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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150, June 28th, 1916
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. 150, June 28th, 1916" ***

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       *       *       *       *       *

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 150

JUNE 28, 1916.

       *       *       *       *       *



CHARIVARIA.

Two sailors charged with stealing a barrel of beer from a public-house
at Dover explained that it was only a joke. The prosecution however
pointed out that when the defendants were arrested a large part of the
joke was found to be on them.

       *  *  *

An applicant to the London Appeal Tribunal asked for exemption on the
ground that he was engaged in the business, previously monopolized
by Germans, of filling Santa Claus stockings. The Tribunal however
concluded that for the present he would be better employed in the
business, also largely a German monopoly before the War, of filling a
tunic.

       *  *  *

Herr BETHMANN-HOLLWEG has explained to members of the German
_Flottenvereins_ that after the War Germany will require a strong
Fleet to "guard the transatlantic lanes of commerce." This of course
explains why they have refrained up to the present from annihilating
the British Fleet. They expect to use it in their coming war with
Portugal.

       *  *  *

"The pair of swans on the lake at Hampton Court," says a news item,
"have hatched out seven young cygnets." Ordinary swans of course only
hatch out goslings or ducklets.

       *  *  *

A defendant who was fined £1 at Woking for shooting a wild-duck
pleaded that he was an enthusiastic ornithologist and wanted the bird
for comparison with other specimens. We ourselves in former times
were in the habit of mounting our wild ducks in sets, but since
the outbreak of the War the exorbitant prices charged by the
local taxidermist have deprived us of the pleasures of comparative
ornithology.

       *  *  *

A Bill introduced into the House of Commons last week enables the
Crown to continue for a limited time after the War (three years, with
a possible extension to another four) in possession of land occupied
during the War for defence purposes. We understand that in the framing
of this measure the feelings of TINO were not consulted.

       *  *  *

The _Berlingske Tidende_ declares that the British authorities are
collecting vast quantities of coffee in Sweden which will be sent to
Germany after the War. It is also generally believed, on the strength
of the reports of the Paris Conference, that equally large quantities
of beans are being assembled in France and elsewhere which will be
handed to Germany immediately after the conclusion of the struggle.

       *  *  *

A Willesden man, charged with being disorderly at a music-hall,
pleaded that the performance was so jolly that he had to dance. That
sort of thing is all right in places like Willesden, but we trust that
our West End managers will continue to eliminate from their programmes
anything likely to be provocative of similar behaviour.

       *  *  *

The report that Mexico has sent an ultimatum to the United States is
probably exaggerated. The Mexican authorities are said to be of the
opinion that a policy of firmness combined with moderation will bring
their unruly neighbour to reason.

       *  *  *

A turtle weighing a ton has been caught off the Scilly Isles. The
animal, which made no attempt to resist capture, stated that it was
tired of being mistaken for a submarine.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Sweep (who is to be called up in a few days, pointing
to staff uniform)._ "I SHALL BE WEARING THEM THINGS NEXT WEEK, MATE."]

       *       *       *       *       *

From an account of the Russian advance:--

    "The enemy is desisting furiously, particularly in the region
    of Torgovitsa."

    _Provincial Paper._

Just as the German High Seas Fleet did off the coast of Jutland.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SENIOR PARTNER.

_As viewed by Franz Josef, Junior Partner._

  I hate the horrid roller used by our offensive foe,
  Which goes so very much more fast than most steam-rollers go;
  Just now it's got us in a hole particularly tight,
  But HINDENBURG, brave HINDENBURG, is sure to put us right.

  Some time ago it snorted up Carpathia's rugged steeps,
  It tooted through Przemysl Town and Cracow had the creeps;
  And even in Vienna we were turning rather sick,
  But MACKENSEN, good MACKENSEN, he saved us in the nick.

  Our stout Ally's behaviour may contain a touch of swank,
  But, when we leave a vacuum upon his dexter flank,
  Although with simulated grief he'd chuck us if he could,
  His HINDENBURG (or MACKENSEN) has got to make it good.

  Yet if I do my best to win a battle on my own,
  And barge about Trentino, which is my peculiar zone,
  Should anything occur to push my eagle off its perch
  Then WILLIAM TWO, dear WILLIAM TWO, would leave me in the lurch.

  But now that I am knocked again on our united front,
  Which incidentally disturbs his adumbrated stunt,
  His heart (from quite a distance) yearns to soothe the painful spot,
  And HINDENBURG, old HINDENBURG, is sent to stop the rot.

  O.S.

       *       *       *       *       *

WHAT THE PRESSMEN SAW.

(BY OUR NAVAL EXPERT).

I have passed a week rich in experiences. The things I've seen! As
one of a party of journalists accorded the privilege of a visit to the
Trawler Fleet I am able to-day at last to lift the curtain and
tell the public what is going on. It is true that there are some
restrictions as to what may be published, but I think you will find
that I am free to relate the best bits.

The Trawler Fleet! The Trawler Fleet is a power of great and diverse
capabilities. But my visit was paid not so much to estimate its
fighting value as to plumb its spiritual depths (which are not so
likely to be interfered with by the Censor). The very heart of British
sea power, the epitome of modern naval war, is to be found in a little
port somewhere on the ---- Coast. Here cluster just ordinary little
one-funnelled trawlers, grimy little every-day vessels. These are the
real thing. They come and go, these trawlers, in and out, back and
forth, up and down, round and round; but they are being wrought into
the weft and woof of history, every one of them.

I contemplated them. On one I found an old tar cleaning his
shore-going boots. We entered into conversation, the ice being broken
by a friendly query of his as to whether the adoption of Summer Time
had affected the prohibited hours. And I--with intention--asked him if
he had been fishing.

"Fishing?" said he; and he looked at me and winked. There was heroism
in his wink with a dash of humour, as is the way with men of our race.

On another I found a mere boy. His job, I gathered, was to help the
cook and wash up. "The War," he considered, "'adn't made no sort o'
difference to 'im. His job went on much the same."

Well, I took off my hat to him--I couldn't resist it. Never have I
been more thrilled at the thought of the indomitable spirit of our
race. No difference!

I questioned him further, but he evinced all the admirable and
impenetrable reticence of the Service in war-time.

Deeply moved by these experiences I next accosted a brawny stoker
covered with the grime of his calling. "The life seems to suit you
all right," I cried, and slapped him on the back. The result was
noteworthy. He made absolutely no reply of any sort but spat over the
side.

And finally I must tell the story of the trawler and the mine. We
all heard it, and most of the best people are telling it. It reveals
better than anything perhaps the spiritual depths. It was related by
an officer who had taken charge of our party and who actually showed
us a photograph of the mine in question in a little museum of relics
he had established on the quay, which contained also a part of a
chronometer, said to be German, and a loaf of potato bread, captured
and brought home under conditions that will make a stirring story
after the War. The mine had been towed in by a fisherman who had flung
a rope round its horns. "Cool hand, that fisherman," the narrator
concluded. (It is only fair to say that in some versions given to the
public the expression is set down as "Offhand chap" or "Careless old
card," but I believe these to be incorrect.) "He said it must be safe
enough for he had towed it for fourteen miles." (There has been some
little discrepancy as to the mileage also, one sensational writer in
the Yellow Press even putting it as high as nineteen.)

A wonderful week! It is folly to draw great conclusions from a hasty
visit. All the same this is my considered message to the British
Public--_Trust the Trawlers._

  BIS.

       *       *       *       *       *

S.O.S.

    "We may indeed say with another meaning, _Sos monumentum
    requiras circumspice_."--_The Builder._

       *       *       *       *       *

Hun Candour.

From a description of Czernowitz in the _Berliner Tageblatt_:--

    "Since Saturday evening everyone wanted to go away, Christian,
    Jew, German."

       *       *       *       *       *

    "An Edmonton barber, who was given temporary exemption,
    stated that he had tried a female assistant, but she took
    half-an-hour to shave one man."--_Evening Paper._

As the result, we suspect, of too much "chin-wagging."

       *       *       *       *       *

The following letter was received from a Chinese store-keeper, in
response to an order for benzine:--

    "MADAM,--Very sorry we have no Benzine, but we have Ground
    Cloves, Nutmegs, Cinnamon and Ginger. Hoping to be excused for
    the trouble."

Victims of the petrol-census may be glad to know of these substitutes.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Wanted good Navies. Several months work. 7d.--Apply Ganger,
    Northampton."

We suspect "Ganger, Northampton," to be a _nom de guerre_ for "Admiral
of the Atlantic, Wilhelmshaven," who is notoriously hard up both for
ships and money.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "The evidence of the police was to the effect that about
    400 people marched in procession through Dame Street and
    Westmoreland Street, followed by a crowd of 2,000 girls, who
    led the processionists."

    _Daily Mirror._

There is precedent for this in higher circles, where leaders have been
known to follow the crowd.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

PARIS. "WE'VE DECIDED TO KEEP THE APPLE FOR OURSELVES."

GERMANIA. "THEN WHAT DO I GET?"

PARIS. "THE PIP!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: TESTING THE HUSH.

YOU DO IT BY DROPPING A PIN AT THE SUPREME MOMENT BEFORE A GREAT
SOPRANO'S OPENING NOTE.]

       *       *       *       *       *

KITCHEN RHYMES.

THE CROWNING ART.

  It's fine to be a Bishop with a shovel-hat and gaiters;
  It's fine to be an Author with a style like WALTER PATER'S;
  It's very fine to be a Judge like DARLING or like AVORY,
  But it's finer far to be a cook who understands a savoury.


TOO MANY COOKS?

  The broth was spoiled, so said the ancient books,
  By the employment of "too many cooks";
  But nowadays we think the saying funny,
  When cooks can not be had for love or money.


HIGHER EDUCATION.

  I can't afford to send my sons to Eton;
    The fees are now prohibitively high;
  But I'll send my girls to study _Mrs. Beeton_,
    And hope to reap the profits ere I die.


LOSS AND GAIN.

  In good VICTORIA'S golden reign
  Cooks were not lured, by love of gain,
  From their professional domain
    To making war munitions;
  But they had compensations too
  Denied by law to me and you,
  And used to supplement their screw
    By secret trade commissions.


FIRELESS COOKERY.

  When I was young, in days far hence,
  The heat of the kitchen was most intense,
  But now, by the use of electric connections
  Our cooks are able to keep their complexions.


A DIETETIC TRAGEDY.

  Jack Sprat on nuts grew fat;
  His wife ate nothing but prunes;
    The Butler drank quarts
    Of his master's ports,
  And the Cook ran away with the spoons.


BEFORE THE WAR.

  Master's at his broker's thinking of a flutter;
  Mistress, she's out golfing, trying her new putter;
  Cook is at a matinee, laughing at the songs;
  Why keep a cook when you can feed at restaurongs?


DURING THE WAR.

  Master's in the trenches with his only son;
  Mistress manages the farm and keeps a poultry run;
  Miss Belinda roasts and bakes and answers all the bells,
  For Cook and House-and Kitchen-maid are all making shells.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "To-day we hear that the elevation to the Peerage of Mr. H. J.
    TENNANT, M.P. for Berwickshire, is certain. We hope the tile
    he assumes will be a local one."

    _Berwick Journal._

A Tweed Cap, we presume.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "The list of these Canadian doctors is a long one.... It
    includes ... Major Meakins and Captain Thomas Cotton, the
    distinguished cardiologists, who are now attached to
    the Hampstead Hospital for the study of the Soldier's
    Heart."--_The Times._

This subject must be far and away the most popular at the present
time, and we have an idea that the finest experts are not attached to
the Medical profession.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Mother (to little girl engaged in grooming with a
nail-brush a newly-born kitten)._ "OH, MAISIE, I DON'T THINK THAT THE
MUMMY-CAT WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU DOING IT THAT WAY."

_Maisie._ "WELL, MUMMY, I _COULDN'T_ LICK IT."]

       *       *       *       *       *

HIS LADY FRIEND.

When the post came in Private Grimes was sitting alone, hammering
a strip of metal with a stone. During the eight months that this
solitary and silent man had been in Flanders he had not received so
much as a picture-postcard, and he expected nothing now. But to the
surprise not only of himself but of all the men who saw it, this post
brought him a letter:--

    "DEER HENERY she is in the best off helth i thort you mite
    be wunderin' the wether heer is shokin' As it leeves me at
    presant BILL."

Grimes read it with obvious satisfaction and put it in his pocket;
soon he took it out and read it again.

In the group round the fire that night Grimes was again working on his
piece of metal.

"'Eard from 'is girl at last," said Private Brant to the others,
indicating Grimes by a jerk of the head. "'Dear 'Arold, when are you
goin' to send me the bewtiful ring you're makin'?' she says."

"Ring, is it?" said Parker. "Looks as if it would be more like a kid's
'oop, when it's finished. She must 'ave a finger like two thumbs.
Grimes, old son, you can take it from me she won't give you a blanky
thank-you for it. Lummy, look at the jools!"--and in the firelight
they saw the glint of red and blue against the polished strip of
metal.

"Is she young and fair, Grimes?" asked a humourist.

"If she was 'ere she'd teach you manners," said Private Grimes.

The jewels were pieces of glass from a shattered church-window. Grimes
was pleased with them, and even whistled a note or two as he worked.
"Won't give me a thank-you, eh?" he thought, with a bit of a smile.

Three weeks later he went home on leave. She was not at Victoria
(whoever she was). His visit would be a surprise for her. He got off
the tram at Vauxhall and turned into the narrow side-streets.

From the yard of a brewery in the distance a van was emerging. A
big red-faced man was on the dickey, and on a barrel beside him was
something white. Grimes whistled; and the white patch leapt into
vigorous life, giving out glad barks and little impatient whines.
"Wot cher, Grimey!" called the driver, as he pulled up to lower
the wriggling patch of white to the road; and Bess, an ecstatic
bull-terrier, with the gladdest of pink-rimmed eyes, came bounding
towards the soldier.

He caught her up and took a good look at her. She licked his unwashed
unshaven face.

"Looks all right, don't she, Grimey?" asked the other a little
anxiously. "Never 'ad a thing to eat but wot you said, all the time."

"Looks a treat, Bill," said Bess's master; and Bill knew that this was
high-praise.

"'Ere, Bess, 'ere's a sooveneer," said Grimes. He put her down and,
taking her paw in his hand, bent and fastened into place that strip
of waste war-metal, ornamented with bits of saints from an old church
window in Flanders.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Preparatory Course.

Application just received on behalf of a young lady who is anxious to
do War-service as a teacher in an elementary school:--

    "She has had some little test of her powers of discipline,
    as she has started and trained a pack of Wolf Cubs in the
    parish."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Farmer._ "NOW LET ME SEE IF YOU CAN MILK THAT COW."

_Girl (by vocation barmaid--regarding the horns)._ "WHICH HANDLE'S FOR
THE MILK AND WHICH FOR THE CREAM?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE PLAY.

"THE RIDDLE."

[Illustration: THE WOLF AND THE RIVAL SLEUTH-HOUNDS.

_Mrs. Lytton_ Miss IRENE VANBRUGH.

_William Rigg_ Mr. OSWALD MARSHALL.

_James Stronach, K.C._ Mr. DION BOUCICAULT.]

For a woman who has barely scraped through a charge of poisoning her
husband and has had to change her name and dye her hair from yellow to
sable (contrary to the customary order of things) and lead "the wolf's
life"--preying, that is, on innocent lambs--there might be worse hells
on earth than the Sleeve Ard Hotel, Ardcastle, Co. Down, with its
pleasant lake and mountain scenery, its golf and its real Irish
waiter. And it was a cruel stroke of bad luck that into this quiet
fold, teeming with woolly lambs of all ages in their crisp fleeces
of fivers and tenners, there should have intruded (1) a vulgar
blackmailer who knew all about her lurid past, and (2) a K.C. with a
deadly memory for the details of _causes célèbres_. And (3) it was a
heart-breaking coincidence that the youngest lamb of all should have
borne such a striking resemblance to the lady-wolf's dead lover that
she wanted to embrace him instead of fleecing him; and (4) that his
betrothed should have been the god-daughter of the K.C. with the
terrible recording tablets.

But what would you? We are not talking of life, but of a stage-play;
and from the moment of the curtain's rise, when Miss Elsom sat down
at the piano and sang, without any provocation, a little thing by
Mr. LANDON RONALD, for the sole benefit of the Irish waiter, to the
juncture when the K.C. and the blackmailer got through a game of
billiards in about four minutes, we were seldom allowed to forget
that we were seeing things in a light that never was on any land but
stageland.

Like so many theatrical plays it was written up to what the profession
calls a "strong scene." Even the weather was pressed into a shameless
collusion; for it was a wet afternoon that gave the K.C. his
opportunity, as it might have been in the house on the road to
Fiesole, of narrating, with lavish detail and the whole hotel for
audience, the story of the murder trial in which "_Mrs. Lytton_" (the
wolf) had figured as the prisoner; and frankly indicating that, if
he had been the prosecutor, he could have established her guilt. His
object, more moral than humane, and more histrionic than either, was
to confound the wretched woman, to expose her identity and so, by a
sudden disillusionment, to restore her lamb to the fold. The end, as
it turned out for the general good, did actually seem to justify the
means; but at the time it was not a very edifying exhibition.

  "One likes to show the truth for the truth;
    That the woman was light is very true;
  But suppose she says, Never mind that youth!
    What wrong have I done to you?"

"Well, anyhow" (as BROWNING also said) it was an effective piece of
stage-work, and the result tallied with the best conventions by which
youth is reclaimed from the snares of a baffled and repentant vampire.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Commercial Traveller._ "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE WAR
NOW, MRS. HAGGETT?"

_Mrs. Haggett._ "WELL, MR. SMITH, FROM WHAT I READ IN THE NEWSPAPERS
AND FROM WHAT HAGGETT TELLS ME, I--WELL, I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHAT TO
THINK."]

       *       *       *       *       *

The staginess of things infected or seemed to infect even Miss IRENE
VANBRUGH. In the first Act I found her a little spasmodic. And all
through the play the authors were most arbitrary about the way in
which they made her meet the various attacks that were sprung upon
her. Thus, at a small shock, she would suddenly start and drop
something; but when you expected her at least to swoon on finding
that her true name had been discovered, she bore the blow with superb
aplomb. And after enduring the K.C.'s interminable recitation with
only here and there a sign of personal interest, she finally gave
herself away in a loud and voluble protest against the idea that any
woman purposing to administer poison to her husband could have been
callous enough to try it first on a favourite dog.

There was inconsistency too in the pace at which the performance was
conducted. All obvious things were taken quite leisurely; but the
speed at which really difficult and complex details were rushed, was
simply torrential.

Miss IRENE VANBRUGH had her own reputation to compete with in the kind
of part in which we know her so well, and to say that she was equal to
it is praise enough. She was best, perhaps, because most womanly
and least wolfish, in the scene of her confession. As for Mr. DION
BOUCICAULT I would not go so far as to say that his manner deceived
me into supposing that he was a real K.C. I have mixed with many real
K.C.'s on the parade-ground or in the trenches (home defence), but
even in the disguise of a uniform, and under conditions that might
tend to obscure the outward signs of legal distinction, I have always
observed a certain manner which betrayed their high calling. That
manner was not very saliently marked in Mr. DION BOUCICAULT. But he
had an exceptional chance as an actor and grasped it firmly.

The part of _Mr. Rigg_, blackmailer, the mystery of whose personality,
aggravated by a _penchant_ for "hovering" with intent, constituted a
darker "Riddle" than that of "_Mrs. Lytton_," was played by Mr. OSWALD
MARSHALL with admirable ease and reserve; and Mr. STANLEY DREWITT'S
_Professor Beveridge_, an antique lamb who confided to the wolf
his views on "discontinuous variations," and by way of reprisal was
touched by her for a couple of ten-pound notes, had a pleasant air
of naïve sincerity. The others were sufficiently sound on the old
accepted lines.

The dialogue had too many long sentences for spontaneity, and when I
say that the humour was largely confined to the vague inconsequences
of the mother-in-law-to-be you will kindly understand that it was
neither profuse nor sparkling.

I shall not venture to predict the length of _The Riddle's_ run; but
I suspect that the public may rise superior to the judgment of the
critics. Plays that are purely actors' plays have a habit, however
familiar their formulas, of coming home to the British bosom; and this
one may stick there. O. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Mother (to Jack, who has drawn lots with his
twin-brother and won the choice)._ "WELL, DEAR, CAN'T YOU SETTLE WHICH
YOU WANT?"

_Jack (after deep thought)._ "YE-ES, MOTHER; I THINK I WANT THE ONE
BOBBY WANTS."]

       *       *       *       *       *

By the courtesy of the directors of the Grand Opera Syndicate, Covent
Garden Opera House will be lent during the week of July 3rd-8th
for the use of those who are promoting, under the presidency of the
Duchess of SOMERSET, "The Women's Tribute to the Soldiers and Sailors
of the Empire." The scheme offers an opportunity to every woman to
prove her gratitude to the men who have defended our honour and our
liberty, and to assist in raising a fund which will not compete with,
but be supplementary to, the recognised agencies for the care of
our sailors and soldiers, particularly those who have been wholly
or partially disabled on active service; bearing, in fact, the same
relation to those agencies that King Edward's Hospital Fund bears to
established institutions for the relief of sufferers by disease or
accident.

The first three days of the Covent Garden Week will be devoted to a
Patriotic Fair, with side-shows to be arranged by Mr. LOUIS N. PARKER;
and the second three days to Music and Entertainments of various
kinds.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CINEMIC TOUCH.

THE MEGALO MOTION CO. (U.S.A.) has the pleasure to announce the
release of its latest triumph, a film version of the well-known
nursery rhyme

  "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB."

    Stupendous production. Genuine British classic revitalised
    by American methods, featuring Miss EYLASH BLACK, the
    ten-thousand dollar screen star.

_Short Synopsis_: Mary at home. The old farm-stead. Five hundred
specially trained Sussex sheep, with genuine shepherds. Mary thinking.
"What is my lamb's fleece like?" Fade out, revealing real snow, two
thousand tons of which have been specially imported from Nebraska for
the purpose of this unique comparison.

  "AND EVERYWHERE THAT MARY
  WENT----"

For the first time these lines have obtained, thanks to American
enterprise, their full interpretation. See the world-voyagings of the
Heroine. Watch Mary in the gilded salons of Paris and Monte Carlo, in
Thibet and the South Seas, always accompanied by her pet.

N.B.: That lamb was some goer, but the film is out to beat it.

Five million dollars were spent on this unique picture-drama; but you
can see it for 6d. upwards.

Released shortly. Have your local motion-manager order

  "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB,"

and insist that he gets it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jilted.

    "Motor driver wanted, young man, ineligible for
    Amy."--_Shields Daily News._

       *       *       *       *       *

From an essay on "Daylight-Saving":--

    "The clock at Greenwich has not been altered because the tide
    and sun all work with the clock and if they were to put it on
    the tide might not run right when it was put back."

[Illustration: "THE STEAM-ROLLER."

AUSTRIA. "I SAY, YOU KNOW, YOU'RE EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

IT IS WHISPERED THAT A REPRESENTATIVE OF THE SARTORIAL PRESS IS
TRYING TO INDUCE THE SPEAKER TO RECONSIDER HIS STATEMENT THAT HE (THE
SPEAKER) "HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CLOTHES THAT MEMBERS CHOOSE TO
WEAR."]

       *       *       *       *       *

_Tuesday, June 20th._--Once again the House of Lords has forestalled
the Commons by its elastic procedure. During the brief recess the
Empire has been stirred to its depths by the tragic death of Lord
KITCHENER. Almost his last official act was to meet his critics of
the House of Commons face to face, reply to their questions, and leave
them silenced and admiring. Yet to-day the Commons could do no more
than listen to the sympathetic messages from foreign Parliaments read
out to them by the SPEAKER, and learn from the PRIME MINISTER that
to-morrow he would endeavour to give expression to their feelings upon
this "irreparable loss." The Lords, less fettered by formality, were
able at once to pay their tribute to the great dead and to hear his
praises sounded by a Statesman, a Soldier and a Friend.

The SPEAKER is no ALEXANDER seeking fresh worlds to conquer. Invited
to rebuke an Irish Member for wearing a Sinn Fein badge he flatly
declined, with the remark that he had nothing to do with the
clothes Members chose to wear. In refusing to set up as an _arbiter
elegantiarum_ I think Mr. LOWTHER is wise, for the post in these days
would be no sinecure. Time was when the House was the best-dressed
assembly in the world. When the late Mr. KEIR HARDIE entered its
precincts with a little cloth cap perched upon his luxuriant curls
he created quite a shock. To-day no one, except perhaps the Editor of
_The Tailor and Cutter_, would mind much if Mr. SNOWDEN were to appear
in a fez or Mr. PONSONBY in a _pickelhaube_.

_Wednesday, June 21st._--What struck me most in the PRIME MINISTER'S
tribute to Lord KITCHENER was his evident sense of personal loss in
parting from one with whom he had been in daily association for
two strenuous years. So with the other speeches delivered. Each was
touched with genuine emotion and illustrated some one or other of Lord
KITCHENER'S outstanding qualities, Mr. BONAR LAW spoke of the sure
instinct which caused him to realise at the very outset the gigantic
nature of the present War; Mr. WARDLE of the absolute straightness
which won for him the confidence of the working-classes Sir IVOR
HERBERT, a personal friend who had occasionally differed with him,
of the unflinching courage with which he faced alike Dervishes in the
desert or critics in Parliament; and Sir GEORGE REID of the equally
conspicuous humanity which he displayed as an administrator in
repairing the ravages of War. Through all these varied tributes rang
the note of Duty Well Done.

A singularly perverse fate obstructs the efforts of the Government to
tax cocoa. As beer is notoriously the beverage which supports the pens
of Tory leader-writers, so cocoa is supposed to be the appropriate
stimulus of Liberal nibs. Until the War it got off remarkably cheaply,
as compared with its rival, tea, being only taxed 1_d._ a pound. Mr.
LLOYD GEORGE dared add no more than a halfpenny to the impost, but
Mr. MCKENNA with sublime courage proposed to make the tax a round
sixpence.

But this was before he knew as much about cocoa as he does to-day. At
sixpence a pound, it seems, the imbiber of cocoa would pay a fraction
more to the Exchequer for every cup that he consumed than would the
drinker of tea. Such a dreadful anomaly in our otherwise equitable
fiscal system could not, of course, be tolerated. So the tax has now
been fixed at 4-1/2_d._, and Messrs. CADBURY and ROWNTREE are grateful
and comforted.

Finding the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER in this yielding mood, Mr.
LOUGH thought he would try to get rid of the tax on sugar. But here
Mr. MCKENNA was obdurate. We used far more sugar than any other
European nation, and must be forced to reduce our consumption.
Someone, remembering, perhaps, how a month ago Mr. MCKENNA had smiled
approval while his colleague, Mr. CHAMBERLAIN, defended Prohibition
against Tariffs as a means of lessening consumption, suggested that
sugar-consumers should be rationed instead of being taxed. But Mr.
MCKENNA, without turning a hair, maintained that in war-time to
raise the price by taxation was the only way. Political economy, once
relegated by Mr. GLADSTONE to Jupiter and Saturn, is now, it seems, a
permanent dweller in Mars.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR VILLAGE STORE.

_Aged Man (to customer wanting a sandwich)._ "I'M SORRY TO KEEP YOU,
SIR, BUT IT'S VERY AWKWARD, MY SON BEING CALLED UP AND ME NEW TO IT
ALL. 'AM! 'AM! NOW: WHERE _DID_ I SEE THE 'AM?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

_Thursday, June 22nd._--The House of Lords welcomed a notable recruit
in the person of Lord CHAPLIN. To his many remarkable performances in
the field and the forum the newcomer has added another by gaining
a step in the peerage before taking his seat. Last April it was
announced that the KING had been pleased to confer upon him a barony,
but it was Viscount CHAPLIN, of St. Oswald's, Blankney, who subscribed
the roll this afternoon.

Out of 173 questions on the Paper of the House of Commons a large
number related to Ireland; but Ministers were extremely economical of
information. The anticipated settlement still hangs fire, and there
are increasing fears that it will not hold water. Almost the only
fact revealed was that Lord WIMBORNE is no longer Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland. His resignation has been definitely accepted. By Ireland,
where he was by no means an unwelcome GUEST, he will be more regretted
than some other Viceroys.

The extra income-tax on American securities again led to some lively
exchanges. Sir FREDERICK BANBURY found himself in the unwonted company
of Mr. D. M. MASON in resisting the Government proposals. These "Old
Tories" were told by Mr. G. FABER that the world was upside down, and
that the sooner they realised it the better. But even he thought the
Government were using up these dollar securities rather fast. They
ought to treat them as "pearls of great price" and not cast them away
for American bacon.

Mr. MCKENNA was not at all in a conciliatory mood, and startled some
of his opponents by reminding them that under the Defence of the Realm
Act the Government could take any kind of property at prices far below
the market value. When other men had given up their lives for their
country why all this boggling over shares?--an argument that the House
as usual found unanswerable.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "At Colmar a merchant has been sentenced to a fine of £5 by a
    German court-martial for repeating in a public restaurant
    the well-known joke about ordering a sandwich at a Prussian
    railway buffet, and being served with a neat ticket between
    two bread tickets."

    _The Times._

Anyhow he deserved his punishment for spoiling the only Teuton joke.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "The bride's mother was costumed in black stain."--_Shepton
    Mallet Journal._

Under the stress of War-economy we are evidently getting back to the
days of woad.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "BLESS 'IM! AIN'T 'E A LITTLE _PATRIARCH_?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks_)

I am a little puzzled as to the authorship of _Action Front_ (SMITH,
ELDER), which is stated to be written by BOYD CABLE, author of
_Between the Lines_. First of all there was a Mr. BOYD CABLE, but he
didn't last, for he soon turned into "BOYD CABLE" without the Mr., the
inverted commas indicating, I suppose, that this was a mere _nom
de guerre_. At or about the same time there was an author known as
"ACTION FRONT," whose writings were hardly to be distinguished from
those of "BOYD CABLE." And now _Action Front_ becomes the title of a
book by BOYD CABLE. For my own part I can only say that, whoever he
may be, BOYD CABLE--let us try him without the inverts--has a most
remarkable gift for the writing of vivid and exciting war-stories. He
takes a phrase from the _communiqués_ and shows you with a seemingly
careless art, of which he holds the secret, what moving incidents,
what heroism, what self-sacrifice and glorious endurance are concealed
behind the bald official announcement. Moreover, he has a true
appreciation of the reckless and humorous courage that characterises
the British fighting man, the splendid human material out of which
great events are fashioned. If you add to these high qualities
a talent for making you visualise the scenes and the sequence of
incidents which he describes you will obtain some conception of the
methods of this most interesting writer. He holds you in his grip
from the moment he starts, and there is no relaxation from then to
the finish. Each little story is an admirable piece of literary
architecture. If I had to class them I should place "Drill" and "The
Signallers" by themselves in the first division of the first class. I
will hint only one fault: it is too great a tax on one's credulity
to be asked to believe that a French officer could have addressed an
English private as _mon beau Anglaise_. Otherwise I have nothing
but praise for _Action Front_, though I am still as far as ever from
knowing who wrote it.

       *       *       *       *       *

I feel I am beginning to know something of romantic Russia and the
Russians from the perpetual and jolly spate of Mr. STEPHEN GRAHAM'S
books. Through _Russian Central Asia_ (CASSELL) is the very latest
to hand. I like his easy pace, his gentle universal friendliness,
his fearlessness, his untidy but interesting mind. He is a tramp of
tramps. With a thin wallet of notes and no weapon but a fountain-pen
he travels a couple of thousand miles or so and back, faring on his
own feet, steaming down stretches of navigable river, taking the rail
for a space, begging a lift in some prehistoric conveyance, right from
the Caspian, by magical many-hued Bokhara and storied Samarkand that
holds the bones of TAMERLANE, on through the flower-starred highlands
of the Seven Rivers Land to the Irtish river and Siberian plains,
sleeping under the stars or in a Khirgiz tent of felt, or a riverside
cave--surely a happy careless man. And he has made an interesting book
of it, intelligently packed with admirable photographs. He still
keeps to his fine theme, the interpretation of Russia and the plea for
friendliness, trust and a large co-operation with her on our part over
the problems of peace and power. Among such problems he drifts about
with a disarming _naïvetè_, a little out of depth and more than
a little sagacious. An excellent specimen of the converted
"Radical-Imperialist."

       *       *       *       *       *

There used, I believe, to be an old controversy as to how many angels
could dance on the point of a needle. Somehow, this antique problem
is always brought to my mind by the short stories of Mr. BARRY PAIN,
perhaps because he seems to have the power of marshalling more angels
of pity and fear and laughter in the restricted area of a few printed
pages than almost any other writer. How true this is you have now a
fine opportunity of judging, since the first volume of his _Collected
Tales_ (SECKER) contains a baker's dozen of samples selected by
himself. Of these the most considerable (in point of length) is
"Wilmay," which might almost be considered a very short novel. It is
also to my mind the weakest thing in the volume; not even Mr. BARRY
PAIN can impart much freshness to the middle-aged guardian who
remains, till the final chapter, blind to the obvious devotion of his
attractive ward. Elsewhere, by way of compensation, we have several
little studies of rare quality: "Ellen Rider," exquisite in its
restraint and genuine feeling; "The Undying Thing," that small
masterpiece of the unpleasant, and "The Night of Glory," a savage and
utterly merciless piece of anti-sentimentalism with a moral. Mr.
PAIN says in his preface that he has not included any example of his
humorous work. Perhaps he was looking the other way when "Sparkling
Burgundy" added itself to the collection. Anyhow, I am glad it eluded
him, as it is one of the happiest things in a most attractive volume.

       *       *       *       *       *

Miss MARGUERITE BRYANT, the author of _Felicity Crofton_ (HEINEMANN),
can thank the gods for two gifts which lift any novel of hers well
above the ruck of fiction. One is a sense of style (let me beg her not
to play careless pranks with it); the other such a knowledge of men as
is vouchsafed to very few contemporary women-novelists. You will have
to go far and get very tired before you find a more lovable heroine
than _Felicity_. Even after you have begun to suspect that the bearing
of her own and other people's burdens had grown to be a hobby with
her, you never lose faith in her delightfully vivid and radiant
personality. The danger of drawing so fascinating a character is that
when she is off the stage one's attention is apt to wander to the
wings; but Miss BRYANT, though she cannot quite defeat this peril, has
hot been overwhelmed by it. With one exception the minor parts in her
story are excellently handled, and in the end I have to be grateful
for more refreshment than I have gleaned for many a day.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Epilogue]

       *       *       *       *       *

WOMEN IN WAR-TIME.

Wherever he has wandered of late, Mr. Punch has been struck by the
sight of a new and capable type of citizen, always in some responsible
position and always alert and efficient.

He has found her, in various incarnations, everywhere. If he goes by
the railway she sells him his ticket. When he passes through the gate
she clips his ticket. When he leaves the station she collects his
ticket.

When he goes by Tube she takes him down in the lift and up in it
again. If he boards a tram or an omnibus it is she, this new citizen,
in a trim businesslike uniform, who collects his fare.

At his club she brings him his lunch. At many a restaurant she handles
plates once sacred to Fritz and Karl.

He has seen her collecting letters from the pillar-boxes and manfully
shouldering the sack.

When he shops she opens his cab door and receives him, and if it is
wet she holds an umbrella over him.

In countless Banks and Offices she does the work of clerks, released
for the army.

Often he sees her driving a motor-car; often a waggon; often a
motor-tricycle delivering goods. In smart leggings, tunic and cap she
runs errands.

On flag-days (and they occur now and then) she collects money in
the streets hour after hour, no matter how cold or tired she is.
At charity matinées (and they, too, have been known to happen) she
extracts vast sums of money from the audience for programmes and
souvenirs. She sits on a thousand committees connected with War
charities and alleviations.

At the canteens, which never shut, day or night, she serves soldiers
with hot drinks, cheerfully welcoming them back to old England, or
speeding them with equal cheer on their way to the War. Dressed in
khaki, she meets soldiers home on leave, leading them to comfortable
shelters. Never does she look so masterful as then, for she marches at
their head like a real commander.

In Regent's Park you may see her guiding blind soldiers, and on
Hampstead Heath Mr. Punch has found her pulling or pushing crippled
soldiers in bath-chairs. Elsewhere she reads to them and writes their
letters for them, thus helping to beguile the long inactive hours.

In the hospital depôts she makes swabs and bandages by the million,
quilts pneumonia jackets, pads the tops of crutches and sandpapers
splints.

She has hardened her soft hands, through all weathers and seasons, in
the labour of farm and field; grooming horses, tending cattle, guiding
the plough, gathering the harvest.

And all over the country she is continually busy making munitions.

As for the myriad nurses in the hospitals here and abroad, who guard
the precarious flame of life and dress wounds and cheer the sick--they
do nothing new. That has always, been woman's mission. But of course
there are countless more nurses than there were two years ago, before
the cataclysm.

Wherever he sees one of the new citizens, or whenever he hears
fresh stories of their address and ability, Mr. Punch is proud and
delighted. "It's almost worth having a war," he will say, "to prove
what stuff our women are made of." But, always the most chivalrous of
men, "Not that it wanted proof," he will add.

And then, the other day, finding several representatives of the new
citizenship resting in their luncheon hour, Mr. Punch, taking all his
courage into his venerable hands, ventured to chat a little with them
(for of course he would not dare to interrupt them when they were at
work), in order to find out how they would be now filling their time
were there none of these novel and pressing War duties.

But the remarkable thing is that none of them quite knew. They could
not remember. All they were certain of amid the haze was the very
distinct conviction that, whatever it was, they would not then have
been so happy as they now were.

"Well, my dears," said Mr. Punch, laughing, "never mind about what you
might have been doing. The important thing is what you are doing, and
when I think of that it makes my eyes glisten, I am so proud of you.
Perhaps now and then in the past I may have been a little chaffing
about some of your foibles, and even about some of your aspirations;
but I never doubted how splendid you were at heart; I never for a
moment supposed you would be anything but ready and keen when the hour
of need struck. And I was right, bless your spirited hearts! I was
right. For here you are, filling the men's places, so that they can be
the more free to go and fight for us, and doing it all smilingly
and cleverly as though you'd never done anything else. I think it's
magnificent. I'm an old man and I've seen a great many things in my
time, but I've never seen anything better or anything that gave me
more pleasure."

"Oh, no, Mr. Punch," said one of the new citizens--rather a pretty
one, too--"you're not really old."

"No! no!" cried the others. "You're very kind and sweet," said Mr.
Punch, "but you're wrong. I am old, very old--in fact just three
quarters of a century old; and in proof of that let me hand you my


One Hundred and Fiftieth Volume."

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: INDEX]

Cartoons.


  PARTRIDGE, BERNARD.
    Armlets and the Man, 201
    Blow for the Crescent (A), 137
    Challenge (The),  89
    Champion, of the Smaller Nations (The), 281
    Crack or Doom (The), 31
    For Traitors, 233
    Gallipoli--and After, 51
    Golden Moment (The), 345
    His Bark is on the Sea, 185
    Injured Innocence, 361
    Job's Discomforter, 121
    Lost Chief (The), 391
    Man that broke the Back of Montenegro (The), 71
    New Damocles (The), 313
    New Edge (The), 11
    New Frightfulness (The), 153
    Question of the Hour (The), 169
    Repudiation (The), 265
    Shadow on the Wall (The), 409
    Something to go on with, 329
    "Steam-Roller" (The), 425
    To the Glory of France, 217
    Wanted--a St. Patrick, 297
    Willing Victim (A), 249
    Without Prejudice, 377

  RAVEN-HILL, L.
    Another Conscientious Objector, 195
    Dual Control, 131
    For Neutrals. For Natives, 43
    German Holiday (A), 105
    Grapes of Verdun (The), 243
    Held!, 355
    Judgment of Paris (The), 419
    Junior Partners (The), 179
    Love me, love my Pig, 259
    Marks of the Beast (The), 211
    May 7, 291
    Military Reason (The), 147
    Pro Patria, 63
    Puffing Billy, 339
    Rush to Salonika (The), 3
    Saint Valentine's Day in the Fatherland, 115
    Second Time of Asking (The), 23
    Serbia Comes Again, 275
    Sinking, 83
    Tables Turned (The), 403
    Unconscious Candour, 387
    Under Government Patronage, 323
    Wait and See, 227
    Wake up, England, 307
    Who Pays?, 163

  TOWNSEND, F. H.
    Economy in Luxuries, 99
    Working Holiday (A), 371



Articles


  ALLEN, CAPT. R. H.
    Turkish Trophy (A), 8

  ANDERSON, MISS E. V. M.
    Pulling of Percy's Leg (The),  228

  BANNISTER, E. C.
    Erin-go-bragh, 75

  BENNETT, J. W. S.
    Badges, 47

  BRETHERTON, CYRIL
    Charivaria, 113, 129, 145, 161, 177, 193, 209, 225, 241, 257, 273,
    289, 305, 321, 337, 353, 369, 385, 401, 417
    Elusive Ones (The), 172
    Hints for Air Raids, 136
    Night out with a Zeppelin (A), 268, 278

  BROWNLEE, L. D.
    In the Air in 1940, 338

  BURROW, F. R.
    Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, 74

  COLLINS, G. H.
    Railway Lines, 65
    Well-Disposed Ones (The), 101

  CUNDY, C. W.
    Rag-time in the Trenches, 170
    Sorrowful Sniper (The), 35

  CURRIE, J. K.
    Volunteer Casualty (A), 274

  DARK, RICHARD
    Duel of Endurance (A), 107
    Very Rare Bird (A), 310

  DARLINGTON, CAPT. W. A.
    Night Operations, 26

  DAVEY, H. N.
    Booklover (The), 414

  DRENNAN, MAX
    Meditations of Marcus O'Reilly, 88

  DRENNAN, W. ST. G.
    On the Spy-trail, 157, 292, 388
    Vindication of Jimmy (The), 7

  ECKERSLEY, ARTHUR
    Cherchez les Tableaux, 342
    Cinemic Touch (The), 424
    Epigram (The), 396
    New Theatrical Venture (A), 46
    Theatrical Economy, 253
    They, 17
    Truth about Cinemaland (The), 214
    Unrecorded Engagement (An), 270

  ELIAS, FRANK
    Home Helps for Non-combatants, 242

  EVANS, R.
    Another Scrap of Paper, 242

  FARJEON, MISS ELEANOR
    Nursery Rhymes of London Town, 200, 215, 239, 253, 271, 277, 301,
    318, 326, 341, 365, 373, 391

  FENN, CLIVE R.
    Only Way (The), 402

  FOOTE, G. H. W.
    Flat Overture (A), 190

  FOX-SMITH, MISS C.
    Amused and the Amusers (The), 370
    Convalescent (The), 328
    Grand Tour (The), 70
    Question of the Nude (A), 182
    Route March (The), 398
    Saint George of England., 261
    Speed the Plough: A Country Song, 350

  FREEMAN, W.
    Archibill, 406
    Dirty Night (A), 122
    Expert Adviser (The), 167

  GARSTIN, C.
    Bobbery Pack (The), 231
    Canadian Remounts, 109
    Fantasy (A), 370
    Flying Man (The), 67
    Huntin' Weather, 10

  GARVEY, MISS INA
    Blanche's Letters, 116, 340

  GIBSON, CAPT.
    "Biology at the Front", 376

  GILLESPIE, A. B.
    "For this Relief----", 5

  GLASGOW, MRS.
    "Dulce et Decorum", 78
    "We give our Sons", 306

  GRAVES, C. L.
    Art in Wartime,  225
    Building without Tears, 178
    Dress "as usual", 199
    Dug-out Dominie (The), 173
    Dyspeptic's Dilemma (The), 358
    How I dined with the President, 102
    In praise of Pussy, 246
    Kitchen Rhymes, 420
    Latest Solar Myth (The), 296
    Luckiest Man (The), 317
    Lyra Domestica, 406
    More Light from our Leaders, 106
    Music in Wartime, 223
    Musical Jumbomania, 136
    Musings on Milkcans, 382
    Occ. Poet's Apologia (The), 278
    Railway Rhymes, 125
    Rolling Stone (The), 262
    Sonnet to a Young Ass, 342
    Sorrows of Wilson, 366
    Suave Mari Magno, 150
    Super-Lutheran Church (The), 389
    Teacher Taught (The), 327
    Tips of Mother Tipton (The), 334
    To Charlotte Brontë, 269
    War's Surprises, 376

  GRAVES, C. L., AND LUCAS, E. V.
    Battle of Jobey (The), 68
    Literary Lispings, 56
    My Life, 66
    Tercentenary Twitterings, 92
    Unruly Britannia, 27

  GROVE, E. A.
    From Somewhere in Africa, 220
    Way of Thomas (The), 306

  GUTHRIE, ANSTEY
    Convenient Conscience (A), 364
    Ill-used Author (An), 2
    Jillings, 100

  HASELDEN, PERCY
    Golden Valley (The), 104

  HERBERT, A. P.
    Adjutant (The), 216
    Draft (The), 335
    Last Thoughts on Gallipoli, 86
    More Eyewash, 280
    My Dug-out, 152
    Quartermaster (The), 349
    Soldier's Spring (The), 312
    World set Free (The), 168

  HOLMES, W. KERSLEY
    Fauna of the Front (The), 85

  HOWARD, F. MORTON
    Scottish Reel Thing at Last (The), 212

  HUGHES, C. E.
    Frank, 170

  HUTCHINSON, HORACE G.
    Letter to the Front (A), 236

  HYNDMAN, S. H.
    Grass Valley Armistice, 260

  INGRAM, CAPT. T.
    Johnston, Lieut. Alec, 326

  JAY, THOMAS
    Pessiphone (The), 25

  JEFFS, ERNEST
    Luncheon Causeries, 294

  JENKINS, ERNEST
    Good Openings for M.P.'s, 151
    His Lady Friend, 421
    Mr. John's Portrait of Mr. George, 197
    Screen Influences, 265
    Soldier Politician (A), 190

  JOHNSTON, ALEC
    At the Front, 92, 106, 134, 148, 180, 213
    At the Back of the Front, 55

  KEIGWIN, R. P.
    Trump Card (The), 294

  KIDD, ARTHUR
    Beyond the Limit, 58
    London as usual, 13
    Their Scribes and Pharisees, 348

  LANGLEY, CAPT. F. O.
    Open Secrets, 37
    Watch Dogs (The), 48, 82, 118, 196, 244, 276, 308, 343, 372, 404

  LEHMANN, R. C.
    At the Source, 18
    Controversy (A), 124
    Dove (The), 230
    From the Front, 350
    Heart-to-Heart Talks, 382, 386, 402
    Lecture (The), 78
    My Birthday, 38
    National Scape-goat Association (The), 174
    P. B., 316
    Philatelist (The), 284
    Philogamus, 210
    Roosevelt in the Ring, 254
    Simmerers (The), 132
    To my Cold, 183
    Tonnage, 108
    Unwritten Letters to the Kaiser, 58, 86, 146, 194, 258, 290, 322,
    354

  LOCKER, W. A.
    Charivaria, 6, 21, 41, 61, 81, 97
    Essence of Parliament, 139, 155, 171, 186, 202, 218, 234, 250, 266,
    282, 298, 314, 330, 346, 362, 378, 426

  LUCAS, E. V.
    Another Air Scandal, 133
    Birth of a Fluence (The), 300
    Conquest (The), 45
    Eccentric (An), 286
    Embargo on Ink (An), 166
    England Caught out, 341
    Happy Error (The), 374
    Hard Cases, 150
    Heroism, 246
    Identification, 375
    Invasion (The), 102
    Journalistic Enterprise, 28
    Letter (A), 309
    Modest Suggestion for a new Hunnish
    Canticle (A), 123
    New Patriotism (The), 198
    On Bellona's Hem, 84
    On the Cards, 57
    Once upon a Time, 142
    One of our Allies, 214
    Question and Answer, 390
    Reciprocity in Fiction, 184
    Solution (A), 410
    Studies in Frustration, 13
    Thoughts on Newspapers, 357
    U. A., 392
    Vesty Deep (The), 324
    Women in War Time, 429
    Yellow Pressure,  232

  LUCY, HENRY
    Essence of Parliament,  33, 53, 73, 90, 122

  MCKAY, H. M. C.
    Economy in the Press,  270

  MCLEOD, L. R.
    Charivaria, 289, 305, 321, 337, 353, 369, 385, 401, 417

  MARTIN, N. R.
    Great Neutral (The), 383
    Great Petition (The), 206
    My War Stories, 130

  MARTIN, O. PERCY
    Loan (The), 301

  MARZIALS, MISS ADA M.
    Daylight Saving, 348

  MUIR, AUGUSTUS
    Highland Hospitality, 141

  NOTT-BOWER, LIEUT.
    Safety-Valve (The), 394

  O'GRADY, HARDRESS
    Birthday Present (The), 366

  PAVEY, L. A.
    Reconciliation (The), 188
    Tale of Heads (A), 30

  PETERS, A. D.
  Truthful James, 76, 226

  PLUMBE, C. CONWAY
    Mother to an Emperor (A), 68

  POPE, MISS JESSIE
    Fashion Plate Patriots, 316

  POWELL, MISS H.
    Best Sellers, 395

  PRESTON-TEWART, A.
    Uncharted Seas, 390
    Underground Game, 138

  PRYCE, MISS L. M.
    Ballade of Books for the Wounded, 360

  RIGBY, REGINALD
    Concert Tickets, 412
    Petherton's Parrot, 332
    Strong South-Easter (A), 154

  ROBERTS, E. L.
    Newest Hope (The), 405

  ROSCOE, E. S.
    Provincial Patriots, 50
    Xmas Adventures of a Drawing (The), 15

  ROSS, NOEL
    Abdul: An Appreciation, 358

  RUSSELL, C. H.
    Conscientious Objector (The), 408

  SEAMAN, OWEN
    Answers to Correspondents, 178
    At the Play, 94, 110, 204, 238, 286, 318, 380, 422
    Battle of the Pass (The), 22
    British Dragon (The), 354
    Cure for Depression (A), 146
    Dress Economy and the Claims of Art, 290
    Enemy within our Gates (The), 322
    Erzerum: A Set-back in the Holy War, 130
    Flowers for the Red Cross, 396
    For they are jolly poor Fellows, 210
    How to get up a Holy War, 62
    Intellectual Retrenchment, 98
    Joy Tax (The), 274
    Kaiser on Kilimanjaro (The), 194
    Kitchener, to the Memory of Field-Marshal
    Earl, 386
    Methods of a German Missionary, 258
    More Peace Talk in Berlin, 338
    Of Cocoa, 242
    Senior Partner (The), 418
    Teuton Overtures, 162
    To the Pro-Shirkers, 42
    Word of a German (The), 114

  SHAKESPEARE, CAPT. W. J.
    Billeting Captain (The), 114

  SMITH, BERTRAM
    Consolations, 407
    International Relations, 5
    Nautical Terms for All, 62
    News from Kiel, 104
    Partial Pat on the Back (A), 374
    What the Pressmen Saw, 418
    Whittling them down, 42
    World Warfare of the British Fleet, 22

  STEBBING, MRS. H. B.
    Not Running to Seed, 271

  THOMAS, R. W.
    Naval Revelation (A), 110

  THORP, JOSEPH
    At the Play, 16, 36, 126, 205, 222, 252, 302, 334, 380

  TRUSCOTT, PARRY
    Glory o' England, 262
    Ruin o' England, 414

  TURNER, J. H.
    Diplomacy, 98
    Great Man (The), 164
    War Risks of an Uncle, 398

  TWEEDDALE, D. M.
    Beautiful Thing (The), 294

  VANHEEMS, MISS MAY
    Resolutions,  1

  WATSON, FREDERICK
    Regrettable Incident (A), 356

  WAY, W. A.
    To the King of Spain, 181

  WEINGOTT, VICTOR M.
    Reconstruction, 162

  WHITE, R. F.
    Territorial in India (A), 326



Pictures and Sketches.


  ARMOUR, MAJOR G. D. 17, 39, 59, 95, 127, 140, 175, 207, 223, 253, 303,
  332, 383, 413, 422

  BAILEY, ALBERT 14, 268

  BAUMER, LEWIS 29, 47, 87, 103, 119, 135, 148, 168, 184, 216, 232,
  247, 263, 279, 295, 328, 347, 376, 399, 424

  BELCHER, GEORGE 54, 79, 91, 107, 143, 157, 173, 205, 213, 255, 269,
  325, 349, 397, 423

  BEUTTLER, LIEUT. E. G. O., 206

  BIRD, W. 81, 112, 145, 196, 254, 309, 369, 388

  BRIGHTWELL, L. R. 20, 26, 84, 159, 191, 305, 337, 359, 401

  BROCK, H. M. 34, 93, 108, 133, 221, 239, 365, 375, 410

  BROCK, R. H. 193, 336

  BROOK, RICARDO 100, 124, 142, 158, 174, 288, 300, 308

  CUNINGHAM, O. 385

  DAVEY, GEORGE 6

  FAIRHURST, E. 21

  FRASER, P. 7, 92, 125, 132

  GOONEY, FRANCIS 292

  GRAVE, CHARLES 75, 183, 283, 301, 317, 353

  HARRISON, CHARLES 260

  HART, FRANK 67, 116, 241, 389

  HASELDEN, W. K. 16, 36, 94, 110, 126, 204, 222, 238, 252, 302, 380,
  422

  HENRY, THOMAS 428

  HOGGARTH, GRAHAM 340

  JENNIS, G. 35, 74, 261, 321, 357

  KING, GUNNING 15

  LEETE, ALFRED 228

  LOW, HARRY 46

  MILLS, A. WALLIS 55, 203, 245, 257, 285, 364, 394, 412, 417

  MORRISON, J. A. C. 80

  MORROW, EDWIN 220, 411

  MORROW, GEORGE 40, 41, 60, 61, 96, 97, 128, 144, 160, 176, 188, 208,
  224, 240, 256, 272, 304, 311, 320, 327, 352, 368, 384, 400, 416, 420

  NORRIS, ARTHUR 141, 289

  PARTRIDGE, BERNARD 1, 172

  PEGRAM, FRED 57, 123, 161, 177, 200, 237, 280, 316, 379

  PRANCE, BERTRAM 66, 273

  RAVEN-HILL, L. 27, 136, 187, 219, 284, 367

  REYNOLDS, FRANK 9, 49, 69, 101, 117, 149, 167, 189, 209, 229, 251, 264,
  319, 333, 344, 363, 381, 395, 407, 427

  ST. JOHN, D. G. 129, 225, 372

  SARGISSON, R. M. 19

  SHEPARD, E. H. 13, 37, 299, 405

  SHEPPERSON, C. A. 10, 30, 77, 109, 151, 165, 181, 197, 248, 277, 312,
  331, 343, 360, 408, 421

  STAMPA, G. L. 50, 70, 88, 104, 113, 164, 180, 212, 235, 244, 267, 296,
  324, 348, 373, 392

  STANFORTH, J. M. 236

  STEWART, W. D. 192

  TENNANT, DUDLEY 276

  THOMAS, BERT 156, 231, 341

  TOWNSEND, F. H. 5, 25, 33, 45, 53, 65, 73, 85, 90, 111, 120, 139, 152,
  155, 171, 186, 199, 202, 215, 218, 230, 234, 250, 266, 271, 282, 287,
  298, 314, 315, 330, 335, 346, 351, 362, 378, 391, 415, 426

  WALLIS, C. ALBAN 293

  WIGFULL, W. EDWARD 404

  WILSON, DAVID 356

[Illustration: FINIS]





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