Part 2

Unless you wish to shorten your life Don't eat your peas or your cheese with a knife, Like greedy Jim, who cut his tongue And died unseasonably young.

OF DISGUISED DISHES.

Be alert to scrutinize Food in unfamiliar guise. Death may lurk within the pot If you eat the _papillote_.

OF THE VIRTUES OF SILENCE.

Jack and Tom were two pretty boys; But Jack ate his soup with a horrible noise, While Tom was a silent eater. Now Jack is a poor insurance tout, While Tom drives splendidly about In a Limousine seven-seater.

OF A FORBIDDEN WORD.

No one mentioned in _Debrett_ Talks about a "serviette."

OF TIMELY AND UNTIMELY MIRTH.

Be cheerful at lunch and at dinner, Be cheerful at five-o'clock tea; But only a social beginner At breakfast indulges in glee.

OF PUNCTUALITY.

Late for breakfast shows your sense, Late for luncheon no offence; Late for well-cooked well-served dinner Proves you fool as well as sinner.

With much respect, I am, dear Mr. Punch, Yours devotedly, A. DAMPIER SQUIBB.

* * * * *

ARCHIBILL.

His name was, so to speak, the fine flower of Delia's imagination, and of mine. Mrs. Mutimer-Sympson gave him to Delia as a war-time birthday-present, and he was at once acclaimed as "fascinating," which he may have been, and "lovely," which he certainly was not. His usual abiding-place was the kitchen, in comfortable proximity to the range, which he shared with one of his kind or of a lower order; but there were occasions when he honoured the dining-room with a visit.

"Though he mustn't come in when we've callers," said Delia: this was in the early days, when his title and status were as yet nebulous.

"But why not?" I protested. "William's all right, so long as he's reasonably clean."

Delia raised her eyebrows _à la française_.

"William?"

"William," I repeated firmly. "What else would you call him?"

"I should have thought," said Delia coldly, "that it would have been plain, even to the meanest intelligence, that he was Archibald."

"On the contrary," I retorted, "no sentient being can gaze upon him without recognizing him as William."

At this moment the treasure in question, who had been making contented little purring noises near the fire, was apparently startled by a falling coal, for he raised his voice in a high note of appeal.

"Did a nasty man call him out of his name, then!" said Delia, snatching him up.

"If you're not careful," I reminded her, "William, will ruin your new blouse."

"Of course," said Delia, with an air of trying to be reasonable with an utterly unreasonable person, "there'd be no objection to his having a _second_ name."

"None whatever. 'William Archibald' goes quite well."

"'Archibald William' goes better. And it's going to be that, or just plain 'Archibald.'" Delia added defiantly that she wasn't going to argue, because she wanted her tea, and so did he.

For the next three days we refrained from argument accordingly, sometimes calling him one name, sometimes another. The thing ended, perhaps inevitably, in a compromise. He became "Archibill."

It was curious how the charms of Archibill grew upon us--how his personality developed under Delia's care. She insisted that he recognized her step, and that the piercingly shrill cry he gave was for her ear alone. Perhaps it was so--women have more subtle powers of perception than men. There was real pathos in their first parting, which came when an inconsiderate grand-aunt in Scotland, knowing nothing of Archibill's claims, made Delia promise to pay her a ten-days' visit.

"You mustn't mind Missis being away, old boy," Delia told him, "because she'll be coming back soon. And, although Master's going to stay with his sister, you won't be lonely. There's a nice kind charlady who'll look in every day to make sure that you haven't been stolen by horrid tramps, and that the silver spoons are safe." Yet, from what she has told me since, I know that her spirits were heavy with foreboding when she left by the 11.23 from Euston.

We returned, later than we expected, together. The nice kind charlady had done her work for the day, and left, but a fire burned cheerfully in the dining-room and the table was laid for tea.

"And where," demanded Delia, "is Archibill?"

Even as she spoke she sped into the kitchen. A moment later I heard a cry, and followed.

"Look!" said Delia.

He lay near the range, a wrecked and worn-out shadow of his former self, incapable of even a sigh. Tenderly she lifted him.

"It's just neglect," she said. "Why did I leave him! Something always happens when one leaves such treasures as Archibill."

"It mayn't be too late to do something," I said; "I'll run down with him to Gramshaw's after tea."

"_After_ tea!" echoed Delia reproachfully. I went at once.

A fortnight has passed since then. Once more Archibill makes cheerful murmuring noises on the hearth. He looks, I fancy, older; otherwise there is little change to record.

Yesterday morning I received Gramshaw's bill: "_To putting new Bottom to patent Whistling Kettle, and repairing Spout_--£0 2_s._ 9_d._"

Delia says it's worth twenty two-and-ninepences to listen to Archibill calling her when he boils.

* * * * *

* * * * *

CONSOLATIONS.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--In order to guard against the snares of a too facile optimism I have made a point ever since the War began of taking all my information solely from German sources, as I have a feeling somehow that they may be confidently relied upon not to err upon the side of underrating their own success. But, having started with this handicap, I consider that I am the more justified in looking upon the bright side of things whenever possible. I am writing to you to-day to point out a very important aspect of the many recent German victories which seems to have been overlooked. It is full of promise of an early termination of the War.

I wish to analyse the ingredients of the German Celebration Days, which have followed each other with such bewildering rapidity of late. As far as I can gather, the whole nation has turned out to celebrate the fall of Verdun (in the first week of March), which was the key to Paris; the advance in the Trentino, which was the key to Rome; and the destruction of the British Fleet, which was the key to London, along with the going out of the electric spark of the British nimbus and all that. Meanwhile certain cities and districts--the thing seems to move round from one to another--have celebrated in force the various times that the Mort Homme was captured (while it was still held by the French), the great diplomatic victory over America, the success of the last War Loan and countless other triumphs. The thing has been going on ever since the sinking of the _Tiger_ eighteen months ago.

Now, Sir, there are five main ingredients in these celebrations--flags, the ringing of bells, the distribution of iron crosses, fireworks, and school holidays. The efficient organisation of civilian _morale_ demands them all. Let us look into these.

First, let us take the widest view and look forward to the contest for supremacy that will follow the War. What is it that we have to fear? Why, German education. They have often told us so. Yet the very magnitude of their present successes is robbing their chief weapon of its edge. It is not too much to say that, should the summer campaign follow the lines expected of it, bringing victory on every front, education will come to a standstill owing to the rapid succession of school holidays. Already parents are complaining that their children think it hardly worth while to turn up at school until they have had a look at the paper to see if there is anything much going on, and patriotic truants are always able to point to the capture of a battery or the sinking of a ship as justification for taking the day off. Should the War be prolonged we have to face the fact that we may have to do with a Germany in which the rising generation can neither read nor write.

But in a far more immediate sense the great number of German victories is sapping the very sources of German power. I ask you, first of all, what are these flags made of? They are made of _cotton_; and more than that, they are rapidly wearing out. Much flapping in all weathers--victories have too often been allowed to occur in bad weather--has torn them to ribbons. The situation is serious: reserves are exhausted, and an attempt to introduce flag-cards has met with no support.

Then let us consider fireworks. Is it not clear that the supply cannot be maintained without a steady munitionment of high explosives, more especially in the case of rockets?

I need not labour the fact, which is sufficiently ominous, that iron crosses are made of iron, but I may point out that this expenditure cannot be made good by drawing upon the belfries, as the necessity for periodical bell-ringing has immobilized the bells.

These facts should be more widely known. They have given me much comfort. Even the deplorable loss of the _Warspite_--the vast, latest hyper-super-Dreadnought of the Fleet and the pillar and the key, as I learn from my authorities--cannot wholly depress me. For well I know the dilemma that confronts our enemies, and that neither by victory nor defeat can they escape their doom.

I am, dear Mr. Punch,

Yours as usual, STATISTICIAN.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Saving their Bacon.

"THE GERMAN DESTROYERS RETIRE TO PORK."

_Provincial Paper._

* * * * *

"ST. AUGUSTINE'S SALE OF WORK.--This important annual event takes place in the Rectory grounds on June 14th, and everything indicates a successful day, if Father Neptune only smiles on the efforts now being put forward."--_Penarth Times._

We hope Uncle Ph[oe]bus will not be jealous.

* * * * *

A CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR.

'Tis sad to read of these young lives Poured out to please a tyrant's whim; My manly soul within me strives To burst its bonds and have at him. But peace, my soul! we must be strong, For conscience whispers, "War is wrong."

Poor lads! Poor lads! Their duty calls; _Their_ duty calls--no more they know; No fear of death their faith appals; All the clear summons hear, and go. 'Tis right, of course, they should; but I-- I serve a duty still more high.

And yet not all. Some few, I fear, In this their country's hour of need Keep undemonstratively clear, Or, if they're called, exemption plead. For these--no conscience-clause have they-- Conscription is the thing, I say.

But worse than these, who simply shirk, Are those employed to fashion arms, Who tempt their fellows not to work, And give us all such grave alarms-- Traitors! If their deserts they got They would be either hanged or shot.

The wind blows shrewdly here to-night, My heart bleeds, as I think, perchance, How numbed with cold our heroes fight; How chill those trenches, there in France. The thought unmans me. Ere I weep, I'll drink my gruel--and to sleep.

* * * * *

An officer in Egypt writes:--

"Cairo is a gay city, at least so they say. The chief hotels put up boards showing the amusements to be enjoyed. A sample of an eventful week follows:--

'COMING EVENTS.

MONDAY. TUESDAY. WEDNESDAY. THURSDAY. FRIDAY. Museum will not open. SATURDAY. SUNDAY.

----, _Manager_, ---- _Hotel_.'"

* * * * *

"A very interesting cricket-match took place at Ghain Tuffieha on Wednesday last, 24th inst., when eleven Nursing Sisters played eleven officers. The game throughout was very keen and the Sisters have nothing to learn from the Officers in the way of wicket-keeping, batting and yielding."

_Daily Malta Chronicle._

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

A SOLUTION.

Among the many Government changes that are imminent it is to be hoped that the PRIME MINISTER will appoint someone to an office of the highest importance for the well-being of the Cabinet in the public eye. Far too long has the man-in-the-street been encouraged in an attitude of scorn for the efforts of the Twenty-three. It is not suggested that the new official shall be added to that mystic number and bring it up to twice-times-twelve, or four-times-six, or even three-times-eight. There is no need for him to have Cabinet rank, but he must be permitted some inside knowledge or his labours will not be fully fruitful. Only by such labours can the Twenty-three really expect a fair reputation. As it is, everyone is more or less suspicious of them, led by the papers in their self-imposed sacred task of leaders or leader-writers of the Opposition; while the music-halls are of course frankly against any but a purely Tory Government, as they have always been, and so whole-heartedly and superior to detail that even to this day at one of the leading variety houses of London a topical song is being sung and loudly applauded in which Mr. ASQUITH is still taunted with his inability to come to a decision about conscription. The fact that the conscription problem was long since settled is immaterial to these loud-lunged patriots. Any stick is good for such a dog. True there has of late been rather less venom in certain of the anti-Premier papers, which now substitute for their ancient scoldings a bland omniscience and kindliness in their reminders of the obvious, but none the less contrive still to insert the knife and even to give it a furtive twist.

The fact then remains that what the Government need is a friend, a trumpeter, a fugle-man, a pointer-out of merits, a signaller of This-way-to-the-virtues, in short, a Callisthenes. They should take a lesson from the self-sacrificing zeal of that other Callisthenes who serves a certain London emporium so faithfully, awaking every morning to a new and rapturous vision of its excellence, which nothing can stop the discoverer at once putting into words for the evening papers. Such _trouvailles_ must not be kept for private use; all the world must know. How it is that editors are so complacent in printing these rhapsodies, which, truth to tell, are sometimes very like each other, no one knows; but there it is. They see the light, and everyone rejoices to think that in a country which has been a good deal blown upon there is, at any rate, one perfect thing.

Why should there be two?

There could be if the Government would appoint a Callisthenes of their own and set the eager pen similarly to work. Then every day we should be assured of the extraordinary vigour and vitality of our rulers. Doubt would vanish and the nation would blossom as the rose. For if all editors are so ready to print the present-day eulogies of the emporium, how much readier should they be to print to-morrow's eulogies of the Empire!

One can see the new Callisthenes inspiring confidence and heartening the public with some such words as these; for of course the new one should, if possible, be modelled on the old--it might even be (daring thought!) the same:--

THE PERSONAL TOUCH.

About all kinds of paid service there must be a _certain_ monotony; such service implies something that one does for other people over and over again. But though action may become, in time, almost automatic, _thought_ need never lose its volition. And it is one's thought or attitude of mind that counts.

The service at the Firm of ASQUITH & Co., is, I think, so good because Ministers are encouraged tremendously to give their work the _personal touch_. They are not afraid to give their individuality full rein, to let it inform their particular jobs, so that each one is enlivened thereby.

If you knew the Cabinet as well as I do, you would appreciate the fact that it is remarkable for the number of distinct personalities among its members--men of marked character and distinction, who are known not only throughout the House, but to a great many members of the London Public as well.

They stand out among their fellow-workers because their service _is distinguished_. It is not necessarily that their abilities are so especially superior, excellent though they may be. _It is that all they do is infused with character._ Their voices have _timbre_; they don't drawl. Their manners are good. They carry out the smallest transaction as though it held infinite interest for themselves as well as you. They never for a moment allow their intelligence to sag. They give to their least varying work that personal touch which is so transforming.

The Firm of ASQUITH thoroughly appreciates their worth, and openly rejoices in the prestige these _star workers_ attach to themselves. It would have every member of the Staff do likewise--act not merely as a minister, but as a very definite and valued personality.

For that is service as it should be in a modern Government, as spontaneous to-day as it was servile yesterday--_intelligent, forceful and gay_.

Example is the greatest factor in its fine development. The Cabinet Minister, however young, who can answer every query with a pretty deference, put off an Irish Member with good effect, who in checking your ill-advised inquisitiveness seems to welcome you--such a one receives as much and more, every time, as he gives. He gets smiles, thanks, even deference in return, and very often friendship. His companions notice that. They see how his buoyancy never flags, because it is all the while met with response, stimulated, liked. And the habit of success is very catching. _Voilà tout!_

ASQUITH & CO., LTD.

Had the Cabinet such a watchful and industrious exponent and commender as Callisthenes, never wearying, except possibly on Sunday, its success would be certain.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"ACCORDIONS.--Sale or exchange, Busson's beautiful flutina, 23 white piano keys, 15 black, portable, light to carry, nice for open air; large ass wanted."--_Exchange and Mart._

We are not sure that the last phrase is quite the right one for attracting a purchaser.

* * * * *

Our Economical Army.

"In one hospital there is a complete tin-smith's shop running full blast. There empty biscuit-tins are remade into tin plates, pans and drinking-cups. Even the soldier is melted down and used a second time."

_Darling Downs Gazette (Queensland)._

* * * * *

"FARRIERS.--Wanted, a good doorman; quiet job, 7 or 8 days a week."

_Daily Chronicle._

* * * * *

* * * * *

CONCERT TICKETS.

I'm beginning to think that Petherton has taken a dislike to me, and it is not at all pleasant in a more or less country retreat to be on bad terms with a neighbour.

It is especially trying, when one has made every endeavour to be friendly, to meet with a chilling response. I'm sure I have written him some very genial letters on matters which less good-tempered individuals than I might have taken more seriously.

The Annual Concert in the village, a great event in local circles, has been another cause of unnecessary friction between Petherton and myself.

As one of the older residents and knowing most of the people here, I am usually consulted as to the programme, sale of tickets and other details of the concert, and my house is often used for rehearsing the solos, part songs and choruses which are rendered by the local Carusos and Melbas.

Our passage of arms was over the tickets. We who are on the Committee are supplied with so many tickets each, which we endeavour to sell. I sent two to Petherton, half-crown ones. I forgot to enclose the printed notice that usually accompanies them, but evidently he recognised my handwriting on the envelope, and sent the tickets back. He wrote a letter with them:--

SIR,--I received the enclosed, presumably from you, because the almost illegible scrawl on the envelope was yours without a doubt. Why you should try to bribe me with five shillings-worth of tickets for the Annual Concert I cannot conceive. Perhaps you are going to sing at it and are anxious that I should come to hear you. I shall deny myself that pleasure. I hear quite enough of you in the afternoons (this, no doubt, referred to the rehearsals). Should I change my mind, which is unlikely, I am quite able to purchase tickets.

I replied:--

DEAR MR. PETHERTON,--I am beginning my letter, as you see, in the formal way, but from your opening move I foresee that a more affectionate tone will supervene before we are through with the matter in hand. This will be in accordance with the immemorial custom that has prevailed in the delightful intercourse between us on various subjects. Now, as to the Concert. My suggestion, mutely expressed through a little forgetfulness on my part, missed fire. If this isn't expressed clearly I mean I hoped you would understand that I sent the tickets because I hoped that you would buy them. Or, to put the matter very plainly, I sent you two tickets. Have you 5_s._ that's doing nothing? If so, send it me for goodness' sake, and keep the tickets, which I'm sending back in this. If the 5_s._ is busy with the War Loan, don't disturb it of course, but send me the tickets back, or sell them to somebody else. I think that's all clear, so now we'll get on to the next point. I don't sing--outside a church. I fancy it's Wright, the blacksmith, a fine upstanding bass with full-throated movement, that you can hear. He leaves his spreading chestnut-tree on Wednesdays and Fridays for rehearsals in my drawing-room, and it's difficult to keep his voice from straying over into your premises, even with the windows shut. I'm sorry if he annoys you, but, anyway, as the Concert takes place next Wednesday, he won't worry you much longer. I hope you will come in your group. I can send you more tickets if you need them.

Yours faithfully, H. J. FORDYCE.

I hope your hens are fruit-bearing. Eggs are a terrible price just now, aren't they?

The tickets came back next day with a curt note:--

Mr. Petherton begs to return the concert tickets and requests that Mr. Fordyce will not send them back again, as otherwise Mr. Petherton will not hold himself responsible in the event of their being lost or destroyed.

So I wrote again:--