Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 148. FEBRUARY 10, 1915. CHARIVARIA. "Kultur belongs to my Germans alone," says the KAISER. We were not aware that the charge had been brought against any other country. * * * "The Indians," complains the _Frankfurter Zeitung_, "have an extraordinary way of fighting. They jump up, shoot with wonderful precision, and disappear before one has time to notice them properly." Our contemporary has evidently not been studying the pages of _Punch_, or it would know that the disappearance is worked by the well-known Indian trick of throwing a rope into the air and climbing up it. * * * Letters from the British troops operating in Damaraland show that the prevailing complaint there is with respect to the heat; and a dear and very thoughtful old lady writes to suggest that, as our men in Flanders dislike the cold, it might be possible to arrange an exchange. * * * With reference to the attentions paid by German aeroplanes, the other day, to the British provision establishments at Dunkirk, we understand that the bombs which were dropped made no impression whatever on our bully beef, so famous for its durability. * * * The Norwich Liberals have selected as their candidate Lieutenant HILTON YOUNG, and it has been decided that the election shall not be contested. It is realised that in time of war "_Le monde appartient aux Jeunes_." * * * In his account of the dynamiting of the C. P. R. bridge over the St. Croix river, REUTER tells us that "A German officer who has been hanging around the neighbourhood for the past few days has been arrested." We have a shrewd idea that he may be hanging in the neighbourhood again very shortly. * * * We are surprised that the advocates of Mr. WILLETT'S Daylight Saving Bill have been so quiet lately. Surely it would be an enormous advantage to rush this measure through now so that the Germans may have less darkness to take advantage of? * * * Dr. HANS RICHTER, the celebrated WAGNER conductor, who enjoyed English hospitality for so long, has now expressed the hope that Germany may punish England who has so profoundly disgraced herself. It is even said that the amiable Doctor asked to be allowed to conduct a Parsifal airship to this country. * * * Professor KOBERT, of Rostock University, one of Germany's best-known chemists, is advocating a mixture of pig's blood and rye-meal as a most nutritious form of bread for his countrymen. There is, of course, already a certain amount of pig's blood in the composition of some Germans. * * * Our newspapers really ought to be more careful. We feel quite sure that the following paragraph in _The Daily Mail_ will be quoted in the German Press as showing the Londoner's fears of a Zeppelin visit: "The Golder's Green Training Corps yesterday morning mobilised eighty motor-cars and drove out to Harpenden to see how quickly the corps could get out of London in case of emergency." * * * _The Times_ has been discussing the question as to whether khaki is the best protective colour for soldiers. In this connection it is worth noting that the uniforms worn by the men of KITCHENER'S Army appear to render them almost completely invisible to the correspondents of German newspapers in this country, who report that there is only a mere handful of these soldiers. * * * By the way Colonel MAUDE pointed out recently in _Land and Water_ that it is essential that our gunners should be able to watch our infantry closing on the enemy, and that in this respect khaki is a drawback. We now hear that the wide-awake Germans are taking the hint, and that their new uniforms will have scarlet backs, which will not only help their artillery, but will act as a powerful deterrent should their troops think of running away. * * * Extract from a Book Merchant's Catalogue:--"I venture to assert no more acceptable gift could be sent to our Heroes on Active Service than a few cwts. of Literature. A book is the best of all companions and always useful, for one in the breast pocket has been the means of saving many a man's life in action." A Society for supplying every recruit with a complete set of _The Encyclopædia Britannica_ is now, we believe, in process of formation. * * * A book which is stated to have been "kept back on account of the war" is entitled _Hell's Playground_. One would have thought it would have been peculiarly _à propos_. * * * A live frog has been discovered embedded in a piece of coal hewn from a colliery in the Forest of Dean. It is thought that the colliery owners, by means of a series of bonuses like this, intend to make their coal look almost worth the price that is now being charged for it. * * * Frankly we were not surprised to hear that the moon was full a little while ago. In these times our own planet is certainly not a very desirable place. * * * It is now stated that Herr LIEBKNECHT, the Socialist leader, who was called to the colours a few days ago, has been relieved of service in the Landwehr. This is most annoying as it throws out all the carefully calculated figures of our experts as to the number of men Germany is putting into the field. * * * Even the Censor nods occasionally. _The Tailor and Cutter_ has been allowed to state that a Holborn tailor is making a uniform for a sergeant in KITCHENER'S Army who stands 6 ft. 8 ins. high. The fact that we have a man of these dimensions in reserve was, we understand, to have been one of our surprises for Germany. * * * * * [Illustration: _Small Military Enthusiast._ "AUNTIE, DO YOU MIND IF I MAKE THE GERMANS WIN JUST ONE BATTLE NOW AND THEN? THEY'RE GETTING WORN OUT."] * * * * * THE MARK OF THE BEAST. (_With acknowledgments to a cartoon by Mr. WILL DYSON._) [In a Munich paper Herr GANGHOFER recites the following remark of the KAISER'S, whose special journalistic confidant he is said to be:--"To possess Kultur means to have the deepest conscientiousness and the highest morality. My Germans possess that."] 'Tis enough that we know you have said it; We feel that the facts correspond With your speech as a Person of credit, Whose word is as good as his bond; Who are we that our critics should quarrel With the flattering doctrine you preach-- That the German, in all that is moral, Is an absolute peach? But the puzzle grows odder and odder: If your people are spotless of blame, Being perfectly sound cannon-fodder, Then whose is the fault and the shame? If it's just from a deep sense of duty That they prey upon woman and priest, And their minds are a model of Beauty, Then who is the Beast? For a Beast is at work in this matter; We have seen--and the traces endure-- The red blood of the innocent spatter The print of his horrible spoor; On their snouts, like the lovers of Circe-- Your men that are changed into swine-- The Mark of the Beast-without-mercy Is set for a sign. You have posed (next to God) as the pillar That steadies the fabric of State, Whence issues the brave baby-killer Supplied with his hymnal of hate; Once known for a chivalrous knight, he Now hogs with the Gadarene herd; Since it can't be the other Almighty, How _has_ it occurred? When at last they begin to be weary Of sluicing their virtues in slime, And they put the embarrassing query:-- "Who turned us to brutes of the prime? Full of culture and most conscientious, Who made us a bestial crew? Who pounded the poisons that drench us?"-- I wouldn't be you. O. S. * * * * * THE PLAINT OF A BRITISH DACHSHUND. DEAR _Mr. Punch_,--I desire to address you on a painful subject. Let me state that I am (1) a dachshund of unblemished character; (2) a British-born subject; (3) a member of a family which, though originally of foreign extraction, has for several generations been honourably domiciled in one of the most exclusive and aristocratic of our English country seats. Imagine then the surprise and indignation experienced by myself, my wife and our only daughter when, shortly after the opening of the present unfortunate hostilities between our country and a certain continental Power, we found the atmosphere of friendly, nay, affectionate respect with which we had so long been surrounded becoming gradually superseded by one of suspicion and animosity. The ball was started by Macalister, an Aberdeen terrier of unprincipled character, who has never forgiven me for summarily crushing the unwelcome advances which he had the bad taste to make last spring to my daughter. He had had the impertinence to approach me with a large (and, I confess, a distinctly succulent-looking) object, which he laid with an oily smile on the ground before my nose. But I had heard from Gertrude (my wife) of his attentions to our offspring, and I saw through the ruse. "If you imagine," I said, "for one moment that this insidious offer of a stolen bone will induce a gentleman of family to countenance an engagement between his daughter and an advertisement for Scotch whisky you are greatly mistaken. Be off with you, and never let me see your ruffianly whiskers near my basket again!" Rather severe, no doubt, but when I am deeply moved I seldom mince matters; in fact, as a Briton, I prefer to hit out straight from the shoulder. In any case, for the time being it settled Macalister. I say for the time being. In the autumn he had his revenge. One morning early in October I was walking down the drive accompanied by a recent arrival within our circle, a rather brainless St. Bernard (who gave his name with a lisp as "Bwuno"), when we met my child's rejected suitor. Since the incident mentioned above I had consistently cut Macalister, and I passed him now without recognition. No sooner was he by, however, and at a safe distance, than he deliberately turned and snarled over his shoulder at me the offensive epithet, "Potsdammer!" My blood boiled; I longed to bury my teeth in the scoundrel's throat; but I remembered that Gertrude had once told me that galloping made me look ridiculous. So I affected not to hear the insult, and proceeded, outwardly calm, with my morning constitutional. But, for some reason or other, Bruno's flow of small talk appeared suddenly to dry up, and once or twice I detected him looking at me curiously out of the corners of his eyes. Next day, on my calling for him as usual he pleaded a cold. His manner struck me as odd; still I accepted his excuse. But when the cold had lasted, without any perceptible loss of appetite, for a fortnight, and I had seen him meanwhile on two occasions actually rabbiting (an absurd pastime for a St. Bernard) with Macalister, I saw what had happened and decided to ask him what he meant by it. He endeavoured to assume a conciliatory attitude, but the long and short of it was, he said, that as a Swiss, and therefore a neutral, it was impossible for him to be too careful, and he feared that my society might compromise him. I did not argue with him; it would merely have involved a loss of dignity to do so. Since that time, though we have endured in silence, the lot of myself and my family has been a hard one. We have been fed and housed as usual, it is true, but when one has been accustomed to live on terms of the most privileged friendship with a household it is galling to find oneself suddenly treated by every member of it, from the butler downwards, as a prisoner of war. I am not even allowed now to bite the postmen; and I used to enjoy them so much, especially the evening one, who wears quite thin trousers. Our only consolation has been the hope that our misfortune might be an isolated instance. To-day, however, I learn that it is not so. I have discovered by my basket (and I have reason to think that they were conveyed thither by the malignant Macalister) three humorous (?) sketches depicting members of my race in situations which I can only describe as ridiculous, and obviously insinuating that they were to be regarded as aliens. I appeal to you, Sir, as a lover of justice and animals, to put this matter right with the public, for the life that a British dachshund has to lead at the present moment is what is vulgarly known as a dog's life. Yours to the bottom biscuit, FRITZ. * * * * * [Illustration: THE RIDDLE OF THE SANDS. TURKISH CAMEL. "WHERE TO?" GERMAN OFFICER. "EGYPT." CAMEL. "GUESS AGAIN."] * * * * * [Illustration: THE REFUGEE. "BOBBY DEAR, CAN'T YOU GET MARCELLE TO PLAY WITH YOU SOMETIMES?" "I DO TRY, BUT SHE DOESN'T SEEM TO CARE ABOUT IT--SHE'S ALWAYS KNITTING. I THINK, MOTHER, PERHAPS IT MIGHT BE BETTER IF, FOR THE NEXT WAR, WE HAD A BOY."] * * * * * HOT WATER. At the beginning of things I sat outside my tent in the early hours of the morning while a stalwart warrior poured buckets of cold water down my spine. I felt heroic. Towards the end of October I began to dislike my servant; I had a suspicion he was icing the water. Before November was in I had given up sitting outside my tent. My bathing I decided (one cold wet morning) should take place under cover, either at the Golf Club or at some kindly person's house. A few days later, not being on duty, I had arranged to dine with the Fergusons. In the late afternoon I strode into the Golf Club and had a hot bath. From there I wandered into town, where I met Mrs. Johnston. "Hello!" she said. "I'm just going home. Won't you come with me?" Mrs. Johnston is one in a thousand. "Rather," I agreed. "Forward--by the right." Tea over, my hostess turned to me brightly. "Now," she said, "I know what it must be in camp. I'm sure you'd like a nice hot bath," and she rang the bell. Somehow I didn't tell her I'd had one at the Club. You might have done differently perhaps, but--well, the little lady was beaming hospitality; was it for me to stifle her generous intentions? I thought not. I went upstairs and splashed manfully. For the third time that day I dressed; then I went downstairs and found Johnston. "Hello," he said. "Been having a bath? Good!" I stiffened perceptibly at "good." We chatted a little while, then I breathed my sincere thanks and left them. My arrival at the Fergusons' was rather early, somewhere about seven-thirty. I was shown into the drawing-room while the maid went to inform Mrs. Ferguson of my arrival. In two minutes she returned. "Will you come this way, Sir?" she said. I went that way. Ten minutes later I emerged from Ferguson's bath and walked into his dressing-room. Ferguson had arrived. "Hello!" he said. "Been having a bath? Good!" I winced at the word; then I smiled bravely and started to dress--for the fourth time. * * * It was eleven o'clock when I got back to camp, and I found to my surprise that the Mess had been moved from the tent to the new hut. "Hello!" they said, "how do you like the new quarters?" I surveyed the bare boards. "Topping," I replied, "but it's not anywhere near finished." "No," said the Junior Major, "but the bath's in. Hot water, by Gad! Go and have a bath." I looked at him blankly. "I've had three, Sir, to-day." I might have known it was foolish; the Junior Major is still young. "It's up to the subalterns," he suggested, "to see he has No. 4." They saw to it. * * * * * "Baron von Bissing, the Governor of Belgium," says _The Central News_, "has paid a visit to Turnhout and inspected the German guards along the Belgo-Dutch frontier." In the whole of our experience we know no finer example of self-control than our refusal to play with that word Turnhout. * * * * * [Illustration: THE BLOCKADE. A FAIR WARNING.] NOTICE ON AND AFTER FEBRUARY 18, ANY MERCHANT SHIP (ENEMY OR NEUTRAL) FOUND IN THE MILITARY AREA WITHIN 500 MILES OF THE ATTACHED SUBMARINE WILL BE LIABLE TO BE SUNK AT SIGHT, WITH OR WITHOUT HER CREW. BY ORDER] * * * * * IN QUAINTEST CINEMALAND. In these troublous times Cinemaland is about the only foreign country in which it is possible to travel for pleasure. It has occurred to me that some account of its curious manners and customs may not be without interest for such readers as are still unacquainted with them. As Cinemaland contains many departments, each of which has peculiarities of its own, I cannot attempt more than a general description. The chief national industry is the chase of fugitives. In some departments this is done on horseback, with a considerable and rather aimless expenditure of ammunition; in others by motor car, or along the roofs of railway carriages. It seems a healthy pursuit and provides all concerned with exercise and excitement. The women are, almost without exception, young and extremely prepossessing. Nature has endowed them, among other personal advantages, with superb teeth, of which they make a pardonably ostentatious display on the slightest provocation. They are all magnificent horsewomen and fearless swimmers, and they do not in the least mind spoiling their clothes. In their domestic circles, however, they show a feminine and clinging disposition, with a marked tendency to fall in love at first sight with any undesirable stranger. The principal occupation of the children is reconciling estranged parents by contracting serious illnesses or getting run over. The latter is even easier to manage in Cinemaland than in any London thoroughfare. I have seldom, if ever, seen an aged Cinemian grandparent, a long-lost wife, or a strayed child try to cross the emptiest street without being immediately bowled over by a motor-car. The mere wind of it has the strange potency not only of knocking down a pedestrian, but inflicting the gravest internal injuries. Fortunately, Cinemaland is a country rich in coincidences, so the car is invariably occupied by the very person who has been vainly seeking the sufferer for years. This of course is some compensation, but, all the same, it is hardly the ideal method of running across people one is anxious to meet. The victims are always removed to the nearest hospital, but, if I may judge from what I have seen of their wards, I should say that medical science in Cinemaland is still in its infancy, and it has never surprised me that so many patients die soon after admission. But then Science of any kind seems to be a dangerous and unprofitable occupation there. The inventor, designer, or discoverer of anything is simply asking for trouble. If he doesn't blow himself up in his laboratory and get blinded for life, some envious rival is certain to undertake this for him. Or else a vague villain will steal his formula or plans and sell them to a Foreign Power with Dundreary whiskers. And the extraordinary part of it is that no Cinemian has ever invented anything yet of which the secret could possibly be worth more than twopence. I fancy the stealing must be done from sheer wanton devilry. Crime in Cinemaland is invariably detected sooner or later, though I doubt if it would be but for a careless practice among criminals there of carrying in their breastpockets the document that proves their guilt. They seem to have a superstitious idea that to destroy it would bring them bad luck. The exterior of a private mansion in a fashionable Cinemian suburb is stately and imposing, but the interior is generally disappointing, the rooms being small and overcrowded with furniture that is showy without being distinguished. In some houses the owners appear to have a taste for collecting antiques and to have been grossly imposed upon by dealers. It is usual for young couples with a very moderate income to keep not only a smart parlourmaid but a butler as well. The manner of all Cinemian domestics is one of exaggerated deference; an ordinary English employer would be painfully embarrassed if his servants bowed to him so low and so often, but they appear to like it in Cinemaland. Social etiquette there has exigencies that are all its own. For example, a guest at an evening party who happens to lose a brooch or necklace is expected at once to stop the festivities by complaining to her hostess and insisting on a constable being called in to search everybody present. It might be thought that Cinemian Society would have learnt by this time that the person in whose possession the missing article is discovered is absolutely sure to be innocent. But the supposed culprit is always hauled off (with quite unnecessary violence) to prison, amidst the scorn and reprobation of the hostess and her other guests. It is true they make the handsomest amends afterwards, which are gratefully accepted, but in any other country the hostess's next invitation to any social function would be met with the plea of a previous engagement. If these amiable and impulsive people _have_ a failing, I should say it was a readiness to believe the worst of one another on evidence which would not hang an earwig. They are indefatigable letter-writers, but, after having had the privilege of inspecting numerous examples of their correspondence, I am compelled to own that, while their penmanship is bold and legible, their epistolary style is apt to be a trifle crude. The clergy of Cinemaland all wear short side whiskers and are a despised and servile class who appear to derive most of their professional income from marrying runaway couples in back parlours. In certain departments it is a frequent practice to dress up in Federal and Confederate uniforms and engage in desperate conflict. I have witnessed battles there with over a hundred combatants on each side. There was a profusion of flags and white smoke on these occasions, but, so far as I was able to observe, no blood was actually shed. There is another department which is inhabited by a singularly high-strung, not to say jerky, race, the women especially betraying their emotions with a primitive absence of self-control. There, the pleasure of the cause has become a delirious orgy, though much valuable time is lost both by pursuers and pursued, owing to an inveterate habit of stopping and leaping high at intervals. Squinting is a not uncommon affliction, as is also abnormal stoutness, the latter, however, being always combined with a surprising agility. In personal encounters, which are by no means uncommon, it is considered not only legitimate but laudable to kick the adversary whenever he turns his back, and also to spring at him, encircle his waist with your legs, and bite his ear. The local police are all either overgrown or undersized, and have been carefully trained to fall over one another at about every five yards. As guardians of the peace, however, I prefer our own force. I could not have written even so brief an account as this unless I had paid many visits to Cinemaland. If I am spared I fully expect to pay many more. The truth is that I cannot keep away from the country. Why, I can't explain, but I fancy it is because it is so absolutely unlike any other country with which I happen to be familiar. F. A. * * * * * [Illustration: _The one seated_ (_reading newspaper of January 29th_). "'20,000 GERMANS FALLEN IN ATTEMPT AT COUP-DE-MAIN.' CAN YER SEE IT? C-O-U-P., D-E., M-A-I-N. STICK A UNION JACK IN THERE."] * * * * * "The practice of compulsorily enrolling men for defence against invasion can be traced from before the time of Alfred the Great, when every man between 18 and 60 had to serve right up to the time of the Napoleonic wars."--_Saturday Review._ It was found, however, that men who had enlisted in ALFRED THE GREAT'S time at the age of sixty were of little real use in the Napoleonic wars. * * * * * FLEET VISIONS SEEN THROUGH GERMAN EYES. [A number of curious facts about the British Army, lately gathered from German sources, may be supplemented by some further information of interest bearing on our Fleet.] The facts may be obscured for purposes of recruiting, but it remains true that British seamen are no better than serfs. Their officers have the most complete proprietorship in their persons and can do with them what they like, as in the case of the English captain who had a favourite shark, which followed his ship, and to which he threw an A.B. each morning. That their slavery is acknowledged by the men is shown by their custom of referring to the Captain as "The Owner." * * * * * The savagery of the British Navy has passed into a by-word, and the bluejackets popularly go by the name of Jack Tartars. * * * * * It is all very well for America to protest her neutrality to Berlin, but how can we ignore the fact that President WILSON actually has a seat on the board of the British Admiralty--where he is known as "Tug" WILSON. He is even the author of a work aimed deliberately at us, and entitled _Der Tug_. * * * * * The superstitions of ignorant British seamen, notably the Horse Marines, whose credulity has no parallel, is extra-ordinary. Mascots are carried on all ships. For instance, no ship's carpenter will ever go to sea without a walrus. * * * * * SELECT CONVERSATIONS. (_At about three o'clock in the morning._) AT THE WAR OFFICE. _Myself._ I want to see Lord KITCHENER, please. _Policeman._ Quite impossible, Sir. _Myself_ (_coldly handing card_). I don't think you realise who I am. _Policeman_ (_much impressed_). This way, Sir. [_I ascend the secret staircase, pat the bloodhounds chained outside the sanctum, and enter._ _Kitchener_ (_sternly_). Good morning; what can I do for you? _Myself_ (_simply_). I have come to offer my services to the War Office. _Kitchener._ Have you had any previous military experience? _Myself._ None at all, Sir. _Kitchener_ (_warmly_). Excellent. The very man we want. You will bring an absolutely fresh and unbiassed mind to the problem before us. Sit down. (_I sit down._) You have a plan for defeating the Germans? Quite so. Now--er--roughly, what would your idea be? _Myself_ (_waving arm_). Roughly, Sir, a broad sweeping movement. _Kitchener_ (_replacing ink-pot and getting to work with the blotting-paper_). Excellent. _Myself._ The details I should work out later. I think perhaps I had better explain them personally to Sir JOHN FRENCH and General JOFFRE. _Kitchener._ I agree. You will be attached to Sir JOHN'S Staff, with the rank of Major. I shall require you to leave for the Front to-night. Good day, Major. [_We salute each other, and the scene changes._ AT GENERAL HEADQUARTERS. _French._ Ah, how do you do, Major? We have been waiting for you. _Myself._ How do you do, Sir? (_To_ JOFFRE, _slowly_) _Comment vous portéz-vous?_ _Joffre._ Thank you; I speak English. _Myself_ (_a little disappointed_). Good. _French._ Now then, Major, let us hear your plan. _Myself._ Well, roughly it is a broad sweeping move----I _beg_ your pardon, Sir! _Joffre_ (_with native politeness_). Not at all, Monsieur. _Myself_ (_stepping back so as to have more room_)--a broad sweeping movement. More particularly my idea is---- [It is a curious thing, but I can never remember the rest of this speech when I wake up. I know it disclosed a very masterly piece of tactics ... the region of the Argonne ... a _point d'appui_.... No, it has gone again. But I fancy the word "wedge" came in somewhere.] _French._ Marvellous! _Joffre._ _Magnifique!_ _Myself_ (_modestly_). Of course it's only an idea I jotted down on the boat, but I think there's something in it. _French._ My dear Major, you have saved Europe. _Joffre_ (_unpinning medal from his coat_). In the name of France I give you this. But you have a medal already, Monsieur? _Myself_ (_proudly_). My special constable's badge, General. I shall be proud to see the other alongside it. _The scene fades._ [I can only suppose that at this moment I am moved by the desire to save useless bloodshed, for I next find myself with the enemy.] AT POTSDAM. _Kaiser_ (_eagerly_). Ah, my good TIRPITZ, what news of our blockade? _Myself_ (_removing whiskers_). No, WILLIAM, not TIRPITZ! _Kaiser._ An Englishman! _Myself._ An Englishman--and come to beg you to give up the struggle. _Kaiser._ Never, while there is breath in man or horse! _Myself._ One moment. Let me tell you what is about to happen. On my advice the Allies are making a broad swee---- Put back your sword, Sire. I am not going to strike you--a broad sweeping movement through Germany. _Kaiser_ (_going pale_). We are undone. It is the end of all. And this was _your_ idea? _Myself._ My own, your Majesty. _Kaiser_ (_eagerly_). Would an Iron Cross and a Barony tempt you to join us? Only a brain like yours could defeat such a movement. _Myself_ (_with dignity_). As a Major and a gentleman---- _Kaiser._ Enough. I feared it was useless. _(Gloomily)_ We surrender. _The scene closes._ [The final scene is not so clear in my memory that I can place it with confidence upon paper. But the idea of it is this.] AT ---- PALACE. _A Certain Person._ Your country can never sufficiently reward you, Major, but we must do what we can. I confer on you the V.C., the D.S.O., the M.V.O., the P.T.O. and the P. and O. The payment of a special grant of £5,000 a year for life will be proposed in the House to-morrow. _Myself._ Thank you, Sir. As for the grant, I shall value it more for the spirit which prompted it than for its actual---- Did you say _five_ thousand, Sir? [At this point I realise with horror that I have only a very short vest on, and with a great effort I wake.... The papers seem very dull at breakfast.] A. A. M. * * * * * THE SOLDIER'S ENGLAND. My England was a draper's shop, And seemed to be the place to fit My size of man; and I'd to stop And make believe I fancied it-- That and a yearly glimpse of mountain blue, A book or two. A bigger England stirs afloat. I see it well in one who's come From where he left his home and boat By Cornish coasts, whose rollers drum Their English music on an English shore Right at his door. And one who's left the North a spell Has found an England he can love, Hacking out coal. He's learnt her well Though mines are narrow and, above, The dingy houses set in dreary rows, Seem all he knows. The one of us who's travelled most Says England, stretching far beyond Her narrow borders, means a host Of countries where her word's her bond Because she's steadfast, everywhere the same, To play the game. Our college chum (my mate these days) Thinks England is a garden where There blooms in English speech and ways, Nurtured in faith and thought we share, A fellowship of pride we make our own, And ours alone. And England's all we say, but framed Too big for shallow words to hold. We tell our bit and halt, ashamed, Feeling the things that can't be told; And so we're one and all in camp to-night, And come to fight. * * * * * "No judgment of recent years has aroused more widespread interest than that of Mr. Justice Bargrave Deane, in which he decided that the Slingsby baby was the son of his mother."--_Evening News._ Wonderful men our judges. * * * * * [Illustration: _Doctor._ "YOU'LL BE ALL RIGHT NOW, AND I HAVE MUCH PLEASURE IN RETURNING YOU THE TWO SOVEREIGNS WHICH I FOUND SHOT INTO YOU WITH THE PURSE." _Sergeant._ "THANK YOU, SIR; I DON'T CALL HALF A QUID DEAR FOR DOIN' THAT JOB." _Doctor._ "I DON'T FOLLOW YOU." _Sergeant._ "WELL, I HAD TWO-POUND-TEN IN THAT PURSE."] * * * * * HOW TO DEAL WITH SUBMARINES. ["_The Syren and Shipping_ offers £500 to the captain, officers and crew of the first British merchant vessel which succeeds in sinking a German submarine."--_The Times._] In order to assist captains of merchant ships to deal with raiding submarines, a few suggestions and comments, which it is hoped will be helpful, are offered by our Naval Expert. In the absence of a 4·7 naval gun, a provision suggested as useful by a writer in _The Times_, any 13-inch shells that you happen to have on board might be hoisted over the side, disguised as bunches of bananas, and dropped on to the offending submarine. If this does not sink her at once, additional bunches should be dropped. But before disposing of your shells be sure that your submarine is close alongside. In case she should hold off, let the first mate beckon to her, in a manner as nonchalant as possible, to come closer. When the enemy boards your ship, the captain should endeavour to interest the boarding party with the latest war news from German bulletins, whilst the bo'sun, the second steward and the stewardess, with the aid of peashooters, pour liquid explosive down the submarine's periscope. If you are fortunate enough to have on board one of those trained sea lions which have been showing for some years at the music-halls, you need not trouble to practise the subterfuges given above. On the enemy's submarine making her appearance on the starboard side you should lower your sea lion over the port side, preferably near the stern, having previously attached to it a bomb connected with wires to a battery. When the sea lion is close to the submarine just press the button. Possibly you will lose your pet, but the general result should be satisfactory. Owing to unavoidable circumstances you may not be able to put into practice any of these hints. If that be so, when the enemy comes aboard, work up a heated discussion on the origin of the War. If skilfully managed, you should draw into the discussion the entire company of the submarine, with the result that you will make time and possibly be got out of your difficulty by one of our patrol ships. Should all and every one of these expedients be useless, as a forlorn hope you should read aloud the appropriate clauses of the Hague Convention, and at the same time take the names and addresses of the boarding party for future reference. If you have an amateur photographer aboard, let him get going. The payment made by illustrated papers for pictures that reproduce the sinking of your ship will probably exceed the value of the ship, so that in any case your owners will not lose by the deal. But it is always best, where possible, to sink the submarine. * * * * * From a letter in _The Liverpool Echo_:-- "At a time like this we must be prepared to have our prejudices shattered. When the whole world has been turned upside down, is it fair that women should be left standing still?" It is a delicate question, and the women must be left to take up their own position in the matter. * * * * * [Illustration: _Village Constable_ (_to the Vicar, who has been hurrying to fetch fire engine_). "SO YOUR 'OUSE IS AFIRE, IS IT? AH! I'VE BIN A-WATCHIN' THAT LIGHT. DIDN'T EXPECT TO RUN INTO _ME_, DID YOU? 'OW'M I TO KNOW YOU BAIN'T SIGNALLIN' TO GERMANY?"] * * * * * JOHNSON. When the task of training scholars Johnson manfully essayed At a school whose Eton collars were the finest ever made, It was largely lack of dollars drove him to the teaching trade. Nature meant, had Fate allowed, him to command a t.b.d., Both his parents gladly vowed him to the service of the sea, But the Navy doctors ploughed him for some _itis_ of the knee. Yet, in spite of this embargo, he had spent each Oxford vac. In a tramp as supercargo or on board a fishing-smack, Till of sailors' lore and _argot_ he was full as he could pack. In the sphere of gerund-grinding Johnson wasn't a success; Boys are overprone to finding fault with masters who transgress Rules which they consider binding in regard to form and dress. Johnson's taste was always slightly _outré_ in his ties and caps; Furthermore he never rightly saw the fun of booby traps; And he clouted, none too lightly, boys who larked with watertaps. Some considered him half-witted, or at best a harmless freak; Some reluctantly admitted that he knew a lot of Greek; All agreed he was unfitted for the calling of a "beak." So, reluctantly returning to their mid-autumnal grind, Nearly all the boys, on learning Mr. Johnson had resigned, Showed the usual undiscerning acquiescence of their kind. Thus he passed unmourned, unheeded, by nine boys in ev'ry ten, And as week to week succeeded, bringing Christmas near again, Quite a miracle was needed to recall him to their ken. Deeds that merit lasting glory almost daily leap to light; But one morning brought a story which was "excellently bright," And the Head, _rotunda ore_, read it out in Hall that night. 'Twas a tale of nerve unshrinking--of a "sweeper" off the Tyne, Which had rescued from a sinking trawler, shattered by a mine, Though a submarine was slinking in her wake, a crew of nine. Well, you won't be slow in guessing at the gallant skipper's name, Or from whom the most caressing message to the hero came-- Boys are generous in redressing wrongs for which they are to blame. Johnson still continues "sweeping," in the best of trim and cheer, As indifferent to reaping laurels as immune from fear, While five hundred boys are keeping friendly watch on his career. * * * * * [Illustration: THE OUTCAST. A PLACE IN THE SHADOW.] * * * * * ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT. (EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.) _House of Commons, Tuesday, 2nd February._--First business on resumption of sittings after Recess was issue of writ for election of Member for Shipley Division of Yorkshire to fill the seat of PERCY ILLINGWORTH, whose place on Treasury Bench and in Whips' Room will know him no more. Herein a tragedy notable even amid absorbing interest of the War. When in last week of November House adjourned for recess, the CHIEF LIBERAL WHIP was in what seemed to be perfection of health. A little tired perhaps with exhausting labour of prolonged Session, but cheerily looking forward to interval of comparative rest. Physically and intellectually in the prime of life, he had happy constitutional turn of making the best of everything. A good sportsman, a famed footballer, healthy in mind and body, he habitually counteracted influence of sedentary life by outdoor exercise. If one had cast an eye round Benches on both sides and estimated which was the most likely man for whose county or borough a writ would, on reassembling of Parliament, be moved to fill vacancy created by his death, one would last of all have thought of PERCY ILLINGWORTH. Two years ago selection by PRIME MINISTER of a young, comparatively unknown, inexperienced man to fill important post of Chief Ministerial Whip was regarded with some surprise. That shrewd judge of character and capacity as usual justified by the event, ILLINGWORTH speedily made his mark. Courteous in manner, frank in speech, swift and capable in control of circumstance, he gained, and in increasing measure maintained, that confidence and personal popularity indispensable to the successful Whip. Pleasant for his many friends to think that he lived long enough to have conferred upon him a Privy Councillorship--a simple title, but good enough for PEEL and GLADSTONE, and for DIZZY throughout the plenitude of his prime. It was not without emotion that GULLAND, promoted to the Chair in the Whips' Room vacated by his esteemed Leader, moved the writ. He was comforted and encouraged by hearty cheers, not wholly confined to Ministerial side, approving the PREMIER'S choice. Full but not crowded attendance such as usually foregathers on opening days of the school at Westminster. Khaki-clad warriors moving about House and Lobbies with martial step suggested explanation of falling-off. Two hundred Members are at the Front on active service, a score or more engaged in civilian service in connection with the War. Business brief, curiously lifeless. Only one Question on Printed Paper where in ordinary times not unusual to find two hundred. On motion for adjournment, made within twenty minutes of SPEAKER'S taking the Chair, number of desultory topics were introduced by way of cross-examination of Ministers. No disposition shown to pursue them in controversial mood. At 4.30 House adjourned. [Illustration: PROMOTED TO THE CHAIR IN THE WHIPS' ROOM. (MR. J. W. GULLAND.)] [Illustration: ON THE OLD TACK. (MR. GINNELL.)] _Business done._--Both Houses reassembled after Winter Recess. In Commons PREMIER announced that Government will take the whole time for official business. Private Members and their Bills thus shunted, it will not be necessary to meet on Fridays. _Wednesday._--Gloom that lies like a pall over House momentarily lifted by unexpected agency. As at the circus when things are drifting into dullness the Clown suddenly enters, displacing monotony by merriment, so when Questions about enemy alien and the sacredness of the rights of private Members had droned along for some time Mr. GINNELL, who classifies himself as "an Independent Nationalist," presented himself from below Gangway. First distinguished himself above common horde on occasion of election of SPEAKER at opening sitting of present Parliament. The SPEAKER being as yet non-existent, the authority of the Chair undelegated, he had House at his mercy. Might talk as long as he pleased, say what he thought proper, with none to call him to order. Used opportunity to make violent personal attack on SPEAKER-DESIGNATE. Up again now on same tack. Appears that yesterday he handed in at the Table two Bills he proposed to carry through. No record of the procedure on to-day's Paper. Mr. GINNELL smelt a rat. He "saw it moving in the air" in person of the SPEAKER, who was "perverting against the House powers conferred on him for the maintenance of its functions and its privileges." Mr. GINNELL not sort of man to stand this. Proposed to indict SPEAKER for misconduct. But not disposed to be unreasonable; always ready to oblige. "If," he said, addressing the SPEAKER, "I should be out of order now, may I to-morrow call attention to your conduct in the Chair?" SPEAKER cautiously replied that before ruling on the point he would like to see the terms of motion put down on the Paper. Thereupon Mr. GINNELL proceeded to read a few remarks not entirely complimentary to the SPEAKER, which for greater accuracy he had written out on what PRINCE ARTHUR once alluded to as a sheet of notepaper. Holding this firmly with both hands, lest some myrmidon of the Chair should snatch it from him, he emphasised his points by bobbing it up and down between his chin and his knee. Whilst primarily denunciatory of the SPEAKER he had a word to say in reproof of PRIME MINISTER, whose concession to private Members of opportunity for an hour's talk on motion for adjournment he described as being "like cutting off a private Member's head, then clipping off a portion of his ear and throwing it to his relatives." _Business done._--Without division House consented that Government business shall have precedence on every day the House sits. PREMIER in exquisite phrases lamented the early cutting-off of PERCY ILLINGWORTH, of whom he said: "No man had imbibed and assimilated with more zest and sympathy that strange, indefinable, almost impalpable atmosphere compounded of old traditions and of modern influences which preserves, as we all of us think, the unique but indestructible personality of the most ancient of the deliberative assemblies of the world." Impossible more fully and accurately to describe that particular quality of the House of Commons which every one who intimately knows it feels but would hesitate to attempt to define. _Thursday._--Noble Lords are studiously and successfully disposed to conceal passing emotion. Masters of themselves though China fall, even should it drag down with it Japan and Korea. Return of Lord LANSDOWNE after prolonged bout of illness, an event so popular that it broke through this iron shield of hereditary conventionality. His reappearance welcomed from both sides with hearty cheer, in volume more nearly approaching House of Commons habit than what is familiar in the Lords. LEADER OF OPPOSITION is unquestionably one of the most highly esteemed among Peers. There have been crises in history of present Parliament when, through attitude taken by extreme partisans, he has found himself in difficult situation. Invariably circumvented it. Without making pretension to be a Parliamentary orator--pretension of any kind is foreign to his nature--he has the gift of saying the right thing in appropriate words at the proper moment. Looks a little worn down with long seclusion in sick chamber. But, as the House noticed with satisfaction gracefully reflected by Lord CREWE, "is unimpaired in his power of Parliamentary expression." This afternoon, to debate on Lord PARMOOR'S Bill amending Defence of Realm Act he contributed a weighty speech instinct with sound constitutional principles. _Business done._--In Commons MCKENNA found opportunity of refuting by statement of simple facts circumstantial fables about Home Office patronage of ex-German waiters. Supplementary Estimates for Civil Service voted. House counted out at 5.40. Adjourned till Monday. * * * * * [Illustration: PEOPLE WHO OUGHT TO BE INTERNED. "I MIGHT LET HAROLD GO TO THE FRONT IF I THOUGHT IT REALLY NECESSARY. BUT THERE ARE SO MANY BOYS WHO ARE MORE USED TO ROUGHING. YOU SEE, HAROLD HAS BEEN SO VERY CAREFULLY BROUGHT UP."] * * * * * ST. VALENTINE'S DAY, 1915. _A Missive from the Front._ Ere the first grey dawn has banished Restless night and her alarms, When the sleeper's snores have vanished On the order "Stand to arms!" When the sky is bleak and dreary And the rain is chill and thin, Be I ne'er so damp and weary, Yet my thoughts on You I pin. When the bullets fly unheeded O'er the meagre parapet, As I pace my ditch impeded By the squelching mud and wet; When I eat my Army ration With my fingers caked in clay-- You can stake your total cash on Me remembering You this day. Though the glittering knight whose charger Bore him on his lady's quest With an infinitely larger Share of warfare's pomp was blest, Yet he offered love no higher, No more difficult to quench, Than this filthy occupier Of an unromantic trench. * * * * * [Illustration: _Recruit_ (_who had given his age as 33 on enlistment_). "DID YOU 'EAR THAT? TOLD ME MY BRIDLE WASN'T PUT ON RIGHT! BLESS 'IS BLOOMIN' INNOCENCE! AND ME BIN IN A RACIN' STABLE FOR THE LAST FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEAR!"] * * * * * A TERRITORIAL IN INDIA. IV. MY DEAR _Mr. Punch_,--In case you formed any mental pictures of my first Christmas as a Territorial in India, let me hasten to assure you that every single one of them was wrong. I neither took part in the uproarious festivities of the Barracks nor shared the more dignified rejoicings of the Staff Office in which I am condemned for a time to waste my military talents. An unexpected five days' holiday, and a still more unexpected windfall of Rs. 4 as a Christmas Box (fabulous gift for an impecunious private) enabled me to pay a visit to some relatives, who live at, well ----. One has to be careful. The Germans are getting desperate, and they would give worlds to know exactly where I am. ---- is a place rich in historical interest and scenic beauties. Freed from the rigid bonds of military discipline and the still more hampering restrictions of official routine, I was at liberty to enjoy them to the full.
{'title': 'Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 148, February 10, 1915 by Various', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}