How Mr. G., had he still been with us, would have revelled in opportunity for delivering an oration planned to scale! How his eloquence would have glowed over these fantastic figures! HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH (had he been consulted at the font, he would certainly have objected to useless waste of time involved in a second baptismal name) spoke for less than quarter of an hour, submitting proposals in baldest, most business-like fashion. He wanted the men and he wanted the money too. Fewer words spoken the sooner he would get them. So, avoiding tropes and flights of eloquence, he just stood at Table, a sort of humanized ledger, briefly set forth items of his account, totalled them up and sat down.

WALTER LONG, following, voiced general dislike for prohibition that keeps War Correspondents out of fighting line in Flanders. Deprecated risk of circulating information useful to the enemy, but insisted, amid cheers from both sides, that there might be published letters from the front free from such danger "that would bring comfort and solace to the people and would do more to attract recruits than bands and flag-parading throughout the country."

Speaking later in reply, Mr. Spenlow ASQUITH, while sympathising with WALTER LONG'S desire, explained that state of things complained of is entirely due to Monsieur Jorkins Poincaré.

"We are not free agents in this matter," he said. "We must regulate our proceedings by the proceedings of our Allies."

_Business done._--Vote of Credit for 225 million and authority to raise another million men for Army agreed to without dissent.

_Tuesday._--Lords and Commons united in paying tribute to the life, lamenting the death, of Lord ROBERTS--"BOBS," beloved of the Army, revered in India, mourned throughout the wide range of Empire. Even in Germany, where hatred of all that is English has become a monomania, exception is made in his favour. "There are moments," writes a sportsman in the German Press, "when the warrior salutes the enemy with his sword instead of striking with it. Such a moment came with the death of Lord Roberts."

Speeches in both Houses worthy of the occasion. Brief, simple, genuine in emotion, they were well attuned to the theme. One of the happiest things said was uttered by BONAR LAW: "In his simplicity, in his modesty, in his high-minded uprightness, and in his stern detestation of everything mean and base, Lord ROBERTS was in real life all, and more than all, that _Colonel Newcome_ was in fiction."

PREMIER proposed that on Monday House shall authorise erection of monument at the public charge to the memory of the Great Soldier. When motion formally put from Chair heads were bared in farewell salute of the warrior taking his rest.

Not the least touching note of eloquence was supplied during proceedings in House of Lords. It was the empty seat at the corner of the Front Cross Bench where on rare occasions stood the lithe erect figure, in stature not quite so high as NAPOLEON, modestly offering words of counsel.

_Business done._--CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER, presenting himself to favourable consideration of crowded House in homely character of coalheaver filling bunkers of a battleship, introduced second Budget of the year. Upon consideration House comes to conclusion that one is quite enough, thank you. Proposals in Supplementary Budget are what _Dominic Sampson_ might, with more than customary appropriateness and emphasis, describe as "Prodigious!" Faced by deficiency of something over three-hundred-and-thirty-nine-and-a-half millions, CHANCELLOR launches War Loan of two hundred and thirty millions and levies additional fifteen-and-a-half millions in taxation.

_Items:_ Income Tax doubled; threepence a pound added to tea; a halfpenny clapped on price of every modest half-pint of beer consumed.

_Wednesday._--Monotony of truce in respect of Party politics varied by wholesome heartening game. It consists of hunting down the German spies and chivying the HOME SECRETARY. Played in both Houses to-night. In the Lords HALSBURY attempted to make Lord CHANCELLOR'S flesh creep by disclosure of existence of "ingenious system of correspondence" carried on between alien spies and their paymaster in Berlin. HALDANE replied that the matter had been closely investigated; turned out there was "nothing in it." CRAWFORD fared no better. Imperturbable LORD CHANCELLOR assured House that the military and civil authorities in Scotland were cognisant of rumours reported by noble Lord. Every case that seemed to warrant investigation had been looked into. Was found that many were based on hearsay. Impossible to find evidence to establish charges made.

Nevertheless, LONDONDERRY, having dispassionately thought the matter over, came to conclusion that conduct of HOME SECRETARY was "contemptible."

This opinion, phrased in differing form, shared on Opposition Benches in Commons. PREMIER explained that business of dealing with aliens is not concentrated in Home Office; is shared with the War Office and the Admiralty. Of late, on suggestion of Committee of Imperial Defence, there has been established at War Office an Intelligence Department in correspondence with the Admiralty and assured of assistance of the Home Office wherever necessary.

That all very well. Hon. Members and noble Lords in Opposition not to be disturbed in their honest conviction that MCKENNA is at the bottom of the bad business.

_Business done._--On suggestion of BONAR LAW and on motion of PREMIER Select Committee appointed to consider scheme of pensions and grants for men wounded in the war, and for the widows and orphans of those who have lost their lives.

_Friday._--Like MARLBROOK, WEDGWOOD BENN _s'en va-t-en guerre_. Has sallied out with a troop of Middlesex Hussars to "join our army in Flanders," where, according to contemporary testimony, once upon a time it "swore terribly." His Parliamentary services, supplemented by the Chairmanship of Committee controlling disposition of National Relief Fund, might seem sufficient to keep him at home. But valour, like murder, will out. So, as old _John Willett_, landlord of the Maypole Inn, Chigwell, used to say when asked of the whereabouts of his son, "he has gone to the Salwanners, where the war is," carrying with him the good wishes of all sections of House and an exceptionally full knowledge of the intricacies of the Insurance Act.

Many gaps on Benches on both sides. SARK tells me there are seven-score Members on active service at the Front. One of the first to go was SEELY, at brief interval stepping from position of Head of British Army to that of a unit in its ranks.

News of him came the other day from Private JAMES WHITE, of the Inniskilling Fusiliers, now in hospital at Belfast. Wounded by fragments of a shell, WHITE lay for an hour where he fell. Then he felt a friendly hand on his shoulder and a cheery voice asked how he was getting on.

It was Colonel SEELY bending over him, regardless of heavy shell fire directed on the spot by German batteries. He gave the wounded Fusilier a cigarette, helped him to get up and assisted him to his motor-car, in which he had all day been engaged in conveying wounded to French hospital in the rear.

"He is the bravest man I ever met," said Private JAMES WHITE. "He was as cool as the morning under fire, cheering us all up with smiles and little jokes."

_Business done:_--Report of Supply.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A RECRUITING BALLAD.

[Recruiting in country districts is languishing because the folk hear nothing of their regiments, and local attachment is very strong. Unfortunately this ballad had to be founded on material supplied by the C----r. However, the permitted references to Germans ought at any rate to convince the public that the ballad has no connection whatever with the late Boer War.]

This is the tale of the Blankshires bold, the famous charge they made; This is the tale of the deeds they did whose glory never will fade; They only numbered _X_ hundred men and the German were thousands (_Y_), Yet on the battlefield of _Z_ they made the foeman fly.

Calm and cool on the field they stood (near a town--I can't say where); Some of them hugged their rifles close but none of them turned a hair; The Colonel (I must suppress his name) looked out on the stubborn foe, And said, "My lads, we must drive them hence, else _A_ + _B_ will go."

Then each man looked in his neighbour's face and laughed with sudden glee (The Briton fights his very best for algebra's formulæ); The hostile guns barked loud and sharp (their number I cannot give), And no one deemed the Blankety Blanks could face that fire and live.

For Colonel O. was struck by a shell and wounded was Major Q., And half a hostile army corps came suddenly into view; And hidden guns spat death at them and airmen hovered to kill, But the Blankety Blanks just opened their ranks and charged an (unnamed) hill.

Half of their number fell on the hill ere they reached the German trench; Général J---- cried out: "Très bon"; "Not half," said Marshal F----; An angry Emperor shook his fist and at his legions raved, And then (the C----r lets me say) the cheery Blankshires shaved.

Rally, O rally, ye Blankshire men, rally to fill the gaps; Seek victories (all unknown to us), bear (well-suppressed) mishaps; And when you've made a gallant charge and pierced the angry foe Your names won't get to your people at home, but BUCKMASTER will know.

* * * * *

OUR NATIONAL GUESTS.

II.

The truth is that the Belgians in Crashie Howe are enjoying a _succès fou_. There is the enterprising Marie, who thinks nothing of going off on her own, on the strength of an English vocabulary only a fortnight old, overwhelming the stationmaster and boarding an ambulance train full of wounded Belgians at the local station to ask for news of her brothers. (We were all delighted when an adventurous letter miraculously arrived from the Pas de Calais on Saturday and reported that both brothers were well and unwounded.) There is Victor, who, although only thirteen, is already a _pupille d'armée_ and has a uniform quite as good as any fighting man. I can tell you he has put our Boy Scouts in the shade. But Victor is afraid the war will be over before he is old enough to get at it.

Then, again, there is the small Juliette, who is dark, with a comfortable little face constructed almost entirely of dimples, and, at the age of eight, has been discovered knitting stockings at a prodigious pace while she looked the other way. I am afraid Juliette is being held up as an example to other children of the neighbourhood, but I think her great popularity may well survive even that. And there is Louis, who is a marvel at making bird-cages, and Rosalie, whose pride is in the shine of her pots and pans. They are all doing well.

Rosalie, it is true, has had a fearful bout of toothache, so bad that she had to retire to bed for a day. When Dr. Anderson, whose French is very good, had successfully diagnosed the trouble and told her that the only cure was to have the tooth out, she plaintively replied that she had thought of that herself, but, alas, it was impossible, for "it was too firmly implanted." For my part I sympathised with Rosalie--I have often felt like that.