Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, April 29, 1914 online

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VOL. 146.

APRIL 29, 1914.


CAPTAIN FORT, a French army airman from Chalons, flew over the German
frontier, last week, by mistake, and alighted in Lorraine, but flew back
again before the German police arrived. We think he should have waited. It
is just little discourtesies such as this that accentuate ill-feeling
between nations.

* * *

Mr. H. W. THORNTON, the new American manager of the Great Eastern Railway,
says that his ideal is to satisfy the public. This disposes of the absurd
rumour that his appointment was made in the interests of the shareholders.

* * *

JACK JOHNSON, the pugilist, is about to become naturalized as a French
subject. Frankly, America has brought this on herself.

* * *

It is possible, by the way, that the knowledge that America could not rely
on JACK JOHNSON stiffened President HUERTA'S back.

* * *

In at least one of our colonies the War Minister is designated "Minister
for Defence." This would surely be a more than apt title for Mr. ASQUITH,
who has been doing yeoman work of this kind on behalf of his peccant

* * *

Some idea of the confusion which reigned at the fight between BLAKE and
BORRELL may be gathered from the following paragraph in _The Liverpool
Daily Post_: -

"Blake, who was the taller, at once led the £500 aside, and both men
to deposit a further close quarters, and they indulged in in-fighting
up to the close of the round."

It was certainly shrewd of BLAKE to act as he did in regard to the stakes,
for, although he was the taller, it did not necessarily follow that he
would win.

* * *

Stafford House, which contains the London Museum, will in future be called
Lancaster House. It was felt, we understand, that its former name gave no
clue to its contents.

* * *

We find the following announcement of the greatest interest: -

"April 16th, to Mr. and Mrs. G. E. Turtle (née Nurse Lacey) a

It was a great performance to have been born a nurse, even if she turned
Turtle later on.

* * *

"In everything where her means and opportunities allow," says Mr. ARTHUR
RACKHAM, "woman seeks persistently for beauty." And now many husbands are
flattering themselves that that is how they came to be married.

* * *

"Mothers who sleep nine hours on end," says Dr. WESTCOTT, the coroner,
"should not have babies, and, if they do, they should be put in cradles."
The only difficulty is that at present there is no cradle on the market
large enough to take a grown-up.

* * *

_The Times_ has published an indictment of the London plane-tree as a
disseminator of disease. Nervous folk, however, may like to know that, if
they stay indoors with their windows closed and with a towel fastened
across the mouth and nose, they will run comparatively little risk from
this source.

* * *

_The Express_ is offering prizes to its readers with a view to ascertaining
which is the best-looking animal in the Zoo, and which is the ugliest. It
is, of course, no affair of ours, but we think it would be a graceful and
humane act on the part of our contemporary to give a consolation prize to
the poor beast adjudged to be the ugliest.

* * *

Meanwhile, in view of this competition, the wart-hog would be glad to hear
of a really reliable cure for warts.

* * *

A thrush has built its nest and laid three eggs at the junction of two
scaffold poles where between fifty and sixty men are working on a new
building at Northampton. The kind-hearted labourers were, we understand,
willing to work quietly and slowly in order not to disturb the young
mother, but were over-ridden by the foremen.

* * *

What is described as a "Racegoers' Luncheon Palace" is being erected next
to the Epsom Grand Stand. The new building will, we are informed, have
fireproof floors and staircases. These will no doubt be duly tested by the

* * *

It is rumoured that such is the success of _The Melting Pot_ that Mr.
ZANGWILL has been approached by more than one manager with flattering
proposals. Mr. ZANGWILL, however, is not to be rushed, and it is extremely
unlikely that we shall have him turning out Melting Pot-Boilers.

* * *

The punishment does sometimes fit the crime. An individual who for some
months past specialised in thefts of clocks was last week given time.

* * *

"A Blackburn platelayer," it is stated, "who has just died at the age of
seventy, left £400, which he had accumulated out of his small earnings. He
was a bachelor." Married women consider this a marvellous achievement in
view of the fact that the man had no wife to help him.

* * *

At last it looks as if something is going to be done for golfers, whose
language, it is rumoured, occasionally leaves so much to be desired. The
Rector of Frinton has undertaken to consider a suggestion that a special
service for golfers shall be held at nine o'clock on Sunday mornings.

* * * * *



* * * * *

Another "Daily Mail" Record.

"'How beautiful,' said the Queen as she passed me."

We congratulate _The Daily Mail's_ Special Paris Correspondent (author of
the above passage), on the tribute paid to him by Her Majesty.

* * * * *

The Rivals.

Two posters in Torquay: -



* * * * *

"Fashion Gossip" in _The Cambridge Chronicle_: -

"Black rats, however, are most in favour and bid fair to retain their

It is no longer fashionable to see snakes.

* * * * *

"For supply of a body suitable for motor ambulance for
Ipswich." - _Contract Journal._

Ipswich seems in a hurry. Surely it might wait for the accident to happen

* * * * *


[The following unpublished poem of General VILLA - not, of course, to
be compared with the recently discovered compositions of KEATS - throws
an interesting light on the attitude of that incomparable brigand
towards the academic diplomatist of the White House. This
correspondence, rendered into English, is now made public without
prejudice to any change of policy that may occur during its passage
through the press.]

WILSON (or WOODROW, if I may),
I blush to own that ere to-day
I have described you as a "gringo";
For you are now my loved ally;
We see together, eye to eye;
The same usurper we defy.
Each in his local lingo.

Friends I have had in your fair land,
Nice plutocrats who lent a hand
(In view of possible concessions),
But still I lacked official aid,
And lived, with that embargo laid
Upon the gunning border-trade,
A prey to rude depressions.

But, when you let the barrier drop,
And all the frontier opened shop
To deal in warlike apparatus,
Much heartened by your friendly leave
To storm and ravage, slay and reave,
I felt my fighting bosom heave
As with a fresh afflatus.

Now closer still we join our stars;
At Vera Cruz your valiant tars
Have lately forced a bloody landing;
No more you hold aloof to see
The dirty work all done by me,
You show by active sympathy
A cordial understanding.

Nor shall my loyal faith grow slack
Although you put the embargo back;
No doubt once more you'll countermand it;
And anyhow this party scores
Since, you'll supply the arms and stores
The bill for which so rudely bores
A constitutional bandit.

At your expense, in fact, we go,
We two, against a one-man foe
(Of course you would not wish to hurt a
Hair of our folk in vulgar broil;
Your scheme is just to take and boil
Inside a vat of native oil
This vile impostor, HUERTA).

Then here's my hand all warm and red,
And we will march through fire and lead
Waging the glorious war of Duty;
Though impotent to read or write,
I love the cause of Truth and Light,
So God defend us in the fight
For VILLA, Home and Beauty!

O. S.

* * * * *

Three volumes.

Monkeys, and especially the higher apes, have an unfailing interest
for mankind." - _"Times" Literary Supplement._

But this is not the way that we ourselves should begin an article on the

* * * * *

A "SCENE" IN 1916.


_MR. ASQUITH._ I wish to ask the Prime Minister whether he will grant a
full judicial enquiry into the recent military and naval movements
contemplated by the Government in Munster.

_MR. LAW_ (who was greeted by shouts of "Assassin"). I see no necessity for
any such enquiry. I am prepared to answer for the Government on the floor
of this House.

_MR. LLOYD GEORGE._ May I ask the right honourable gentleman how many
members of the Government are interested in armament companies, and to what
extent they would have profited by the contemplated Tipperary pogrom?
(Shouts of "Yah," "Thieves!" "Thieves!" "Brigands!" and "Yah!")

_MR. LAW._ I utterly and entirely repudiate the suggestion of the right
honourable gentleman. (Opposition shouts of "Liar" and "Coward.") The
information the right honourable gentleman has gained during his intrigues
with the rank and file of the Welsh regiments is totally - -

_MR. SPEAKER._ Order, order. That reply obviously does not arise from the

_MR. ASQUITH._ I wish to ask the right honourable gentleman if he is
prepared to make a statement on oath. Nothing else will convince the
country, as it knows by experience that Ministers are steeped in falsehood.

_MR. LAW._ That is an allegation against the honour of Ministers. (_MR.
CHURCHILL_, "They have none.") If the Leader of the Opposition desires to
attempt to substantiate these charges I will give him a day - or a week, if
he wants it.

_MR. SWIFT MACNEILL._ Afraid of five years for perjury. Blackguards!

_MR. AMERY (President of the Local Government Board)._ Mr. Speaker, should
I be in order if I appealed to you to ask Members on the other side to
maintain the honourable traditions of this House?

_MR. JOHN WARD._ All they care for is the £5,000 a year.

_MR. SPEAKER._ Order, order! I must ask honourable members not to turn
Question time into a debate.

_MR. CHURCHILL._ I beg to ask the Prime Minister whether the guns of the
first cruiser squadron are not at this moment trained on Limerick, and to
ask him if ample time will be given for women and children to escape before
the massacre begins?

_MR. BONAR LAW._ The first cruiser squadron is not at Limerick. (Loud
shouts of "Liar!") That disposes of the second part of the question also.
(Cries of "No!" "Shame!" "Child-murderer!")

_LORD WINTERTON (Junior Lord of the Treasury)._ Mr. SPEAKER, may I draw
your attention to the fact that several Members of the Opposition shout
"Liar" at the Prime Minister whenever he rises to his feet?

_MR. SPEAKER._ The term is certainly an objectionable one, but
unfortunately there are Parliamentary precedents.

_MR. RAYMOND ASQUITH._ Yes, that's what he used to call Papa.

_MR. LLOYD GEORGE._ May I ask the Prime Minister if it is true that victims
of the Celtic pogrom are to be refused treatment by their panel doctors?

_MR. LAW._ As there will be no victims (shouts of "Found out" and "Afraid")
the question of medical treatment does not arise.

_MR. JOHN REDMOND._ Enough of this foolery. Enough of the deliberate
falsehood of Ministers. I go to Ireland at once, where half a million
resolute, dour, determined men are ready to defy this Government of

(Loud Opposition cheers and waving of handkerchiefs, as Mr. REDMOND retires
from the House.)

* * * * *

[Illustration: "A SORT OF WAR."



* * * * *


Born in Odessa In 1901, and at 13 years of age thinking nothing of his 900
mile Walk to the Fair at Nijni-Novgorod, our hero - the "poularde de
Surrey" - at last arrives in London.

Now, how to make this treasure palatable to the British Public? First of
all we'll catch him (the British Public) in our cosy Appetiser Department.
Then Signor Sarsaparillo shall entertain him in the cloak-room.

We'll waft him up to the dining-room to the strains of the Blue Danubian
Band. We'll give him "La Bohême" before the "poularde"; and the Maxixe
during. A Terrible Turk shall give him coffee (with Coon accompaniment);
and we'll send him home with a silver-mounted sterilised tooth-pick and
presents for Madame and Baby. There!]

* * * * *


Now we who sense the odorous Spring
Our various winter garments fling,
Cast off the heat promoting clout
That wise men keep till May is out,
And hail with joy and wear too soon
Suitings more fitly planned for June.

'Twas ever thus; and now we look
Askance on what arrides the cook,
Behold her boil and chop and strain
For us the cabbage all in vain.
She would have dished what most we scout,
But Brussels-sprouts at last are out.

And something else at last is in,
A something green and straight and thin.
Long looked for, long desired, its head
Well raised above its English bed,
It smiles at last and blesses us,
Our garden-grown asparagus!

Let others in their praise advance
The monstrous branches sent from France;
You ope your mouth as 'twere a door,
And bite off half an inch, not more;
And then perforce you lay aside
A tasteless foot of wasted pride.

Besides, you find that what you praise,
Is mostly sauce - a Hollandaise.
The succulent, the English kind,
You pick it up and eat it blind;
In fact, you lose your self-control,
And dip, and lift, and eat it whole.

And some day, when the beds have ceased
To cater for your daily feast,
You'll see - the after growth is fair -
A green and feathery forest there,
And "here," you'll say, "is what shall cheer
My palate in the coming year.

"Yea, when these graceful pigmy trees
Have swayed their last in any breeze,
And all is bare, I may again
See the ripe heads that pierce the plain,
And eat once more before I die
Our garden-grown asparagi."

R. C. L.

* * * * *

Massage in the 18th Century.

"_Anatomy._ Albinus (Bernard Siegfried). Tables of the Skeleton and
Muscles of the Human Body, translated from the Latin. Folio, half calf
(joints cracked, back rubbed). _Edinburgh 1777-78._"

* * * * *

A Special Correspondent of _The Evening News_ wrote last week: -

"As for the Queen, from the moment she stepped off the yacht till she
got into the train she went on smiling and bowing and murmuring
'Merci, oh merci bien?' I do not, of course, know what she was

Possibly it had something to do with gratitude.

* * * * *


(_All done while you wait._)


* * * * *


[A companion picture to Mr. EDWARD KNOBLAUCH'S play, _My Lady's


William _and_ Mary _have returned from the Royalty Theatre, where they
have attended a play in several scenes each representing some incident
in the making of a lady's dress._

_William_ (_for the ninth time_). Capital dinner we had to-night, dear.
Don't know when I've had a better.

_Mary._ Oh, bother your old dinner. What did you think of the play?

_William._ H'm, not bad. Don't know that I care about those dream plays.
(_After deep thought_) Capital caviare, that.

_Mary_ (_annoyed_). You think of nothing but your food. Didn't you think
DENNIS EADIE was splendid?

_William._ Very clever. A remarkable _tour de force_. H'm. Capital
whitebait, too. Did you notice the saddle of lamb, my love? Capital.

_Mary._ I thought it was all very novel and interesting.

_William._ The dinner, my dear? Not exactly novel, but certainly - -

_Mary_ (_coldly_). I wasn't referring to the dinner. If you could manage to
get your mind off your meals occasionally, I should like to discuss the

_William_ (_yawning_). Not to-night, dear, I'm sleepy.... Capital dinner;
don't know when I've had a better.... Very, very sleepy.

[_He goes to bed and dreams._



_Moscow. The top of the Shot Tower where they make the caviare._
Alexandrovitch _is discovered at work. Enter_ Marieovitch.

_Alexandrovitch_ (_dropping his sturgeon and clasping her round the neck_).
At last, my love!

_Marieovitch._ Be careful. Williamovitch suspects. He hates you.

_Alexandrovitch._ Nonsense, love! He's only jealous because my caviare is
so much rounder than his.

_Marieovitch._ He knows I am tired of him. Lookout; here he is.

_Enter_ Williamovitch _from behind a heap of buttered toast._

_Williamovitch_ (_sternly_). I know all.

_Alexandrovitch_ (_pushing him over the edge of the tower_). Then take

[_Exit_ Williamovitch.


_A typefounder's in Italy, where they make the macaroni letters for
the consommé._

_Gulielmo_ (_sorting the O's_). One million, three hundred and eighty-seven
thousand, six hundred and forty-five. There are two missing, Maria.

_Maria_ (_nervously_). Perhaps you counted wrong, Gulielmo.

_Gulielmo_ (_scornfully_). Counted wrong! And me the best macaroni sorter
in Italy! Now. let's get the "E's" together. (_After a pause_) Two million,
four hundred and five thousand, two hundred and ninety seven. _Corpo di
Bacco!_ There are two "E's" 'missing'!

_Maria._ Don't you remember there was one "E" the reader wouldn't pass?

_Gulielmo_ (_suspiciously_). I made another to take its place. There's some
devilry in this. Maria, girl, what are you hiding from me?

_Maria_ (_confused_). Oh, Gulielmo, I didn't want you to know.

[_She takes a handful of letters from her lap and gives them shyly to

_Gulielmo_ (_sorting them_). Two "O's," two "E's," two "L's - - " What's all

_Maria_ (_overcome_). Oh!

_Gulielmo._ "I LOVE GULIELMO."

(_Ecstatically_). Maria! You love me?

[_She falls into his arms._


_A whitebait stud farm at Greenwich._ Polly _is discovered outside one
of the stables. Enter_ Alfred.

_Polly._ Can't think what's the matter with Randolph this morning. That's
'is fifth slice of lemon, and 'e's as fierce and 'ungry as ever.

_Alfred_ (_gaily_). Never mind the whitebait now, sweet'eart, when we're
going to be spliced this afternoon. 'Ullo, 'ere 's Bill.

_Enter_ Bill.

_Bill._ Wot cher, Alf! The guv'nor wants yer. (_Exit_ Alfred _hastily._)
And now, Polly, my girl, wot's all this about marrying Alf when you're
engaged to me?

_Polly._ Oh, Bill, I'm sorry. Do let me off. I love Alfred.

_Bill._ I'll let yer off all right.

[_He goes towards_ Randolph's _stable._

_Polly_ (_shrieking_). Bill! Wotcher doing?

_Bill_ (_opening the stable door_). Just giving Randolph a bit of a run
like. 'E wants exercise.

[Randolph, _the fiercest of the whitebait, dashes out and springs at_
Polly's _throat._

_Polly._ Help! Help!

_Bill._ P'raps Alfred will 'elp you - when 'e comes back. I'll tell 'im.

[_Exit leisurely._


_A saddler's shop at Canterbury, New Zealand._

_Molly._ Busy, Willie?

_William._ Always busy at the beginning of the lamb season, Molly. The
gentlemen in London will have their saddle.

_Molly._ Too busy to talk to me?

_Willie._ Plenty of time to talk when we're married. Shan't have to work so
hard then.

_Molly._ Because of my money you mean, Willie dear. You aren't only
marrying me for my money, are you?

_Willie._ Of course not.

[_He kisses her perfunctorily and returns to his work._

_Molly._ Because - because I've lost it all.

_Willie_ (_sharply_). What's that?

_Molly._ I've lost it all.

_Willie._ Then what are you doing in my shop? Get out!

_Molly_ (_with dignity_). I'm going, Willie, And I haven't lost my money at
all. I just wanted to test you. Good-bye for ever.

[_She goes out._ Willie _in despair rushes into the garden and buries
his head in the mint._


[This part of William's dream was quite different from the rest, and
it was the only scene in which his wife didn't appear.]

_An actor-manager's room._

_Actor-manager._ Yes, I like your play immensely. I don't suppose any
actor-manager has ever played so many parts before in one evening. But
couldn't you get another scene into it?

_William._ Well, I've got an old curtain-raiser here, but it doesn't seem
to fit in somehow.

_Actor-manager._ Nonsense. In a dream play it doesn't matter about fitting
in. What's it about?

_William._ Oh, the usual sort of love thing. Only it's in the tropics, and
I really want an ice-pudding scene.

_Actor-manager._ Then make it the North Pole.

_William._ Good idea.

[_Exit to do so._


_Next morning._

_William._ I've had an extraordinary, dream, dear, and - er - I've decided
not to eat so much in future.

_Mary._ My darling boy!

[_She embraces him; and as the scene closes William takes his fifth


A. A. M.

* * * * *


* * * * *


["THE SARDINE WAR." - _Headline in a daily paper._]

There was peace at first in the tight-packed tin,
Content in the greasy gloom,
Till the whisper ran there were some therein
With more than their share of room;
And I saw the combat from start to end,
I heard the rage and the roar,
For I was the special _The Daily Friend_
Sent out to the Sardine War.

The courage was high on every face
As the wronged ones took their stand
On the right of all to a resting-place
In a tinfoil fatherland;
Yes, each one, knowing he fought for home,
Cast craven fear to the gales,
And the oil was whipped to a creamy foam
By the lashing of frenzied tails.

You may think that peace has been quite assured
When you've packed them tight inside,
But the sardine's spirit is far from cured
When you salt his outer hide;
They gave no quarter, they scorned to yield,
To a fish they died in the press,
And, dying, lay on the stricken field
In an oleaginous mess.

* * * * *


There is a gladness in her eye,
And in the wind her dancing tread
Appears in swiftness to outvie
The scurrying cloudlets overhead;
In brief, her moods and graces are
Appropriate to the calendar.

And yet methinks that Mother Earth,
Awake from sleep, hath less a share
In this, my darling's, present mirth,
Than Madame Chic, _costumiére_;
My love would barter Spring's display
For Madame's window any day.

* * * * *

"The members at the Club dance last Saturday were rather small - but
this is only natural after four dances in 'the week' and the summer
approaching." - _Pioneer._

Certainly nothing gets the weight down so quickly.

* * * * *


"I hope," said my friend and host, Charles, "I hope that you'll manage to
be comfortable."

I looked round as much of the room as I could see from where I stood and
ventured also to hope that I should.

"The tap to the right," he said, indicating the amenities, "is hot water;

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Online LibraryVariousPunch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, April 29, 1914 → online text (page 1 of 3)