Part 3

It shows a considerable virtue in him to have adopted, without straining after a perversely original and disquieting effect, the very sensible simplifications of our modernist school. To play substantially the whole of _Hamlet_ in under three and a-half hours is a highly creditable feat of stage direction. But the curtain method does more than give speed. Its rich simplicity provides an excellent foil for the jewel of this wonderful stage play. Of course it has its disadvantages. It tends to muffle the voice. On the other hand it lets through a certain amount of unrehearsed effect. I noted, for instance, even as _Polonius_ was being pinked behind the arras, the voice of a stage carpenter complaining to his mate.

It showed wisdom, too, to confine the curtains to the interiors. The built-up crenellations of the battlement scenes, with the series of broad steps in front of them, was admirable for grouping and for movement, though it may be doubted whether the parapet would have provided adequate cover against the slings and arrows of a tough enemy; or even if it would have sufficed to prevent the Danes, when under the influence of wassail, from toppling into the moat. In the play scene the setting of the "Mouse Trap" against the "fourth wall," whereby the audience had a fuller view of the principals, entirely justified itself. The lighting was effective without being fussy.

The costumes call for little comment, which is as it should be. I fell to wondering in the last Act about what I took to be a team of local base-ball players--the four stout fellows with the black raven on their sweaters. And most distinctly would I counsel Mr. HARVEY, at his entrance in the graveyard scene, to show a leg. In the murky gloom, with his inky cloak and proudly feathered bonnet, he was dangerously near giving the impression of a very smart young widow walking out with _Horatio_.

Mr. HARVEY seemed at his very best in the earlier phases of the play. The reflective passages were excellent; the homelier bouts of dialogue were easy and varied; and his fine voice often enriched the splendid text. As the plot thickened and the eternally unsolvable in the reading and rendering of _Hamlet's_ malady became more pressing, he seemed a little to lose grip. As, certainly, he lost the essential pace--the death scene unquestionably limped. His slurs, his impetuous _accelerandos_, his rather violent _sforzandos_, perhaps challenge criticism. But let us acknowledge them to be trifles. Mr. HARVEY filled three short hours with the glory of a great name, and that should be reward enough for him.

I see no reason to protest against Mr. RUTLAND BARRINGTON'S unusually whimsical _Polonius_. True it did not fit that noblest of purple passages, the homily to _Laertes_. But then neither does the _Polonius_ of the rest of the text--our WILL is like that. Mr. ROSS'S notable bass and admirable elocution lent mystery and majesty to the _Ghost_. A full audience applauded long and heartily at the curtain's fall. No one would be less inclined than Mr. MARTIN HARVEY to keep back grudgingly any share of that applause which was meant as a tribute to the memory of the exalted dead.

T.

* * * * *

MENDIP.

(_A soliloquy in view of approaching leave._)

On Mendip, on Mendip, the gorse is amber now, And dandelion torches attend the march of May; We Mendip men that coaxed the team and drove the sullen plough, No more we shout on Mendip, Dear golden, glowing Mendip, Oh, many leagues from Mendip is the land we cleave to-day.

On Mendip, on Mendip, the willow-creeper sings, And bright birds and blackbirds and half-a-hundred more; The cuckoo's busy boasting of the trouble that he brings To feathered folk on Mendip-- And soon I speed to Mendip To nest awhile in Mendip with its fairy-wonder store.

To Mendip, to Mendip, where boom the happy bells From Blagdon and Burrington and Glastonbury town, I'm coming by the willow-pools that fringe the road to Wells; Oh, soon to breezy Mendip, To many-coloured Mendip, I'm coming back to Mendip just to wander up and down!

* * * * *

GENERAL PAPER.

(_Suggested by the perusal of some recent works on the duties of dominies._)

(1) Describe in detail the best methods of tormenting a master (_a_) with discretion, (_b_) without regard for the consequences.

(2) Estimate the disciplinary and moral efficacy of the booby-trap, and give reasons for preferring the liquid to the solid form, or _vice versâ_.

(3) SHAKSPEARE abandoned poaching for writing plays. Is this a proof of insanity or sheer stupidity?

(4) Give a table of the relative adhesive strengths of cobbler's wax, glue, butter-scotch, caramels and chewing gum.

(5) MILTON received £5 for _Paradise Lost_. Estimate the benefits that would have accrued to this country in the last 250 years if he had been paid £500 to suppress his epic.

(6) Describe the best games suitable for playing in chapel.

(7) Should corporal punishment be inflicted on masters by the head of the form or by the whole form?

(8) Give some account, with dates, of The Jubilee Juggins, Larranaga, Opoponax, Polly Perkins of Paddington Green, MONTEZUMA, BENVENUTO CELLINI, the Baroness ORCZY and CHARLIE CHAPLIN.

(9) Explain the mechanism of the saloon pistol, and distinguish between lampoon and lamprey, gargle and gargoyle, catapult and cataclysm.

(10) In what circumstances is a Headmaster justified in running away from school?

* * * * *

THE TIPS OF MOTHER TIPTON.

When golfers cease to play with gutties And soldiers ease their calves in puttees, Troubles will surely supervene Upon the European scene.

When nobody talks of drives and putts, And butter is made from cocoa-nuts, And women pilot our cabs and coaches, The end of the Hohenzollerns approaches.

When PONSONBY and BERNARD SHAW Join hands with ASQUITH and BONAR LAW, Lord ROSEBERY and Sir THOMAS LIPTON, Look out for squalls, says Mother Tipton.

Should BEGBIE interview the POPE, Pacificists may harbour hope; But if the POPE is not at home There'll be the deuce of a row in Rome

When all the masses are daily fed Upon sweet peas and Standard bread, It is perfectly safe to prophesy The end of the world will soon be nigh.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE DRAFT.

So it is done--the calling and the counting, The solemn mustering, the ritual care, The fevered messages, the tempers mounting For some old rogue who never can be there; No more the Adjutant explodes and splutter. Because the rifles are too few by four; No longer now the Quartermaster mutters It's time that bedding was returned to store; But all is ship-shape, and, to cut it fine, The draft has now departed down the line.

These were the men that we have trained from tyros; We took them in, we dressed them for the wars; For us they first arranged themselves in wry rows, For us they formed their first unlovely fours; We taught them cleanliness (by easy stages) And cursed them daily by platoons and squads, And they, unmoved by months of mimic rages, Regarded us--most properly--as gods: They were our very own and, being such, For all our blasphemy we loved them much.

But strangers now will have them in their keeping, Unfeeling folk who understand them ill, Nor know what energies, what fires unsleeping Inform the frames that seem so stupid still; Who'll share their struggles and curtail their slumbers, And get conceited when the men do well, Nor think of us who brought them up by numbers, Save in the seasons when they don't excel. And then they'll say, "The fellows should be strafed Whoever trained this blooming awful draft."

But not the men; they will not slight so early The mild-eyed masters who reviled them first, But, mindful still of marches out to Shirley, Wet walks at Hayes and romps round Chislehurst; When in some ditch, untroubled yet though thinner, They talk old days and feelingly refer Over their bully to the Depot dinner, They'll speak (I hope) about "the officer," And say at least, as Sub-Lieutenants go, He was the most intelligent they know.

And now is life bereft of half its beauty, Now the C.O., like some afflicted mare Whose cherished colts have been detailed for duty, Paws the parade where lute his yearlings were; We shall not lie with them in East-bound vessels, Nor see new shores in sunlit sweeper-craft, Nor (save in soul) be with them in their wrestles, Nor wear the ribbons that shall deck the draft; Not in our praise will laureates be loud; _We_ must turn to and train another crowd.

* * * * *

Villages are Cheap To-day.

"LOCUM TENENS wanted for 3 months at least. Little or no week-day work. Offered: comfortable village, 6 or more bedrooms, garden produce: possibly small stipend.

"WANTED RETIRED OR INVALID CLERGYMAN to accept nice house, stable, fowl-run, picturesque village, in return for one service on Sundays,"--_Church Times._

* * * * *

"NEWS BY TELEGRAPH AND TELEPHONE.

Napoleon died 95 years ago to-day."--_Daily Mail._

Delayed in transmission.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

Mr. H. A. VACHELL is to be congratulated upon having evolved in _The Triumph of Tim_ (SMITH, ELDER) one idea that is as ingenious as it is novel. _Tim_, who had no legal right to any particular name, started life as a blameless schoolboy under the designation of _Tim White_. Subsequent events having necessitated his retirement to the New World, he began again there as _Tim Green_, and so on, through a period of prosperity as _Brown_, one of adversity as _Black_, into the tranquil conclusion of _Grey_. Of course this did make it a little confusing for the other characters, one of whom (not without justice) called him "parti-coloured." Also, while providing a pleasant variety of interest, it goes rather against one's chance of forming any definite idea of _Tim_ as a coherent being. But, despite this, Mr. VACHELL'S longest novel is in many ways his best yet. There are obviously personal touches in his pictures of Californian life; and he seems equally at home in dealing with every phase of his hero's chameleon career. The other characters also are well drawn, notably _Ivy_, the unrepentant little wanton through whom came _Tim's_ first lapse in the colour scale. And the end, which restores him to England, home and unexpected fatherhood (unexpected, that is, to those whom familiarity with Mr. VACHELL'S methods had not kept on the watch for precisely this development), is both sincere and moving.

* * * * *

In choosing _The Road to Nowhere_ (ALLEN AND UNWIN) as the title to his novel, Mr. ERIC LEADBITTER sounds, at any rate, a note of warning to those who like their heroes to repose in the last chapter upon a bed of roses. _Joe_, of Camberwell and very humble origin, has social ambitions and some natural aptitude for fulfilling them. He is an intriguing study, though I cannot believe in him as firmly as I can in his vulgar relations. That he may arrive at the point where the snares of wealth are to encompass him round about he is allowed to win a prize in the Calcutta Sweep, and then to have a successful flutter in options. In this way he wins his complete emancipation from Camberwell. The process is so absurdly easy that one imagines Mr. LEADBITTER to have said to himself, "Money is not worth much, any way, so it doesn't matter how _Joe_ gets it." As far as filthy lucre is concerned one can only commend this attitude, but unfortunately the reader may suspect that he also is the object of a certain measure of contempt on the part of the author. This suspicion, however, is not going to deter me from expressing my approval of the work of a writer who is more concerned with his main idea than with the method by which he gets to it. In the end I was left with a real admiration for his courage and ability.

* * * * *

_Riches and Honour_ (SMITH, ELDER) tells of the kind of thing our Empire-builders had to face on the Gold Coast of a quarter-century ago. It is good for us to learn these things, and Mr. W. H. ADAMS' rather dry catalogue method of filling in the local colour seems to vouch for honest knowledge. The story, not in the least dry, is packed with adventure, rebel chiefs, fetishes and fevers, and a dash of love. It is _Captain Tarleton_, of H.M. Gold Coast Constabulary, whose riches and honour are in question. Eagerly expecting the death of a rotten brother and the pouching of a fat inheritance, he so allows this to prey on his mind that, when the great chance comes of an important cutting-out expedition of the kind for which he, keenest and most resourceful of soldiers and adored leader of his fearless Hausas, is widely famous, his nerve just goes to little bits. I suppose there are men who think it so desperately important to succeed to money they haven't earned that they go off their feed and throw aside habits of courage long fortified by rigorous self-discipline; but I must say it doesn't seem very convincing. But then the author may have met poor _Tarleton_ in the flesh.

* * * * *

_Josiah_, head of the family whose name, _Chapel_, Mr. MILES LEWIS has given to his South Wales story (HEINEMANN), realised quite suddenly in middle life that if he was ever to restore the fortunes of his house, then unhappily depressed, he must wake up and stir about a bit; must in fact seize fate and the world by the throat and demand his own. In this laudable intention he is entitled, I suppose, to one's sympathies, though it hardly seems necessary for him to have adopted the manners of a bear along with its strength; but when in the course of his wrestlings with destiny he descended to paltry sharp-practice over a business bargain, and _Griff_, his son, followed suit, one began to wonder whether, after all, the County would benefit much by the restoration of the old stock. Yet there was something likeable about _Griff_ that made one at any rate half glad to see him back in the ancestral seat; but even then the marriage that put him there had a little too much the air of good strategy, though the author, it would seem, has no uneasiness in regard to these little meannesses of his heroes. This, however, may be a matter of taste; but there is less excuse for the way I in which he has cut his book up into two parallel stories which really have very little to connect them. He does tie them together after a fashion when he effects a reconciliation between father and son in the last chapter; but seeing that this is so long delayed, and results in a rather horrible anti-climax, there is not much gained. In spite of all these grumbles you are not to infer that there is nothing to appreciate in this book; there is much that is good, the minor characters being about the best of it.

* * * * *

"The parade on Tuesday, the 11th April, 1916, will be compulsory for all ranks stationed in Colombo. Only medical certificates will be accepted in lieu of absence. This will be a practice Ceremonial Parade. Officers will swear words."--_The Ceylonese._

Very probably; but we don't think they ought to advertise it in advance.