Chapter 2

To speak frankly, all the political tenets of the majority of the Cabinet are such as can never receive anything but bitter hostility from this publication. We can't help it. There is a gulf fixed, that is how it comes about. But on the other hand we must not let this view prevent us--even though, after all, we are guilty of eulogy--from recognising their sterling worth. They are indispensable to the navigation of the ship of state. To change the metaphor, we must be content to let the train be driven by the engine-driver and not insist upon interference by the dining-car attendant.

We are well aware that we lay ourselves open to the charge ... (Deletion of the charge to which we lay ourselves open).

Let us then trust the Government, even blindly. Let our motto be the immortal words in the "Hunting of the Snark": "_They had often, the Bellman said, saved them from wreck: though none of the sailors knew how._"

* * * * *

THE HAPPY ERROR.

As a rule I am not one to peer over shoulders and read other people's letters or papers. But when one is in a queue waiting for one's passport to be _viséd_, and when one has been there for an hour and still seems no nearer to the promised land, and when it is the second time in the day that one has been in a queue for the same purpose--once in France and once in England--why, some little deflection from the narrow path of perfect propriety may be forgiven.

Moreover in other ways I behaved better than many of my fellow-travellers, for I stood loyally behind the man in front of me in my due place, and did not, as others did, insinuate myself from the side into positions to which, by all the laws of precedence and decency, they were disentitled. Indeed I even caught myself wondering whether, had I any preferential opportunities of getting through first, as some Red Cross and otherwise influential people had, I should make use of them. To take any advantage of this weary waiting line of suspects, of which I was one, would have been almost monstrous.

So, standing there all patiently and dejected, moving forward a foot or so every four or five minutes, no wonder that I found myself reading the embarkation paper which the gentleman in front of me had filled up and was holding so legibly before him.

He was tall and solid and calm and French, with a better cut coat than most Frenchmen, even the aristocrats, trouble about. He was broad-shouldered and erect, and I was piqued to find him, for all his iron-grey hair, five years younger than myself. His name was--never mind; but I know it. His profession was given as publicist--as though he were Mr. ARNOLD WHITE or Sir HENRY NORMAN, although, for all I know, Sir HENRY NORMAN may by now be a Brigadier-General. His reasons for visiting England, given in English, were in connection with his profession. But after that his English broke down; for when it came to the question what was his sex, how do you think he had answered it? I consider that his solution of the difficulty was an ample reward to me--and to you, if you too have any taste in terminological exactitude--for my fracture of a social convention. The word he had wanted was either "male" or "masculine"; but they had evaded him. He had then cast about for English terminology associated with men, and had thought vaguely of master and mister. The result was that the line ran thus:--"Sex: Masterly."

And, looking at the publicist's _soigné_ moustache and firm jaw and broad hands, I could believe it. But what an inspiration! And, dear me! what will the Panks, if there are any left, say?

* * * * *

"To Teachers and Business Ladies. Heathful Holiday in North Wales; brainy air."

_Provincial Paper._

Think what it has done for Mr. LLOYD GEORGE.

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* * * * *

IDENTIFICATION.

How often the kind of thing occurs that I am about to describe!

Four or five summers ago, before the world went mad, I was on one of DAVID MACBRAYNE'S steamers on the way to a Scotch island. Among the few passengers was an interesting man, with whom I fell into conversation. He was a vigorous, bulky, very tall man, with a pointed grey beard and a mass of grey hair under a panama, and he was bound, he told me, for a well-known fishing-lodge, whither he went every August. He had been a great traveller and knew Persia well; he had also been in Parliament, and one of his sons was in the siege of Mafeking. So much I remember of his affairs; but his name I did not learn. We talked much about books, and I put him on to DOUGHTY'S _Arabia Deserta_.

I have often thought of him since and wondered who he was, and whenever I have met fishermen or others likely to be acquainted with this attractive and outstanding personality I have asked about him; but never with success. And then last week I seemed really to be on the track, for I found that my new neighbour in the country has also had the annual custom of spending a fortnight or so in the same Scotch island, and he claims to know everyone who ever visits that retired spot.

So this is what happened.

"If you're so old an islander as that," I said, "you're the very person to solve the problem that I have carried about for four or five years. There's a man who fishes regularly up there"--and then I described my fellow-passenger. "Tell me," I said, "who he is."

He considered, knitting his brows.

"You're sure you're right in saying he is unusually tall?" he inquired at last.

"Absolutely," I replied.

"That's a pity," he said, "because otherwise it might be Sir GERALD ORPINGTON. Only he's short. Still, he was in Parliament right enough. But, of course, if it was a tall man it's not Orpington."

He considered again.

"You say," he remarked, "that he had been in Persia? Now old Jack Beresford is tall enough and has plenty of hair, but I swear he's never been to Persia, and of course he hasn't a son at all. It's very odd. Describe him again."

I described my man again, and he followed every point on his fingers.

"Well," he said, "I could have sworn I knew every man who ever fished at Blank, but this fellow---- Oh, wait a minute! You say he is tall and bulky and had travelled, and his son was in the Boer War, and he has been in Parliament? Why, it must be old Carstairs. And yet it can't be. Carstairs was never married and was never in Parliament."

He pondered again.

Then he said, "You're sure it wasn't a clean-shaven bald man with a single eyeglass?"

"Quite," I said.

"Because," he went on, "if he had been it would have been old Peterson to the life."

"He wasn't bald or clean-shaven," I said.

"You're sure he said Blank?" he inquired after another interval of profound thought.

"Absolutely," I replied.

"Tell me again what he was like. Tell me exactly. I know every one up there; I must know him."

"He was a vigorous, bulky, very tall man," I said, "with a pointed beard and a mass of grey hair under a panama; and he went to Blank every August. He had been a great traveller and knew Persia; he had been in Parliament, and one of his sons was in the siege of Mafeking."

"I don't know him," he said.

* * * * *

"Foreign gentleman desires English lady to correct him, during one hour every morning, from 9 to 10."--_Bournemouth Daily Echo._

There is one foreigner whom innumerable English ladies would be delighted to correct; but he is no gentleman.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"BIOLOGY AT THE FRONT."

_To the Editor of "The Times."_

SIR,--I am encouraged by reading the very interesting letter which appeared in your issue of May 29th under the heading, "Biology at the Front," and dealt with the habit acquired by French poultry of imitating the sound of flying shells, to relate an experience which recently befell me. I was seated at breakfast "Somewhere in France," and had ordered, as is my custom, a boiled egg. When it was brought to me I proceeded to open it by giving it a smart tap. The egg immediately exploded with a loud report, and the contents were scattered in all directions. Those at table with me at once threw themselves prostrate on the ground, and one, whose olfactory nerves were excessively developed, exhibited every symptom of being gassed. On questioning the innkeeper we learnt that the egg had been laid some weeks before by a hen in the neighbourhood of the Front. I had previously noticed that it was elongated in shape, the small end being pointed and the base end nearly flat, while the whole was cased in a shell.

The continuance of this imitative habit would be a strange perpetual memorial of the Great War--particularly for Pacificist politicians.

Yours, &c., Darwinian.

_The Ashpit, Egham._

* * * * *

WAR'S SURPRISES.

The Poet.

My gifted nephew Eric Till just before the War Was steeped in esoteric And antinomian lore, Now verging on the mystic, Now darkly symbolistic, Now frankly Futuristic, And modern to the core.

Versed in the weird grivoiserie Affected by VERLAINE, And charmed by the chinoiserie Of MARINETTI'S strain, In all its multiplicity He worshipped eccentricity, And found his chief felicity In aping the insane.

And yet this freak ink-slinger, When England called for men, Straight ceased to be a singer And threw away his pen, Until, with twelve months' training And six months' hard campaigning, The lure of paper-staining Has vanished from his ken.

For now his former crazes He utterly eschews; The world on which he gazes Has lost its hectic hues; No more a bard crepuscular Who writes in script minuscular, He only woos the muscular And military Muse.

Transformed by contact hourly With heroes simple-souled, He looks no longer sourly On men of normal mould, But, purged of mental vanity And erudite inanity, The clay of his humanity Is turning fast to gold.

* * * * *

"THE ROAD TO RAGDAD."

_Provincial Paper._

Not even LITTLE WILLIE could think of a better way.

* * * * *

"SECOND-HAND HEARSE Wanted; body must be up to date and reasonable."

_Bristol Times and Mirror._

And not insist on a brand-new outfit.

* * * * *

WITHOUT PREJUDICE.

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, May 29th._--When Mr. ANDERSON alleged that a certain firm, desirous of getting its employés exempted, had "hospitably entertained" the members of the local tribunal at its works, we felt that we were on the fringe of a grave scandal. A picture of the tribunal replete with salmon and champagne rose before the mind's eye. But when we learned from the Ministerial reply that the refreshment alluded to consisted of "tea and bread-and-butter" the vision faded away. Those innocent viands could not connote corruption.

_À propos_ of tribunals, the House learned with delight that the military representative at Middlesbrough is Mr. HUSTLER HUSTLER. Obviously the Government have at last discovered "the man of push and go" for whom they were looking a year ago.

Mr. MCKENNA was a little short-tempered this afternoon. He first descended heavily upon Mr. SAMUEL SAMUEL, who had suggested that it was time to issue another War Loan, instead of borrowing so heavily upon Treasury Bills. The hon. member, he declared, had no right to speak for that mysterious entity, "the City." When Sir F. BANBURY, who indubitably has that right, endorsed Mr. SAMUEL'S appeal, Mr. MCKENNA took refuge under a point of order--rather an exiguous form of shelter for a Minister of the Crown.

_Tuesday, May 30th._--The uncertainty of the Volunteers as to whether they are regarded by the War Office as a very present help in time of trouble or as a confounded nuisance will hardly be removed by Lord KITCHENER'S speech. True he said many nice things about them, and particularly about the behaviour of the Dublin corps during the insurrection, but when it came to a tangible recognition of their usefulness he had very little to offer. All the money available was required for the Army. The Volunteers must be content with such part-worn equipment and old-fashioned weapons as he could find them.

On the Consolidated Fund Bill Mr. FELL and other Members for East Anglia represented very poignantly the woes inflicted upon their constituencies by the air and sea raids. Fishermen and lodging-house keepers were alike deprived of their livelihood. Could not the Government do something for them, either by billeting soldiers or by direct grants-in-aid?

Mr. HAYES FISHER in reply exuded sympathy at every pore. The previous speakers had, as he said, painted "a deplorable picture of gloom," and he laid on the colours from an even more opulent palette. But on the question of actual relief he was painfully indefinite. Billeting--that was a question for the War Office; grants--they were a matter for the Treasury. The East Anglers who thought their fish safely hooked had to go away empty.

_Wednesday, May 31st._--Not content with having laid sacrilegious hands on the clock, the Government have now deranged the calendar and kicked Whit-Monday into August. But it is all in the good cause of piling up shells against the Bosches, so the House cheerfully approved the PRIME MINISTER'S announcement.

For some days there have been rumours of an impending attack upon Lord KITCHENER, to be led by Colonel CHURCHILL. Perhaps that was why Mr. TENNANT, who moved the Vote for the War Office, decided to get his blow in first. His short speech began with a jibe at his critic's strategical omniscience, though it is not true that he referred to him as "the right hon. and recently gallant gentleman"; proceeded with a denial of most of his assumptions, and ended with a high tribute to LORD KITCHENER'S prevision in raising a great army to cope with a long war.

Colonel CHURCHILL did not pick up the gage thus ostentatiously thrown down, but some of his friends were less discreet, and developed a close-range assault upon LORD KITCHENER. The PRIME MINISTER is never seen to greater advantage than when he is defending a colleague, and he declared that the WAR SECRETARY was personally entitled to the credit for the amazing expansion of the army.

Unofficial tributes were not wanting. Sir MARK SYKES asserted that in Germany the WAR SECRETARY was feared as a great organiser, while in the East his name was one to conjure with; and Sir GEORGE REID declared that his chief fault was that he was "not clever at circulating the cheap coin of calculated civilities which enable inferior men to rise to positions to which they are not entitled."

_Thursday, June 1st_.--In moving that the House should at its rising adjourn until June 20th, the PRIME MINISTER felt it necessary to remove any impression that the Government, while asking everybody else to sacrifice their Whitsun holiday, were themselves going junketing.

Like Old TOM MORRIS, who rebuked a would-be Sunday golfer by saying "if you don't want your Sabbath rest the links do," he pointed out that the continuous sittings of the House threw a double burden not only upon Ministers--one of whom, Mr. RUNCIMAN, has unhappily broken down--but also upon the permanent officials. Even Members of Parliament, he slily added, might be under a misapprehension in supposing that constant attendance at the House was the best way in which they could discharge their duty to their country in time of war.

The Nationalist Members are doing their best to "give LLOYD GEORGE a chance." True, they ask an inordinate number of questions arising out of the hot Easter week in Dublin--when, according to the local wit, it was "'98 in the shade"--but otherwise they have sternly repressed any tendency to factiousness. Yesterday, when a freelance sought to move the adjournment of the House in order to denounce the continuance of martial law in Ireland, not a single other Member rose to support him; and to-day, though Mr. DILLON could not resist the temptation to make a speech on the same subject, he showed a refreshing restraint.

Only once--when he declared that "if you can reach the hearts of the Irish people you can do anything with them; but they will not be driven, and you cannot crush them"--did his voice approach that painfully high pitch which irreverent critics have been known to describe as "Sister Mary Jane's top-note."

Mr. ASQUITH in reply was sympathetic but firm. The Government were not deaf to the plea for leniency which had been addressed to them by all Irish representatives, by Sir EDWARD CARSON as well as by Mr. REDMOND. But they could not give an undertaking that there should be an end of the courts-martial. As for the persons deported from Ireland, for whom Mr. DILLON had specially appealed, it would be more humane in their own interests not to bring them to trial at once, for that would mean a crop of convictions and sentences which would increase instead of allaying the alleged irritation in Ireland.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Mr. JOHN O'CONNOR developed a really ingenious argument. To show that martial law ought now to be dropped he mentioned that if he attempted to hold a recruiting meeting in his constituency his life would not be worth half-an-hour's purchase. Members who were thinking of spending the recess in Ireland were greatly impressed.

* * * * *

AT THE PLAY.

"Fishpingle."

_Sir Geoffrey Pomfret_, "that almighty man, the county god," claimed to exercise the same divine right over the souls of his village that he exercised, in the matter of breeding, over the bodies of his cattle and pigs. Nothing, I think, has brought the present War more closely home to my bosom than the humours of this feudal relic--taken in all seriousness by everyone, including the author. It seems almost inconceivable that Mr. VACHELL's play deals with conditions that still survived only a few years ago. Yet the Squire's devotion to the science of eugenics establishes its date as quite recent. It was his sole taint of modernity; and indeed where his own son's marriage was concerned he omitted to apply his scientific principles, and made a choice for him in which no regard was paid to eugenics, but only to established social traditions.

At first the play opened up prospects of a pleasant gaiety. A love scene, conducted in a rich Western brogue, between the _Squire_'s footman and his still-room maid, and the embarrassment caused by her eagerness to learn the philosophy of "eujanics," were full of promise. It was confirmed by the appearance of Mr. AINLEY, whose manner reminded us of his many triumphs in the art of eccentric detachment. His part--the title-rôle--was that of _Sir Geoffrey's_ faithful butler, on such familiar, though respectful, terms with his master that the two sipped port together in the former's room in broad daylight while discussing family matters. They took an unconscionable time about it, but, as I said, it promised well. However, Mr. VACHELL had other designs than our mere amusement. We were not to have our comedy without paying for it with our heart's blood. Very soon the shadow of melodramatic pathos and mystery crept over the sunny scene. _Fishpingle_ takes a box from a cupboard and glances at a miniature and a bundle of letters. There is illegitimacy in the air, and a lady near me in the stalls confides to her neighbour that "he's the _Squire's_ half-brother." I can't think where she got her information, for the rest of us never learned the facts of the mystery till the very end of the evening, and even then the details of _Fishpingle's_ origin only transpired (as they say) under extreme pressure arising out of his dismissal by his master on the strength of a violent disagreement about fundamentals.

_Sir Geoffrey's_ father, it seems, had before his marriage run away with a girl not of his own rank, who had generously refused to spoil the family tree by marrying him; and _Fishpingle_ was the result. You might judge from the peculiarity of his surname that the matter was taken lightly by his parents. But you would be wrong. His mother died when he was born, and his first name (for I cannot call it a Christian name) was _Benoni_, which, being interpreted, means "the child of sorrow." _Sir Geoffrey's_ grandmother, who had discouraged the legal adjustment of the relationship between the lovers, had tried to repair matters by educating _Fishpingle_ above the obscurity of his irregular birth; hence his comparative erudition, rare in a butler.

Now the opening of the play had put me into a mood which was not the right one for the reception of this extract from a deplorable past. Some comedies would be all the better for a little tragic relief; but this was too much. Mr. VACHELL had no business to give his play a title like _Fishpingle_. He should have called it "Nature's Nobleman, or The Tragical Romance of a Faithful Butler's Birth," and then I might have known what to expect. As it was I felt aggrieved. It was not, of course, a question of asking for my money back at the doors (critics, to be just to them, never do this in the case of a complimentary seat), but I felt I had a right to protest against this attempt to harrow my heart-strings, attuned as they were to the key of comedy, with a painful drama dating back to more than half a century before the rise of the curtain, and with its chief actors all dead. And the irritating mystery in which it was wrapped only made things worse. Further, I suffered a considerable strain on both my head and my heart in consequence of obscure hints (vaguely involving a photograph on his mantelpiece) as to the reason why _Fishpingle_ remained a bachelor to the bitter end.

But I am ashamed to appear flippant, for Mr. AINLEY played with exquisite feeling and a fine sincerity. And I have to thank Mr. VACHELL for giving us some excellent studies of character--not character developed before our eyes by circumstance (except perhaps a little at the last), but admirably observed as a kind of fixture to be taken with the house.