Chapter 2

Cautious he crept from out his mountain-ditches, Down the long gully, past the Water Towers; By Backhouse Point he nosed among the niches, But they were hushed, and innocent of Giaours; Still fearful found the earthy homes we haunted, Those thirsty stretches where the rest-camps were, Then to the sea slunk on, a trifle daunted By wreathéd wires and every sort of snare, And came at last, incredulous, to find The very beach all blasphemously mined.

Now on each hand he eyes our impious labels, BOND STREET and REGENT STREET, those weary ways; Here stands the PINK FARM, with the broken gables, Here OXFORD CIRCUS marks a winding maze; But most, I ween, in scarred grave-ridden regions O'er many a battle-scene he loves to brood, How Allah here was gracious to his legions, How here, again, he was not quite so good, Here by the BROWN HOUSE, when the bombs began, And they--don't mention it--they turned and ran.

And we no more shall see the great ships gather, Nor hear their thundering on days of state, Nor toil from trenches in an honest lather To magic swimmings in the perfect Strait; Nor sip Greek wine and see the slow sun dropping On gorgeous evenings over Imbros' Isle, While up the hill that maxim will keep popping, And the men sing, and camp-fires wink awhile, And in the scrub the glow-worms glow like stars, But (hopeless creatures) will not light cigars;

Nor daylong linger in our delvéd lodges, And fight for food with fifty thousand flies, Too sick and sore to be afraid of "proj's," Too dazed with dust to see the turquoise skies; Nor walk at even by the busy beaches, Or quiet cliff-paths where the Indians pray, And see the sweepers in the sky-blue reaches Of Troy's own water, where the Greek ships lay, And touch the boat-hulks, where they float forlorn, The wounded boats of that first April morn;

Nor wake unhappily to see the sun come And stand to arms in some Cimmerian grot-- But I, in town, well rid of all that bunkum, I like to think that Mahomet is not; He must sit on, now sweltering, now frozen, By many a draughty cliff and mountain holt, And, when rude fears afflict the Prophet's chosen, Gird on his arms and madly work his bolt, While round the heights the awful whispers run, "_The bard of PUNCH is landing with his gun._"

* * * * *

CONDESCENSION.

"THROUGH STRESS OF WAR Baronet's Niece will ORDER a Gentleman's HOUSEHOLD."--_The Times._

* * * * *

UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.

No. XXXIV.

(_From the Frau Professor TINTENKLECKS._)

ALL-MIGHTIEST KAISER,--With the humblest assurance of my everlasting respect I desire to lay bare to you, since you are without doubt the Father of your People, my inmost thoughts as to this terrible War in which we have now for eighteen months been engaged. I have some right, I think, for my husband is that same Professor Tintenklecks whose _opusculum_ on "International Law in Relation to World Power" was received with special favour by your Majesty, who summoned the beloved writer to your Palace, and with your own gracious right hand were pleased to beat him with some force on his back, saying that "this Tintenklecks is a tremendous fellow, and there should be more such in the world." How well I remember that evening--it was a year before the War--and how in honour of the Professor we had a Poetry supper, at which each guest recited some verses of praise, and at the end little Amalie Siegeltisch, the daughter of our colleague, placed on the brows of the Professor a laurel-wreath which, however, pricked his with-much-hair-unadorned head, and had therefore, after a great deal of pleasant witticisms, to be taken off.

So when the War at last broke out my husband and I were amongst the loudest Hosannah-shouters and singers of true German patriotic songs, for we believed then that the War would be a short one, and that after a few great victories we should make a brilliant peace on our own terms, having utterly smashed all our enemies and having taken England's war-ships and her colonies for our own. "Long he cannot last," said my Professor, speaking of the War. "The French are a degenerate race, and we shall be in Paris in a month. The English are given up to games, and their mercenary army--I have it on the highest authority--cannot for a moment stand against our German heroes. The Russians are slow and disorganised and useless for war. For me you need not be afraid, my dear. In this war a man of my age will not be required." So he spoke; and now where is he and what has become of him? He has lost a leg, his right hand has been shot through, and he is in a hospital in Poland. Shall I ever see him again, I wonder.

Well, we have had victories in plenty, according to the Generals. Every time we move from one place to another we gain, it seems, an overwhelming triumph and cause to fly every one who is opposed to us. Twice already your Majesty has announced that before the leaves fell from the trees there would be peace, and our brave soldiers would return safely to their homes; but, alas, it has not so happened, and the dreadful fighting still goes on, and many thousands of our women lose their fathers, their husbands, and their sons. With every victory (as they call it) peace, which should be nearer at hand, seems to retire further and further away, and only sorrow and wretchedness come close to us. And that is not all. Our food, like everything else we have to buy, is so dear that we women find it above all things difficult to provide ourselves with what we need for our daily life, and the worst of it, they say, has not yet come. I could understand that if we had been defeated; but we have been ever victorious and yet we are in want. It is useless for Pastor Hassmann to tell us on Sundays that we must endure to the end. We are prepared to do what we can, but we think, too, that since we have been so magnificently victorious we should have peace quickly, so that we may all once more try to have some happiness in this world.

I remain, in the deepest devotion,

Your loyal, KUNEGUNDE TINTENKLECKS.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S POTTED FILMS. THE DOMESTIC DRAMA.

WHAT A LITTLE CHILD CAN DO.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MEDITATIONS OF MARCUS O'REILLY.

LUCY.

We called her Lucy because she came from the country and "dwelt on a wide moor." We never knew her real name.

She came like a ray of sunlight into our dull sordid town once a week with immaculate white apron, wearing a cap of an older, honester world, carrying a basket of delicious country butter made up in appetising rolls. On the clean napkin which covered the top of the basket always reposed a huge door-key, "to keep," she said, "the butter from turning." And the white hair of her and those wonderful blue eyes which looked you through and through! No wonder my wife was in love with her and refused from that time to eat the dull town-grocer's wares.

My wife often muses as to the real cause of the general superiority of dwellers in the country over the apologies for humanity who live in towns. She says it is moral fibre. She comes from the country herself and is quite unbiassed. For me I think it must be living so much amongst sheep and lambs and woolly things.

I shouldn't have said myself that our town butter was without fibre, but this is a matter of taste.

My wife would often close her eyes when eating Lucy and conjure up pictures of her own simple girlhood days, of the country rectory, of the rooks singing matins and vespers in the trees. Country people often get like this over an egg at breakfast. I didn't eat Lucy myself, as my taste is ruined by my vicious town breeding; besides, Lucy was a luxury in war-time, and Dossett's Genuine Creamery has for me a meatier savour.

Cecilia always gave Lucy more than the market value for her butter and a cup of tea besides, while they chatted occasionally over things dear to rural hearts, accidents by flood and field, turnips and parochial vestries. My wife used to marvel at the superior firmness of Lucy's butter, which was ever the same, Lucy's explanation being that she had a wonderfully cool hand.

Our local inspector, a man of the latest and most scientific knowledge, confirmed this statement. In introducing Lucy to our resident magistrate he said she was the coolest hand he had ever known. It was a bad case. It had ten per cent. too much of this, and fifteen per cent. too much of that, and the rest was the cheapest margarine and stirring. There wasn't a cow within five miles of her place and he didn't believe she had ever seen one.

We haven't met Lucy since. My wife says that WORDSWORTH was often taken in, just like that. And she has heard, anyhow, that Lucy was born in Bradford. So that it proves nothing.

* * * * *

Hymn for Volunteer Corps digging trenches for the defence of London:--

"O Parados! O Parados! 'tis weary working here!"

* * * * *

"The baby should go out every day, except when it is storming."--_New York Sunday Herald._

In that case try a wind-pill.

* * * * *

"To-day's Russian communiqué says:--

In Persia, on the road to Kermanshah, we have occupied the town of Kangavar.

Note.--Kangavar is a town of 15-3/4-3/4 inhabitants in the Province of Ardilan."--_Aberdeen Evening Express._

This is carrying accuracy to an extreme, even for Scotland.

* * * * *

["What I would say to Neutrals is this: Do they admit our right to apply the principles which were applied by the American Government in the War between North and South--to apply those principles to modern conditions and to do our best to prevent trade with the enemy through neutral countries? If the answer is that we are not entitled to do that, then I must say definitely that it is a departure from neutrality."--_Sir EDWARD GREY._]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

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

_House of Commons, Monday, January 24th._--At Question time House crowded in response to urgent Whip issued in anticipation of division on Third Reading of Military Service Bill. Members ready to vote; disinclined to remain to hear speeches, delivered on Second Reading and Committee stages, reiterated by small minority on Report. Thus it came to pass that when on stroke of half-past nine this milestone passed, Benches were almost empty.

Filled up when Third Reading moved, and debate lamely set on foot again. WALTER LONG, who has greatly helped BONAR LAW in his successful management of Bill, set good example by moving Third Reading without additional word of comment or argument. Example thrown away. More last words spoken under embarrassing accompaniment of private conversation and other signs of impatience.

Shortly after eleven o'clock division taken, revealing existence of solid minority of three dozen. Oddly enough, whilst rattling majority on Second Reading was hailed with enthusiastic cheering, that on Third Reading was heard in silence, Members hurrying off in search of taxis.

_Business done._--By majority of 347, in House of 419 Members, Military Service Bill read a third time and passed on to Lords.

_House of Lords, Tuesday._--Military Service Bill turned up for Second Reading. Full attendance and a gathering of Commoners in their pen above Bar seemed to indicate important debate. Turned out to be only less dull than that which slumbered round closing stage in the Commons. LANSDOWNE pluckily endeavoured to give note of novelty to topic by saying "not what the Bill was but what it was not." Even this ingenious device did not succeed in investing proceedings with anything approaching animation.

The WEARY WEARDALE, who through long public life has tried in succession both branches of the Legislature and found them equally withered, was doubtful whether the measure would appreciably affect its avowed purpose of increasing number of men with the Colours. With instinct of good Liberal--in his time PHILIP STANHOPE was known in the Commons as an almost dangerous Radical--he turned and rent "certain leaders who have surrendered a precious principle and in so doing are undermining the authority and existence of the whole Liberal Party." Still, though prospect was gloomy, he would not despair.

"The Liberal Party," he said, "will rise again" (HALSBURY shook his head doubtfully) "and will shed the leaders who have deserted it."

Having thus delivered his soul WEARY ONE did not challenge a division.

_Business done._--Military Service Bill read second time without division.

_House of Commons, Wednesday._--Once more, the last time in history of session of unparalleled length and importance, House crowded. Peers' Gallery full. From Diplomatic Gallery the United States, Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Holland, represented by their Ministers, looked on, eagerly listening.

Resolution, moved by SHIRLEY BENN, urged Government to enforce against enemy a blockade as effective as possible. In one of his comprehensive, quietly delivered and powerful speeches EDWARD GREY showed that situation is not so easily managed as amateur diplomatists below the Gangway believe, or as fractious newspapers, bent on damaging the Government even if the Empire falls, assert. Explained in detail steps taken by Foreign Office to deal with it. House listened critically but approvingly. Took note of fact that FIRST LORD OF ADMIRALTY emphatically cheered denial of one of the malicious rumours current--that in the task of preventing supplies reaching the enemy the Foreign Office spoils the work of the Navy.

Sharp, almost angry burst of cheering greeted passage towards close of speech in which FOREIGN SECRETARY declared that maximum effort in this country, whether military, naval or financial, is at the disposal of our Allies in carrying on the War against Prussian militarism.

"With them," he confidently but still quietly said, "we will see it through to the end."

Speeches following expressed general satisfaction with this statement, supplemented by one addressed to neutrals. Courteously assured them of desire not to make things unnecessarily irksome. But pointed out that in the matter of preventing supplies reaching the enemy by circuitous routes Great Britain has her own work to do and means to do it thoroughly.

_Business done._--Resolution advocating effective blockade talked out.

THURSDAY.--Parliament prorogued. Reversing CHARLES LAMB'S conscientious habit at the India Office, where, having arrived late, he made up for it by going away early, Parliament, having toiled through exceptionally long Session, treats itself to briefest possible recess. Reassembles 15th February.

* * * * *

* * * * *

DIANA UP TO DATE.

"MANAGERESS (35), thorough business woman, accustomed to control stag."--_Women's Employment._

* * * * *

From an account of the reception of British soldiers in Rome:--

"As the hour for departure approached the band played alternately the 'Marcia Reale' and 'Rule, Britannia,' while our men sang 'Tipperary.'"--_The Times._

We fear the proceedings were not so harmonious as we had been led to suppose.

* * * * *

"GENTLEMAN'S SHOOTING ESTATE for Sale, 240 acres, or would Let on Lease; near London Bridge."--_Advt. in "The Standard."_

Shooting the arches is splendid sport.

* * * * *

"2.45 A.M.--When Grossmith lit a cigarette someone said, 'This is all right. We bring a civilian here, and he lights up within hailing distance of the Germans.'

2.46 P.M.--Grossmith put out his cigarette."--_Daily Mirror._

Now that tobacco is going up again it would be a boon to smokers if Mr. GROSSMITH would tell us how he keeps a cigarette going for twelve hours.

* * * * *

"The fire which broke out at Bergen on Saturday was mastered by three o'clock on Sunday morning. About 400 buildings, mostly very valuable property, were destroyed. The value of the houses which were burnt down is about £1,111,111, and the total damage is estimated at £5,555,555."--_Edinburgh Evening News._

The exactitude of these figures would convince even an insurance company.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE PLEA OF THE HOMELESS.

Most of the petitions from natives which find their way into print for the removal of the white man's gravity hail from our Indian Empire. But the Babu's monopoly can be assailed. The following recent and genuine example is from West Africa:--

_"To Sir ---- ----, Commander of the New Work Shops._

"Sir, read to the end!

"DEAR BRITISH COMMANDER OF INFLUENCE,--I am with cordial gratitude to put this pen before you, saying since I came down from my native land I had been trie for a house, even by rentable, but none for me in that village, where I lieve still. But a certain friend of mine do advice me to stay with him, during the last December up to now. And yet that young man's wife has come from his native land, with these there is no room before me at all. Therefore I wish with my lowly voice to beg your honour to find me even a half house of your kitchen at any place where you like, or either the same place where I am. By your own desire. Please Sir if not! try and get me a boards such as a glass packing cases and a few planks for poles. But Sir I know myself very well, that it will be very difficulty before you, simple because you have none of carpenters. Therefore do try by your own authority to supply me those boards and planks, and I shall find myself a joiner as a day contract to build it for me! because my elder brother also shall help. Therefore dear Lord I hope you shall give ear for my lowly speak and then have mercy on your meekly servant with good reply. I have the most honour to be Sir

"Your humble Clerk."

* * * * *

FOR "INELIGIBLES" ONLY.

"WANTED, Bricklayers for pointing 12 houses at Belvedere; peacework."--_Provincial Paper._

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL MODESTY.

"M. JACOB & CO., CONFECTIONER AND GLACIER. Pastry of sorts."

_Madras Mail._

* * * * *

THE ZEAL OF THE CONVERT.

Sir THOMAS WHITTAKER, M.P., as reported by _The Yorkshire Evening Post_:

"Objection to compulsion on principle was all nonsense. Compulsion was the only safe-guard we had against anarchy, barbarism, law, order, justice, and freedom."

* * * * *

CROMWELLIANA.

"On Friday last a centenarian passed away at Whithall, Galway, in the person of Mrs. Catherine Hynes, who had attained the remarkable age of 102. The old lady had a remarkably retentive memory, recalling with ease incidents which occurred three generations ago. Her recollection of Cromwell's campaign was particularly clear."--_Connacht Tribune._

"The other alien peer is the twelfth Viscount Taaffe, of the Irish peerage, an Austrian subject, as his predecessors have been since their estates were confiscated by Cromwell after the Battle of the Boyne."--_Sunday Times._

The late Mrs. HYNES was perhaps the authority for this statement.

* * * * *

"ALLIES' WARSHIPS KEEP TURKS ON TENDER HOOKS AT GALLIPOLI."--_Express and Echo (Exeter)._

This is rather hard on the enemy, who thought the Allies had taken their hook long ago.

* * * * *

AT THE FRONT.

Home again! The base softened its heart on the very morning on which I had practically decided to attend a parade next day if I were called in time, and released me with an enormous command to conduct to the War. I told the senior N.C.O. at the station of entrainment that I would regard him as personally responsible if he dropped any of the men on the line or under the engine on the way up, and was just off to look for food when the R.T.O. told me the train was due out in two minutes. After making quite sure that he wasn't a Major I reminded him that for that matter the War had been due to be over last September; also that I had used some of his trains before and that he couldn't teach me two-pennyworth about them I hadn't known from childhood. This I said courteously but firmly, and thereafter felt better and bought eight boiled eggs, a ham sandwich made so hastily that the ham came to be altogether omitted, three oranges, and a large mineral-water. The train was in the station for three-quarters-of-an-hour after I returned. I passed the time pleasantly by walking up and down in front of the R.T.O.

And now I am here. Glory apart, I could think for a long time without hitting on anywhere beastlier to be except perhaps just the other side of a breastwork thirty yards off where the Bosch has been dropping heavy crumps in threes with monotonous regularity since an indecent hour this morning. I have been partly asleep, partly waiting for one to drop thirty yards short. There is no one to talk to except a chaffinch, who thinks of nothing but his appearance. If I thought of mine I should go mad. I am wet under and through and over everything--wet, not with rain, but with mud. You have heard that there is mud in Flanders?

But the worst part really is the number of hours in a day; we have as many as ten nowadays in which movement is simply not done. Where dawn finds you, dusk releases you. That is here; I believe we have some real trenches somewhere behind. But we of the ten hours' stretch run out of employment early in the morning and remain there the rest of the day. Of course you can eat--if your rations really came up last night--but not, I think, continuously for ten hours. A very inferior officer--not I--has invented a recipe for the ten-hour day which may appeal to some similarly loose-ended officer. You take an air-pillow and lie with your gum-booted feet on it till the position becomes intolerable; then you remove the pillow, sit up and pick the mud off it. When it's clean you do the same thing again. One tour of this duty will take an hour if you are conscientious. Its inventor claims that it makes the sun fairly bustle down the sky.

There are advantages in solitary feeding. Haven't you ever wanted, when confronted with a lunch tongue, to hack out all the nice tonguey bits for yourself and leave the bully beef parts to be used for soup or some other domestic economy? Well, I hack out the tonguey bits every day. True, I usually have to eat the bully beef parts next meal, but--_à la guerre comme à la guerre_--I always might have been casualtied between meals, and then think what a fool I'd feel over my failure to make the most of the first.