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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, September 16, 1914
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, September 16, 1914" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

VOL. 147, SEPTEMBER 16, 1914***


VOL. 147

SEPTEMBER 16, 1914


"Our future lies upon the water," once boasted the KAISER. "And our
present lies in it," as the German soldier remarked when the Belgians
opened the dykes near Antwerp.

       * * *

The mass of the German people would seem to be extraordinarily
ill-informed in regard to the War and to stand sadly in need of
enlightenment in some respects. For example, their ebullitions of rage
against everyone and everything English shows that they are ignorant of
the fact that we are a decadent nation and a negligible quantity in the

       * * *

Many of the little scraps in which the Germans were reported by their
Press to have been victorious now turn out to have been merely scraps of

       * * *

According to _The Times_ one of the first acts of the new Pope will be
to urge the Powers at war to desist from hostilities in the interests of
humanity. It is rumoured that Austria-Hungary thinks this a capital

       * * *

Our readers will, we are sure, be sorry to hear that the lady who, as
reported in our pages the week before last, in the course of a
difference with her husband, called him "a bloomin' Oolan," has once
again had words with him. This time, the husband complains, she shouted
after him, "You 'Un!"

       * * *

An appeal has been made for magazines for the men at the front. The
following extract from a letter touches on the subject:--"On Wednesday
heavy German cavalry charged us with drawn sabres, and we only had a
minute to prepare to receive them. We left our entrenchments and,
rallying in groups, emptied our magazines into them as they drew near."

       * * *

We regret to hear that, owing to so many persons failing to go out of
Town this year, there is considerable distress among London burglars.
The oldest among them do not remember a duller season.

       * * *

A dear old lady writes to say that she is delighted to hear that the
Crystal Palace has been taken over by the Admiralty, as she loves the
place, and it is _so_ brittle.

       * * *

Another dear old thing suggests that, in order to facilitate the work of
the police, all spies should be compelled to wear a distinctive dress.

       * * *

With the object of benefiting the local branch of the National Relief
Fund there has been published at Brighton the first number of a paper
called _The Ally_. Our contemporary, _Ally Sloper_, has generously
decided in the circumstances to take no proceedings with a view to
protecting its title.

       * * *

"Why," asks a lady, "should not waitresses take the place of the German
waiters whose services are now being dispensed with?" Possibly we may be
wrong, but we seem to remember once having seen an announcement on the
placard of a feminist journal to the effect that:--


       * * *

Lord ROSEBERY, speaking the other day at Broxburn, said that defeat for
us would not mean foreign tax-gatherers in the country. We are glad of
this. It would be deplorable if the tax-gatherer were ever to become an
unpopular figure with us.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE HUNTER HUNTED.

[With acknowledgments to Mr. J. C. DOLLMAN.]

       *       *       *       *       *

The Fog of War.

    "A final shell struck the Laurel amidship, enveloping her in a dense
    certainohtstl thesemac recsmscvtm mecevsccvc."

    _Glasgow Citizen._

       *       *       *       *       *


"Arthur," I said, "you are not handsome, but you have sterling qualities
and know a thing or two."

"You are not exactly a mezzotint yourself," Arthur retorted, "and I'm
not sure that you have any particular qualities yet. What does this lead
up to?"

"This," I said. "Suppose you are a sentry, outside barracks or an
encampment of some kind."

"I'm supposing," he said.

"And suppose," I went on, "you don't know me."

"I've supposed worse things than that," said Arthur with decision.

"And try further," I said, "to imagine that it's a dark night, and I
come along and don't notice you. You'd say, 'Halt, who goes there?'
wouldn't you?"

"I should if I remembered my lines, I suppose."

"Very well," I said. "Then I should say, 'Friend.'"

"Well," said Arthur, "where's the catch?"

"There isn't a catch," I said. "What I want to know is, how do we go on
after that?"

"I should ask you if you'd got such a thing as a cigarette about you,"
said Arthur.

"You might do that," I said, "but it doesn't sound helpful. The reason I
ask is because I've read the instructions several times in the papers on
the courtesies to be observed when meeting a sentry; but the scene
always ends at this point--'Friend.' What happens next?"

"Perhaps the right thing," said Arthur, "would be for you to ask after
the Colonel's wife. But I might not let you get as far as that. The odds
would be in favour of my not believing you when you said 'Friend,' and
in that case I should either shoot or pink you. The choice between these
two processes would lie with me."

"But wouldn't that be rather sudden? Surely you make another remark
first. I seem to remember something about 'sign and countersign.'"

"You're thinking of trigonometry, aren't you?" said Arthur.

"Perhaps I am," I said. "Anyway it's awkward not knowing what happens

"I know the best way to find out," said Arthur suddenly. "Get your boots
on. We'll go and enlist."

       *       *       *       *       *


As I have taken occasion to tell them from time to time, God is sparing
no effort in favour of My brave armies. The noble courage with which
they have crushed a defenceless peasantry (who, by the way, do not seem
to share My recognition of the Deity's support of Our methods) has
proved them to be the authorised medium of the Divine vengeance. I am
very pleased with both them and God.

The destruction of Louvain, seat of a culture wholly distinct from the
Prussian ideal, was an inspiration, in which I once more detect the Hand
of Heaven. Unfortunately it has been misunderstood in neutral countries;
and, to appease their protests, I have had to explain that this feat of
righteous wrath has given me an attack of bleeding heart.

I am despatching an Imperial telegram to the President of the Oxford
University Boat Club to say that when My armies reach that city I may
possibly spare Oriel for the sake of My Rhodes Scholars. This generous
thought occurred to Me in church when I was returning thanks for the
demolition of the library of Louvain.

I have also instructed My intrepid aviators to reserve a pew for Me
intact among the ruins of Notre Dame de Paris--for thanksgiving

I have repeatedly warned NICHOLAS that God is against him. It is like
his impious self-assurance to imagine that One whose services I have
exclusively secured for My side could for a moment entertain the idea of
supporting My enemies. I confess, however, that I had expected
FRANZ-JOSEF, as My ally, to receive a larger portion of the Deity's
favour than has so far fallen to him. From what I hear of the Lemberg
affair, it looks as if his independent arrangements for Divine support
had been inadequate. I am afraid I must leave him to get on without it
as best he can. I shall want all I've got for my own use.

I see that a new Pope has been elected at Rome. At any ordinary moment
this world-event must have attracted the attention of Heaven. But the
present attitude of Italy towards the Triple Alliance naturally
precludes any Divine cognisance of her concerns. On the other hand I
have Myself thought it expedient to address congratulations to the
Italian who now occupies the Pontifical Chair, and have ordered the fact
to receive due publicity as part of My subsidised Press campaign.

In order that the organisers of this campaign may the better persuade
neutral countries to accept My version of the justice of Our cause, I
have given directions for them to appeal throughout to the God of Truth.
We were, as usual, first in the field, and the Father of Lies has a lot
of ground to make up.

My dear son WILHELM tells Me that his own army has a tough proposition
in front of it. I sometimes fear that he lacks the unquestioning piety
of his Imperial Parent.

I note that services are still permitted to be held in the English
church at Dresden, but that no prayers for the success of British arms
are allowed. In view of My monopoly of Divine protection I regard this
precaution as unnecessary.

Some blundering operator in Berlin has circulated the ridiculous report
of a disaster to My army in France. I have ordered the fear of God to be
put into him.

Even I cannot be in two places at once, and I am too busy in exchanging
felicitations with My Creator in the background of Our western sphere of
operations to be able to give My benediction in person to the brave
defenders of My beloved Prussia. My lack of the gift of omnipresence has
always been rather a sore point with Me in My otherwise co-equal
relations with the Almighty. I hope in course of time to have this

  O. S.

       *       *       *       *       *



[_As a part of our campaign to capture Germany's trade, it has been
suggested that Noah's Arks should in future be made in this country._]

  Remove yon odious concern
   That once outrode the mimic storm,
  And deep in darkest shelves intern
   Her captain and his pirate swarm:
     Sweep, sweep, that _Dreadnought_ from the seas
     Of England's carpets, if you please,
     And set no more by two and two
     On Sabbath days her bestial crew,
  That mask with peace the Prussian uniform.

  I seem to see the War-Lord's lace
    Bedeck that bosom mild and stout;
  Athwart yon patriarchal face
    The Kaiser-like moustaches sprout;
      The wideawake becomes a helm,
      The staff a sword to overwhelm,
      Hypocrisy stands writ and cant
      On yonder pale-blue elephant
  Tusk-less (Maud did it when Mamma was out).

  What makes he with a lilac dove
    This Corsair desperate and daft?
  Behold the conning tower above
    The big stern chasers pointing aft!
      This is not he that saved mankind
      With pards and pigs from tempests blind,
      But rather he that forged a flood,
      And not of water but of blood,
  And filled with worse than wolves his impious craft.

  But come, we'll build a larger boat
    Of English breed, no Teuton shams,
  Where sheltered animals shall float,
    The lion couchant with the lambs:
      See from the cabin's open door
      What mild-faced dromedaries pour!
      What SHEMS are these? what host arrives
      Of gentler JAPHETS with their wives?
  What antelopes? what un-Westphalian HAMS?

  And sometimes, should the pageant cloy,
    Supposing Nurse has left the room,
  We'll take again that outcast toy
    From the deep cupboard's inmost gloom;
      We'll shell that buccaneering barque
      With the good guns of England's ark;
      We'll chase it flying like a rat
      For some fort-guarded Ararat,
  And leave it flotsam for Jemima's broom.


       *       *       *       *       *

Peace: Old and New Style.

Now that the Allies have all agreed not to make separate peaces, we can
look forward to the War stopping all at once, and not just a bit at a
time, though of course the calendar of the Russians will allow them the
option of keeping at it for twelve days after the others have finished.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "GLORIOUS COMPEAGNE.--For ever memorable in the annals of the
  country will be the name of Compeigne."--_News of the World._

Nor shall Compiègne, we hope, be utterly forgotten.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: MADE IN GERMANY.


       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Belated Reveller._ "YOU A SPESHUL CONSHTABLE?"

_Special Constable._ "YES." (_Long pause._)


_S. C._ "A TRUNCHEON AND A WHISTLE, AND (_suddenly inventive, in view of
reveller's superior physique_) A SIX-SHOOTER."


       *       *       *       *       *


My wife was certainly ruffled, and, more than that, she was mystified.
She could not understand it at all.

"And this is the second time," she said.

"Have you questioned the servants?" I asked.

"It is not likely that my servants would amuse themselves by throwing
lumps of coal on the drawing-room carpet," she replied, "not being
lunatics. But as a matter of fact I have questioned them."

"It is the sort of thing a playful kitten might do," I suggested. "Or a
puppy perhaps."

"No, they couldn't have lifted the tongs, and the tongs were in it too,
and three walking-sticks. It must have been children, I suppose; but I
don't think there have been any children in the house."

I found her the same afternoon studying some scratched hieroglyphics on
the gravel in front of the house. It was quite an elaborate design with
squares and circles and curving lines, and with a wobbly streak running
through it. And that evening she announced once and for all that the
house was bewitched and she gave it up. She had found a loofah, two
sponges and some cakes of soap elaborately arranged in a pattern on the
bathroom floor.

She had not yet gathered, as I had, that it was Sinclair and the
Reverend Henry. I do not think that these two can have been properly
trained in their youth to put away their toys when they had finished
with them, as all tidy children should. They had no right to go out
suddenly and play tennis, leaving the drawing-room carpet in that

I had seen it coming on for some days. As soon as Henry has spent his
first half-hour on the newspapers he is ripe to explain in detail the
exact disposition of the Allied forces and "what they are evidently
driving at." And the thing is getting very complicated. He cannot make
you understand. He tries to draw maps on the back of envelopes, but his
drawing is pitiable, and then naturally he reaches out at any object
that happens to be lying on the table, planks it down for Paris or
Verdun, and gets seriously to work. He and Sinclair were sitting before
the unlit fire in the drawing-room when Sinclair put forth his brilliant
hypothesis about a flanking movement on VON KLÜCK'S right. Henry was
quite certain it was wrong. He was down on his knees in a moment
grabbing pieces of coal.

"Look here," he said. "There's Châlons; and that shovel is Soissons. You
must not forget that the Ardennes lie in behind here"--realistically
represented by a heap of logs from the wood-basket--"and that is the
Meuse. Of course it isn't quite so straight as that really"--he put the
poker in position--"but that is the line of it. Very well. Can't you see
that what he is at is to nip this force here between two fires? By Jove,
the tongs will do splendidly for that. Might have been made for it. So.
Well, if JOFFRE is any good--Stop a bit"--he filled both hands with
coal--"move your chair back. There, that's Paris, and the edge of the
fender is the Marne. Well, if JOFFRE is not asleep his game is

"Stop a bit," said Sinclair. "You've left out the CROWN PRINCE."

"No, I haven't. That's him there in the work-basket. And you must
remember that there are Uhlans all over the place." (I think that it
must have been the Uhlans that chiefly exacerbated my wife when she came
to clear up. They did reach pretty far afield, and there was quite a lot
of them under the sofa.) "This is the Allied front"--Sinclair had
brought him several walking-sticks by this time. "Now suppose we were to
swing round like this--I say, do move your chair. Like this. Confound
it, I didn't notice that little table was in the way. Why do people put
silly little vases of flowers on tables? Mop it up, will you? Of course
FRENCH is here. You must keep your eye on FRENCH. But----"

"What about these lines of communication?"

Henry paused. "Well, there's always the Belgians. I'm afraid we'll have
to move the piano. Just give it a heave at the other end, will you?
That'll do. Those pianola records are just the thing. No, not so near
together. So. Now you see how it works. The whole thing from here to
here moves sideways."

"Stop a bit," says Sinclair. "You're moving Paris sideways. Whatever
they may do to it when it falls--if it ever does--I don't think they'll
move it sideways."

Now that the Reverend Henry is no longer permitted to play with coals in
the drawing-room or make maps on the gravel he has found an outlet on
the breakfast-table. But he is not allowed to start till after the meal
is over, ever since he got down early one morning and had the whole
place laid out in army corps and fortresses, with a horrid tangle of
knives and forks, cruet-stands, rolls, egg-cups, plates and coffee-pots,
at the point where the main action was going on in the centre.

But he is not at all satisfied with the breakfast-table. He has to crowd
things terribly close together at one end in order to have room for the
Eastern theatre; and Posen (a toast-rack) keeps falling off the edge.

       *       *       *       *       *

_The Kirkintilloch Herald_ describes the manoeuvres of a submarine

    "Without its presence being detected, it approached within a few
    hundred yards of a German Dreadnought, at which it discharged two
    torpedoes. In order to escape attack the submarine was then obliged
    to sing."

Suggested song: "Get out and Get under."

       *       *       *       *       *

    "We will overhaul the chassis ... if you let us undertake the work
    now. The War will probably be over by the time the Car is ready for

We cannot decide whether this is an example of Commercial pessimism or
Military optimism.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


The Pacificist was very worried about it all. In the first place it
worried him (quite honestly) that his country should ever go to war at
all. In the second place it vexed him profoundly that the war should be
against an enemy whose pure-souled benevolence he himself had proclaimed
and written about for years. Most of all, perhaps, was he secretly
irritated that these untoward events should coincide with the beginning
of his own annual holiday at Shrimpborough.

A few mornings after war was declared, the conductor of the
Shrimpborough orchestra (a genius of cosmopolitan extraction) rose nobly
to the occasion. From his demeanour and a certain flurry amongst the
musicians, the Pacificist, seated prominently in the two-penny chairs,
had about three minutes' warning of what was coming, so that when the
conductor swung round with uplifted baton, and the audience, thrilled
but a little self-conscious, climbed to its collective feet as the band
crashed into the opening bars of the _Marseillaise_, the Pacificist had
already decided upon his conduct. He sat still, even for a few moments
he feigned to be absorbed in his favourite newspaper, but almost
immediately gave this up as unconvincing and remained staring straight
before him.

It was perhaps not a very impressive protest. It was obviously, under
the special circumstances of the case (which need not detain us), an
entirely foolish and mistaken one. But he made it. He alone in that
audience of several hundreds did not rise. A little to his secret
disappointment the hundreds made no apparent counter-demonstration. An
enthusiastic humming rose from them, mingled with a few easy French
words happily introduced when occasion seemed to serve. They were far
too preoccupied to trouble about the Pacificist. He had been prepared
for every kind of martyrdom, for abuse, hustling, even for blows. All he
got was a few looks of embarrassed concern from his immediate

To his excited imagination the tune seemed to go on and on for hours. As
a matter of fact the genius of cosmopolitan extraction (who had not been
extracted quite far enough to be sure of British tastes) gave the
audience four verses where one would have been better. And all this time
the anger of the Pacificist grew. His cheeks burned, and the excited
pounding of his heart was like to stifle him. He knew himself one,
alone, against hundreds; impressing them, no doubt (despite their
pretence of indifference), with the courage of a right cause. To face
odds like that! It was intoxicating.

At last he could bear it no longer. Just as the band ceased and the rest
of the audience subsided again to their morning papers, the Pacificist
rose. He walked a little unsteadily. The light of battle flashed from
his eyes, meeting and beating down what he took, erroneously, to be the
glare of a hostile mob. (As a matter of fact no one noticed him any
more). Stumbling, white-faced, with set lips and the face of a
visionary, he gained the turnstile. This, this, was victory! One against
so many! He had proved himself. He had conquered!

The battle-spirit--for, despite his honest conviction, his forebears had
been soldiers and sea-dogs--surged up within him. How splendid it was,
this fighting down opposition! What was life, after all, but a fight? He
had never realized that before. But now he knew. The flame that burnt in
his blood demanded other foes, other worlds to conquer. It had become an
urgent need with him to continue fighting; almost anyone would do.

Immediately opposite to the turnstile was the open door of a large
building; flags surmounted it, and at each side was a large proclamation
in red and white. With shoulders squared, flashing eye, and the
demeanour of NAPOLEON at the head of the Old Guard, the Pacificist
entered the recruiting office. "I have come," he said fiercely, "to

       *       *       *       *       *


  "The crumbling towers, the shattered fanes,
  The havoc of the Belgian plains;
  Dead mothers, children, priests and nuns,
  Who fall before My conquering Huns--
  Believe Me, friends, these grievous woes
  Deprive Me of My due repose,
  And, though enforced by higher need,
  Make My Imperial bosom bleed."

  As the fat spider wipes its eye
  Over each strangulated fly;
  As ABDUL HAMID once was fain
  To weep for the Armenian slain;
  As HAYNAU felt his eyelids drip
  When women cowered beneath his whip;
  As TORQUEMADA doubtless bled
  With sorrow for the tortured dead--
  So in his own peculiar style
  Weeps the Imperial Crocodile.

       *       *       *       *       *


    _Telegrams_: "Kultur, Berlin."

    _Principal_ Dr. von Hackheim, assisted by a large staff of
    University Professors.

Brutality is acknowledged by the most distinguished Teutonic
psychologists to have an important place in modern warfare, as serving
to maintain a properly submissive attitude on the part of the unarmed
enemy, and the College has been established to complete this side in the
training of cadets for the Imperial German field army.


Many difficulties have had to be surmounted. For instance it was found
that, in spite of training students, proceeding to the front showed
hesitation in the execution of non-combatants, and grew pale on first
hearing the cries of women and children. This difficulty is being
obviated by means of gramophone records taken in Belgium, which serve to
inure the novice to the sounds of anguish. By the time he proceeds to
the front no cries for mercy have any power to move him.


The curriculum is extensive. In addition to regular musketry practice at
moving and stationary Red Cross waggons, hospital bomb drill, etc.,
courses of lectures are being given by thinkers of the first eminence.
Some of the most celebrated names on the contemporary record of German
culture are to be found in our staff list. During the coming term, for
instance, Dr. Junker, of the BERNHARDI School of Philosophy, will give a
series of discourses on "The Evolution of the Doctrine of Blood and
Iron," "Infantile Mortality and its Promotion," "Philosophic Doubts
regarding the Value of Mercy," illustrated by photographs taken in
Louvain; and a course of lectures on "The Debt of Art to Atrocity" will
be delivered by Professor Blutwurst, who occupies the ATTILA Chair of
Anatomy in the University of Leipzig.


The proper recreation of students is not neglected and sports are
encouraged. Paper chases are held frequently, the paper torn up for the
trail being provided by the courtesy of the Foreign Office, who supply
the College with all treaties found upon their shelves.


The Principal desires it to be known that he will always be glad to hear
from past students now serving with the Imperial Forces who have
performed any notable act of inhumanity towards non-combatants.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Teutonic Barber._ "SHAFE, SIR?"

_Customer._ "YE-ES---- THAT IS, NO!---- I THINK I'LL TRY A HAIR-CUT."

       *       *       *       *       *


  The lurid sunset's slanting rays
    Incarnadine the soldier's deed;
  His rugged countenance betrays
    The bulldog breed.

  Not his to shun the stubborn fight,
    The combat against heavy odds,
  Alone, unaided--'tis a sight
    For men and gods!

  And now his back is bowed and bent,
    Now crouching, now erect, he stands,
  And now the red life blood is sprent
    From both his hands.

  He takes his punishment on trust,
    As one who sees and yet is blind,
  For every lacerating thrust
    Comes from behind.

  The twilight creeps, the sun has gone,
    But triumph fills the soldier's breast;
  He's sewn his back brace-buttons on
    While fully dressed!

       *       *       *       *       *


THE Sergeant-Major was speaking.


We 'shunned. We stood motionless (all but one of us) waiting for his
next words. Then he spoke again.

"Blank blanket," he yelled, "what the blank are you doing?" He was
looking at me, and my heart was in my mouth. "Blanket," he went on, "if
you want to scratch your nose, step out here and scratch it. My blank!"
My heart dropped back again. He must be talking to James behind me. I
longed to look round and watch the generous waves of colour stealing
over James's classic features, to fix with a reproachful eye that Roman
proboscis which he had been grooming; but duty, or natural integrity of
character, or fear of the Sergeant-Major, or something, held me fast.


We turned to the right and I took James affectionately by the arm.
"How's the neb?" I said.

And then James told me what he thought of the Sergeant-Major.

"Pretty good rot," he said, "talking like that to a man in my position.
Cursing a married man with a family as if he were a rotten schoolboy. If
I met him in ordinary life he'd say 'Sir' to me--probably ask me for a
job, and go about in a holy fear that I was going to sack him."

"Discipline, James," I said. "Think how good it is for you to be ordered
about for a change. And think how jolly it must be for the
Sergeant-Major to swear at well-known public men. Don't grudge him his
little bit of pleasure. And finally, think how stimulating it is for the
rest of us. I assure you, James, there's nothing more bracing to a man
than to hear another man being cursed."

James muttered to himself. We lit our pipes and sat down among some
other members of our platoon. James was silent, but we others talked
eagerly about the difference between "Right form" and "On the right form
company," and other matters which had suddenly become of great

"Let's go and have a little private drill," said one of the keen ones.

"It'll only turn into a rag," I said.

"But of course we shall have to agree to take it seriously and obey
orders. Who'll come?"

About ten of us offered ourselves. I looked at James; to my surprise he
jumped up quickly. We went off to a corner of the field, and lined up
two deep.

"And now who'll drill us?" said James.

We all hung back nervously. To obey an order as one of ten is so much
easier than to give an order as one of one.

"I will, if you like," said James doubtfully, "but I'm not sure if----"

"Go on," we all said; "have a try."

James stepped out of the ranks and faced us.

"Cover off, there," he said briskly. "Squad--_'shun_!" We were five
files, and I was No. 3 in the front rank. "Stand at--_ease_ ... Number
Three, what the blank are you smoking for? Number Three--the stout one
in the front rank. Put that pipe away, Private Haldane. Blanket, Sir,
this isn't a Cabinet meeting; you're drilling."

"Steady, James, old man," I said.

"Silence in the ranks! Two days cells for Private Haldane--both of them
week-days. 'Shun! Number!... Form _fours_!"

We formed fours. Of course it is absurdly easy, even with an odd number
of files, but it is also absurdly easy to forget.

"As you were!" shouted James. "The last file is always an even number.
Surely you ought to know that by this time, Private Kitchener. The
fourth file--Private Asquith and Private Tree, chest out, Private
Tree--the fourth file stands fast. 'Form _fours_! Right _turn_! Form two
_deep_! 'Bout _turn_! Form _fours_! I thought so; Private Tree is wrong
again. _Silence_, Private Haldane! Private Haldane will be shot at dawn
to-morrow. Private Tree will be shot at dawn on the day after, this
giving him time to prepare his farewell speech. Right _turn_! Where
_are_ you, Private Carson? Try and remember that you're not reviewing
troops just now; you're attempting to decide as quickly as possible
which is your right hand and which is your left. You'll find it a much
harder job. The Army Corps will advance. By the right, quick _march_!
Step out, Private Tich, my lad, step out."

James was now thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Left _incline_! Theirs not to reason why, Private Kipling; if I had
meant 'right incline, and stop at the canteen,' I should have said
so.... Tut-tut, Private Tree, 'left incline' doesn't mean 'advance like
a crab'.... Right _incline_! And now where are you, Private Masterman?
Left behind _again_. Halt! Dress up by the right. Blanket, Private
Haldane, you're _still_ talking. Private Haldane will be blown from the
guns at dusk. As you were. It's no good taking half measures with
Private Haldane; kindness is wasted on him. Private Haldane will be
stopped jam for tea this afternoon."

And then a smile came over James's face. He repressed it, drew himself
up, and surveyed us sternly.

"Squad, _'shun_! Scratch--_noses_!"

       * * *

"Thank you, I feel much better," said James.

    A. A. M.

       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Unless the blackberrying season is to be utterly ruined
and thousands of homes thus rendered poisonously unhappy, something must
be done to make people play the game.

Why is it that this simple little fruit should have such a bad influence
on otherwise nice persons? But it has. It makes them utterly selfish and

Take our experience last week on the Common. We went out with
baskets--three of us--Elsa, Dolores, and me, and, after hunting about
for some time and getting fearfully scratched, we came upon a perfectly
priceless group of bushes which no one had discovered.

The blackberries were there in millions, ripe too, and all sparkling in
that patent-leather way which makes the mouth water and prevents as many
getting into the basket as ought to. We were of course fearfully bucked
by finding such a spot, and began at once in earnest. Judge then of our
dismay when another party of blackberriers, attracted, I imagine, by our
cries of rapture, came up and began picking too! These were the two
Misses Blank, whom we know very slightly. They ought, of course, to have
gone right away and done their own discovering. Instead of that they
just nodded, and then snatched away at our bushes as though they were in
their own garden. One of them even came up to a bush on which Elsa was
engaged. What was she to do? She could not remonstrate, as we knew them
so slightly, so she abandoned the bush with a gesture of contempt which
should have made a dummy blush, but had no effect whatever on these
thick-skinned Prussians, as we now believe they must be. Probably their
real name is Fressen, Elsa thinks.

Common decency (I don't mean this for a joke, but I suppose it is one)
should prevent anybody from going to a place discovered by somebody
else; and why I write is to ask you if there is not an unwritten law
against such conduct, and if so will you make it widely known?

It would be dreadful if all the blackberrying parties during this
September and October were to be ruined by people like the Misses

    I am,    Yours faithfully,

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: BY REQUEST.

_Visitor (to Percy of "The Mauve Merriments.")_ "WHAT WOULD YOU CHARGE

       *       *       *       *       *


The formal declaration of war (altogether unexpected by the best minds
of the community, though the opposing armies had been mobilised for a
month previously), came like a bolt from the blue on September 1st. In
an instant the whole country was engaged in sanguinary conflict. We give
with reserve the following reports which have reached us from our
correspondents at the front:--


On the north-eastern frontier a keen encounter occurred between the
famous Albion South End Corps and an invading division of the
redoubtable Cockspur troops. Fifteen thousand spectators from posts of
vantage round the field witnessed the fearful onslaught of the enemy.
Civilians were so moved by the imminent peril of the home troops that,
arming themselves with stones and bottles, and shouting "----" (excised
by Censor), they flung themselves on the wings of the invading army and
utterly routed them. It is rumoured that the Cockspurs contemplate
reprisals. In the event of the South End Corps invading their country it
is believed that all civilians will fight to the death against the


Thrilling scenes were witnessed at the opening of the Ealham Thursday
campaign. A huge crowd, thirsting for a sight of the conflict, gathered
in the confines of the battlefield. A force of blue-clad mercenaries
held them in check for a time. But thirty thousand volunteers are worth
more than a hundred paid men. With magnificent unanimity the Britons
formed in column. The dense black mass pressed forward. For a moment the
conflict was fearful. Then the thin blue line of the mercenaries gave
way and they fled in disgraceful rout. A moment later thirty thousand
unconquerable Britons, laden with booty from the pay-boxes, stood
triumphant on the shilling reserved mound. That wonderful charge had
captured the position.


We record with deep regret a violation of the laws of war by the General
of the Shatterham Wanderers army. In the heat of the combat with the
Notts Strollers brigade he ignored the whistled appeal for an armistice
to pick up the wounded. Proceeding steadily he fired a deadly shot into
the enemy's fortifications. A neutral officer, under the protection of
the Red Cross, courageously protested against this infamy. In an excess
of military fury the General smote the neutral officer to the earth. It
is believed that, unless the offending General be instantly submitted to
a regular court-martial, the Shatterham Wanderers' army will be solemnly
declared outside the pale of humanity. (NOTE.--The Censor allows the
foregoing account to be printed but disclaims all responsibility for its


Great weakness has been observed amongst the advanced sharpshooters of
the Bullington Arsenal corps. "We must have men at any cost," said their
determined Secretary. A cheering crowd attended him to the station as he
set out for ---- (excision by the Censor), accompanied by two
commissionaires bearing armoured bags of bullion. A rumour reaches us
that at the cost of four thousand pounds the Secretary has secured two
famous shots. Great anxiety is felt in Bullington. Crowds gather round
the headquarters of the corps and ask, "Will they come in time?"

LATER.--A wire from Scotland confirms the news. The Union Jack is flying
over the headquarters. It is felt that the great recruiting campaign has
saved Britain.

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *


(_A new nautical ballad._)

  They faced the winds, the waves, the fogs,
    For they were a gallant band,
  And they ventured forth, the bold sea dogs,
    From the bight of Heligoland.

  Six ships of war they steamed along,
    Audacious and yet discreet,
  When lo! on the skyline, fifteen strong,
    They sighted another fleet.

  Oh! theirs was indeed a perilous choice,
    'Twas a case of fight or flee,
  When the captain cried in a resolute voice,
    "Let us fight, my lads," cried he.

  "Long have we panted to come to grips,
    And here we shall gain our wish;
  Moreover, I fancy that yonder ships
    Have nothing on board but fish."

  Then up spake a grizzled _Goeben_ lad,
    "We be far from land or fort;
  I should feel more safe if I knew we had
    A battleship in support."

  "There be six of us, and fifteen of them;
    Have a care while the odds are thus;
  We may rake 'em with shell from stern to stem,
    But they might throw herrings at us."

  The captain he said, "Take heart of grace;
    There's many a risk to run;
  A herring's an awkward thing to face,
    But it's not so bad as a gun."

  "My mariners all, be not afraid
    To venture on bold designs;
  Remember ye come of the stock that made
    The North Sea stiff with mines."

  "So clear the decks for a scrap, my braves,
    Since fight ye must and shall,
  Like sons of the men who rule the waves,
    The waves of the Kiel Canal."

  So all that day they fought and drank
    Of the battle's fierce delight,
  And blazed and blazed away till they sank
    Those trawling boats ere night.

  Then they steamed away, Yeo ho! Yeo ho!
    Brave men who had gained their wish,
  With lots of captives of war in tow,
    And any amount of fish.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Distinction.

    "The members of the Cheltenham Club do not play on Sundays; the
    ladies and gentlemen of the Cotswold Hills Club do play on the
    Sabbath."--_The Homefinder._

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: HAIL! RUSSIA!

       *       *       *       *       *



_Lady in the background (also engaged in making night-wear for the

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *



_House of Commons, Wednesday, Sept. 9._--Parliament met again after
brief recess. Compared with recent rushes at critical epochs, attendance
scanty. Among absentees the SPEAKER, who has well earned the holiday
deferred by exigencies of war.

PREMIER in place at Question time. Did not stop long. Expected to make
statement on position and prospects of Home Rule and Welsh Church Bills.
As his magnificent speech at Guildhall testified afresh, when occasion
arises he can say the right thing in perfect phrase. Constitutionally is
disinclined to talk.

No absolute need to make preliminary statement. Everyone knows these
matters are settled; nor are details of settlement a secret. Prorogation
will be decreed early next week, and, in accordance with provisions of
Parliament Act, Home Rule Bill and Welsh Church Disestablishment Bill
will be added to Statute Book. But an interval will elapse before they
become operative, an opportunity to be used for final effort to arrive
at compromise between conflicting parties.

Proceedings, in the main formal, varied by reading of statement from
VICEROY describing how chiefs and people of India are each all one in
enthusiastic loyalty in the hour of England's need, and how lavish are
their offers of help. Reading of Eastern story received with outbursts
of cheering.

"No one to say a good word for the Scourge of Louvain. But let us give
the----, I mean the KAISER, his due. At a stroke he effected the
long-time impossible feat of welding Ireland into a loyal entity
enthusiastically ready to draw the sword in aid of its long-estranged
Sister across the Channel. Less than a year ago India was in state of
ominous unrest that found partial expression in attempt on life of
VICEROY. The KAISER, secretly plotting treacherous design on a friend
and neighbour accustomed to lavish hospitality upon him, took note of
these things. Confidently counted them in when reckoning up his game,
and arranging time and opportunity for opening it. And lo! when he
stands unmasked, he finds among the trustiest wings of the Empire's Army
those supplied by India and Ireland." Thus the MEMBER FOR SARK mused on
his way to the Club to read the latest telegrams from the seat of war.

_Business done._--Various emergency Bills advanced a stage.

_Thursday._--Five weeks ago, when Declaration of War with Germany boomed
across Europe, PREMIER asked the Commons to sanction increase of Army by
half-a-million men. Reply enthusiastically affirmative. To-day comes
down again and, like a young person who shall here be nameless, "asks
for more."

National response to recruitment of first batch most gratifying. Save
60,000 men the half-million already enrolled. At present rate of
progress another couple of days or so will see number completed.
Meanwhile PREMIER asks for another half-million.

These forthcoming, and in present mood of nation there is no doubt on
subject, "We shall be in a position," he added, "to put something like
1,200,000 men in the field," a sight that would make WELLINGTON, not to
mention MARLBOROUGH, stare.

With that patriotic zeal that has marked attitude of Opposition since
war began BONAR LAW warmly supported proposal. Vote agreed to without
debate or division.

_Business done._--Having voted additional half-million men for Army,
House adjourned till Monday.

       *       *       *       *       *



The arrangements for the production of Mr. LOUIS PARKER'S pageant-comedy
had of course been made long before war was contemplated. The completion
of Mr. BOURCHIER'S beard in itself points to a comparatively remote date
for the play's inception. Certainly there is nothing very apposite in
its theme at the present juncture; for HARRY OF ENGLAND, suffering from
the gout, blustering into a sixth marriage, and haunted by the ghosts of
four dead wives and the wraith of the sole survivor, is not a figure
precisely calculated to inspire patriotic fervour. Still, the
circumstances of the play are sufficiently national, and it should serve
well enough as a permissible distraction for non-combatants.

You need not be terrified by the complexity of the cast, which consists
of twenty prominent characters, twenty-four in smaller type, four ghosts
and a wraith, and a sprinkling of nameless "halberdiers, huntsmen,
minstrels, servitors, etc." (The soldier-supers--a type not to be
confused with the super-soldier--were a very scratch lot; and I must
hope that this defect was due to the enlistment of the more martial
spirits in the profession.) The history of the period is made easy for
all intelligences, and the relations of _Katharine Parr_ with her lover,
_Sir Thomas Seymour_, furnish a clear thread of human interest.

It was pleasant to make the acquaintance of two future Queens--_Mary_
and _Elizabeth_--at the less familiar stages of girlhood. _Mary_, very
nicely played by Miss MINA LEONESI, showed no sign of her subsequent
taste for blood; but Miss KATHLEEN JONES, in the part of the pedantic
little _Princess Elizabeth_, gave us some very happy premonitions of the
domineering qualities of the Virgin Queen. The tiny _Prince Edward_,
too, who was prepared to compose an epithalamium for his royal parent's
final wedlock, already gave promise of a scholarly career. Apart,
however, from the charm of Miss VIOLET VANBRUGH as _Katharine Parr_, and
the gentle dignity of Miss ALICE LONNON as _Anne Askew_, there was
little distinction shown by the others, though the _Lord Chancellor
Wriothesley_ of Mr. HUMPHREYS, and Mr. BURTON'S _Bishop Gardiner_,
conducted their villainies with a proper restraint.

The honours of the evening obviously went to Mr. HUGO RUMBOLD, who
devised the admirable scenery and costumes, and to Mr. BOURCHIER in the
title-_rôle_. By nature and constitution he is clearly made for this
part of all others. Occasionally, in asides, his voice was the voice of
Mr. BOURCHIER, but for the rest he identified himself with the
undefeatable _Hal_. I hope he may be persuaded to retain the monarch's
beard as a permanent feature; for, as a finished product, it suits him
well in private life; and, if he is to make a practice of playing the
part of _Henry VIII._, whether to the words of SHAKSPEARE or Mr. PARKER,
I would not, for his own sake and that of his many friends, have him
renew the horrific processes of its growth.

    O. S.


The joy of _Tante_ (from which novel Mr. HADDON CHAMBERS has adapted
this play) was that many chapters went by before the reader realised
that _Madame Okraska_ was indeed an impossible woman. One began by
liking her; went on to criticise; decided that she wasn't so nice as the
author intended her to be; and then discovered suddenly that she wasn't
intended to be a sympathetic character at all, and that, in fact, our
changing attitude towards her had been just the changing attitude which
would have been ours in real life. That was Miss ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK'S
art. She took her time. Mr. CHAMBERS on the stage has not the time to

And so "_Tante_" is shown to us at once as a histrionic vampire, feeding
on the admiration and love of others. _Gregory Jardine_, in love with
her ward, _Karen_, has already seen through her; we have seen through
her; the question is, when will _Karen_ see through her. Forget about
the book and you have the foundation of a good play here, on which Mr.
CHAMBERS has built skilfully. I gather from the fact that he took alone
the call for "Author" that he would wish us to forget about the book. I
cannot quite do that, but I can say with confidence that whoever has not
read _Tante_ will enjoy _The Impossible Woman_ fully, and that the
others will at least find it interesting.

Miss LILLAH MCCARTHY was a superb _Okraska_. Since she had to reveal
herself plainly to the audience, the temptation to overplay the part
must have been great, but she resisted it nobly. Mr. GODFREY TEARLE,
still a little apt to smile at the wrong moment, was a thoroughly
efficient _Gregory_; but Miss HILDA BAYLEY did not give me a very clear
idea of Mr. CHAMBERS' _Karen_, and was certainly not Miss SEDGWICK'S.
Miss MAY WHITTY and Mr. HENRY EDWARDS, in the small but important parts
of _Mrs. Talcot_ and _Franz Lippheim_, were of very great assistance to
the play.


       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *

Motto for German sailors who have sunk several herring-boats:--_Nemo
repente fuit Tirpitzimus._

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _Member of Relief Committee (taking down "all

       *       *       *       *       *


  When the thunder-shaking German hosts are marching over France--
  Lo, the glinting of the bayonet and the quiver of the lance!--
  When a rowdy rampant KAISER, stout and mad and middle-aged,
  Strips his breast of British Orders just to prove that he's enraged;
          When with fire and shot and pillage
          He destroys each town and village;
  When the world is black with warfare, then there's one thing you
        must do:--
  Set your teeth like steel, my hearties, and sit tight and see it through.

  Oh, it's heavy work is fighting, but our soldiers do it well--
  Lo, the booming of the batteries, the clatter of the shell!--
  And it's weary work retiring, but they kept a dauntless front,
  All our company of heroes who have borne the dreadful brunt.
          They can meet the foe and beat him,
          They can scatter and defeat him,
  For they learnt a steady lesson (and they taught a lesson, too),
  Having set their teeth in earnest and sat tight and seen it through.

  Then their brothers trooped to join them, taking danger for a bride,
  Not in insolence and malice, but in honour and in pride;
  Caring nought to be recorded on the muster-roll of fame,
  So they struck a blow for Britain and the glory of her name.
          Toil and wounds could but delight them,
          Death itself could not affright them,
  Who went out to fight for freedom and the red and white and blue,
  While they set their teeth as firm as flint and vowed to see it through.

    R. C. L.

       *       *       *       *       *


[_A German cargo of lead has been captured._]

  It is not lost to you, so make no moan;
    You shall receive it back, O Potsdam pundit;
  We do but take a temporary loan,
    Intending to refund it.

  And goodly interest it shall not lack,
    A generous rate per cent. for every particle;
  We take the raw material, sending back
    The manufactured article.

       *       *       *       *       *



(_In the approved manner of the Sporting Feuilleton._)

Setting his teeth determinedly, Ralph Wonderson swarmed up the
Virginia-creeper until he reached the closely-shuttered window. Here he
clung precariously with one hand while with the other he produced a
gimlet and noiselessly bored two holes in the green shutters. Was he too
late? The question shot through his brain. With a quick intake of breath
he applied an eye to one hole and an ear to the other and watched and

In the lighted room before him sat Sir Ernest Scrivener (_alias_
Marmaduke Moorsdyke) and a brutal-looking stranger. Sir Ernest was

"Everything, I think, is ready," he said in his cold, level voice. "The
wedding is to take place in the village church to-morrow at eleven. You,
Ragley, will take up your position, disguised as a policeman, by the
church porch, arrest Wonderson on a charge of arson, and detain him
until I arrive, if I should not be already there. I have here the
policeman's uniform complete. We are cub-hunting to-morrow morning, and
at the proper moment I shall leave the hunt and make my way across to
the church, provided with the forged warrant of arrest (which I shall,
as a magistrate, hand to you), the forged death certificate of my
present wife, and the forged special licence for the marriage of Lady
Margaret Tamerton and myself. You will then rush Wonderson off in the
motor which will be waiting, and I shall proceed to marry Lady Margaret.
Yes--yes, everything is quite ready."

"There's just one thing, Sir," said Ragley, "if you'll excuse me
mentioning it. Supposing as how the lady refuses like."

Sir Ernest tossed away his half-smoked cigar and smiled evilly.

"That has been foreseen," he said. "The shock of Wonderson's arrest will
cause her to feel faint. I shall have ready a bottle of smelling salts.
I need not go into details ... drugs ... loss of will power ... you

The blood boiling in Ralph's ears prevented him from hearing more. Only
the sight of the two murderous-looking revolvers on the table and the
knowledge that he could not afford to take risks at this juncture
stopped him from tearing open the shutters and dashing into the room.

Sir Ernest rose to his feet and simultaneously Ralph slid down the
creeper and regained _terra firma_. His mind was working rapidly.

       * * *

The meet of the Chingerley Hunt made a gay spectacle. The red coats of
the men and the fascinating Parisian _toilettes_ of the ladies shone
resplendently in the morning sunshine, while the champing of the horses'
bits blended harmoniously with the choiring of numberless larks. Through
the brilliant throng moved the Master, Sir Ernest Scrivener, bowing his
greetings right and left as he passed.

A few minutes before the hour fixed for the start the approach of a
solitary horseman caused many eyebrows to lift in surprise, while Sir
Ernest for an instant went white to the teeth. Then he laughed

"Why, Wonderson!" cried one of the Hunt. "What on earth are you doing
here? I understood you were being married this morning."

"That is so," replied Ralph easily. "But I see no reason why I shouldn't
hunt first. DRAKE, you know, played bowls during a crisis, and NERO

As he spoke he watched Sir Ernest narrowly. The Master was making his
way towards the iron cage in which the fox cub was imprisoned. Ralph
edged his horse insensibly nearer.

Amid the eager plaudits of the Hunt Sir Ernest leaned down from his
saddle and raised the catch with a flourish. As he did so a packet of
papers fell from his breast pocket.

In a flash the released cub had pounced upon the papers and carried them
off in his mouth. With a savage oath Sir Ernest plunged his spurs into
his horse's flanks and gave chase. Ralph, perceiving instantly what had
happened and guessing the all-important nature of the papers, was by him
in a stride. Side by side the pair thundered along, while behind them
the hounds and hunters streamed out in a confused and glittering medley.
They were off! The hunt was up.

Crouching low on the necks of their panting steeds, the two protagonists
swept forward, plying remorselessly whip and spur, curb and snaffle. For
a time neither gained an inch. Then, without warning, the fox doubled.
With a single turn of his iron wrist Ralph wrenched his horse round
without the loss of a second, but as he glanced back over his shoulder
he perceived that the Master was only twenty yards behind. Ralph
redoubled his efforts, his eyes glued to the white bundle clenched in
the cub's dripping jaws.

Through field and farmyard, by barn and byre, over rick and river, they
sped, and ever the gap between the fox and Ralph lessened, while the gap
between Ralph and Sir Ernest grew wider, and the savage baying of the
hounds, mingled with the frenzied view halloos of the Hunt, receded
further into the distance. Never had the Chingerley Hunt known such a

At last Ralph recognized that his chance had come. Leaning over his
horse's ears, he took careful aim and slashed out with his long whip.
Unerringly the lash coiled round the papers and jerked them from the
fox's mouth. A single glance showed him that they were, as he had
anticipated, the forged documents.

Two minutes later Sir Ernest found the exhausted fox lying insensible by
the roadside. Glancing up, he perceived Ralph vanishing over the crest
of a hill.

"Curse him!" he muttered savagely. "Curse him! I must and will overtake
him before he reaches the church or the game is up. If I take a short
cut under the hill I can outwit him yet. Curse him again!"

Mercilessly lashing his foaming horse, he galloped in the direction of
the church. As he rode a sense of the urgency of the situation grew upon
him. If he arrived first, Wonderson could be arrested, if necessary at
the pistol's point, before he entered the churchyard, and the papers
recovered. If he was too late.... He plunged his spurs an inch deep into
his weary mount.

At length the desperate Mazeppa-like dash was over. As he shot through
the lych-gate Sir Ernest breathed a sigh of relief. A policeman stood by
the church porch awaiting him. Wonderson had been beaten.

With an ugly laugh of triumph he swung himself from the horse. Stolidly
the constable turned to face him. Sir Ernest gave one startled
exclamation as he saw, not Ragley, but a stranger. He had been

The heavy hand of a second policeman fell on his shoulder from behind.

"Sir Ernest Scrivener," said a voice solemnly, "I arrest you on a charge
of forgery, and I advise you to come quietly."

Sir Ernest glanced round and saw that he was completely surrounded by

As the handcuffs clicked over his wrists there crashed above him the
joyous clamour of wedding bells.

       * * *

Ralph Wonderson paused for a moment at the lych-gate, his lovely
fair-haired bride clinging to his arm. Standing in the mellow beauty of
the English landscape they made a memorable picture. A red-coated
figure, covered with the stains of hard riding, approached them, bowing
low. In his hand he held a magnificent fox's brush.

"This has been unanimously awarded to you, Sir," he said, "as a memento
of the finest ride in the annals of the Chingerley Hunt."

And, as Ralph and his bride raised the brush to their lips, from the
admiring throng which pressed about them went up that thrilling
immemorial hunting chorus, "_Tally-ho! Yoicks forrard! Rah! Rah!_"

       *       *       *       *       *


We, the undersigned, having carefully considered the situation in all
its bearings and applications, have come to the decision that it is no
longer consonant with the self-respect of Englishmen to share a name
with the great swollen-headed German aggressor--the despiser of
treaties, the desecrator of Belgium and the foe of the liberty of the
world. We therefore give notice that from now and henceforward we
renounce the name of William in all its variations.





    BURGLAR BILL (Shade of).









    WILHELM MEISTER (Shade of).






    WILLIAM THE SILENT (Shade of).


    BILL SIKES (Shade of).



       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _A Pufflecombe Worthy speaks._ "YOU BE TELLING US, JAMES

       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I thought you would like to hear about the Intelligence
Bureau which we have established at home since the War broke out. It is
run on German lines and so far has been most successful, although there
are serious risks.

Clarence thought of it. He is my cleverest brother. He got the idea from
a newspaper. Before the War we weren't allowed to read anything in the
papers but the cricket scores, but now we may read all.

The Bureau works like this. Clarence goes to mother and says, "May we go
fishing this afternoon?" Mother says "No," and hurries off to the sewing
meeting somewhere. They are all making things for soldiers, and
soldiers' wives and children, and Belgian peasants. Briefly, when she's
gone, Clarence writes on a piece of paper the fact that Mother has no
objection to our fishing, shows it to our governess, and off we go.
Isn't that clever of Germany? When mother returns she forgets to ask of
the governess what we have been doing, and it is all right.

The other week-end mother went away and wrote to Clarence that we were
to be sure to go to the children's service on Sunday afternoon. Clarence
read the letter aloud, and when it came to that part he said, instead of
"children's service on Sunday afternoon," something about a picnic on
Monday. That is what he calls editing, which is the special duty of an
Intelligence Bureau.

Hoping that other children may find our example useful,

    I remain,
    Yours truly,


       *       *       *       *       *

The Return to Culture.


_North Mail._

       *       *       *       *       *


I was working in the garden, tidying up after the weekly visit of the
jobbing gardener, when Bolsover put his head over the hedge. "Heard
about the Pottingers' governess?" he asked excitedly.

"The Pottingers' governess?" I repeated. "No; what about her? Has she
given them notice?"

"Well, she's not exactly the Pottingers' governess," he replied, "but
governess to some intimate friends of theirs named Ings living at
Ponders End. Anyhow, I can absolutely vouch for the truth of the story."

"Get on," I said. "Don't keep me on tenterhooks. What's she done?"

"Why, the police have discovered that she's a German spy," said Bolsover

"'Angels and ministers of grace de ---- '"

"Yes," he went on, "she had been with them three years, teaching the
children '_Ich bin geworden sein_,' and '_Hast du die Tochter des Löwen
gesehen_,' and all that. It appears that the police called at the house
one night recently and insisted on searching her room and her trunks.
Mr. Ings protested; said they'd made a mistake, pledged his word on her
honour and integrity, but all with no avail. They searched and
found--what _do_ you think?"

"I'll buy it," I said; "Uncle Jasper's coming to lunch with me. What did
they find?"

"It's no catch," protested Bolsover, "but the solid truth. They found in
one of her trunks a German service-rifle and a quantity of ammunition."

"Never!" I exclaimed.

"Only once," retorted Bolsover. "She's now in a Concentration Camp near

I thought no more about the matter until midway through lunch. We were
waiting for the _soufflé_ when--

"Have you heard that story about a German?" Uncle Jasper and I began

"After you, Uncle," I said dutifully. "What were you going to say?"

"I was about to ask you if you had heard the story of the Polworths'
governess," he said.

"No," I answered. "Tell me. You refer to the Polworths of Croydon?"

"Exactly. Well, they--or rather some friends of theirs named Culverton,
living at Purley--had a German governess who had been in the family for
some years. A night or two ago the police----"

But I needn't repeat it. In all essentials it was Bolsover's story over
again, the only differences being that they found three bombs and that
the governess was incarcerated at Horsham.

In the afternoon I accompanied Uncle Jasper to the railway station. On
my way home I met the Vicar, and we fell to discussing the war.
Eventually the conversation got to espionage.

"That reminds me," said the Vicar, "of a very strange case in the
household of one of my parishioners--or it would be more correct to say
that what I am going to tell you occurred in the house of a friend of
his at Canterbury. However, the _bona fides_ of the facts is absolutely
unimpeachable. It appears that----"

And here followed another version of the governess episode, identical in
all respects with those of Bolsover and Uncle Jasper, save only that the
police found a loaded revolver and a plan of Chatham Dockyard, and that
the woman had been deported.

That same evening I dined at old Colonel Jevers', and when the ladies
had withdrawn to the drawing-room our host began--

"Talking about the war reminds me of a most extraordinary spy story I
heard to-day about a German governess."

All the men exchanged glances and smiled. The Colonel continued--"I can
say at once that what I am going to tell you is authentic, for the
events actually happened to the man who told me--I daresay some of you
know Bickerton?--or rather to an old friend of his, which, under the
circumstances, is practically the same thing. Well, this friend of
Bickerton's, whose name was--"

"Ings, Mullens, Doddridge, Finlayson," we all, except young Pitts,
murmured _sotto voce_.

"... Potherby, lived at--"

"Ponders End, Woking, Cleckheaton, Norwich," we added in a similar

"... Maidstone, and for some time had had in his employ a German

And so the tale went on until the Colonel got to the searching of the
trunk. "... and in it was found...."

"A service-rifle, three bombs, a loaded revolver, plans of
fortifications," we supplied as before.

"... incriminating letters showing clearly that for years the woman had
been in communication with the German Secret Service Bureau," concluded
our host.

Young Pitts left with me and walked to my house.

"I didn't hear any asides from you while the Colonel was repeating that
hoary old yarn," I said as we reached the gate. "Hadn't you heard it

"I heard it in the train this morning," Pitts answered.

"You don't believe it, surely?"

"Of course not. Amongst other reasons, because the man in whose house
the events were supposed to have taken place happens, I know, to be a
bachelor, and would not therefore require the services of a German

"Who was the person referred to in the version you heard?" I asked.

"You," he replied.

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: _London Scot (proud of his English)._ "AW'LL BE HAME

_Voice of Operator (obedient to Government instructions)._ "NO FOREIGN

[_Cut off._]

       *       *       *       *       *


    "In a comparatively short time now, summer gardens will have to be
    overhauled, the bedding-out plants taken up, cuttings taken, and the
    ground prepared for next spring's display; all of which will be
    labour usually regarded as _manual_, but which is well within the
    capabilities of a strong intelligent woman."--_Country Life._

Who would of course regard such labour as womanual.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Forming a hollow square in front of Webbe Tent, Lord Grenfell
    addressed the corps, and complimented them on the work they had done
    and their smart appearance."

    _The Contingent._

After which the C.O., on behalf of the corps, complimented Lord GRENFELL
on forming a hollow square.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


We read with very great interest the official and authentic information
circulated by the Wolff Agency with regard to the status of the Austrian
_Landsturm_. From this we learn that "on account of its gallant conduct"
(attended apparently by disastrous results) the Emperor FRANCIS JOSEPH
has granted it permission to serve outside Austria. This is a gracious
concession which will no doubt be very highly appreciated by the
_Landsturm_; but one trifling difficulty seems to stand in the way. To
be frank, we do not quite see how they are going to get outside. At
least it would be well for them to take steps before it is too late.
Events have not facilitated the journey _viá_ Lemburg, or that _viá_
Sarajevo. We know it would be a cruel disappointment if they found
themselves debarred from enjoying this exceptional boon. Perhaps they
might try the emergency exit to Italy, where a warm reception would
await them.

Meanwhile the idea has been taken up by FRANCIS JOSEPH'S brother
Emperor, who never likes to miss a good thing. We understand that he has
granted to the German Fleet--on account of its gallant conduct in the
Kiel Canal--permission to serve outside in the North Sea and also in the
Solent. We need hardly add that the news has been received with the
utmost geniality by the British Fleet.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nasty Accident to Divine.

    "Cardinal Vanutelli, the doyen of the Papal Conclave, has had the
    misfortune to break his conclave."--_Liverpool Echo._

       *       *       *       *       *

Another Attack on the Press.

    "The Antwerp correspondent of the 'Telegraaf' states that yesterday,
    between Termonde and Ghent, German soldiers fired upon a train full
    of Reuter."--_Birmingham Daily Post._

       *       *       *       *       *

From a poster:--

      TO OFFER

    _The Globe._"

This is, of course, a rhetorical exaggeration. Actually it would be a
small piece of Austria.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Confession.

From a letter in _The Globe_ on the liberty allowed to German

    "With Portland and Weymouth almost within artillery range the thing
    seems monstrous. Who is responsible?--I am, &c., MIDDLE TEMPLAR."

Then we hope Middle Templar is ashamed of himself.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Eastward the buzzing tram-car dips
    Adown Commercial Road,
  Till you may see the masts of ships,
    With all their canvas stowed,
      Stand o'er the house-tops, high
        Against blue sky;
      And thus Romance doth stray,
        Mid work-a-day.

  O drabbest of all penny fares!
    Yet may you catch a glimpse
  Of little dusty courts and squares
    Where little dusty imps
      Play by the plane-trees there,
        Squalid, un-fair--
      If these a child or tree
        Could ever be.

  The trams they go with hoot and lurch
    Long miles, through glare and grime,
  With here and there a dim cool church
    Wide open all the time;
      Where on this lovely day
        Folk stop to pray
      That wars, at length, may cease
        And we have peace.

       *       *       *       *       *

Stamping Out the Enemy.

    "With German factories paralysed and the cold grip of the British
    Feet about her throat, Germany, it is argued, must bring the war to
    a close before starvation conquers her."

    _Yorkshire Evening Post._

       *       *       *       *       *


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

I confess that I did not foretell the present state of affairs, and I
refuse to believe anyone else who professes to have done so unless he
can produce his prophecy in writing. _Germany and England_ (MURRAY),
however, puts the late Professor J. A. CRAMB definitely among the few
and persistent prophets who should long ago have been very much more
honoured in their own country. The book is a _résumé_ of lectures
delivered in London in the early part of 1913, and it was first
published a few months ago. The present reprint proves the lecturer to
have been wiser before the event than many of us are even while the
event is happening. Had he lived to see "the day," he would certainly
have revised his incidental opinions of French competence and Russian
honesty, British resource, and the utility of the Territorial; he would
have willingly praised what he has somewhat hastily derided. His theme,
however, is not criticism of the Allies, but appraisement of Germany;
and his arguments, simply but eloquently expressed, should be very
closely regarded by those haphazard optimists who suppose this War to be
the personal prank of a braggart Kaiser, doomed to an immediate failure
for want of his subjects' support. I have devoured more pages of printed
matter since this trouble began than I care to think about, but from the
whole lot I have had less enlightenment than from this half-crown
volume; I have learnt exactly what is taking place--and why--from one
who, unhappily, died before any of the existing wars was declared.
Clearly the days of miracles are not yet dead.

       *       *       *       *       *

No doubt you already know the work of Mr. H. F. PREVOST BATTERSBY
(FRANCIS PREVOST) in "another place," _i.e._, on the battlefield, where
as a war-correspondent he has proved himself a keen observer and an
accomplished master of style. But he can also write romances uncommonly
well. His latest, _The Lure of Romance_ (LANE), displays once more
exactly the qualities that have brought its author previous renown--an
appreciative eye and a ready pen for the dramatic and picturesque
aspects of a big fight. He knows exactly what a bullet sounds like as it
whistles over the head of the person to whom it was addressed; and as no
doubt many of us are taking an unusual interest in bullets just now
there should be a large public for a story that is so largely concerned
with them. On its own merits as a tale it is bustling and picturesque
enough. The scene of it is laid in a South American Republic (that
useful variant on Ruritania), and the plot deals with the rescue of the
charming daughters of a rapscallion President, threatened by local
revolutionaries. Naturally, therefore, there is some shooting--in the
American sense--all of which bears the sign of expert handling. The
affair ends with a really thrilling climax, in which _Doyne_, the
engineer and chief hero, confounds the politics of his enemies by
letting loose a reservoir upon them. This is great fun. Especially as
the contents of the reservoir, on its way down through a
mountain-jungle, brought along with it what Mr. BATTERSBY pleasantly
calls "clattering carapes of gigantic crabs." A truly gripping finish!

       *       *       *       *       *

Illustration: THE PICNIC, SEPTEMBER, 1914.


       *       *       *       *       *

It would seem a far cry from the clash of armies to the romance of a
honeymoon spent on a raft _de luxe_ drifting lazily down a river of
Burma. That is the theme of _Love's Legend_ (CONSTABLE), by Mr. FIELDING
HALL, author of _The Soul of a People_. But there may be a war of sex
with sex scarcely less tragic than the wars of men with men (or brutes).
The author shows us an oldish husband--a civil servant--who surmounts,
with not too much indelicacy, the primary difficulty of his young wife's
ingenuousness in relation to the sacrament of marriage. But a further
and worse difficulty is waiting for him when he comes to deal with the
incompatibility of the sexes in the matter of moral standards. The
thing, of course, has been done once for all by LOUIS STEVENSON in
_Virginibus Puerisque_. But he did it in essay form; here we have the
piquancy of personal narrative and dialogue. Husband and wife in turn
are responsible for the story, each assuming a partial attitude towards
facts and opinions; or else it is one of his old friends (a source of
foolish jealousy to the wife) who takes up the tale without warning when
they meet at some riverside station. This means a pleasant variety of
styles, and there is a certain childlike freshness about the method by
which the husband adapts himself to his wife's intelligence, presenting
his more difficult arguments in the form of fairy-tales--a habit which
the author may, for all I know, have assimilated through intercourse
with the local native. All goes badly, and things began to threaten an
_impasse_, when one foggy night the raft is cut in two by a paddle-boat
and the pair get separated and nearly killed. They are so pleased to be
restored to one another alive that they tacitly agree to waive their
differences. It is perhaps rather a puerile _dénouement_, and not likely
to be very helpful to the newly-wedded public. There must be very few
couples who can count on having their elemental differences healed by
means of a collision between a honeymoon raft and a paddle-steamer on a
Burmese river. All the same I commend the book, for it has a charm of
manner that will appeal to all. As for its matter, half of it will seem
sound to you if you are a male, and most irritating if you are a female;
and the other way about with the other half. Personally, being a man, I
thought the woman wanted smacking.

       *       *       *       *       *

    The new German National Anthem (we hope):--_Deutschland unter Allies._

       *       *       *       *       *

We are living in unsettled times. St. Petersburg has become Petrograd,
and now we read in _The Yorkshire Observer_ that "The Bradford Baths
Committee have decided to alter the name of the Central Baths to 'The
Kursaal.'" What next?

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, September 16, 1914" ***

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