Chapter 3

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden! It's not so very, very far away; You pass the gardener's shed and you just keep straight ahead; I do so hope they've really come to stay. There's a little wood, with moss in it and beetles, And a little stream that quietly runs through; You wouldn't think they'd dare to come merrymaking there-- Well, they do.

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden! They often have a dance on summer nights; The butterflies and bees make a lovely little breeze, And the rabbits stand about and hold the lights. Did you know that they could sit upon the moonbeams And pick a little star to make a fan, And dance away up there in the middle of the air? Well, they can.

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden! You cannot think how beautiful they are; They all stand up and sing when the Fairy Queen and King Come gently floating down upon their car. The King is very proud and _very_ handsome; The Queen--now can you guess who that could be (She's a little girl all day, but at night she steals away)?-- Well--it's ME!

* * * * * "Young Lady Wanted, for few months, as Companion-Help (seaside); fare paid and 6d. week pocket-money; or would train Girl as Housemaid, same terms."--_Provincial Paper_.

Such extravagance in war-time ought to be checked.

* * * * *

"SHADY GERMAN TRICK.

"In the village of Boisleux-au-Mout the Germans utilised part of the cemetery to bury their own dead, but before doing so deliberately hewed down every tree growing on the side of the ground where the French graves lie."--_Daily Paper_.

Is "shady" quite the right word for this outrage?

* * * * *

PEAS AND PLEDGES.

"Has anything special," I said, "been happening during my absence?"

"We are up to our chins in work," said Francesca.

"But is it real work?"

"Of course it is. We've formed a General Committee, of which everybody's a member, including you, and we've formed an Executive Committee, of which there are about a dozen members. And then there are some Sub-Committees."

"Yes, I know. The Executive Committee thinks it's going to do all the work, but it's got to report to the General Committee, and it it'll be a great piece of luck if the General Committee doesn't insist on asserting itself by upsetting all the decisions of the Executive Committee."

"Oh, but our General Committee isn't going to be like that at all. There won't be any petty jealousy about our General Committee. Besides, the Executive Committee has power to act, and it doesn't need to report till the Annual Meeting of the General Committee, which is to be held a year from now. When that time comes lots of things will have happened."

"That," I said, "is one of the truest things you've ever said. Even the War may be over by that time."

"But if it isn't we shall all be living on swedes or pea-soup, or rice-bread or all three together; and we shall have a food controller in every village, and our Committees won't be wanted."

"I beg your pardon; they'll be more wanted than ever to keep the controller straight and act as a buffer between him and the population."

"But they won't know they're a buffer, and they won't like it when some tactless person tells them. Anyhow, that's a long way off, and in the meantime we've got the land."

"Who've got what land?"

"Our Committee," said Francesca, "have got two acres of land from Mr. Carberry, and we're going to grow a crop of peas on it so that everybody may have pea-soup in case of a pinch."

"But what about the peas?" I said, "Have you made sure of those?"

"We had a good deal of trouble about them, but we've got a firm promise of six bushels."

"Capital! But are you quite sure you know how to bring the land and the peas together?"

"Well, I'm not so much of an expert as I should like to be, but Mr. Bolton 's a practical farmer, and he's going to do all he can for us."

"Will he plough it?"

"It's been ploughed twice, so he's undertaken to harrow it and scarify it--doesn't it sound awful?--and then something else is going to happen to it, but I forget what it's called."

"Wouldn't it be a good thing, at some stage or other, to plant the peas?"

"Yes, it would; but you can't do it as simply as all that, can you? Isn't there something highly agricultural that you must do first?"

"I should chuck 'em in and chance it."

"A nice farmer you'd make," she said scornfully. "I'm remembering it now. It's got something to do with drills."

"Like the Volunteers?"

"No, not a bit like the Volunteers."

"Well, then, like potatoes."

"Yes, more like potatoes, except that they're peas in this case."

"How true," I said.

"Yes. And don't forget that while you were away we formed a League of Honour in the village and bound ourselves to observe the FOOD CONTROLLER'S rations."

"Am I a member?"

"Yes, we thought you'd like to be one, so I gave your name in."

"I think a man must pledge his own honour. He can't have it done for him."

"There's no public ceremony. You can just pledge yourself in your mind, and then put a pledge card in one of the windows."

"I'll have tea first," I said, "and then I'll choose the window, and then I'll pledge myself in my mind."

"No, you can do the pledging now."

"I've done it, while you were talking."

"And after all it's only the old rations according to Lord DEVONPORT, and we've been working under them for some time now."

"So we have," I said; "but of course the card in the window makes all the difference."

R.C.L.

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR MODEST CONTEMPORARIES.

"Had it been intended to make any new pronouncement of importance the Berlin Government would have taken steps to circulate the speech by wireless in time for publication in 'The Star' yesterday evening."--_The Star_.

It is possible that Dr. BETHMANN-HOLLWEG was misled by our contemporary's habit of publishing its "7.0 Edition" at 4.30.

* * * * *

From an obituary notice:--

"He had studied Eastern religions, and claimed to have been initiated as a llama of Tibet."--_Daily Mail_.

Or should it be the Grand Lama of Peru?

* * * * *

"The----Food Economy Committee were astounded yesterday at the secretary's report of a collier's family of six persons who consumed twenty half-quartern loaves in one week, averaging twenty pounds of bread per person."--_Sunday Chronicle_.

It is not stated whether the astonishment was caused by the family's appetite or the secretary's arithmetic.

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks_.)

In the list of heroic young soldier-authors whose gifts the War has revealed to us only to snatch them away, the name of DONALD HANKEY already holds an honoured place. It will, therefore, be good news to the many admirers of _A Student in Arms_ that a further selection of these heartening and fine-spirited papers has been prepared under the title of _A Student in Arms--Second Series_ (MELROSE). The thousands who already know and admire Lieut. HANKEY'S work will need no introduction to this, which exhibits all the qualities of courage and sympathy that have given the former book a world-wide popularity. They, and others, will however welcome the occasion afforded here of learning something about the life and personality of the writer, which they will do both from the short preface contributed by one whose identity is hardly disguised under the initials "H.M.A.H.," and from a couple of papers, autobiographical, that end the volume. Rugbieans especially will be interested to read DONALD HANKEY'S recollections of his school-days, with their tribute to the house-master affectionately known to so many generations as "Jackey." A book, in short, that will add to the admiration and regret with which its author is spoken of in three continents.

* * * * *

_He Looked in My Window_ (CHATTO AND WINDUS), by ROBERT HALIFAX, gives the adventures of _Ruth Shadd_, decentest of dwellers in a meanish street, during her determined hunt for a husband. It would have been easy to make all this unlovely in its frankness, but the author very skilfully (and, I think, very sincerely) avoids this. _Ruth_ is a fine girl, with character and candour, those too rare assets, and having pursued, and found wanting, _Bert_, the swanker, who hasn't the courage for matrimony; the polite and fatuously prudent _Archie_, and _Joe_, the vegetarian, who had such exalted faith in malt, she wins a deserved happiness with someone that she had never even thought of pursuing. Mr. HALIFAX gives me an impression of almost cinematographic and gramophonic exactness in his portraiture. _George Shadd_, _Ruth's_ father, who worked in the gasworks and was one of the very best, delighted me particularly, with his pathetic little garden, his battle with the slugs and black-fly, and his fine patience with _Mrs. Shadd_, who put her washing before his fire and her props among his choicest seedlings--a difficult woman indeed. The author writes with humour and sympathy; and that is the way to write of this brave if narrow life. It is the first time I have looked in Mr. HALIFAX'S window. I shall take steps to do so again. 'Tis a nice clean window.

* * * * *

Not even the most confirmed Gallio can avoid caring for _Arthur Stanton--A Memoir_, by the Rt. Hon. G.W.E. RUSSELL (LONGMANS), when he has once dipped his mind into the book. It is the record of a singularly beautiful and beneficent life, lived to the very utmost in the service of God and man, and ruled by a simple and direct religion which constantly forced practice up to the exalted level of precept. Judged by merely worldly standards of achievement, ARTHUR STANTON'S life could not be considered a success. He began as curate of St. Alban's, Holborn, and as curate of St. Alban's he ended after many years of enthusiastic devotion to humanity. He was foiled and thwarted by the great ones of the Church, inhibited in one place, suspended in another, and frequently doomed to find a Bishop or a Chaplain-General set, like a lion, across his path. But nothing could avail to stop him where he found a soul that could be saved or misery that could be relieved. His congregation, drawn from the slums of Holborn, would have died for him to a man, for they realised with how great an ardour his life was spent in order that he might help them. His faith was not a mystery kept apart for special occasions, but a daily and hourly influence vivifying his words and directing his actions. And no man could have enjoyed himself more than this true saint and interpreter of God to man. His religion was not one of gloom and foreboding, but a cheerful and delightful habit of mind and soul. _Tantum religio potuit suadere bonorum._ Mr. RUSSELL has done his work with great skill and perfect sympathy, and has produced a book that does honour to himself and to the beloved friend whom it is his privilege to commemorate.

* * * * *

The many readers of _Punch_ who took a close interest in ALEC JOHNSTON'S letters written "At the Back of the Front" and "At the Front" will be glad to have them in collected form. The memory of his gallant end--he was killed in action after the brilliant capture of a salient near Ypres, at the head of his company of Shropshires--is fresh in all our hearts. A preface to _At the Front_ (CONSTABLE) contains an appreciation of his high character and soldierly qualities by his friend and fellow-officer, Captain INGRAM, R.A.M.C., D.S.O., M.C., who a few weeks later was himself killed. It is a fine tribute paid by one true soldier to another. These letters of ALEC JOHNSTON, as their editor reminds us, "were composed in the brief interludes snatched from hard fighting and hard fatigues. They never pretended to be more than the gay and cynical banter of one who brought to the perils of life at the Front an incurable habit of humour. They are typical of that brave spirit, essentially English, that makes light of the worst that fate can send."

* * * * *

It must, I should think, be exceedingly difficult to find a new title in these days for a volume of reminiscences. Mr. RAYMOND BLATHWAYT seems to have solved the problem happily enough by calling his contribution to the rapidly-increasing library of recollections, _Through Life and Round the World_ (ALLEN). One way and another, first as a curate (rightly termed by the publishers "rather unconventional"), later as journalist, Mr. BLATHWAYT has contrived to use a pair of remarkably open eyes with excellent effect. The result is this fat volume, whose contents, if honesty constrains me to call the most of them gossip, are at least generally entertaining and never ill-natured. Needless to say, Mr. BLATHWAYT, like the elder _Capulet_, can "tell a tale such as will please." For myself, out of a goodly store, I should select for first honours a repartee, new to me, of Sir HERBERT TREE (forgive this dropping into rhyme!). It tells of a boastful old-time actor, vaunting his triumphs as _Hamlet_, when "the audience took fifteen minutes leaving the theatre." "_Was ha lame?_" If our only HERBERT did not in fact make this reply, I can only hope that he will at once hasten home and do so. But while we are upon Mr. BLATHWAYT'S dramatic recollections, I must respectfully traverse his dictum that some of the acting at the local pageants of a few years back "surpassed the very best I have seen upon the stage." As one who took a personal part in many of those well-meant revivals, and dates a relaxed throat from the effort of vociferating history, up-wind, towards a stand full of ear-straining auditors, I bow but remain unconvinced.

* * * * *

Although the literary style of Mr. JULIUS M. PRICE, of _The Illustrated London News_, is too breezy for my taste, I am glad to have read his _Six Months on the Italian Front_ (CHAPMAN AND HALL). Possibly he under-estimates our appreciation of Italy's share in the War's burden, but his account of the conditions prevailing upon the Italian front, and of the courage and skill with which they have been overcome, deserves our undiluted approval. It is difficult to believe that anyone who is not at least a member of the Alpine Club can dimly realise the engineering feats which the Italian soldiers have performed. Mr. PRICE has been given many opportunities of observation, and where none was given to him he has contrived to make them for himself. And the result is a book full of incident and excitement. I hope that he will pardon me when I add that my sense of gratitude would have been greater if, in addition to the photograph of himself--or even instead of it--he had given us a map. For the rest his illustrations are excellent.

* * * * *

To MARTIN SWAYNE, officer in the R.A.M.C., on his lawful occasions or in the intervals of swatting flies _In Mesopotamia_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON), there came some thoughts pleasant and bitter, and you can see that he has selected the pleasant and cut out the others, partly because of his loyalty and humour, and partly, no doubt, in deference to the prejudices of censorship. And he writes his selection of printable remarks in a very agreeable and not undistinguished idiom, pointing the narrative with reflections sane and sage enough. He has also made some water-colour notes (here reproduced in colour) of things seen; not remarkable, but adequate to convey an impression. We have all lamented the confusions (shall we call them?) of the medical service, and the trials of our troops in that blessed region entered through Kurna, the Gate of the Garden of Eden, in the early days of the Mesopotamian adventure. The author reports a radical improvement, and if Eden isn't exactly the name you'd give to this pest-ridden country at least the fighting men are now backed by the devotion and competence of the healing men, and all goes well for both. To the bulldog might well be added the retriever as our national emblem. We are some retrievers.

* * * * *

* * * * *

From an article headed "Outlook for Oil":--

"It is urged in commercial circles that the Government should secure men with laboratory experience, plus a complete absence of practical knowledge, to report on shale deposits."--_Australian Paper_.

We thought it was only in the Old Country that Governments had any use for that sort of man.