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  PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

  Vol. 147.

  September 23, 1914.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE ALIEN.

_Chorus._ "BOO! 'OO KISSED 'ER 'AND TO THE KAISER LARST TIME 'E COME
OVER? YAR! BLOOMIN' GERMAN!"

       *       *       *       *       *

CHARIVARIA.

The KAISER, we are told, travels with an asbestos hut. We fancy,
however, that it is not during his lifetime that the most pressing need
for a fire-proof shelter will arise.

       * * *

"The Germans," said one of our experts last week, "are retreating to
what looks like a bottle-neck exit." Their fondness for the bottle is,
of course, well known and may yet be their undoing.

       * * *

_The Times_, one day, gave a map showing "The Line of Battle in
Champagne." It was, as might have been expected, a very wobbly line.

       * * *

A somewhat illiterate correspondent writes to say that he considers that
the French ought to have allowed the Mad Dog to retain Looneyville.

       * * *

The German papers publish the statement that a Breslau merchant has
offered 30,000 marks to the German soldier who, weapon in hand, shall be
the first to place his feet on British soil. By a characteristic piece
of sharp practice the reward, it will be noted, is offered to the man
personally and would not be payable to his next of kin.

       * * *

With one exception all goods hitherto manufactured in Germany can be
made just as well here. The exception is Lies.

       * * *

We have been requested to deny the rumour that Mr. A. C. BENSON'S
forthcoming Christmas book is to be a Eulogy of German Culture and is to
bear the title, _Some Broken Panes From a College Window_ (_in
Louvain_).

       * * *

A Corps of Artists for Home Defence is being formed, and the painter
members are said to be longing for a brush with the enemy.

       * * *

Cases have been brought to our notice by racing men of betting news
having been delayed on more than one occasion owing to the wires being
required for war purposes. We are confident that if a protest were made
to Lord KITCHENER he would look very closely into the matter.

       * * *

Another item reaches us from the dear old village of Pufflecombe this
week. The oldest inhabitant met a stranger. "'Scuse me, Zur," he said,
"but be you from Lunnon town?" The visitor nodded. "Then maybe, Zur,"
said the rustic, "you can tell me if it be true, as I have heerd tell,
that relations 'tween England and Germany be strained?"

       *       *       *       *       *

     "If every man and woman in the country were mated, the number of
     men who would still remain bachelors would more than equal the
     entire population."--_Daily News._

The Press Bureau cannot guarantee the truth of this.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Germans on board, who were arrested, stated that reports circulated
     in Hamburg declared that the British troops had been annihilated
     and Paris was in flames.

     "Sixty-two British ships lie at Hamburg."

They must have caught it from the Germans.

       *       *       *       *       *

PROBATION.

(_To a King's Recruit._)

  Now is your time of trial, now
   When into dusk the glamour pales
   And the first glow of passion fails
  That lit your eyes and flushed your brow
  In that great moment when you made your vow.

  The Vision fades; you scarce recall
   The sudden swelling of the heart,
   The swift resolve to have your part
  In this the noblest quest of all
  By which our word is given to stand or fall.

  Your mother's pride, your comrades' praise--
   All that romance that seemed so fair
   Grows dim, and you are left to bear
  The prose of duty's sombre ways
  And labour of the long unlovely days.

  Yet here's the test to prove you kin
   With those to whom we trust our fate,
   Sober and steadfast, clean and straight,
  In that stern school of discipline
  Hardened to war against the foe within.

  For only so, in England's sight,
   By that ordeal's searching flame
   Found worthy of your fathers' fame,
  With all your spirit's armour bright
  Can you go forth in her dear cause to fight.

   O. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.

No. 1.

(_From Herr Von Bethmann Hollweg._)

MAJESTY,--Though you will never receive this letter, I feel that I must
write it if only to relieve my mind of an intolerable burden. There is
no doubt about it, things are not going well with us, and we shall soon
be in a situation of a most deplorable kind. Our armies have been driven
back in France--this is what VON STEIN means when he declares that we
have had "partial successes"--and Paris, which was to be captured weeks
ago, seems to be as strong and as defiant as ever. The English are still
unbroken and are pouring new armies into France. In Galicia the wretched
Austrians are running like sheep; even Servia has beaten them and is
invading Hungary and Bosnia; and our wonderful fleet, which cost so much
good money, is bottled up. Soon we shall have the Cossacks on our backs,
and then the dance will begin in earnest.

But you don't care--not a bit of it. You've been prancing about and
making speeches and showing yourself on balconies and congratulating God
on being such a good German. Do for Heaven's sake give us all a rest. We
are in for a frightful war, and untold miseries are sure to fall upon
us. Do you suppose that we shall be helped to bear them if you continue
to act like an inebriated madman in the sight of the whole world?

Of course I shall have to bear the responsibility. I know that well
enough. So, while I still have the liberty to use my pen, I mean to make
my protest and throw back the burden you want to put upon me. Let me
tell you this: you can't go on bragging and trampling on others and
glorifying your splendid and immaculate self without rousing anger
somewhere. Other people have their feelings--I've got some left
myself--and in the long run they're bound to get tired of being exposed
to your insolence. We may be miserable worms, but we don't want to be
told so every day.

And then how wanton and silly the whole management of the affair has
been. Think of our Empire so gloriously won, so magnificently
established. France, no doubt, brooded over the possibility of a
_revanche_, but no other country envied us our success or desired either
to damage our _prestige_ or to interfere with our growing commerce.
Everybody was glad to hail us as friends. And now nearly the whole of
Europe has been brought about our ears. Almost all countries wish for
our destruction and are trying to bring it about. Italy deserts us. Even
America, though you cringe to her, dislikes us and mentions Louvain when
we speak of culture. What a masterpiece of folly and miscalculation and
wasted opportunity it has all been. And the truth is that there's nobody
to thank for it except your sublime self. Others have made mistakes, but
you alone were capable of constructing this colossal monument of
detestable blunders. Our fault has been that we did not attempt to check
you when you pulled on your jack-boots and mounted your high-horse to
ride rough-shod over the world, and that we pretended to believe you
when you assured us that all was well because you had taken in the
Almighty as a sleeping-partner in the business of governing a State.
That fault in all conscience is big enough, but it becomes a mere speck
when it is measured against yours.

I could add more, but what I have said is enough. At any rate I am now
feeling better.

Yours, with all deference,

VON BETHMANN HOLLWEG.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE EVANGELIST.

  I have found favour in the sight of God;
  From all His servants He selected Me
  To take His gospel, "God and Germany,"
  To Belgian heretics. Lo, I have trod
  Through Belgium terribly, and taught the pack;
  I put their ancient cities to the sack,
  I gave their men and women to the sword,
  I took their Belgian babes upon my knee
  And broke them to the glory of the Lord.

  It may be that one Belgian kennel stands,
  One Belgian dog, not trampled into dust,
  Still battles on beside these hosts of Hell
  Who think to question the Most High's commands--
  God will forgive me one, for He is just;
  The blood of many thousands lights my feet;
  Calmly I step before the Judgment Seat--
  "_Have I done well, O Lord, have I done well?_"

   A. A. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

A FABLE.

A Suffolk Sportsman, wandering out with his Gun to get what he could,
once brought down a Pigeon.

It was a fine Bird, and he popped it in a Pie and made a hearty Meal of
it.

And then he began to feel most horribly ill in his Stomach.

The Moral is that one should not eat German homers, for Evil
Communications Corrupt Good Digestions.

       *       *       *       *       *

     "Who has not read the humorist W. W. Jacobs? who has not spent many
     an enjoyable hour over his books, such as 'Three Men in a
     boat'?"--_Timaru Herald._

Obviously the writer of the above paragraph.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: NOTHING DOING.

IMPERIAL DACHSHUND. "HERE I'VE BEEN SITTING UP AND DOING TRICKS FOR THE
BEST PART OF SEVEN WEEKS, AND YOU TAKE NO MORE NOTICE OF ME THAN IF----"

UNCLE SAM. "CUT IT OUT!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Territorial Sentry_ (_by profession a telephone
operator_). "ARE YOU THERE?"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SPLENDID FAILURE.

I found my old cheerful active friend in the depths of woe.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Well," he said, "I'm done for, useless. You see I'm forty-six, and
that's a devil of an age just now. You're as fit as you ever were in
your life, but of course the War Office won't look at you. Forty-six is
impossible! 'But I can walk thirty miles a day,' I tell them. 'Not with
all the accoutrements,' they say. 'I'm a member of the Alpine Club,' I
tell them. 'You're over age,' they say. 'I'm stronger than any of your
twenty-year-old recruits,' I tell them. 'You're forty-six,' they say.
And it's true!"

"Then the new regiment of Sportsmen came along," he continued, "and I
tried them. No good. Forty-five is their maximum. So there you are! I'm
done--useless. No one wanted to help more than I did, and I can do
absolutely nothing."

"I'll bet you've done a lot," I said, "if you would only confess."

"I tell you I've done absolutely nothing," he repeated testily. "I'm no
use."

"But surely you're on a dozen committees?" I said.

"No," he said, "not one."

"Then you have started a Fund? Some minor fund guaranteed not to divert
any money from the big ones?"

"No."

"But of course you've written to the papers?" I went on.

"No."

"Not about anything? Not to make the Government buck up about blankets
or squashing German lies, or allowing Correspondents at the Front, or
anything like that?"

"No."

"But surely you have views as to the better management of things? The
Press Bureau, for instance. Haven't you pitched into that?"

"No."

"Not even clamoured for all Germans in this country, even the
naturalised ones, to be shot? Surely you've harried MCKENNA a bit?"

"No."

"Well, you must at least have published a scheme for the partition of
Europe after the war?"

"No; I never wrote to the papers in my life."

I shook his hand.

"Good heavens!" I said, "and this is the man who grumbles because he
has done nothing for his country."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEW SCHOOL OF DIVINITY.

 [The most fashionable and eminent German theologians have
 enthusiastically endorsed the official view of Germany as the
 hierophant of Peace and Concord reluctantly forced into a defensive
 war by the perfidy of England. As worshippers in the new Temple of
 Teutonic Truth they may be imagined to express themselves much as
 follows.]

  "As the ghostly adviser
  Of WILHELM our Kaiser
  I think this erection
  Is simply perfection.
  No censure can dim it,
  Because it's the limit
  In massive proportions
  And splendid distortions.
  To compare it with Ammon,
   Whose temple's at Karnak,
  Is the veriest gammon,"
   Exclaims Dr. HARNACK.

  "Since the days of my youth
  I have laboured for Truth,
  And, though keenly assailed
   By the arrows of slander,
  She has mostly prevailed.
  But now that she's nailed
  To our counter for aye,
  Neither black, white nor Grey
  Shall have power to withstand her."

(Signed) Dr. DRYANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WATCH DOGS.

III.

DEAR CHARLES,--I hope you haven't been worrying yourself to death
because you haven't heard from your Territorial for a fortnight. The
Germans haven't got us yet, and what is more we haven't yet shot each
other. There is a private who comes down into the butts under my charge
who ought to be especially grateful to Providence on this account, for I
cannot induce him to make use of the red "Cease Fire!" flag before he
ascends from the safety-pit; even when he does, he drags it out behind
him so that the first thing those on the firing-point see is himself,
and the second thing is the flag. I think he must have been an
ammunition-monger in private life and mixed with bullets in their less
dangerous moods.

We complain of the work and we complain of the food, but really we are
very happy. The great thing about our life is that there is nothing to
bother about; someone is looking after us all the time, that is from 5
A.M. to 10 P.M. They fetch you out of bed, they exercise your muscles,
they put food into you, tell you where to go, when to come back, how to
fold up your kit, and when to go to sleep. The only thing they don't do
is to come round the last thing and tuck you up in your little valise.
You can strap yourself in, all but the head, and as to that there is a
flap which anybody with a little gum could fasten down as an envelope.
If, Charles, you hear a rumour that my battalion has been sent across
Germany to join the Russians on the other side _by parcel post_, don't
be too ready to dismiss it as an absurdity.

Everybody has got somebody to look after him here. There was an instance
on the range yesterday. The men were firing their standard tests and
there were rumours of an inspection. The N.C.O.'s in charge, being a bit
anxious themselves, were seeing to it that the privates did their duty.
Be sure we kept a relentless eye on the N.C.O.'s, and the Major in
charge of the whole Musketry Detachment did not deal gently with us.
Then the Adjutant loomed up, and the Major had to explain himself as
best he could; next came the Brigadier, and the Adjutant was on his
defence. Just as the Brigadier was getting into his stride, "The
General, Sir," whispered the Brigade-Major, and it was then for the
Brigadier to account for things being as they were and to promise that
very shortly they should be otherwise. You'd have thought that a man so
mature and beribboned as our Divisional Commander would be immune from
attack; but not so, for up rolled a motor which had come all the way
from London and the War Office and even the dear old General was found
to be capable of error. You may imagine that the five rounds which were
being shot all this while by a mere private were somewhat spasmodic,
especially as he was used by all parties as an illustration of their
particular meanings. Standing by myself all the time while this unhappy
man was severally instructed by N.C.O., Lieutenant, Major, Adjutant,
Brigadier, General and Permanent Staff, I was a little amused to note
that even so he failed to pass his test! And they all told him on no
account to be nervous about it.

You know the song, "Where the wind blows, we'll go"? It is a great
favourite on the march; and full marching kit, together with eighty
rounds of ball ammunition carried by each man, cannot stop it. It is not
a beautiful thing in itself, and it is not made more attractive by being
sung when the band is playing something else. But it takes little to
turn a bad thing into a good one. This morning Lieut. Wentworth, not
usually mounted, took out a party for a route march, borrowing the
Adjutant's horse for the purpose. As the party marched away at ease,
some of their friends asked them where they were going. They answered to
music: "Where the horse goes, we'll go." Wentworth tells me that this
opinion was not ill-founded.

Food is my strong subject at the moment, for I have happened to be
orderly officer once or twice lately; in other words I have been a sort
of detective housekeeper. The first thing I have to do is to see that
everybody gets up at reveille--a charity, Charles, which has to begin at
home. But it is at the cookhouse that I am supposed to have my most
deadly effect. You can see me paying visits _en surprise_, all the cooks
springing to attention and the very potatoes in the dixies trying to
look as if they weren't doing anything wrong! The pleasing sensation of
importance having passed off, it is then time for me to do something
intelligent. It is easy enough to tap a camp-kettle with a nonchalant
cane and commence the removal of the lid, but it is much more difficult
to cope with the pieces of boiled beef with which I am then confronted.
As a subject of conversation boiled beef is not, in my opinion, a
success: there are only two things to ask about it--"Is it beef?" "Is it
boiled?" There is no way of finding out its merits except by eating it,
and I simply cannot bring myself to steal my men's food! The temptation
is to <DW8> it with the cane, but when you've done that once and the
Adjutant has happened to be looking you don't do it again. So I turn to
the "pontoon," a composite dish containing everything in the world which
is edible and savoury, and I ask the Cook-Sergeant why we cannot get
that sort of thing in peace time, pay what we will. Oh, yes, my boy, we
in the officers' mess have long abandoned our chefs and caterers, and
have taken to drawing out rations and, secretly, thanking Heaven for the
same.

You want to know what is to become of us. I will tell you on absolutely
reliable information. We are going to Cherbourg to stand by as a reserve
force; to Paris to act as a protection against surprise attacks; to
Ostend to relieve the Casino; to Antwerp to resist Zeppelins; to the
French frontier to guard lines of communication; to Leicester to
supervise German prisoners; to Africa to conduct a show of our own; to
India, Malta, Gibraltar and Egypt for garrison duty; to the North of
Scotland to protect coast towns (which abound in that part); and to the
right of the Allies' first, the centre of the Allies' second, and the
left of the Allies' third fighting line. That, Charles, is our official
programme: when we have completed it we shall be getting near Christmas.
Then, of course, we proceed for rest and recreation to Berlin; our one
fear being that when we get there we shall be turned on to military
police duty, and the protection of German women and children against
their own men-folk.

Meanwhile to-morrow's programme is less dashing. It consists of Church
Parade. The Musketry Detachment is at some little distance from the main
body, so the Padre has arranged for a private parade of our own. An
officer is to read the lessons and has been instructed for the purpose.
"The Party," as we call him for convenience, "will move two paces
forward and, upon the word 'one,' will take the Book smartly in the left
hand. Upon the word 'two' he will raise his right thumb to his lower lip
and moisten the same, thus enabling it to turn over the page
efficiently. When this movement is complete, he will cut away the right
hand sharply and proceed to carry out his duties." Don't suppose we are
irreligious--far from it; but always we are disciplinarians. I believe
there is somewhere in the _Infantry Training_ a correct way laid down
for blowing your nose to numbers.

Yours ever, HENRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

"TRADING WITH THE ENEMY BILL."

We prefer to say (less familiarly), "Settling accounts with the
KAISER."

       *       *       *       *       *

A FOOD WAR.

  Some folk believe that wars commence
  From greed of gain or self-defence;
  But Austrian sages have divined
  Incitements of a different kind.

  The Servian Army (so 'tis said)
  Has run completely out of bread,
  And every day the hungry souls
  Fight Austria for Vienna rolls.

  The Austrian battles with the TSAR
  Because he dotes on caviare,
  And must that monarch's realm invade
  Because he likes it freshly made.

  The Russians cannot do without
  The soul-sustaining _sauerkraut_,
  And march their armies to the West
  Because Berliners make the best.

  The German confidently thinks
  That absinthe is the prince of drinks,
  And therefore must attack the land
  That keeps the most seductive brand.

  The Frenchman, tired of his _ragouts_,
  Covets the meat that Teutons use,
  And charges like an avalanche
  For German sausage, not _revanche_.

  The Briton, vexed by rules austere,
  Has heard the fame of German beer,
  And nought his onward march can stop
  While Munich holds a single drop.

  The bold Italian stands prepared
  With rifle loaded, sabre bared,
  And to a questioning world replies,
  "Who touches my _spaghetti_, dies!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CATCH.

I have a friend who is a Special Constable. He has had an experience
which by no means casts any discredit upon him; but he would rather not
write about it himself, he says; so I take up the pen on his behalf.

My friend is an artist, and as such is accustomed to use his eyes. The
other day he saw a smartly dressed man whom he conceived to be a German
spy, for, besides wearing an alien aspect, he carried a walking-stick
which tapered suspiciously on the way down, and near the top of it was
an obvious little catch. "A sword stick!" said the Special Constable to
himself.

He followed the man. The man ultimately entered the purlieus of a police
station and joined a queue of exotics who were waiting to be registered.

The Special Constable then accosted a pukka Police Inspector who was
standing at the door and explained his suspicion as to the walking-stick
and its probable contents. The Police Inspector also thought there might
be something in it. He beckoned to the German. The alien enemy,
trembling palpably, came up to him.

"Any arms?" asked the Inspector.

"No," replied the alien enemy, still trembling.

"Undo the catch of that stick," commanded the Inspector. With fumbling
fingers the alien enemy did so--and drew forth a silk umbrella.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _First Golfer_ (_to friend who has come from a distance
to play with him_). "BUT, MY DEAR CHAP, WHERE ARE YOUR CLUBS?"

_Second Golfer._ "HUSH! NOT A WORD! I'VE GOT 'EM DISGUISED IN HERE."

       *       *       *       *       *

Two consecutive advertisements in _The Portsmouth Evening News_:--

     "Lost, Sunday, Ring, with G.H.E. stamped on it."

     "Why Lose Articles? Name, or initials engraved, 6d."

"Dash it," said G.H.E., one of the first to pay his sixpence, "I've been
had."

       *       *       *       *       *

BOBS' WAY.

  He knew, none better, how 'twould be,
   And spoke his warning far and wide;
  He worked to save us ceaselessly,
   Setting his well-earnt ease aside.

  We smiled and shrugged and went our way
   Blind to the swift-approaching blow;
  His every word proves true to-day,
   But no man hears, "I told you so!"

       *       *       *       *       *

From a Territorial's letter in _The Huddersfield Examiner_:--

     "We wash in a bucket--one bucket for eight men. We fall in when the
     bugle calls."

And then climb out again and look for the towel.

       *       *       *       *       *

AS ENGLAND EXPECTS.

When the war broke out and Big Ben had boomed the hour which marked the
rejection of the ultimatum, Bates was full of fire. He had bought a
penny flag, and in a spirit of grim determination had walked the
streets, processing with the processionists. There was no brag or bounce
about him, no hideousness of noise or mafficking, no hatred of
foreigners or cruelty of uncharity, but a grim steadfastness of
determination which meant that, so far as he might, Bates would do or
die.

He returned to his third-floor back in St. Pancras, and, lighting his
lamp and a candle to ensure as much illumination as possible, looked
with brooding earnestness at his reflection in the worn uncertain
looking-glass.... He began to realise the truth of things. The flag was
in his button-hole, his eye had a glint of lingering excitement, his
brain was ruffled; he saw himself as he was. England must fight,
Englishmen must help, for England could not fail. On her rested the
truest and noblest concerns of humanity.

Bates removed his coat. He was five-foot two; his chest measurement was
less than proportionate to his height. His muscles, so far as they
existed, were flabby. He moved his arms to exercise their powers; then,
realising his weariness, went slowly to bed. Bates was a little tiny
man, but his heart was large.

He was restless throughout the night, rose but little refreshed, and
breakfasted badly. He went forth to his labours--he was a ledger-clerk
in some Stores--feeling greatly depressed. Gradually, however, that
sense of oppression passed. The world was full of sunshine, and, though
the faces of the passers-by were anxious and unsmiling, there was no
despondency about them. Where no despondency is, there surely is hope.
Bates began to feel hopeful. The sight of a Territorial with a kitbag
completed his recovery. He strode out with an unusual vigour, squared
his poor chest, swung his arms, and whistled softly to himself the
chorus of some piece of music-hall patriotism--

"They can't build boys of the bull-dog breed!"

By the time he reached the office--well before the hour--he was a
pugnacious and confident patriot for all his scarcity of feet and
inches.

The days that followed were full of emotions and excitements. Three of
Bates's colleagues went the Khaki way, and every hour brought some
discussion of international problems. The counting-house thrilled with
arguments of high strategy. What KITCHENER should do, and where CHARLIE
BERESFORD should be sent, were questions confidently settled. Bates,
whose want of stature made him too insignificant to speak with
confidence in these discussions, held his peace, but listened with both
ears. What was the good of this talk? It was incumbent on Englishmen to
do.

That night he was one of a multitude who stood at the entrance of the
local drill-hall hoping to become Territorials. He rather expected to be
chaffed for his pains, but, though there was plenty of jollity among
those waiting, there was no unkindness; and at last, thanks to squeezing
and patience, he was able to get within the charmed gate. So far and no
farther; not so far even as to the medical officer. A watchful sergeant
grasped him by the shoulder, and, smiling with earnest eyes, said:

"It's no use wasting your time here, young fellow-my-lad! You'd better
shave your upper lip and apply to the Boy Scouts."

Bates turned on his heel and, sick at heart, went out by a side door. He
was angry with himself, at his inadequate inches. What could he do for
England? He was deeply grieved at his uselessness. He crept up to his
room and sat in the darkness, brooding.

His spirits were low for some days, and the sight of regiments marching,
of soldiers with their friends, of placards telling the truth and the
not-so-truthful, made him feel very futile. He spent hours of every
evening wandering through the streets, watching the lighted windows of
Buckingham Palace, gazing at the policemen who guarded Downing Street.
He wanted to do so much for England, yet he must stand and wait. He had
left the mimic flag in his pin-cushion at home; he was in no mood for
wearing it now.

Then an idea came to him. His spirits rose, his eyes brightened; he
walked again with something of a martial swing, and whistled to himself
softly and inoffensively that even a neighbour might not have heard.

Bates had found his way. He too could serve England. He sacrificed all
but his bare necessities, and grew actually thinner and even less
obtrusive. His outer insignificance shrank, but inwardly he was as happy
as a warrior. Every week a postal order went to this relief-fund or to
that. It was regularly acknowledged to "One of the Bull-dog Breed."

Bates wears his flag boldly and is confident that we shall win.

       *       *       *       *       *

Old Proverbs re-made in Germany.

I. "_Vedi Parigi e poi mori._"

       *       *       *       *       *

KINGS FROM THE EAST.

  Cities of wonderment,
   Pink as the morn,
  There, of the sunrise sent,
   Reigned the Sun-Born;
  From the high heaven's gate,
   Sprung from the flame,
  Ere Nineveh was great,
   Ere Thebes a name!

  Emeralds, milky pearls
   Plucked from blue seas,
  Footfall of silken girls--
   Such for their ease;
  Shimmer and silken sheen,
   Jewel and maid--
  These but the damascene
   Chasing the blade!

  For on a royal day
   Lost in the years
  Chose they the Happy Way--
   The way of spears;
  Ere Rome's first bastionings
   Climbed from the sods
  In the old East were kings
   Warring with gods.

  Lo, through the eastern sky
   Crimson is drawn,
  Kings in their panoply
   Ride with the dawn;
  Sprung from high heaven's gate,
   Sprung from the flame,
  Ere Nineveh was great,
   Ere Thebes a name!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HOHENZOLLERN STIGGINS.

     "'Oh, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins, 'here's a sorrowful
     affliction.... It makes a vessel's heart bleed.'

     Mr. Weller was overheard to murmur something about making a
     vessel's nose bleed."

     _Pickwick Papers._

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW VERSION.

When French joined FRENCH
Then was the tug of war.

       *       *       *       *       *

MOTTO FOR THE WAR.

ENGLAND MEANS "BUSINESS--AS USUAL."

     "'Who that England know who only England knows.' We are not certain
     of the precise verbality, but thus the poet sang."

     _"Leader," B. E. Africa._

The "precise verbality" is merely a private trouble of the poets.

       *       *       *       *       *

From an official notification in _The Shanghai Municipal Gazette_:--

     "Where mosquitoes cannot be exterminated by abolishing stagnant
     water or by the use of kerosine oil, or by reporting their presence
     to the Health Officer, the mosquito net should be carefully used."

_Elderly bald Gentleman_ (_to mosquito_): "Now I've warned you once; and
if you sting me again I shall report you to the Health Officer."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WAR DAY BY DAY.

We understand from our Special War Correspondent, who is counting the
butter at Copenhagen, that great activity is manifesting itself among
the officers and men of the German Slack-Water Fleet. This is owing to
the fact that they are learning a new German National Anthem which has
just been introduced into the Fleet, set to an old English tune. A rough
translation of the chorus goes as follows:--

"Rule, Germania, Germania ever shall
Ru--u--u-u-u-u-ule the Kiel Canal."

The order enforcing this new song is signed "WILHELM, Grand Admiral of
the Canal."

       *       *       *       *       *

The announcement that an indemnity of 100,000 cigars had been levied on
Ghent created some little surprise. It is a fact, however, that before
the campaign began a list of suitable indemnities for all the towns and
villages through which the Germans hoped to pass had been drawn up by
the ever-ready General Staff. A list of such war levies for various
places in England has accidentally come into our possession, a
dispatch-case containing this and other important documents having been
dropped by a carrier-pigeon as it was flying over Bouverie Street on its
way back to Berlin. We give a few examples, so that our readers may know
what to expect:--

     _London._--L100,000,000, the Albert Memorial and three-dozen
     special constables.

     _Beaconsfield._--Mr. G. K. ---- (_suppressed by Censor_).

     _Tonbridge._--100,000 cricket bats with splices, 10,000 pairs of
     leg-guards, and 1,000 wicket-keeping gauntlets.

     _Greenwich._--200,000,000 bunches of whitebait, 200,000 lemons, and
     750,000 slices of brown bread and butter.

     _Steeple Bumpstead._--L5,000,000 and a mangold-wurzel. [Three weeks
     will be given the inhabitants in which to collect the money, but
     the wurzel must be handed over at once.]

       *       *       *       *       *

By the way, the plan for this invasion of England is a remarkably subtle
one. The invading army will be under the command of the CROWN PRINCE,
who, according to the latest reports, is now fighting simultaneously on
the eastern and western frontiers of Germany, and has volunteered for
spare-time work. Waiting for the psychological moment when the British
Fleet is looking the other way, the Grand High Canal Fleet will slip out
with barges in tow, containing six army corps and His Royal Lowness.
And, as VON MOLTKE said to the present writer's--the present KAISER'S
grandfather. "Victory will be ours, Sire."

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: A USE FOR ZEPPELINS.

_Belated Citizen_ (_who has been lamenting the loss of his latch-key all
the way home_). "HELLO! HERE'S A BIT OF LUCK!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Success continues to attend the Austrian arms, both in the East and in
the South. It is announced on reliable authority that more than 200,000
Austrians have forced their way into Russia, and are now guarding the
more important Russian prisons from within. In the South the
chastisement of Servia, undertaken solely for Servia's own good, has
triumphantly achieved its object.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Japanese army corps, which passed through Llanfairfechan, Inverness
and Bushey last Saturday, on its way to outflank the German left wing at
Metz, has arrived safely at Scutari, and is now marching on Vienna. [The
Press Bureau has no notion whether this is true or not, and cannot think
of any way of finding out. But it consents to its publication in the
hope that it will frighten the KAISER.]

       *       *       *       *       *

We learn that the Russians have won a pronounced victory (but not by us)
at Przemysl.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shakspeare on the Situation.

"List! list! oh list."--_Hamlet, Act I., Scene 4._

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Old Lady._ "I'VE BROUGHT BACK THIS WAR MAP YOU SOLD ME
YESTERDAY, MR. BROWN. IT'S NOT UP TO DATE. I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL THE
MORNING FOR ARMAGEDDON, AND CAN'T FIND IT MARKED ANYWHERE."

       *       *       *       *       *

ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF WIRELESS VICTORY.

(_An attempt, suggested by certain Marconigrams, to shed still further
light on the nature of the principal Teutonic deity._)

  What to thee are marching legions,
   Cannon smoke and sabre thrust,
  Goddess of the cloud-rimmed regions
   In whose might the Germans trust?
  Though, however high and regal,
   Kingly pomp may break and bend
  Soiled with murder (labelled legal),
  Thou, more active than the eagle,
   Thou endurest to the end.

  Thou wast not behind their banners
   When they scoured the Belgian plain,
  When they taught their Teuton manners
   By the wreck of farm and fane;
  Clear of battle's mire and fury
   On those sightless feet and hid,
  Thou wast wafted with the story
  Saying this was German glory
   To Chicago and Madrid.

  Long e'er Paris heard the thunder,
   Herald of the Uhlan's lance,
  Thou wast making Stockholm wonder
   At the dying flame of France:
  Not on wires, with no word written,
   Thou hadst trod thine airy track,
  Faster than the mailed mitten,
  And behold our fleet was smitten
   Somewhere near the Skager Rack.

  So. And when their lines are broken,
   When their shrapnel falls less fast,
  Shalt thou fail to send a token
   Undefeated to the last?
  Surely not. Red devastation
   Still shall urge by land and sea
  Every proud advancing nation
  While Marconi's installation
   Rules the skies of Germany.

  Still when pagan peoples sever
   Railway line and telegraph
  Thou shalt keep thy staunch endeavour,
   Thou shalt scatter us like chaff.
  Still, O goddess of the Prussians,
   Thou shalt sound thy trump of tin
  Undeterred by rude concussions
  While the Frenchmen hail the Russians
   On the flagstones of Berlin.

EVOE.

       *       *       *       *       *

A German Motto:--"Gott mit Huns."

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE GREAT ILLUSION.

KAISER. "MY POOR BIRD, WHAT _HAS_ HAPPENED TO YOUR TAIL-FEATHERS?"

GERMAN EAGLE. "CAN YOU BEAR THE TRUTH, SIRE?"

KAISER. "IF IT'S NOT FOR PUBLICATION."

GERMAN EAGLE. "IT'S LIKE THIS, THEN. YOU TOLD ME THE BRITISH LION WAS
CONTEMPTIBLE. WELL--HE WASN'T!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: FROM OUR SPECIALLY CREDULOUS CORRESPONDENT.

_Stoker._ "I SEE THE TORPEDO APPROACHIN' US; SO, WITHOUT WAITIN' FER ANY
ORDERS, I DIVES OVERBOARD, JUST GIVES 'IM A FLICK ON 'IS LITTLE RUDDER,
AN' OFF 'E GOES TO STARB'D AN' PASSES US 'ARMLESSLY BY."

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

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

_House of Commons, Monday, Sept. 14._--House met to-day with proud
feeling of altered circumstance. A fortnight ago things looked bad in
France. Allied Armies were continuing prolonged retreat not made more
acceptable by being officially named "Retirement." A detailed narrative
compiled in neighbourhood of the Army had described the little British
Force, long fighting at odds of four to one, as "broken to pieces."

Seemed as if Paris were on verge of another triumphal entry by German
forces: France on eve of a second Sedan.

To-day a more hurried retreat is daily accumulating speed. This time it
is the invader who, in order to avoid final disaster, is racing back to
the comparative safety of his own country, whilst French and British,
elate with repeated victory, hang with uncomfortable closeness on his
heels.

"In the matter of carefully planned advance and sudden withdrawal, we
have," said the MEMBER FOR SARK, "a parallel episode in our own military
history. You remember how 'the gallant Duke of YORK' on an expedition to
Flanders had 'twice ten thousand men,' how he 'marched them up to the
top of the hill And marched them down again'? The simple verse lends
itself with easy adaptability to present circumstances of our old friend
the EMPEROR WILLIAM:--

  "The gallant plumed WILHELM
   Had twice a million men;
  He marched them up to Paris town
   And marched them back again."

As in depressing circumstances of a fortnight ago the House betrayed no
sign of dejection or variation from resolve to see the fight out to a
finish, so to-day it does not present itself in mafficking mood. It is
nevertheless more than ever resolved, at whatever cost of blood or
treasure, to make an end of the throned KAISER and his system of
militarism, the curse of Europe these more than twenty years. Wherein it
is truly representative of the nation.

_Business done._--PREMIER announces that Prorogation will be
accomplished before end of week, with incidental consequence of addition
to Statute Book under Parliament Act of Bills establishing Home Rule in
Ireland and disestablishing Church in Wales.

_Tuesday._--A sitting of alarums and excursions, especially excursions.

PREMIER introduced Bill suspending for twelve months, or longer if War
lasts, operation of Home Rule Bill and Welsh Church Bill, which, in
accordance with Parliament Act, will on Prorogation be automatically
added to Statute Book. In speech which BONAR LAW described as "temperate
and moderate," he defended himself from charges of broken pledges
brought against him by gentlemen opposite.

"I shall endeavour to imitate him," said LEADER OF OPPOSITION.

Got along moderately well till, "resuming the offensive," as despatches
from the Seat of War have it, he lapsed into comparison between conduct
of PREMIER and the action of the KAISER in his "infamous proposal" that
this country should connive in breach of common pledge to preserve
neutrality of Belgium.

Here broke forth shouts of angry protest from Ministerialists. WINSTON,
who can't abear strong language, rose from Treasury Bench and stalked
forth behind the SPEAKER'S chair, example numerously followed above and
below Gangway.

This excursion number one. Number two, more exhaustive of audience,
followed when BONAR LAW, having concluded his speech, shook from off his
feet the dust of the House and walked out, accompanied by entire body of
Opposition.

Mr. FLAVIN, not liking to see Front Opposition Bench desolate, moved
down from accustomed seat in Irish quarter and temporarily assumed place
and attitude of LEADER OF OPPOSITION.

BYLES of Bradford proposed to offer a few words of counsel and farewell.
His interposition received with such shout of contumely from friends and
neighbours that he incontinently dropped back into his seat.

PREMIER observed walking towards glass door under the Gallery. Surely he
too was not going to leave us? No. Was merely acting in accordance with
immemorial custom that when Minister or Member "brings in" a Bill he
must start on his journey at the Bar. As he walked to the Table, a sheet
of foolscap paper in right hand, Liberals and Nationalists leapt to
their feet waving hats and handkerchiefs, cheering like madmen.

_Business done._--Bill postponing operation of Home Rule and Welsh
Church Acts till close of War carried through all its stages.

_House of Lords, Thursday._--SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR takes kindly to
new position. His statement to-day, explanatory of general military
situation, a model of lucidity and brevity. Had much of the charm of
FRENCH'S historic despatch, the modesty and simplicity of which
delighted everybody. One omission in the document KITCHENER generously
supplied. FRENCH said nothing of his own share in accomplishment of feat
of arms rarely paralleled. Amid cheers unusually warm for this Chamber,
KITCHENER paid tribute to "the consummate skill and calm courage of the
Commander-in-Chief."

Tribute also paid in another quarter, the more valuable as it came from
a man of few words and no disposition towards flattery. "The Territorial
Force is making great strides in efficiency," the WAR LORD said, "and
will before many months be ready to take a share in the campaign. This
force is proving its military value to the Empire by the willing
subordination of personal feelings to the public good in the acceptance
of whatever duty may be assigned to it in any portion of the Empire."

_Business done._--Suspensory Bill agreed to without insistence on ST.
ALDWYN'S Amendment to Welsh Church Disestablishment Bill.

_House of Commons, Friday._--Circulation of Official Report of
Commission of Inquiry into Atrocities in Belgium creates profound
sensation.

When the Manager of the Itinerant Theatrical Company of which _Nicholas
Nickleby_ and _Smike_ were for a time Members caused the insertion in a
local paper of a paragraph stating "Mr. Crummles is not a Prussian,"
there was some obscurity about his object. It is now clear that his
instinct was sure, his prevision acute. After experience of last seven
weeks all decent-minded men would like it to be known that they are not
Prussians.

_Business done._--Parliament prorogued.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Admiral of the Atlantic_ (_to himself_). "IT IS MY
IMPERIAL PLEASURE TO PRESENT YOU WITH THE ORDER OF THE MASTHEAD BROOM
(FIRST CLASS) IN RECOGNITION OF YOUR CONSPICUOUS SUCCESS IN SWEEPING THE
SEAS."

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _The Wolff._ "GOOD MORNING, MY DEAR LITTLE RED RIDING
HOOD. WOULDN'T YOU LIKE ME TO TELL YOU ONE OF MY PRETTY TALES?"

_Little Miss Holland._ "THANKS; BUT I'M _NOT_ LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD,
AND I DON'T WANT ANY OF YOUR FAIRY STORIES."

       *       *       *       *       *

TO A NAVAL CADET

IN THE GRAND FLEET.

[_There are over 500 naval cadets, aged 15 to 17, at present in the
Fleet, serving as midshipmen._]

  Young man, a little year ago
  At Osborne (where the admirals grow)
  I saw you fall on a mimic foe
  With tackle and shove and thrust.
  There by the jolly trim canteen,
  Where the figure-head flaunts her golden sheen,
  You fought, or cheered, for your Term fifteen,
  As a fellow of mettle must ...
  Yet now those deeds seem mighty small
  You dared in the chase for a leather ball--
    Now that you trip
    On His Majesty's Ship
  Playing the finest game of all!

  A year ago, a naval fight
  Was a tantalising dim delight
  That fed your dreams on a Wednesday night,
  When History prep. was through.
  Yet yours was a Destiny strong and clear
  That ever, unknown, was stalking near;
  And now in a flash, it's here, it's here--
  Now are your dreams come true!...
  There are grey old admirals in our land
  Who never have stood where now you stand,
    Here on your feet
    In His Majesty's Fleet--
  _With a real live enemy hard at hand!_

       *       *       *       *       *

Britannia to the French Generalissimo:--

"A l'honore do nos deux nations
J'offre--cent mille felicitations!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE EGOIST.

_Warlike Mistress._ "DON'T YOU THINK, JAMES, YOU WOULD LIKE TO JOIN LORD
KITCHENER'S ARMY?"

_Peaceful Footman._ "THANK YOU, MUM, BUT I DON'T SEE AS 'OW I'D BE
BETTERING MYSELF. WAR'S FOR THEM AS LIKES IT, WHICH I NEVER DID."

       *       *       *       *       *

DOUBT.

The War has caused one thing (among others). It has filled me with an
infinite distrust of human testimony. Were I on a jury I should find
every one "Not guilty" now--unless, of course, the prisoner were foolish
enough to bring evidence on his own behalf. It is not the German Press
Bureau that has done this. It has maintained its customary high standard
with magnificent consistency.

My faith in human testimony has been shattered by Mactavish's uncle,
Bloomer's maiden aunt, and Wiggins' brother-in-law. I put on one side
the statement of Mirfin's grandmother because her allegation that 193
trains passed her house one night might have been based on the shunting
of a single goods train. One knows the fiendish persistency of the
shunted goods train at night.

But let me take the bald statement of Mactavish's uncle. He is a
baillie, an elder and a drysalter. He wrote to Mactavish:--"I regret
that the attendance at the Kirk on Sunday was most unsatisfactory. The
younger members of the congregation were all watching the disembarcation
of the Cossacks. I understand that the Established Kirk held no services
at all. I did not feel it consistent with a proper observance of the
Sabbath to go and watch them myself, so I only saw by chance, and not
intentionally, the six regiments which marched past my house."

What could be more conclusive than that?

The very next day Bloomer met me and produced a much-crossed letter from
his pocket. "Just read the last few lines," he said triumphantly.

I read with zest.

"Damsons are very cheap this year. I am jamming an extra quantity. Do
you think pots of jam could be safely sent to the chaplains at the
front? Kiss the dear baby for me. Excuse a longer letter, but I am quite
worn out with handing hot meat pies to the Russian troops passing
through here.

Ever your affectionate Aunt,

MILLICENT BLOOMER."

Not "meat pies," mark you, but "hot meat pies." Somehow that little
touch won my absolute belief.

Now we come to the solemn statement of Wiggins' brother-in-law. He is,
according to Wiggins, a patriot of the finest type--only prevented from
going to the front by the claims of business, a family of nine, and a
certain superfluity of adipose tissue. "When guarding a railway bridge
as a special constable a troop train stopped through an engine
breakdown. Numbers of finely built men in fur coats descended on to the
line. Two of them came to me and, making signs of thirst, said, 'Vodka,
vodka.' They embraced me warmly after I had offered them my
pocket-flask, and then, shouting 'Berlin,' rejoined the train."

I could quite believe that. Any brother-in-law of Wiggins would have a
pocket-flask.

Yet the Press Bureau solemnly asserts that no Russian troops have passed
through this country. I have now no faith in anyone's uncles, aunts nor
yet brothers-in-law. I believe nothing. Is there a KAISER? Is there a
War? Or is the whole thing a malignant invention of LLOYD GEORGE to save
a tottering Government? But then again--(most terrible of all
doubts)--is there a LLOYD GEORGE?

       *       *       *       *       *

MORE SPIRITUOUS HOSPITALITY.

From a German pamphlet quoted by the _Ipswich Evening Star_:--

     "With German energy we are determined to win, and we invite
     Italians to gin with us?"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SILVERN TONGUE.

It was his vest-slip which chained my eye. Spats and the lesser niceties
are common among the altruists who strive to set us to rights just by
the Marble Arch, but a vest-slip was a new note.

His voice was like his hair, in that it was thin, undecided, not really
assertive enough to be impressive ... Ah, now I had the range of him.

"You may call 'im a beneffercent despot. I _don't_. You may 'ave a tiste
for aristocrercy, plootocrercy, ortocrercy. I _'aven't_. You may prefer
to 'ave a iron-shod 'eel ground on your fices. _I don't._

"There was a professor at Kimebridge, some years ago, who said to me,
when I 'come-up,' as they say, after tikin' my degree, 'My boy,' 'e
says, 'when you git out into the world, when you desert these 'ere
cloistered 'alls, these shidy lawns, these venerable cryp's, never you
eat no dirt! Not for nobody, my boy! Remember your ol' collidge, think
of your _awmer-miter_, think of 'istoric Trinity 'All, an' the pelloocid
Isis, and never eat no dirt!'

"Yes, gents, they was 'is larst words to me, one of 'is fivourite
pupils, if I may say so; 'is Pawthian shots. An' if that there estimable
ol' man could look down on me now, as I stand 'ere fice to fice in front
of you, 'e would candidly admit that I 'ave always bore in mind 'is
fawtherly adjuritions.

"I'll tell you what it is, gents. If you was to walk quietly into
Buckin'am Pellis at this moment, an' 'ave a friendly word with 'Is
Mejisty, do you kid yourselves 'e would igspress any what I may call
cuzzen like feelin' for this--this perisite? Do you fan your ducks, in
vulgar pawlence, that if the KING'S 'ands was free 'e would not 'asten
to be the first to pluck the bauble from 'is cuzzen's fat 'ead?

"If there are any Germans present, is there one among them who will 'ave
the 'ardi'ood to step forward now and say a word, one little word,
gentlemen, one single bloomin' ''_Och!_' on be'alf of 'im? _Naow_,
gents, _naow_! Ten thousing times _naow_!

"'Eaven forbid that I should talk above your 'eads, my friends, but I
say, an' I maintain, that this insolent upstawt, this pestilenshul
braggadosho, this blood-suckin', fire-eatin', spark-spittin',
sausage-guzzlin', beer-swillin' ranter, this imitashun eagle, with a
cawdboard beak an' a tin 'elmet, this 'ypercritical 'umbug, 'as
forfeited the larst shred of the respec' of any but the mos'
sooperfishul stoodent of international affairs, or _welt-politik_, as
the French would put it.

"I know what I'm talkin' abaout, gents. I can call for my seven-course
dinner, my little 'alf-bottle, my Larranaga or Corona, my corfy, my
lickewer _an'_ my tooth-pick, in the language of every capital in
Europe.

"Well, gents, where did I get my information, my insight, my instinc',
on these things? 'Ow came it to be that I can walk into the private
offices of the biggest bankers in Europe, knowin' full well what they
would understand if I so much as suggested a pinch of snuff, or said it
looked like rain, or asked if they 'ad seen the Shaw of Persha litely?

"You don't suppose I got my intimercy with questions what 'ave brought a
Continent, ay, an' 'alf a world, to grips, by 'angin' round Embassies
an' Consulates, and Chawncelleries, do you?

"There is always somethink _subrowsa_, somethink be'ind the scenes,
somethink suttle, some unsuspected inflooence, what the outer world
'ardly ever 'ears of.'

"An' what is it, in 'undreds of cises? Gents all, I will tell you, in
the words of the gallant defenders of Leege--_Shurshy-lar-fam_! That
little phrise, gents, in cise you may 'ave forgot your French or
Belgian, as the cise may be, means 'Look for the woman,' gents.

"I may not look it now, my frien's, an' you may larf with scorn to 'ear
an ol' feller speak the words, but there _was_ a time, shortly arfter I
come-up from the Varsity, an' just before I took my commishun in the
dear ol' Tin-Bellies, when there was no man more popular than me in the
_salongs_ of Europe.

"Take my word for it, gents! Young, wealthy, not undistinguished in the
matter of learnin', well-bred, nurchured in the lap of luxury, tolerably
good-lookin', if not actually 'andsome, my way was easy, gents. It was
child's play for me to get at the inside of things, to get under the
surface, to see what was agitatin' the boorses of 'alf the Continent, to
understand why big financiers was orderin'-in 'ams by the 'alf-'undred,
religious scruples not-withstandin'. Why, if I was to sit down an' put
pen to piper I could sell my memo'rs of them days for a fabulous sum--if
the biggest publishers in the land was not too bloomin' chicken-'earted
to publish anythink so 'ot, gentlemen!

"Your ears would wag, my friends, if I told you one 'alf of the spells
what some of them Continental society sirens wielded, an' but for my
mastery over their 'earts what might we not have igsperienced years
agow? An' this, gentlemen, at the biddin' or the innuendoes of vile
bein's not fit to 'arthstone the door-step of the po'rest workin'-man
what plods 'is 'eart-broken way acrost this Pawk to-night!

"You 'ave no idear, I assure you, gents, what might not 'ave 'appened,
what cruel, what damn ..."

B2471, who had gradually edged toward the stool on which he stood,
stepped up to him and spoke softly. "That's bloomin' well _torn_ it,
matey," said B2471. "You've 'ad a good time all to your little self, but
we 'ave to dror the line. You'll 'ave to _'op_ it, old sport!"

And, just, as we were getting into his confidence, he of the vest-slip
'opped it, and we were left behind, without further clues to
_Shurshy-lar-fam_.

The woman still remains a mystery.

       *       *       *       *       *

CUTTING DOWN.

"Everybody's doing it," I said, "so as to have more for the Funds. Also
for other reasons. The only question is what?"

"Well," said Ursula, "let's make a beginning." She produced a silver
pencil and some celluloid tablets that are supposed to look like ivory.
"What first?" she asked, frowning.

I reflected. "Clearly the superfluities ought to go first. What about my
sacrificing sugar-cakes for afternoon tea? And burnt almonds?"

"M' yes," said Ursula. "I was thinking myself about giving up cigars."

"Heroine! But let us be temperate even in denial."

"As a matter of fact," she said, "I'm getting to detest almonds."

"And I simply loathe--I mean, I'm sure pipes are ever so much better for
one than cigars."

"Good!" observed Ursula. "Cigars and almonds go out. Only if you have
your pipe there ought to be some cheap and filling substitute for my
almonds."

"Turkish delight," I suggested, "supposing it turns out all right about
the _Goeben_."

"And, if not, I could get along with Russian toffee. That settles tea.
How about other meals?"

"We're at the end of that Hock."

"I'm glad of it," said Ursula. "Nasty German rubbish. I wonder it didn't
contaminate the cellar. Now we must drink something patriotic instead."

"What about good old English water?"

"My dear! With all those spies simply picnicing round the reservoirs!
Goodness knows what they've put in. My idea was a nice, not
too-expensive, champagne, like what they get for the subscription
dances."

"Dearest! Ask me to go out into the road and sing the _Marseillaise_.
Ask almost anything of me to display my pride and affection for our
brave allies, but do not, do not ask me to drink sweet champagne at
lunch!"

"You shall choose it yourself," said Ursula, "and it isn't for lunch,
but dinner. At lunch you will continue to drink beer. Only it will be
English, not German."

"Glorious beer! _C'est magnifique!_"

"_Mais ce n'est pas lager!_" said Ursula quickly.

This was rightly held to constitute one trick to her, and we resumed.

"About clothes," I said.

"There was an article I read in some paper," observed Ursula, "pointing
out that if everybody did without them no one would mind."

"Still, even in war time----"

"Of course I meant new clothes and fashionable things."

"An alluring prospect!" I agreed wistfully. "Fancy reading in the
frock-papers that 'Ursula, Mrs. Brown, looked charming in a creation of
sacking made Princess fashion, the _chic_ effect being heightened by a
bold use of the original trade-mark, which now formed a striking _decor_
for the corsage.'"

Ursula did not smile. "No man can be amusing about clothes except by
accident," she said coldly. "The article went on to advise that if new
things were bought they should be specially good. It called this the
truest economy in the long run."

When Ursula had sketched out a comprehensive wardrobe on truest economy
lines, and I had mentally reviewed my pet shades in autumn suitings,
there was a pause.

"What about the green-house?" I asked suddenly. "Do we need a fire there
all winter just that John may swagger about his chrysanths?"

John, I should explain, is the gardener who jobs for us at seven-and-six
weekly, and "chrysanths" is a perfectly beastly word that we have
contracted from him. In summer John mows the lawn (_fortissimo_ at 6.30
A.M.) and neglects to weed the strawberries. In winter he attends to
what auctioneers would call the "commodious glass."

"M'yes," said Ursula reflectively. "But what about John himself?"

"My dear girl, surely it is obvious by the simplest political
science----"

"Sweetheart!" interposed Ursula anxiously, "John isn't going to have
anything to do with the Moratorium or hoarding gold, is he? Because, do
remember how cross you got trying to explain that!"

"I remember nothing of the sort!"

"And, anyhow," she continued, "now we're saving in so many other things,
I intend to pay John an extra half-crown, in case food goes up."

There was obviously only one thing to do, and I did it. I retired in
fair order, abandoning to Ursula the task of preparing the schedule of
our domestic retrenchment. At lunch she produced it.

"The bother is," she observed, "that what with truest economy clothes
and champagne, and John, and some other things, it seems to work out at
about two pounds a week more than we spend now."

"That," I said cuttingly, "is at least a beginning!"

However, since then I have discovered an article in another paper
denouncing panic economies as unpatriotic. So we shall probably return
to the old _regime_, plus John's half-crown. Even with this, it will
mean a distinct saving of thirty-seven-and-six on Ursula's proposals. It
is not often that one gets a chance of serving one's country on such
easy terms.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Father_ (_who has been stung by a wasp on the back of
his neck_). "I DON'T CARE IF IT'S FULL OF GERMANS, _I'M_ NOT GOING TO
LOOK UP AT IT."

       *       *       *       *       *

TO A POMPADOUR CLOCK.

  Bright loves and tangled flowers
   Adorn your china face;
  You beat out silver hours
   Within your golden case.

  Still rings old Time's denial
   Of respite in your tone,
  But o'er your painted dial
   Is built a little throne--

  A throne so neat and narrow
   Where, heedless of your chime,
  Poising his gilded arrow
   Sits Cupid killing Time!

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

I suppose that never in the history of this nation did we harbour quite
so many military experts. From the Service Clubs to the street corner
their voice goes up daily in unceasing hortation. Therefore the moment
seems specially apt for me to call your attention to a volume by a
military man who really was expert, in other words to a new edition of
PASLEY'S _Military Policy of the British Empire_ (CLOWES), brought up to
date by Colonel B. E. WARD, R.E. I blush to think of the number of
civilian readers to whom the name of PASLEY conveys nothing. I blush
still more to reflect that I have myself only just ceased to belong to
them. But, quite honestly, if you are at all concerned with the science
and policy of arms (as who nowadays is not?), you will find this book of
extreme interest. A few chance quotations will be enough to prove that
the gallant Captain was a man who knew what he was writing about. In the
year 1810, for example, he could look ahead far enough to say, "Germany
may become so powerful as to act the same part in Europe which France
now does." It is perhaps on the ethical side of war that he is most
impressive. Fair play, we all know, is a jewel; but many of us may have
secreted an uneasy suspicion that the side that practises it suffers
from a certain handicap. All those unpleasant persons whose names have
become so uncomfortably familiar lately--CLAUSEWITZ, BERNHARDI, and
their professional crew--have so vociferously preached the gospel of
Might as Right, that it is refreshing to read here such maxims as "It is
an advantage in war to show moderation and justice," and "A scrupulous
adherence to the law of nations is the only sound policy." This is the
sort of sermon--from an authoritative source--that we do well to lay to
heart just now; while still retaining a fixed determination to exact for
future assurance the uttermost penalty from an enemy that has broken
every law of God and man.

       *       *       *       *       *

In ordinary life it would be a distinct advantage for a man to become
possessed of a spell which rendered him immune from death, pain or
restraint, enabled him to pass through walls and floors and generally
freed him from all those little restrictions which make life the
tiresome and precarious thing it is. A man so constituted would conduct
himself after the manner of his fellows from day to day and would resort
to the use of his peculiar powers only when the necessity arose. But the
hero of fiction has his duty always to perform, and he may well find
that such transcendental gifts are apt to become a burden. He must for
ever be turning them to account and finding new material to work upon.
That the scope is limited anyone will at once discover who reads _The
Great Miracle_ (STANLEY PAUL). He may never do the same thing twice;
once he has disappeared through a floor at a critical moment, floors are
off. Each feat must be more astounding than the last: when he has worked
his way through a prison wall it would be an anticlimax to do a job with
the wall of a mere dwelling-house, and, of course, he is absolutely
precluded from the common use of doors. I am afraid Mr. T. P. VANEWORD'S
primary conception has been too much for him: he lacks the nice
imagination of a WELLS to carry it off. Also he fails to deal with the
humour of the position, whether in the madhouse, the court of justice,
the manager's office or the palace, an elementary mistake which the most
amateur conjurer will always avoid. It is rather the author's misfortune
than his fault that his incidental picture of war, introduced only as a
new field of operation for his prodigy, is rendered almost fatuous by
the actual conditions at present existing.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Porter._ "DO I KNOW IF THE ROOSHUNS HAS REALLY COME
THROUGH ENGLAND? WELL, SIR, IF THIS DON'T PROVE IT, I DON'T KNOW WHAT
DO. A TRAIN WENT THROUGH HERE FULL, AND WHEN IT COME BACK I KNOWED
THERE'D BIN ROOSHUNS IN IT, 'CAUSE THE CUSHIONS AND FLOORS WAS COVERED
WITH SNOW."

       *       *       *       *       *

When the father of _Patience Tabernacle_ (MILLS AND BOON) suddenly left
his books at the bank in a state of regrettable inaccuracy and went off
to borrow the wig and other equipment of his elderly maiden sister I
thought I was to have one of those jolly, naive detective stories which
the feminine hand can best weave. But I was deceived, nor do I consider
quite fairly. For how was I to know that such an incident had no
essential relation to any other in this quiet story of the love affairs
of _Patience_ and the wrong boy rejected, and the right man discovered,
in time; that it wasn't even introduced so as to throw light on the
character of any one concerned? Now I would ask Miss SOPHIE COLES what
she would think of me if I began my (projected) Sussex village epic with
the blowing up of the local public-house by anarchists and contented
myself with merely casual references to the matter, never really making
it part of any design or letting it modify any of my characters? And
wouldn't it aggravate, not lessen, my artistic crime if I made the
anarchists related to my heroine? Of course it would. Very well, then.
And I am afraid our author can't claim the privileges of a lawless
realism, for she distinctly doesn't belong to the photographic school.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CANDID ENEMY.

[_It is stated that the Germans have forsworn the use of all words
borrowed from the English, including "gentleman."_]

  The Germans all English expressions eschew,
  And on "gentleman" place an especial taboo;
  Well, the facts of the case their decision confirm,
  For they've clearly no more any use for the term.

       *       *       *       *       *

     "Harrods have exported their Chocolate to all parts of the universe
     and are now forwarding large consignments to the forces on active
     service."--_Advt._

France is no distance after Mars.

       *       *       *       *       *

A benevolent old lady writes to enquire whether any Relief Committee has
been formed to deal with unemployment among those ambassadors who have
been thrown out of work by the war.

       *       *       *       *       *





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch or the London Charivari, Vol.
147, September 23, 1914, by Various

*** 