Exit the Ministering Angel.EXIT THE MINISTERING ANGEL.Dr. Bonar(to NurseDevlin). “MUSTYOU GO, NURSE? (Resignedly) WELL, WE SHALL HAVE TO DO OUR BEST WITHOUT YOU.”
Dr. Bonar(to NurseDevlin). “MUSTYOU GO, NURSE? (Resignedly) WELL, WE SHALL HAVE TO DO OUR BEST WITHOUT YOU.”
[Nationalist Members have decided to take no further part in the discussion of the Government of Ireland Bill.]
Monday, May 3rd.—ThePrime Ministerbeing confined to his bed and Mr.Bonar Lawbeing engaged elsewhere in inaugurating the Housing campaign the House of Commons was in charge of theHome Secretary. Consequently Questions went through with unusual speed, for Mr.Shortthas a discouraging way with him. The most searching “Supplementary” rarely receives any recognition save a stony glare through his inseparable eye-glass, as who should say, “How can So-and-so be such an ass as to expect an answer to his silly question?”
Too Much of a Railway-Man.“TOO MUCH OF A RAILWAY-MAN.”Sir Eric Geddes.
People who consider that theMinister of Transportis too much of “a railway man” will, I fear, be confirmed in their belief. In his opinion the practice of the Companies in refusing a refund to the season ticket-holder who has left his ticket behind and has been compelled to pay his fare is “entirely justifiable.” He objected, however, to Sir C.Kinloch-Cooke’sinterpretation of this answer as meaning that it was the policy of H.M. Government “to rob honest people,” so there may be hope for him yet.
It is wrong to suppose that the class generally known as “Young Egypt” is solely responsible for the anti-British agitation in the Protectorate. Among a long list of deportees mentioned by Lieut.-ColonelMalone, and subsequently referred to by Mr.Harmsworthas “the principal organisers and leaders of the disturbances” in that country, appeared the name of “Mahmoud Pasha Suliman, aged ninety-eight years.”
The Spring-Cleaning (Indemnity) Bill.THE SPRING-CLEANING (INDEMNITY) BILL.The Solicitor-General.
The process of cleaning-up after the War involves an Indemnity Bill. SirErnest Pollockadmitted that there was “some complexity” in the measure, and did not entirely succeed in unravelling it in the course of a speech lasting an hour and a half. His chief argument was that, unless it passed, the country might be let in for an additional expenditure of seven or eight hundred millions in settling the claims of persons whose goods had been commandeered. An item of two million pounds for tinned salmon will give some notion of the interests involved and incidentally of the taste of the British Army.
L’état c’est moi.“L’ÉTAT C’EST MOI.”The Attorney-General.
Lawyers and laymen vied with one another in condemning the Bill. Mr.Rae, as one who had suffered much from requisitioners, complained that their motto appeared to beL’état c’est moi. SirGordon Hewart, in mitigation of the charge that there never had been such an Indemnity Bill, pointed out that there never had been such a War. The Second Reading was ultimately carried upon the Government’s undertaking to refer the Bill to a Select Committee, from which, if faithfully reflecting the opinion of the House, it is conjectured that the measure will return in such a shape that its own draftsman won’t know it.
Tuesday, May 4th.—The Matrimonial Causes Bill continues to drag its slow length along in the House of Lords. Its ecclesiastical opponents are gradually being driven from trench to trench, but are still full of fight. The Archbishop ofCanterburyvery nearly carried a new clause providing that it should not be lawful to celebrate in any church or chapel of the Church of England the marriage of a person, whether innocent or guilty, whose previous union had been dissolved under the provisions of the Bill. His most reverend brother of York spoke darkly of Disestablishment if the clause were lost, and eleven Bishops voted in its favour, but the Non-Contents defeated it by 51 to 50.
CaptainWedgwood Bennwanted to know whether swords still formed part of the uniform of Royal Air Force officers, and, if so, why. He himself, I gather, never found any use for one in the “Side Shows” which he has described so picturesquely. Mr.Churchill’sdefence of its retention was more ingenious than convincing. Swords, he said, had always been regarded as the insignia of rank, and even Ministers wore them on occasions. But the fact that elderly statesmen occasionally add to the gaiety of the populace at public celebrations by tripping over their “toasting-forks” hardly seems a sufficient reason for burdening young officers with a totally needless expense.
ThePostmaster-Generalis all for a quiet life. When the Dublin postal workers announced their intention of stopping work for two days in sympathy with a Sinn Fein strike, did he dismiss them? Not he. You can’t, as he said, dismiss a whole service. No, he simply gave them two days’ leave on full pay, a much simpler plan.
Thanks to the Irish Nationalists, who have announced their intention of taking no part in the discussion of the Government of Ireland Bill, Mr.Bonar Lawwas able to drop the scheme for closuring it by compartments. The new Irish doctrine of self-extermination has given much satisfaction in Ministerial circles. Mr.Churchill’sgratitude, I understand, will take the form of a portrait of Mr.DevlinasSydney Cartonunder the shadow of the guillotine.
On the Vote for the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries ColonelBurnsuggested that a new Department should be set up to deal with the harvest of the sea. Dr.Murrayapproved the idea, and thought that the Minister without Portfolio might give up loafing and take to fishing.
Wednesday, May 5th.—Apparently it is not always selfishness that makes Trade Unionists unwilling to admit ex-service men to their ranks, but sometimes solicitude for the welfare of these brave fellows. Take the manufacture of cricket-balls, for example. You might not think it a very arduous occupation, but Dr.Macnamaraassured the House that it required “a high standard of physical fitness,” and that leather-stitching was as laborious as leather-hunting. It is true that some of the disabled men with characteristic intrepidity are willing to face the risk, but the Union concerned will not hear of it, and theMinister of Labourappears to agree with them.
Even on the Treasury Bench, however, doctors disagree. Dr.Addisonseems distinctly less inclined than Dr.Macnamarato accept the claims of the Trade Unionists at their own valuation. The bricklayers have agreed to admit a few disabled men to their union—bricklaying apparently being a less strenuous occupation than leather-stitching—but exclude other ex-service men unless they have served their apprenticeship as well as their country. Upon this theMinister of Healthbluntly observed that the idea that it takes years to train a man to lay a few bricks was in his opinion all nonsense.
Thursday, May 6th.—Possibly it was because to-day was originally assigned for the opening of the Committee stage of the Home Rule Bill that Members in both Houses drew special attention to the present state of lawlessness in Ireland. If their idea was to create a hostile “atmosphere” it did not succeed, for, owing to Mr.Long’sindisposition, the Bill was postponed. Besides, the fact that every day brings news of policemen murdered, barracks burned, tax-collectors assaulted and mail-bags stolen, while to one class of mind it may argue that the present is a most inopportune moment for a great constitutional change, may to another suggest that only such a change will give any hope of improvement.
It is, at any rate, something to know that Irishmen have not in trying circumstances entirely lost their saving grace of humour. Thus the writer of a letter to LordAskwith, describing with much detail a raid for arms, in the course of which his house had been smashed up and he himself threatened with instant death, wound up by saying, “I thought I would jot down these particulars to amuse you.”
The Commons had a rather depressing speech from Mr.McCurdy. His policy had been gradually to remove all food-controls and leave prices to find their own proper (and, it was hoped, lower) level. But in most cases the result had been disastrous, and the Government had decided that control must continue. SirF. Banburycomplained of the conflict of jurisdiction between the Departments. It certainly does seem unfair that theFood-Controllershould be blamed because the Board of Trade is “making mutton high.”
The Profiteer’s Cigar.THE PROFITEER’S CIGAR.Spokesman of Club Deputation.“We trust, Sir, that you are not deliberately wearing that band on your cigar, as it is the desire of your fellow-members that you should oblige them by removing it.”
Spokesman of Club Deputation.“We trust, Sir, that you are not deliberately wearing that band on your cigar, as it is the desire of your fellow-members that you should oblige them by removing it.”
Mr.John Murray, the famous publisher, has recently given a representative ofThe Pall Mall Gazettesome interesting facts and figures bearing on the impending crisis in the publishing trade. It is a gloomy recital. Men doing less work per hour with the present forty-eight hour week than with the old fifty-one hour week, and agitating for a further reduction of hours; paper rising in price by leaps and bounds. “Between the two they are forcing up the price of books to a point when we can only produce at a loss.” In other words, we are threatened with not merely a shortage but an absolute deprivation of all new books. The horror of the situation is almost unthinkable, but it must be faced. We can dispense with many luxuries—encyclopædias and histories and scientific treatises and so forth—but among the necessities of modern life the novel stands only third to the cinema and the jazz. It is possible that in time the first-named may reconcile us to booklessness, but that time is not yet.
What amazes us in Mr.John Murray’spessimistic forecast is his failure to recognise and advocate the only and obvious remedy. By the reduction of the Bread Subsidy fifty millions have been made available for the relief of national needs. We do not say that this would be enough, but if carefully laid out in grants to deserving novelists, so as to enable them to co-operate with publishers on lines that would allow a reasonable margin of profit, it might go some way towards averting the appalling calamity which Mr.John Murrayanticipates.
The Ministry of Information is closed, but should be at once reorganised as the Ministry of Fiction, with a staff of no fewer than five hundred clerks, and installed in suitable premises, the British Museum for choice, thus emancipating the younger generation from the dead hand of archæology. Similarly the utmost care should be taken to exclude from the direction of the Ministry any representatives of Victorianism, Hanoverism, or the fetish-worship of reticence or restraint. But no time should be lost. The duty of the State is clear. It only needs some public-spirited and respected Member of Parliament, such as Lieutenant-CommanderKenworthyor ColonelJosiah Wedgwood, to promote the legislative measures necessary to secure a supply of really nutritious mental pabulum for the million.
Look at that grass, gentlemen.Auctioneer(selling summer “grass-keep”). “Now then, how much for this field? Look at that grass, gentlemen. That’s the kind of stuff Nebuchadnezzar would have given ten pounds an acre for.”
Auctioneer(selling summer “grass-keep”). “Now then, how much for this field? Look at that grass, gentlemen. That’s the kind of stuff Nebuchadnezzar would have given ten pounds an acre for.”
“Salary, £50 per annum, rising upon satisfactory service by annual increments of £5 to a maximum of £880.”—Welsh Paper.
“Salary, £50 per annum, rising upon satisfactory service by annual increments of £5 to a maximum of £880.”—Welsh Paper.
“Conscience Money.—The Chancellor of the Exchequer acknowledges the receipt of 10/- from Liverpool.The charge for announcements in the Personal Column is 7/6 for two lines (minimum), and 3/6 for each additional line.”—Times.
“Conscience Money.—The Chancellor of the Exchequer acknowledges the receipt of 10/- from Liverpool.
The charge for announcements in the Personal Column is 7/6 for two lines (minimum), and 3/6 for each additional line.”—Times.
Any large outbreak of conscientiousness on this scale will mean ruin for the country.
“A band of armed ruffians disguised as soldiers held up a train near Parghelia, in Calabria, and carried off the contents of two vons, consisting chiefly of sausages.”—Scotch Paper.
“A band of armed ruffians disguised as soldiers held up a train near Parghelia, in Calabria, and carried off the contents of two vons, consisting chiefly of sausages.”—Scotch Paper.
This is an abbreviated way of speaking. By “the contents of two vons” the writer evidently means the contents of the baggage of two German noblemen.
It all happened so naturally, so inevitably, yet so tragically—like a Greek play, as Willoughby said afterwards.
Willoughby is my younger brother, and in his lighter moments is a Don at Oxford or Cambridge; it will be safer not to specify which. In his younger and more serious days he used to play the banjo quite passably, and, when the Hicksons asked us to dine, they insisted that he should bring his instrument and help to make music to which the young people might dance, for it seems that this instrument is peculiarly suited to the kind of dancing now in vogue. Willoughby had not played upon the banjo for fifteen years, but he unearthed it from the attic, restrung it, and in the event did better than might have been expected.
Anyhow, he did not succeed in spoiling the evening, which I consider went well, despite the severe trial, to one of my proportions, of having to perform, soon after dinner, a number of scenes “to rhyme withhat.” Indeed, when I was finally pushed alone on to the stage, any chagrin I might have felt at the ease with which the audience guessed at once that I represented “fat” was swallowed up in the relief at being allowed to rest awhile, for “fat” proved to be correct.
It is not of dumb-crambo, however, nor of hunt-the-slipper (a dreadful game), nor of “bump” (a worse game) that I wish to speak, but of that which befell after.
It was a very wet night, and when the hour for our departure arrived there arose some uncertainty as to whether we could find a taxi willing to take us home.
“I will interview the porter,” said Willoughby (the Hicksons live in a flat), and he disappeared, to return in a few minutes with something of the air of a conspirator.
“Get your coat on,” he said curtly.
“Have you a taxi?”
“No, I have a car. Get your coat on, and be quick about it.”
“A car?” I said. “What car? Whose car?”
Willoughby turned upon me. “If you prefer to walk, you can,” he said; “if not, get your coat on, as I say, and don’t ask stupid questions.”
I did not prefer to walk—would that I had!—but proceeded to bid my host and hostess Good-night. Even as I was doing so the porter came to the door.
“Hurry up, Sir,” he called to Willoughby in a stage whisper. “He can’t wait; he’s late already.”
As we followed him into the hall the porter went on whispering to Willoughby.
“Friend of mine. Always do me a turn. Going right to your square.” He continued to nod his head confidentially.
Willoughby turned to me.
“Got half-a-crown?” he grunted.
I had. The porter’s head-noddings redoubled.
Arrived at the door, we found a resplendent car, a chauffeur of the imperturbable order seated at the wheel.
“I’m very much obliged——,” Willoughby began.
“That’s all right, Sir,” said the man. “I’m going that way.”
We stepped in, drew the fur rug over our legs, and the car glided off.
“It’s a nice car,” said Willoughby.
“I understand that the chauffeur is a friend of the hall porter?” I commented.
“That is so.”
“And the owner of the car is——?”
“Some person unknown.”
“Where ignorance is bliss——”
“I am a little doubtful if the chauffeur will mention our ride to his master, if that is what you mean,” said Willoughby.
“Have you considered the bearing of the law concerning Conspiracy on this case?” I asked.
“I have not, nor do I intend to,” said Willoughby airily. “The law concerning Bribery and Corruption has a much more direct bearing. Got two more half-crowns?”
I was searching for them as we turned into the square in which we live and the car slowed down.
“Tell him it’s at the far corner,” I said.
And then suddenly a rasping voice sounded on the night air:—
“Here, Rodgers! Where are you off to? You’re very late, you know—very late.”
The car had stopped with a jerk before a house which was certainly not our house. A stream of light from the open door flooded the pavement. On the steps stood Percival, the man I had that row with about the Square garden. On the pavement, his hand outstretched to open the car door, was he of the rasping voice.
“This is the owner,” said Willoughby, and he laughed quietly to himself. He always giggles in a crisis. I could have kicked him. But at the moment I was hurriedly debating whether I could possibly escape by the door on the far side without being seen. “A small thin man might have done it,” I thought. But, alas! I am neither small nor thin.
Then the door of the car opened and Willoughby stepped forth into the limelight, as it were. During the evening the dumb-crambo and such had rather dishevelled his hair, and a wisp of it now appeared from beneath the brim of an elderly Homburg hat pushed on to the back of his head. Under his arm was the banjo. On his face was that maddeningly good-natured smile of his.
“What are you doing in my car?” demanded the rasping voice.
Willoughby did not answer for a moment, but simply stood there smiling.
Then he said, “Entirely my fault. Your chauffeur is in no way to blame. The fact is we couldn’t get a taxi, and my brother being rather delicate——”
“What, another?” barked the rasper.
There was nothing for it. Acutely conscious as I was how emphatically my countenance, flushed by the exertions of the evening, belied Willoughby’s description of “delicate,” it was impossible for me to remain in the car, and I stepped heavily out.
“It rhymes withhat,” said Willoughby softly.
As we slunk off down the Square, after as painful a five minutes as I care to remember, Willoughby kept repeating, “Very unlucky—veryunlucky,” till we arrived at our own door. Then he began to laugh.
“And what is the joke?” I asked.
“There is no joke,” he said—“no joke at all.”
“Indeed there is not,” I said bitterly. “You must remember that, unlike yourself, I live here permanently.”
“I realise it,” said Willoughby. “But do you not think, on consideration, that that really gives you the advantage? I mean, you have thus the opportunity of living down the unfortunate accusation of inebriety that has been brought against us, which I shall not be in a position to do.”
I hate living things down.
From a restaurant bill-of-fare:—
“Develled Leg of Foul and Curly Bacon, 2/6.”
“Develled Leg of Foul and Curly Bacon, 2/6.”
“WORMWOOD SCRUBS’S ILL-HEALTH.Released to Private Hospital.Mr. Kelly, the Lord Mayor of Dublin, has released Wormwood Scrubs owing to his health.”—Australian Paper.
“WORMWOOD SCRUBS’S ILL-HEALTH.
Released to Private Hospital.
Mr. Kelly, the Lord Mayor of Dublin, has released Wormwood Scrubs owing to his health.”—Australian Paper.
Some trouble in the cellular system, we gather.
Mr.James Sexton, M.P., who was howled down at a meeting at St. Helens recently, said he refused to bow the knee to a lot of body-snatchers who wanted him to sacrifice his manhood and conscience to satisfy their inclinations. A self-respecting sexton could do no less.
The Channel TunnelA spirited representation of “Ca’ Canny” on the Kentish coast during the initial work on the Channel Tunnel,circ.B.C.200.The Bull-dog Breed.THE BULL-DOG BREED.An aged couple, their features disfigured by mosquito bites, bravely continue to sit for their portraits.The kitten has strayed into...The kitten which all who know and love the best traditions of the Academy would expect to find in this picture has evidently strayed into...this one.this one. We draw attention to this so as to prevent visitors from wasting their time in searching for it all over the galleries.See below.See below.The Stout Gentleman.The stout gentleman appears to feel some discomfort from the heat. That is why the Hanging Committee have thoughtfully suspended some ice over his head.The Famous Marionette Show At The Quai D’orsay.THE FAMOUS MARIONETTE SHOW AT THE QUAI D’ORSAY.Much interest is sure to be taken in this picture, as many people must have been wondering what these world-famous statesmen looked like.Domestic Unhappiness.Here we have a scene of domestic unhappiness in a Scottish home. The good wife is scandalised by her husband’s levity in dancing on the Sabbath.
The Channel TunnelA spirited representation of “Ca’ Canny” on the Kentish coast during the initial work on the Channel Tunnel,circ.B.C.200.
A spirited representation of “Ca’ Canny” on the Kentish coast during the initial work on the Channel Tunnel,circ.B.C.200.
The Bull-dog Breed.THE BULL-DOG BREED.An aged couple, their features disfigured by mosquito bites, bravely continue to sit for their portraits.
An aged couple, their features disfigured by mosquito bites, bravely continue to sit for their portraits.
The kitten has strayed into...The kitten which all who know and love the best traditions of the Academy would expect to find in this picture has evidently strayed into
The kitten which all who know and love the best traditions of the Academy would expect to find in this picture has evidently strayed into
...this one.this one. We draw attention to this so as to prevent visitors from wasting their time in searching for it all over the galleries.
this one. We draw attention to this so as to prevent visitors from wasting their time in searching for it all over the galleries.
See below.See below.
See below.
The Stout Gentleman.The stout gentleman appears to feel some discomfort from the heat. That is why the Hanging Committee have thoughtfully suspended some ice over his head.
The stout gentleman appears to feel some discomfort from the heat. That is why the Hanging Committee have thoughtfully suspended some ice over his head.
The Famous Marionette Show At The Quai D’orsay.THE FAMOUS MARIONETTE SHOW AT THE QUAI D’ORSAY.Much interest is sure to be taken in this picture, as many people must have been wondering what these world-famous statesmen looked like.
Much interest is sure to be taken in this picture, as many people must have been wondering what these world-famous statesmen looked like.
Domestic Unhappiness.Here we have a scene of domestic unhappiness in a Scottish home. The good wife is scandalised by her husband’s levity in dancing on the Sabbath.
Here we have a scene of domestic unhappiness in a Scottish home. The good wife is scandalised by her husband’s levity in dancing on the Sabbath.
(AfterAnnandJane Taylor.)
High on a mountain’s haughty steepLord Hubert’s palace stood;Before it rolled a river deep,Behind it waved a wood.Low in an unfrequented valeA peasant had his cell;Sweet flowers perfumed the cooling galeAnd graced his garden well.But proud Lord Hubert’s house and lands,Of which he’d fain be rid,Long linger on the agents’ hands—He cannot get a bid.On sauces rich and viands fineLord Hubert’s father fed;Lord Hubert, when he wants to dine,Eats margarine and bread.How diff’rent honest William’s lot!He’s cheerful and content;He always lets his humble cotAt thrice its yearly rent.His dapple-cow and garden-groundsProduce him ample spoil;His lodgers pay him pounds and pounds,He has no need to toil.Lord Hubert sits in thrall and gloomAnd super-taxes grimPursue him to his marble tomb,And no one grieves for him.But, when within his narrow bedOld William comes to lie,They’ll find (I mean when William’s dead)A tidy bit put by.
High on a mountain’s haughty steepLord Hubert’s palace stood;Before it rolled a river deep,Behind it waved a wood.
High on a mountain’s haughty steep
Lord Hubert’s palace stood;
Before it rolled a river deep,
Behind it waved a wood.
Low in an unfrequented valeA peasant had his cell;Sweet flowers perfumed the cooling galeAnd graced his garden well.
Low in an unfrequented vale
A peasant had his cell;
Sweet flowers perfumed the cooling gale
And graced his garden well.
But proud Lord Hubert’s house and lands,Of which he’d fain be rid,Long linger on the agents’ hands—He cannot get a bid.
But proud Lord Hubert’s house and lands,
Of which he’d fain be rid,
Long linger on the agents’ hands—
He cannot get a bid.
On sauces rich and viands fineLord Hubert’s father fed;Lord Hubert, when he wants to dine,Eats margarine and bread.
On sauces rich and viands fine
Lord Hubert’s father fed;
Lord Hubert, when he wants to dine,
Eats margarine and bread.
How diff’rent honest William’s lot!He’s cheerful and content;He always lets his humble cotAt thrice its yearly rent.
How diff’rent honest William’s lot!
He’s cheerful and content;
He always lets his humble cot
At thrice its yearly rent.
His dapple-cow and garden-groundsProduce him ample spoil;His lodgers pay him pounds and pounds,He has no need to toil.
His dapple-cow and garden-grounds
Produce him ample spoil;
His lodgers pay him pounds and pounds,
He has no need to toil.
Lord Hubert sits in thrall and gloomAnd super-taxes grimPursue him to his marble tomb,And no one grieves for him.
Lord Hubert sits in thrall and gloom
And super-taxes grim
Pursue him to his marble tomb,
And no one grieves for him.
But, when within his narrow bedOld William comes to lie,They’ll find (I mean when William’s dead)A tidy bit put by.
But, when within his narrow bed
Old William comes to lie,
They’ll find (I mean when William’s dead)
A tidy bit put by.
Navvy on girders.Navvy on girders(soliloquising). “’Eaven ’elp them poor perishers underneaf if this ’ere chain breaks!”
Navvy on girders(soliloquising). “’Eaven ’elp them poor perishers underneaf if this ’ere chain breaks!”
(From an Oxford Correspondent.)
The list of the recipients of honorary degrees to be conferred by the University of Cambridge has already been announced. We are glad to be able to supplement it by information, derived from a trustworthy source, of the corresponding intentions of the University of Oxford.
The Oxford list is not yet complete, but the following names and the reasons for which the distinction is to be conferred may be regarded as certain and authentic:—
The Right Hon.Winston Churchill, M.P., for his strenuous efforts to brighten Sunday journalism.
Mr.Augustus John, for unvarnished portraiture and the stoical fortitude exhibited by him in face of the persecution of the Royal Academy.
Mr.Lovat Fraser, for his divine discontent with everything and everybody and his masterly use of italic type.
LadyCooper, the wife of theLord Mayor, for conspicuous gallantry in advocating the taxing of cosmetics.
SirPhilip Gibbs, for his generous recognition of the services of British generals during the War, and for promoting cordial relations between all ranks in the Army.
Mr.Wickham Steed, for his invaluable and untiring exertions in familiarising the public with Jugo-Slav geography.
All the above will receive the D.C.L. It is also proposed to confer the degree of Honorary Master of Arts on the entire body of Oxford road-sweepers, for their disinterested patriotism in accepting a wage on a par with that received by many tutors and demonstrators of the University.
Since I first saw her this year she has been a Sleeping Beauty (very wide awake) and a Chrysanthemum and many other lovely things. InAutumn Leaves, where her bloom is blown away by the fierce ardour of the Wind, and she is left to die forsaken, she recalled a little the moving sadness of her Dying Swan. It was a “choreographic poem” of her own making—to music ofChopin—and I think I have never seen anything more fascinating than the colour and movement of theAutumn Leavesand the “splendour and speed” of theAutumn Wind. This was danced by Mr.Stowitts, and it couldn’t have been in better hands or feet. M.Volinineis largely content to be a source of support and uplift to his partner, but inThe Walpurgis Nighthe gave us an astounding exhibition of poise and resilience. InThe Magic Flute(notMozart’sbutDrigo’s), Mlle.Butsovahad a great triumph. She has all the arts and graces of her craft that can be taught, and to these she adds one of the few gifts that no training can confer—the natural joy of life that comes of just being young.
O.S.
“Food prices were coming down. Soap had already been reduced 1d. a lb.”—Daily Paper.
“Food prices were coming down. Soap had already been reduced 1d. a lb.”—Daily Paper.
We tried it in 1917, but found it deficient in protein.
Wiltshire bacon?“You’re sure this is Wiltshire bacon?”“Er—I wouldn’t like to guarantee it, Madam—not absolutely.”“Where do you get it from, then?”“Well, itcomesfrom America, Madam.”
“You’re sure this is Wiltshire bacon?”
“Er—I wouldn’t like to guarantee it, Madam—not absolutely.”
“Where do you get it from, then?”
“Well, itcomesfrom America, Madam.”
(By Mr. Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks.)
Probably one of your first, and abiding, impressions ofThe Third Window(Secker) will be that of almost extreme modernity. CertainlyAnne Douglas Sedgwick(Mrs.Basil de Selincourt) has produced a story that, both in its protagonists—a young war-widow and a maimed ex-officer—and in its theme—spirit-communication and survival of personality—is very much of the moment. It is a short book, not two hundred pages all told, and with only three characters. You observe that I have given you no particulars as to the third, though (or because) she is of the first importance to the development. To say more of this would be to ruin all, since suspense is essential to its proper savouring; though I may indicate that it turns upon the question whether the dead husband is still so far present as to forbid the union of his widow and his friend. The thing is exceedingly well done, despite a suggestion now and again that the situation is becoming something too fine-drawn; I found myself also in violent disagreement with the ending, though for what reasons I must deny myself the pleasure of explaining. Perhaps the cleverest feature of an unusual tale is the idea of Wyndwards, the modern “artistic” house that is its setting—a house rather over deliberate and self-conscious in its simplicity and beauty, lacking soul, but swept and garnished for the reception of the seven devils of bogiedom. The atmosphere of this is both new and conveyed with a very subtle skill.
It must be admitted that Mrs.Belloc Lowndes’syoung ladies enjoy singularly poor luck, as is shown notably by their habit when in foreign parts of picking up the worst people and generally surrounding themselves with a society that it would be flattery to call dubious. The latest victim to this tendency isLily, heroine ofThe Lonely House(Hutchinson). It was situate, as you might not expect from its name, at Monte Carlo, andLilyhad come there as the paying guest of a courtesy uncle and aunt of foreign extraction, about whom she really knew far too little. They had tried to postpone her visit at least for a couple of days, the awkward fact being that the evening of her arrival was already earmarked for an engagement that Auntie euphemistically called “seeing a friend off on a long journey.” If you know Mrs.Belloc Lowndesat her creepiest, you can imagine the spinal chill produced by this discovery. Gradually it transpires (though how I shall not say) that whenever theCountandCountess Poldawere in want of a little ready cash they were in the habit of “seeing off” some unaccompanied tourist known to have well-filled pockets. So you can suppose the rest. If I have a criticism for Mrs.Lowndes’otherwise admirable handling of the affair it is that she depends too much on the involuntary eavesdropper; before long, indeed, I was forced to conclude either thatLilypossessed a miraculous sense of overhearing, or that the acoustic properties of the lonely house rendered it conspicuously unsuited for the maturing of felonious little plans. But this is a trifle compared with the delights of such a feast of first quality thrills.
The extraordinary cleverness ofA Woman’s Man(Heinemann) is the thing which most impresses me about this life story of a French man of letters, at the height of his fame somewhere in the eighteen-nineties. He is made to tell his own story, and pitfalls for the author must have abounded in such a scheme, but MissMarjorie Pattersonseems to have fallen into very few of them.Armand de Vaucourtis a self-deceiving sensualist who justifies his amours as necessary to literary inspiration and neglects his wife only to find, too late, that she has been his guardian angel, her love the source of all that was worth while in his life and work. There have been such characters asArmandin fiction who yet made some appeal to the reader’s affection; it is the book’s worst defect thatArmandmakes none. His recurring despairs and passions grow tedious; his final but rather incomplete change of heart left me sceptical as to how long it would have lasted had the book carried his history any further.Armandas a study of a certain type of egoist is supreme; my difficulty was that I had no desire to study him. EvenMaria-Thérèse Colbert, the decadent wife of his publisher, a very monster among women, is more interesting. MissPattersonis on the side of the angels, but she makes her way to them through some nasty mire, calling spades spades with a vigour which seems to have prevented her from paying much attention to some beautiful and hopeful things which also have everyday names.
Germany’s High Sea Fleet in the World War(Cassell), which is AdmiralScheer’saddition to the entertaining series, “How we really won after all,” by German Military and Naval commanders, gives you, on the whole, the impression of an honest sailor-man telling the truth as he sees it and only occasionally remembering that he must work in one of the set pieces of official propaganda. To a mere layman this record is of immense and continual interest; to the professional, keen to know what his opposite number was doing at a given time, it must be positively enthralling, especially the chapter on the U-boats, with its discreet excerpts from selected logs. Incidentally one can’t withhold tribute of reluctant admiration for the technical achievements of the submarines and the courage, skill and tenacity of their commanders and crews. Most readers will find themselves turning first to the account of the Jutland battle. The tale is told not too boastfully, though the Admiral claims too much. Perhaps that may be forgiven him, as he certainly took his long odds gamely and fought his fleet with conspicuous dexterity. Also the German naval architects and ordnance folk proved to have a good thing or two up their sleeves, and the gunnery, for a time at any rate, was unexpectedly excellent. Naturally perhaps AdmiralScheermay be claimed as supporting the Beattyites rather than the Jellicoists. But he is biassed and goes further than the most extreme of the former school. For his real grievance against the British Navy, constantly finding vent, is that it did not ride bravely in, with bands playing, to the perfectly good battleground prepared with good old German thoroughness under the guns of Heligoland.
No pioneer work was ever more persistently attacked by the weapons of ridicule and contempt than that of the Salvation Army, and I suggest that all who sat in the hostile camp should readWilliam Booth, Founder of the Salvation Army(Macmillan), and see for themselves what ideas and ideals they were opposing. Mr.Harold Begbiehas done his work well, and the only fault to be found with him is that his ardour has sometimes beguiled him into recording trivialities; and this error strikes one the more asBooth, both in his strength and in his weakness, was not trivial. When this, however, is said, nothing but praise remains for a careful study both of the man and of his methods. The instrument upon whichBoothplayed was human nature, and he played upon it with a sure hand because he understood how difficult it is to touch the spirit when the body is suffering from physical degradation. To this must be added a genuine spiritual exaltation and love of his fellow-man and also an indomitable courage. Few men could have emerged with hope and enthusiasm unquenched from such a childhood asBooth’s; but we know how he lived to conquer all opposition and to promote and organise what is perhaps the greatest movement of modern times. In paying our tribute to him for his successful crusade against misery and evil we are not to forget his wife, whose unfailing love and devotion were his constant support.
Mr.John Galsworthy’sshort stories and studies inTatterdemalion(Heinemann) are divided into “of war-time” and “of peace-time.” I think the greater part of the author’s faithful company of readers will prefer the latter. Mr.Galsworthyhas less than most men the kind of mind that can put off the burden of the suffering of war or submit easily to the difficult need for us all to think one way in a time of national crisis. But “Cafard,” study of apoiluin the despairing depression that comes of the fatigue and horror of long fighting, who is lifted back to courage by a little frightened beaten mongrel whose confidence he wins, so forgetting his own trouble, was written, one can feel, because the author wanted to write it, not because he felt it was expected of him. Of the peace-time sketches “Manna,” with the theme of a penniless and eccentric parson charged with stealing a loaf of bread and acquitted against the evidence, is as admirable as it is unexpected in flavour. For the rest there is goodGalsworthy, if not of the very best, and but little that one would not praise highly if it came from an author of lower standards.
Dear Old Soul.Dear Old Soul.“Thank you very much for bringing me across. Idoso hope you’ll get safe back again.”
Dear Old Soul.“Thank you very much for bringing me across. Idoso hope you’ll get safe back again.”
Three members, quite immune to scowl or snub,Disturbed the quiet of the selfsame club;The first in resonance of snore surpassed,The next in raucousness, in both the last.Patience, exhausted, heaved a futile sigh;No force can cure them and they will not die.
Three members, quite immune to scowl or snub,Disturbed the quiet of the selfsame club;The first in resonance of snore surpassed,The next in raucousness, in both the last.Patience, exhausted, heaved a futile sigh;No force can cure them and they will not die.
Three members, quite immune to scowl or snub,
Disturbed the quiet of the selfsame club;
The first in resonance of snore surpassed,
The next in raucousness, in both the last.
Patience, exhausted, heaved a futile sigh;
No force can cure them and they will not die.