Chapter 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOL. 158

MARCH 17, 1920

CHARIVARIA.

PRINCE ALBERT JOACHIM, it appears, did not take part in the attack on a French officer at the Hotel Adlon, but only gave the signal. Always the little Hohenzollern!

***

It seems that at the last moment Mr. C. B. COCHRAN broke off negotiations for the exclusive right to organise the CARPENTIER wedding.

***

"Will Scotland go dry?" asks _The Daily Express_. Not on purpose, we imagine.

***

A new method of stopping an omnibus by a foot-lever has been patented. This is much better than the old plan of shaking one's umbrella at them.

***

Mr. LLOYD GEORGE, we read, makes a study of handwriting. The only objection that _The Times_ has to this habit is that he positively refuses to notice the writing on the wall.

***

It is rumoured that the Government will construct an experimental tunnel between England and the United States in order (1) to cement Anglo-American friendship, and (2) to ascertain if the Channel Tunnel is practicable.

***

Dr. C.W. COLBY, head of the Department of History, has taken Sir AUCLAND GEDDES' place as Principal of McGill University. The report that Sir AUCKLAND will reciprocate by taking a place in history awaits confirmation.

***

"It is quite usual nowadays," a well-known auctioneer states, "for mill hands to keep a few orchids." We understand that by way of a counter-stroke a number of noblemen are threatening to go in for runner ducks.

***

A Rotherham couple who have just celebrated their diamond wedding have never tasted medicine. We ourselves have always maintained that the taste is an acquired one.

***

A Greenland falcon has been shot in the Orkneys. The view is widely taken that the wretched bird, which must have known it wasn't in Greenland, brought the trouble on itself.

***

An alleged anarchist arrested in Munich was identified as a poet and found Not Guilty--not guilty, that is to say, of being an anarchist.

***

With reference to the pending retirement of Mr. ROBERT SMILLIE from the Presidency of the Miners' Federation, it appears that there is talk of arranging a farewell strike.

***

The _Berlin Vorwaerts_ states that ex-Emperor CARL has been discovered in Hungary under an assumed name. The Hungarian authorities say that unless he is claimed within three days he will be sold to defray expenses.

***

We understand that Mr. Justice DARLING'S weekly denial of the reports of his retirement will in future be issued on Tuesdays, instead of Wednesdays, as hitherto.

***

When hit by a bullet a tiger roars until dead, says a weekly paper, but a tigress dies quietly. Nervous people who suffer from headaches should therefore only shoot tigresses.

***

Two out of ten houses being built at Guildford are now complete. Builders in other parts of the country are asking who gave the word "Go."

***

"Marvellous to relate," says a Sunday paper, "a horse has just died at Ingatestone at the age of thirty-six." Surely it is more marvellous that it did not die before.

***

It is said that the Paris Peace Conference cost two million pounds. The latest suggestion is that, before the next war starts, tenders for a Peace Conference shall be asked for and the lowest estimate accepted.

***

A Walsall carter has summoned a fellow-worker because during a quarrel he stepped on his face. It was not so much that he had stepped on his face, we understand, as the fact that he had loitered about on it.

***

A painful mistake is reported from North London. It appears that a young lady who went to a fancy-dress ball as "The Silent Wife" was awarded the first prize for her clever impersonation of a telephone girl.

***

We are glad to learn that the thoughtless tradesman who, in spite of the notice, "Please ring the bell," deliberately knocked at the front-door of a wooden house, has now had to pay the full cost of rebuilding.

***

After reading in her morning paper that bumping races were held recently at Cambridge, a dear old lady expressed sorrow that the disgraceful scenes witnessed in many dance-rooms in London had spread to one of our older universities.

***

Tyrolese hats have reappeared in London after an interval of nearly five years. We understand that the yodel waistcoat will also be heard this spring.

***

A Welshman was fined fifteen pounds last week for fishing for salmon with a lamp. Defendant's plea, that he was merely investigating the scientific question of whether salmon yawn in their sleep, was not accepted.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MORE BOAT-RACE "INTELLIGENCE."

"The Oxford crew had a hard training for an hour and a-half under the direction of Mr. Harcourt Gold, who is to catch them at Putney."--_Evening Paper_.

But will they catch Cambridge at Barnes?

"The Cambridge people have elected to use a scull with a tubular shank or 'loom.'

"Oxford are using these sculls, too."--_Evening Paper_.

We have a silly old-fashioned preference for the use of oars in this competition.

* * * * *

"On St. David's Day, Welshmen wear a leak in their hats."--_Provincial Paper_.

Lest they should suffer from swelled head?

* * * * *

THE "NEW" WORLD.

["Direct Action," which was regarded as a novelty suitable for an age of reconstruction, has now, by the good sense of the Trades Union Congress, been relegated to its proper place in the old and discredited order of things.]

In these, the young Millennium's years, Whereof they loudly boomed the birth, Promising by the lips of seers New Heavens and a brand-new Earth, We find the advertised attraction In point of novelty is small, And argument by force of action Would seem the oldest wheeze of all.

When Prehistoric Man desired Communion with his maid elect, And arts of suasion left him tired, He took to action more direct; Scaring her with a savage whoop or Putting his club across her head, He bore her in a state of stupor Home to his stony bridal bed.

In ages rather more refined, Gentlemen of the King's highway, Whose democratic tastes inclined To easy hours and ample pay, Would hardly ever hold their victim Engaged in academic strife, But raised their blunderbuss and ticked him Off with "Your money or your life."

So when your miners, swift to scout The use of reason's slow appeal, Threaten to starve our children out And bring the country in to heel, There's nothing, as I understand it, So very new in this to show; The cave-man and the cross-roads bandit Were there before them long ago.

O.S.

* * * * *

FAIR WEAR AND TEAR.

In a short time now we shall have to return this flat to its proper tenants and arrive at some assessment of the damage done to their effects. With regard to the other rooms, even the room which Richard and Priscilla condescend to use as a nursery, I shall accept the owners' estimate cheerfully enough, I think; but the case of the drawing-room furniture is different. About the nursery I have only heard vague rumours, but in the drawing-room I have been an eye-witness of the facts.

The proper tenant is a bachelor who lived here with his sister; he will scarcely realise, therefore, what happens at 5 P.M. every day, when there comes, as the satiric poet, LONGFELLOW, has so finely sung--

"A pause in the day's occupations, Which is known as the children's hour."

Drawing-room furniture indeed! When one considers the buildings and munition dumps, the live and rolling stock, the jungles and forests in that half-charted territory; when one considers that even the mere wastepaper basket by the writing-desk (and it _does_ look a bit battered, that wastepaper basket) is sometimes the tin helmet under which Richard defies the frightfulness of LARS PORSENA, and sometimes a necessary stage property for Priscilla's two favourite dramatic recitations

"He plunged with a delighted _scweam_ Into a bowl of clotted cweam,"

and

"This is Mr. Piggy Wee, With tail so pink and curly, And when I say, 'Good mornin', pig,' He answers _vewwy_ surly, Oomph! Oomph!'"

and sometimes the hutch that harbours a cotton-wool creation supposed to be a white rabbit, and stated by the owner to be "munsin' and munsin' and munsin' a carrot"--when, I say, I consider all these things I anticipate that the proceedings of the Reparation Commission will be something like this:--

_He (looking a little ruefully at the round music-stool)_. I suppose your wife plays the piano a good deal?

_I (brightly)_. If you mean the detachable steering-wheel, it is only fair to remember that a part interchangeable between the motor-omnibus and the steam-roller--

_He_. I don't understand.

_I_. Permit me to reassemble the mechanism.

_He_. You mean that when you put that armchair at the end of the sofa and the music-stool in front of it--

_I_. I mean that the motor-omnibus driver, sitting as he does in front of his vehicle and manipulating his steering-wheel like this, can do little or no harm to the apparatus. On the other hand, the steam-roller mechanic, standing _inside_ the body of the vehicle, and having the steering-wheel in _this_ position--

_He_. On the sofa?

_I_. Naturally. Well, supposing he happens to have a slight difference of opinion with his mate as to which of them ought to do the driving, the wheel is quite likely to be pushed off on to the macadam, where it gets a trifle frayed round the edges.

_He_. I see. How awfully stupid of me! And this pouffe, or whatever they call it?

_I_. Week in and week out, boy and girl, I have seen that dromedary ridden over more miles of desert than I can tell you, and never once have I known it under-fed or under-watered, or struck with anything harder than the human fist. Of course the hump does get a little floppy with frequent use, but considering how barren your Sahara--

_He_. Quite, quite. I was just looking at that armchair. Aren't there a lot of scratches on the legs?

_I_. Have you ever _kept_ panthers? Do you realise how impatiently they chafe at times against the bars of their cage? Of course, if you haven't....

Finally, I imagine he will see how reasonable my attitude is and how little he has to complain of. He will recognise that one cannot deal with complicated properties of this sort without a certain amount of inevitable dilapidation and loss.

As a matter of fact I have an even stronger line of argument if I choose to take it. I can put in a counter-claim. One of the principal attractions of old furniture, after all, is historic association. There is the armchair, you know, that Dr. JOHNSON sat in, and the inkpot, or whatever it was, that MARY, Queen of Scots, threw at JOHN BUNYAN or somebody, and I have also seen garden-seats carved out of famous battleships. And then again, if you go to Euston, or it may be Darlington, you will find on the platform the original tea-kettle out of which GEORGE WASHINGTON constructed the first steam-engine. The drawing-room furniture that we are relinquishing combines the interest of all these things. If I like I can put a placard on the sofa, before I take its owner to see it, worded something like this:--

"Puffing Billy, the original steam-roller out of which this elegant piece was carved, held the 1920 record for fourteen trips to Brighton and back within half-an-hour." And after he has seen that I can lead him gently on to Roaring Rupert, the arm-chair. Really, therefore, when one comes to consider it, the man owes me a considerable sum of money for the enhanced sentimental value that has been given to his commonplace property.

Mind you, I have no wish to be too hard on him. I shall be content with a quite moderate claim, or even with no claim at all. Possibly, now I come to think of it; I shall simply say,

"You know what it is to have a couple of bally kids about the place. What shall I give you to call it square?"

And he will name a sum and offer me a cigarette, and we shall talk a little about putting or politics.

But it doesn't much matter. Whatever he asks he can only put it down in the receipts' column of his account-book under the heading of "Depreciation of Furniture," whereas in my expenses it will stand as "Richard and Priscilla: for Adventures, Travel and Romance."

EVOE.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

WINTER SPORT IN THE LOWER ALPS.

About two months ago, after a course of travel literature and some back numbers of _The Badminton Magazine_, I became infected with a desire to spend a winter in the Alps, skating, sliding, curling and yodelling in the intervals of ski-ing, skijoring, skilacking and skihandlung. The very names of the pastimes conjured up a picture of swift and healthy activity. As the pamphlets assured me, I should return a new man; and, though I am greatly attached to the old one, I recognised that improvement was possible.

I don't remember how it came about that I finally chose Freidegg among the multiplicity of winter-sport stations whose descriptions approximated to those of Heaven. I expect Frederick forced the choice upon me; Frederick had been to Switzerland every winter from 1906 to 1913 and knew the ropes. I somehow gathered that the ropes were of unusual complexity.

The entire journey was passed among winter-sporters of a certain type. From their conversation I was able to learn that Badeloden was formerly overrun by Germans; that Franzheim was excellent if you stayed at the Grand, but at the Kurhaus the guests were unsociable, while at the Oberalp you were not done well and the central-heating was inefficient.

I ventured a few questions about the sport available, but was gently rebuked by the silence which followed before conversation was resumed in a further discussion of comforts and social amenities.

On arrival at the hotel I took out my skates, but, on Frederick's advice, hid them again. "Don't let people see that you are a newcomer; there won't be any skating for some weeks yet," said he.

"But why not?" I objected. "The ice must be at least six inches thick."

"Well, it isn't done," he replied. "One's first week is spent in settling down; you can't go straight on the ice without preparation."

On the third day a Sports' Meeting was held, as the result of which a programme of the season was published. It was announced that there would be, weekly, three dances and one bridge tournament; a theatrical performance would be given once a fortnight, and the blank evenings filled with either a concert or an entertainment. I began to wonder how I could squeeze in time for sleep.

In order that boredom might not overtake the guests before evening came, a magnificent tea was served from four to six. During the afternoon one could visit the other hotels of the place and usually found some function in progress. We were not expected to breakfast before ten, and the short time that remained before lunch was spent in a walk to the rink, where we would solemnly take a few steps on the ice, murmur, "Not in condition yet," and return to the hotel.

After about a fortnight of this I announced to Frederick that I was going to skate, no matter how far from perfection the ice proved to be.

Frederick was indignant.

"You'll make yourself both conspicuous and unpopular. The two Marriotts are giving an exhibition to-morrow; if you spoil the ice for them their show will be ruined."

"Very well, then," said I, "I will borrow some ski and mess about on the snow."

"You can't do that," he replied, horrified; "the professionals are coming next week for the open competition, and if they don't find clean snow--"

"All right; I'll get one of those grid-irons and course down the ice-run. I suppose that's what the ice-run is for," said I bitterly.

"And spoil the Alpine Derby, which you know is fixed for the tenth?" Frederick addressed me with some severity. "Look here--you must choose your sport and stick to it. I am a ski-er; you don't find me skating or bobbing or curling."

"Or ski-ing," I added.

"Before ski-ing," he informed me, "one must have one's ski in perfect condition. Mine are improving daily."

Frederick in fact spent his short mornings in giving instructions as to how his ski were to be oiled and rubbed. All the most complicated operations of unction and massage were performed upon them, and all the time Frederick watched over them as over a sick child.

Next I was told that the height of the season had arrived. The round of indoor entertainments went on and almost daily the guests walked to some near point to witness performances by professionals who seemed to tour the country for that purpose.

Just when there appeared to be a slight prospect of some general outdoor activity (and Frederick's ski were pronounced perfect) a thaw occurred. I am bound to say that the event was received philosophically. Not a single member of the company made any complaint; they faced adversity like true Britons and boldly sat in the warm hotel to save themselves for the evening. Nor did their distress put them off their feed; they punished the tea unmercifully, showing scarcely a sign of the aching sorrow which devoured them.

Soon it froze again. The daily visit to the ice was made and Frederick's ski were once more put into training.

As for me I began to believe that there was something shameful or disgraceful in my desire to skate. So I left secretly for Sicily. Here I can enjoy passive entertainment without being unpleasantly chilled.

Well, a few days ago I received from Frederick a letter, from which the following is a quotation: "The final thaw has now occurred and the season is ended. It has been one of the most successful on record. The full programme was carried out to the letter; I wish you had been here for the last Fancy Dress. My ski were really fit and I was looking forward to some great days on the snow. I think I made a bit of a hit too, playing _Lord Twinkles_ in _The Gay Life_."

The ski will no doubt miss Frederick's affectionate attention; he was very fond of them.

Yesterday, by the purest accident I came across Claudia, like myself enjoying the warmth and sunshine.

"Oh, you've been to Freidegg; how lovely! I went to Kestaag this year and was very glad to leave. Nothing to do in the evening but sit round a fire. All day the hotel was like a wilderness and outside nothing but a lot of men falling about in the snow. They were too tired to do anything during the evening. It was horrid. Next time I shall be more careful and choose a nice bright place like Freidegg."

Next time I too shall be more careful.

* * * * *

* * * * *

HOUND-FOXES.

It was really Isabel's idea. But it must be admitted that the Foxes took it up with remarkable promptitude. How it reached them is uncertain, but maybe the little bird that nests outside her nursery window knows more than we do.

The idea owed its inception to my attempt at explaining the pink-coated horsemen depicted on an old Christmas card. I did my best, right up to and including the "worry," in which Isabel joined with enthusiasm. Then she went to bed.

But not to sleep. As I passed by the open door I heard a small excited voice expounding to a lymphatic dolly the whole mystery of fox-hunting:--

"And there was a wood, and there was a smell. And all the peoploos on '_normous_ huge high horses. And _nen_ all the hound-foxes runned after the smell and eated it all up."

A fortnight later, taking a short cut through the Squire's coverts, I sat down to enjoy the glory of woodland springtime. "There was a wood and there was a smell." There certainly was; in fact I was all but sitting upon an earth.

All this is credible enough. Now I hope you will believe the rest of the story.

A dirty sheet of paper lay near Reynard's front doorstep. Idly curious, I picked it up. Strange paper, a form of print that I had never seen before; marked too with dirty pads.

It was a newspaper of sorts. Prominent notices adjured the reader to "Write to _John Fox_ about it." The leading article was headed

"AN APPEAL."

"Foxes of Britain!" it began; "opposed though we have always been to revolutionary politics, a clear line is indicated to us out of the throes of the Re-birth. The old feudal relations between Foxes and Men have had their day. The England that has been the paradise of the wealthy, of the pink-coated, of the doubly second-horsed, must become that of the oppressed, the hunted, the hand-to-mouth liver. In a word, we have had enough of Fox-Hounds; henceforth we will have Hound-Foxes."

Then the policy was outlined. Foxes could not hunt hounds--no; but they could lead them a dog's life. They had been in the past too sporting; thought too little of their own safety, too much of the pleasure of the Hunt and of the reputation of its country.

Henceforth the League of Hound-Foxes would dispense justice to the oppressors. No more forty-minute bursts over the best line in the country; no more grass and easy fences; no more favourable crossing points at the Whissendine Brook; no more rhapsodies in _The Field_ over "a game and gallant fox."

A Hound-Fox would be game, but not gallant. He would carry with him a large-scale specially-marked map, showing where bullfinches were unstormable; where the only gaps harboured on the far side a slimy ditch; where woods were rideless; where wire was unmarked; where railways lured to destruction--over and through each and every point would the Hound-Fox entice the cursing Hunt.

As for the Hounds, they feared no obstacles, but they hated mockery. _They_ should be led on to the premises of sausage factories; through villages, to be greeted as brothers-in-the-chase by forty yelping curs; into infant-schools (that old joke), where the delighted babes would throw arms around their necks and call them "Doggie," until both men and hounds would begin to question whether the game were worth the candle.

Therefore let every eligible vulpine enroll himself to-day as a Hound-Fox. They must be dog-foxes, rising three or over, of good stamina, with plenty of scent, intelligent and preferably unmarried. The League Secretary was ---- (here followed the name, earth and covert of a well-known veteran).

There was other matter, of course. A "Grand Prize Competition--A Turkey a Week for Life!" was announced. A humorous article on Earth-Stoppers and, on the "Vixens' Page," a discussion as to the edibility of Pekinese.

Absent-mindedly I crumpled up the astounding rag and thrust it down the hole.

* * * * *