The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, June 25, 1919
    
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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, June 25, 1919

Author: Various

Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #11712]
                Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Sandra Brown and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team.


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOLUME 156, JUNE 25, 1919 ***




Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Sandra Brown and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.





PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 156.



June 25, 1919.





CHARIVARIA.

A man has written to the papers offering to buy five thousand pounds of
Joy Loan if the Government will get him a case of whisky. The simple
fellow does not seem to realise that if the Government had anything as
valuable as a case of whisky it would not have to raise a loan.

       ***

The successful trans-Atlantic flight and the large number of
public-houses in Galway threaten to make prohibition in U.S.A. nothing
less than a farce.

       ***

Smoking, says a Church paper, is on the increase among boys. Boys will
be girls these days.

       ***

Smoking and bad language seem to go together, says Professor GILBERT
MURRAY. In the case of some cheap cigars we have often seen them going
together.

       ***

A bazaar has been held in Dublin for the purpose of securing a fresh
stock of wild animals for the Zoological Gardens. It is not believed,
however, that the popularity of Sinn Fein can be seriously challenged.

       ***

"Serbia," says an Italian news agency, "is purchasing large quantities
of war material and aeroplanes." It is feared, however, that these
elaborate Peace preparations may yet turn out to be premature.

       ***

Two German machine guns, it is stated, have been placed in a provincial
library. Even this, it is thought, will not prevent Mr. H.G. WELLS from
doing what he conceives to be his duty.

       ***

Labour unrest is reported from Spitzbergen. There is also a rumour that
the Greenlanders are demanding the nationalization of blubber and a
180-day year.

       ***

There is said to be some talk at Washington of the House of
Representatives inviting President WILSON to visit America shortly.

       ***

A Chicago Girls' Club has decided that its members shall have nothing to
do with young men. It is certainly getting to be an effeminate habit.

       ***

_The Daily Mail_ has presented a golden slipper for the actress with the
smallest feet. The slipper, we understand, is quite new and has never
been used on anybody.

       ***

An American gentleman is about to offer for sale his corkscrew, or would
exchange for something useful.

       ***

A very mean theft is reported from West Ealing. Not content with
stealing the loose silver a burglar is reported to have stolen the
muzzle from off the watch-dog.

       ***

The New Cross Fire Brigade have been awarded a Challenge Cup for the
quickest work. This brigade is now open to book a few orders for fires
during August, when they have several open dates.

       ***

We understand that a couple of young cheeses were kidnapped from a
Crouch Hill warehouse last week.

       ***

It is a surprising fact, says a contemporary, that when LENIN was born
his parents were practically penniless. The greater mystery is that his
parents decided to keep him.

       ***

A statistical expert has estimated that if all the questions asked by
Mr. SMILLIE at the Coal Commission's sittings were placed one before the
other they would lead to nowhere.

       ***

Over one hundred posters illustrating the danger of house-flies have
been exhibited in the Enfield district. It is doubtful whether this will
have the desired effect, for it is well known that flies cannot read.

       ***

The price of a first-class interment, says a contemporary, has risen
from £3 18s 0d. to £5 15s. 0d. The result is that many people
have decided to try to do without one this year.

       ***

The arrival in England of a rare mosquito is reported by the
South-Eastern Union of Scientific Societies. It seems that the insect
had worked its passage to the British Museum. We think that a sharper
look-out should be kept on mosquitoes arriving at our ports.

       ***

A painful episode is reported from Yarmouth. It appears that a visitor,
desirous of taking home a souvenir of his holiday, thoughtlessly filled
a bottle with sea water at low tide, with the result that just before
high tide the bottle burst, inflicting serious injuries on the
passengers in the railway carriage in which he was travelling.

       ***

Out of nine applicants for the post of Language Master at a well-known
Public school, eight were proficient in at least five languages.
However, as the ninth man proved to be an ex-Sergeant-Major, the eight
immediately retired in his favour.

       ***

We now hear that the question regarding the possession of
Kladizatiffagtaliofatoffka, in Poland, which has caused so much of the
delay at the Peace Conference, has been satisfactorily settled. The four
Big Powers are to have a couple of syllables each and the remaining
three will be raffled for.

       ***

On account of the large number of robberies of safes that have taken
place in London during the last few weeks it is possible that an effort
will shortly be made to do away with these cumbersome articles in order
to stamp out the epidemic.

       ***

The bacteriologist of the Oyster Merchants' and Planters' Association
claims to have discovered a means of purifying polluted mussels. To
ascertain if a mussel requires to be purified examine the whites of its
eyes.

       ***

Newspapers have appeared again in Buenos Ayres. No other troubles are
anticipated.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I'VE CALLED TO SEE IF YOU COULD MAKE A MINATURE OF ME."]

       *       *       *       *       *

AMERICA AND SINN FEIN.

    [Being a Republican's apology for the recent anti-British agitation
    in the States.]

  Oh, never let it mar the mutual love,
    That now unites us eye to eye,
  If, superficially, we seem to shove
    Our fingers in your Irish pie--
  An action which, if you should so behave,
  Would make old MONROE wriggle in his grave.

  How loath we are by nature to intrude
    In things outside our own concern
  Is witnessed by the European feud
    In which we lately took a turn;
  Ere WILSON'S mind was fixed to see you through it,
  For years he wondered if he ought to do it.

  And, when for Ireland's good we intervene
    In matters patently remote,
  You must not count our loyalty less keen--
    We simply want the Irish vote;
  'Tis an election stunt, this lion-baiting,
  Designed for local Kelts who need placating.

  So, when our Yankee delegates rehearse
    Their tale of Erin's bitter woe,
  Of crimes, almost too bad to quote in Erse,
    Committed by the Saxon foe,
  Please understand why our apparent bias is
  In favour of these nimble Ananiases.

  And also why, for Ireland's dear, dear sake
    (Meaning of course "Ourselves Alone"),
  A lot of us would gladly let her take
    Our WILSON for her very own,
  To worship, like a god inside a tin fane,
  As WOODROW ONE, First President of Sinn Fein.

  O. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

GOING TO THE BANK.

She thought she had got a bargain. It was only marked "20/-," and would
have been double the price at any of the West-end places. So she whipped
out her Japanese note-case, paid for it, and carried it off like a
whirlwind lest the shopman should find he had made a mistake.

But it was she who had made a mistake, and she broke the news to me at
breakfast on the following morning.

Two of her one-pound notes (or, to be exact, _my_ one pound notes) must
have stuck together. She had paid the West-end price after all.

Then, instead of blaming her own carelessness, as I should have done,
what must she do but attack Mr. LLOYD GEORGE?

"It's all his fault, this horrid dirty paper-money... Spreading
infection wherever it goes!"

It devolved upon me to defend the Government, which I did with some
heat, drawing forth another one-pound note casually, as though I were
made of them, and flourishing it in my hand.

"And anyway," I argued, "Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is not to blame. The note does
not bear his signature, but that of Sir JOHN BRADBURY. And a fine bold
signature it is--why, it's dirt-cheap for the lesson in handwriting
alone."

She did not appreciate that, because hers is a small scrabbed writing.
But I continued mercilessly--

"I bet he doesn't bite _his_ lips when he's signing his name."

"Extremely bad writing, I should call it," she retorted. "Look, you
cannot tell where the '_u_' ends and the '_r_' begins."

"But aside from that," I resumed (I was very proud of this expression,
having picked it up from President WILSON)--"aside from that, turn the
note over, feast your eyes on the picture of the Houses of Parliament.
It too is thrown in for nothing. This at least ought to appeal to you,
with your enthusiasm for Gothic architecture."

If looks could annihilate, that would have been my last boiled egg.

"You think yourself very clever," she said, "and you are supposed to
understand all about money matters. Surely you know of a bank where I
can take these wretched notes and get gold instead, the good old English
gold that was worth its face-value all the world over?"

I did not know she could be so eloquent. I rose and went to the window.
It was a noble morning.

"Yes," I said after a little reflection, "put on your best hat and
collect your paper-money. But try and pack it all into the kit-bag if
you possibly can." (She winced a little.) "I know a bank where you will
be able to get all the gold you want...."
       *       *       *       *       *
Shoulder to shoulder we fought the good fight for the motor-bus.

"Two to the Bank," I gasped.

But it was at Charing Cross station I made her descend. She looked
extraordinarily mystified, and I explained that the Bank's country
branches are the only ones where gold is still to be had.
       *       *       *       *       *
She and an empty milk-can and I were all that got out at the little
station in the hills. However, a cuckoo introduced himself boldly by
name. He seemed so near he might have been in the booking-office. But
the booking-office was deserted.

"There can't possibly be a bank in this out-of-the-world place," she
protested.

"Patience," I replied, leading her down a steep path between high thick
hedges to a small gateway. Through this we went, and I heard her draw in
her breath.

From our feet, as it seemed, up to the blue sky itself, one golden
glowing bank of buttercups and cowslips... and cowslips. It was almost
like trying to gaze at the noonday sun.

"There," I crowed, "you will be able to get all the gold you want. Did I
not say, 'I know a bank'?"

She did a curious thing. She put her arms round my neck and kissed me.

"Dear old Mr. Sententious," said she, "did you think you could take _me_
in? I knew my _Midsummer Night's Dream_ by heart while you were still
discovering 'THE-HOG-IS-IN-THE-PIT'!" And she sang quite softly:--

  "I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
  Where oxlips--"

Though I was very angry at the way she had deceived me, I must admit
that her voice was not unpleasing.

       *       *       *       *       *

IN A GOOD CAUSE.

The National Baby Week Council, which for many years has done admirable
work in promoting the Welfare of Infancy and Motherhood, is to hold its
annual "Week" from July 1st to 7th. Among other London celebrations a
Conference will be held at Kingsway Hall, under the Presidency of Dr.
ADDISON, on the Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Applications for
admission (one guinea, to include proofs of papers to be read and a
copy of the Report; or ten shillings, without printed matter) should
be addressed to Miss HALFORD, Secretary, National Association for the
Prevention of Infant Mortality, 4 and 5 Tavistock Square, W.C.1.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A REDRESS REHEARSAL.

OUR MR. MONTAGU _(practising on dummy)._ "THE LATEST LINE IN WESTERN
HEAD-WEAR, SIR, AND, IF YOU WILL ALLOW ME TO SAY SO, VERY BECOMING TO
YOU. THANK YOU, SIR, AND THE NEXT ARTICLE?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Son of the House (after being introduced to professor of
mathematics)._ "NOW WHAT SHALL I TALK TO YOU ABOUT?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A TANGLED TRIANGLE.

The Pâtisserie Delarue et Salon de Consommations is situated just on the
edge of Europe. Being a place of extreme military importance I dare not
indicate its position with greater exactitude, but may go so far as to
say that it can be found by stepping off the boat, crossing the bridge
and then inquiring of the Military Police. Its importance is due to the
quality of its _crème éclairs_, which attract the gilded Staff in such
large numbers that the interior is usually suffused like an Eastern
sunset with a rich glow of red tabs and gilt braid. Within its walls
junior subalterns, now, alas, a rapidly diminishing species, dally
with insidious ices until their immature moustaches are pendulous with
lemon-flavoured icicles and their hair is whitened with sugared rime.

There it was that Frederick discovered Percival feebly and mournfully
pecking at a vanilla ice.

"Greeting, old Spartan," said he. "Training for the Murman coast?"

"Would that I were!" replied Percival. "I'm refrigerating my sorrows.
I've tried to drown them, but they float; so I'm by way of freezing them
under."

"Poor Perce!" murmured Frederick. "I suppose it's Cox again?"

"_Au contraire_, I'm _his_ sorrow. My present trouble is that I've got
to find a wife."

"Nothin' easier, old thing. Your photo in the illustrated papers, with
appropriate letterpress--"

"You misunderstand me," interrupted Percival. "It's someone else's wife
I've got to find. _Écoutez_. Teddy Roker has got permission for his wife
to visit him out here. He's expecting her by this afternoon's boat and
has got a billet fixed up all right, but he's been suddenly rushed away
on a court-martial case, so he's asked me to meet her, and I've never
seen her before."

"But didn't he give you the specifications--kind of descriptive return?"

"That's just it!" groaned Percival. "He was only married last leave, and
his description goes like a Shakspearean sonnet. I gather that I've got
to look out for a combination of _Titania_, GLADYS COOPER and HELEN OF
TROY. I tried to nail him down to externals, but he only went off into
another rhapsody.

"'What does she wear?' I asked.

"'Wear?' said he dreamily. 'Oh! beautifully draped garments nebulous as
summer clouds and filmy as gossamer webs. Nothing really definite.'

"'That sounds probable enough, as the present fashions go,'" said I.

"Seems to me," said Frederick, "that this is a case to refer to higher
authority. The sleuth-hound instinct of one Frederick is indicated.
Having absorbed the available data I will e'en amble round myself to
assist you."

"There speaks my stout-hearted haricot!" said Percival. "But be
careful. Teddy won't like it if he gets the wrong wife. He made a point
of that. So in case we miss each other your instructions are briefly
these: you will meet what you honestly think to be Mrs. Roker outside
the Customs House, explain Teddy's absence, take her to his rooms at 10
_bis_, Rue Dufay, make her comfortable and report to me here at 6.15."

Punctually at 6.15 they met again in the Pâtisserie Delarue. Both were
radiant.

"'Tis done!" said Percival proudly; "and without the assistance of the
puissant Frederick. At 5.0 o'clock I was outside the Customs House and
saw her looking round with an anxious eye. 'Mrs. Roker, I believe?' said
I. She confessed right away, so I rattled her off in a cab to 10 _bis_,
Rue Dufay, and left her there nibblin' biscuits and drinkin' tea as
happy as a flapper."

"Percival," replied Frederick slowly, "for sheer imbecility you have
surpassed yourself. I myself met Mrs. Roker outside the Customs House
at 5.30, being detained _en route_. I took her to 10 _bis_, Rue Dufay,
where at the present moment she is partaking of coffee and chocolate
caramels. Shortly, no doubt, she will discover the spurious female that
you have decoyed thither and the First Act of a triangle drama will be
rung up."

"By Jazz," exclaimed Percival, "I'd stake my gratuity on the genuineness
of my Mrs. Roker. She knows Teddy's favourite breakfast food."

"No," said Frederick decidedly, "mine is the only authentic article. All
others are imitations. She knows dearest Edward's size in gloves."

"Well, we can't both be right."

"Did Teddy say anything about expecting _two_ wives?" asked Frederick
hopefully.

"Idiot!" said Percival. "As I see the situation, one of us--presumably
you--will presently be the central figure in a court-martial or police
court on a charge of abducting an innocent female. The remaining reels
in the film will be devoted to Teddy chasing you with a 5·9 howitzer
for jeopardizing his connubial happiness. But these unhappy concluding
incidents may be averted if you return the wrongful lady to her rightful
owner before Teddy gets back. So we'll take the necessary action
immediately."

"But which one are we going to discard if they both claim to be the
genuine Mrs. R.? Hadn't we better wait for Teddy? He'd be almost sure to
be able to decide."

"You make me tired. It's got to be settled before he comes back."

It was a brace of dejected subalterns that wended their way to 10 _bis_,
Rue Dufay. Percival knocked at the door of the drawing-room and in
response to an invitation they entered. A pretty and extremely composed
young lady greeted them.

"_My_ wife!" said Percival and Frederick simultaneously.

"Excuse me," said the lady with dignity; "the only husband I possess at
present is Mr. Roker."

"What I mean to say is," explained Percival lamely, "that you are the
wife of Mr. Roker that I met at the Customs--I mean, Mr. Roker's wife
that--"

"Me too!" broke in Frederick.

"Well, that's easily explained," said the lady, addressing Percival.
"After you had kindly escorted me here I suddenly remembered that I had
left my keys at the Customs House. Feeling confident of finding my way
about I returned for them. On emerging I was claimed by your fascinating
friend who is at this moment engaged in winding up his monocle
[Frederick guiltily stowed it away in his fob pocket]. He seemed so
delighted at having discovered me that I hadn't the heart to explain
that I'd been found before. Of course I'm excessively grateful to both
of you--Oh, here's dear old Teddy at last!"

During the scene of rapturous greeting that followed Frederick showed
that he indeed had his moments of inspiration.

"What about a vanilla ice at the Pâtisserie Delarue, old bean?" said he
to Percival.

And, unnoticed by the happy couple, they stole silently away.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Lady who has been handed the card of wife of new
baronet-profiteer)._ "ER--LET ME SEE. DO I KNOW LADY HOGGINS?"

_Butler_. "YOUR LADYSHIP HAS NOT RECEIVED HER SINCE THE CREATION."]

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Surplus Government Property for sale:--Brass Islets."--_Disposal
    Board "Surplus" Magazine_.

But why is the geographical position of this alluring archipelago not
given? Is it for enemy reasons?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FORCE OF HABIT--THE SCRUM HALF.]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEED OF OUR TIMES.

    ["The modern world is badly in need of a Pindar. Alone of the poets,
    Pindar could do justice to the exploits of the day."--_The Times._]

  "We're badly in need of a Pindar"
    To fan in these tropical days
  Our stock of emotional tinder
    With gusts of tempestuous praise;
  To foster the flame, not to check it
    Or let it die suddenly down,
  In honour of HAWKER and BECKETT,
    Of ALCOCK and BROWN.

  We do not require a CATULLUS
    (We've MASEFIELD and WAUGH and SASSOON)
  Nor pastoral pipers to lull us
    To rest with a sedative tune;
  But the worship of beer and of Bacchus
    In verses familiar and free
  Might win for a latter-day FLACCUS
    A Knighthood (B.E.).

  Bland VIRGIL'S beyond resurrection;
    The voice of the moment is harsh;
  The nightingale's golden perfection
    Offends the young ravens of MARSH;
  ARISTOPHANES, grossly facetious,
    Is but a "compulsory" god,
  And HOMER as well as LUCRETIUS
    Too frequently nod.

  There's scope for the truculent passion
    Of JUVENAL'S masculine muse
  To flagellate folly and fashion
    In dress and in manners and views;
  But we've plenty of prophets and poets;
    We've few who are sober and sane;
  We don't want another DE BLOWITZ;
    We want a DELANE.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "BETTER BEER ON THE HORIZON."

    _Daily Express_.

A beer in the hand is worth ten on the horizon.

       *       *       *       *       *

A TUBE NIGHTMARE.

Have you ever dreamed a dream of a terrible tube journey, in which every
one of the appalling things which might happen does actually occur? I
dreamed one last night.

The journey began with a disaster. On reaching the booking-office window
I could not find any money, and it was only when the waiting crowd
behind me, which had mounted to hundreds, was becoming offensively
hostile that I succeeded in producing a five-pound note.

The booking-clerk took her own time to count out the change, and on
leaving the window I found four policemen struggling to keep back an
infuriated mob of people, all shrieking imprecations and asking for my
blood.

There was but one thing for it--to get to a train before this angry
horde could secure its tickets; so I made a wild dash for the
moving-staircase, shedding Bradburys _en route_ like a paper-chase.

As I rushed past the ticket-puncher she made a vicious lunge at my
out-stretched hand with an enormous pair of pincers, missing the ticket
and partially amputating my thumb.

As I have always expected to do, but have never yet done, I missed
my footing at the top of the escalator, and my desire to outstrip my
enemies was realised beyond my wildest hopes as I crashed, by a series
of petrifying somersaults, down the entire flight, to be belched forth
like a sausage from a machine at the bottom.

Tattered, torn and in unspeakable agony I picked myself up and found my
steering-gear so damaged that I could only move sideways, crab-fashion,
and in this manner I crawled on to the platform just as a train was
beginning its exit.

I make a leap for it. The gates crash to! Am I inside them or out?
Neither. I am pinned there with the first half of my body struggling
inside the car while the second half protrudes over the fast-receding
platform.

I remember how in my agony it flashed across my mind that I would never
again slay a wasp with my fork.

I must have been pulled into the car just in time to stop the tunnel
(which is a dreadfully close fit) from bisecting me, for the next thing
I remember was being dropped into a corner seat and severely admonished
by the guard for getting into the train whilst it was in motion.

I was now a quivering and shapeless mass; nobody pitied me, nobody
helped me, so loathsome a spectacle did I present.

Of course the train passed my station, and at the next I was thrown out
like a mail-bag, to be trodden on by massed formations of travellers
fighting to enter and leave the car by the same door at the same time.

When the multitudes had dispersed and I was alone, by superhuman efforts
I contrived to wriggle on my stomach to the foot of the ascending
stairway, but not having sufficient strength to wriggle off on arrival
at the top, my long-dreaded horror of being sucked under the barrier,
where moving stairways disappear, was realised.

By now immune to pain, I regarded the next process (akin to being passed
through a mangle) as child's play. To my amazement, after a few minutes
amongst giant cog-wheels, I again found the light on the down-going
staircase, which precipitated me to the spot from which I had started.

Having thrice performed this revolution, by which time I was as flat as
a pancake, I was eventually scraped off by a porter and upbraided for
joy-riding.

Finding that those rebukes left me unmoved, for I was practically
lifeless, certainly boneless, and, to their horror, ticketless, they
folded me up and put me in a drawer pending the arrival of the police.

I was still there when the dream mercifully stopped.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Motor Cyclist_. "WHY THE DEUCE DON'T YOU DRIVE ON THE
PROPER SIDE OF THE ROAD?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

BIRD-LORE.

II.--PEACOCKS.

  Peacocks sweep the fairies' rooms;
  They use their folded tails for brooms;
  But fairy dust is brighter far
  Than any mortal colours are;
  And all about their tails it clings
  In strange designs of rounds and rings;
  And that is why they strut about
  And proudly spread their feathers out.

  R.F.
       *       *       *       *       *

    "Wanted.--Good stage electrician. No good stage electrician."--_The
    Stage_.

There ought to be no difficulty in finding the latter.

       *       *       *       *       *

CROSS COUNTRY.

A Commander in the Senior Service is the man who gets things done; and
long experience has formulated for him a golden rule: "If you want to
get things done you must _see_ them done." This laudable maxim
applies in a lesser degree to all his subordinates, right down to the
newly-joined boy, who can't very well help seeing _some_ things done,
unless he makes a habit of working with his eyes shut--a practice which
does not appeal particularly to P.O.'s.

The Commander of His Majesty's Battleship _Ermyntrude_ is far from being
an exception to the rule; he is a martyr to it. So are his officers. In
their enthusiasm they have let the rule run riot. You will soon see that
for yourself.

The idea germinated in the practical head of the gunner. It pushed its
way into the upper air under the plain cap of the A.P. It budded under
the (slighted tilted) head-dress of Number One, and blossomed forth into
a full-blown project under the gilded oak-leaves that thatch the Bloke.

He said, "The ship's company will run across country."

The ship's company girded up its loins and awaited further orders.

The course was decided upon. It ran from the signalling station on the
south of the island straight to the town on the north. There was no
possibility of making a mistake, because you could see the semaphore
from anywhere, and you would know when you got to the town because the
road stopped there. The various divisions of the ship were to compete
against each other. If you came in first you were to be given a ticket
numbered "one"; if second, a ticket numbered "two," and so on; and the
division which had the smallest total of pips at the end would be the
winner.

At 8.15 the ship's pinnace landed the gunner on the town jetty at the
north end of the island. He had come to deal with the competitors when
they arrived at the winning-post. He had brought with him the bo'sun and
the carpenter, his own mate, the bo'sun's mate and the carpenter's
mate, four P.O.'s, the sergeant of Marines, a few leading stokers and
half-a-dozen hands; fifty fathoms of hawser-laid four-inch white rope;
six stout stakes (ash); bags, canvas, twelve (one to collect the tickets
earned by each division); and one thousand eight hundred tickets,
numbered from one to one thousand eight hundred. (There were only six
hundred and fifty runners, but it is well to be on the safe side.)

He dug his stakes into the ground in a V-shaped formation just beyond
the place where the road ended and almost opposite the first cottage.
Further north he posted his canvas bags, which he fixed at a convenient
height above the ground by depending them from the necks of his
subordinates. He then rigged his rope around the stakes in such a way
that the runners, entering the wide end of the V, would be shepherded
one by one through a narrow aperture at the bottom, thus avoiding all
suspicion of overcrowding in giving out the tickets. He explained his
plan of campaign to his party and took up his post at the foot of the V.

Scarcely had he done so when the A.P. appeared upon the scene. He had
brought with him a few friends--a couple of subs, two or three senior
snotties and the Captain's secretary, a brace of stewards with the
luncheon baskets, and the cutter's crew, who carried between them two
large trellis-work screens which the carpenter had knocked up for him.

He passed the time of day with the gunner, marched fifty yards further
down towards the starting-point and had his screens deposited in the
middle of the road, in such a way that several could enter one end of
the enclosure they formed, but only one at a time could go out at the
other; this, he explained, would enable the men to pass the winning-post
in single file. He then lit a cigarette and took his stand at the narrow
end, producing from his pocket seven hundred and fifty neat red tickets
(numbered from one to seven hundred and fifty) which the chief writer
had made out for him the night before.

At 8.45 Number One arrived. To help him he had brought a couple of
watch-keepers, a surgeon, three engineers, a naval instructor and the
captain of Marines. He only paused to borrow one side of the gunner's V
and all but forty of the A.P.'s tickets, and passed on down the road.
When he had reached a suitable point about a hundred yards south of the
A.P. he had the purloined rope stretched slantwise, in such a way that
the only means of passing it was a little passage a yard wide between
the rope and the ditch on the right of the road. A little nearer still
to the starting-point he had a large placard erected with the words
"Keep to the Right" painted on it.

Punctually at 9.0 the Commander arrived with a piece of string and the
P.M.O. They took up their stand one on each side of the road opposite
the placard. The Bloke produced a small gold pencil, but, as he had
forgotten to bring any paper, he commandeered the placard and began
feverishly to write down all the numbers he could think of from one to
six hundred and fifty.

You are no doubt anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Owner at 9.15.
Well, I'm afraid I must disappoint you. Still, although he did not come
in person, yet he made his presence felt, as every good skipper should.
At 9.15, as the ship's company were lining up for the start by the
semaphore, he made the signal from the ship:--

"Sailing at 13.30. Return immediately."

       *       *       *       *       *

SONGS OF SIMLA.

V.--PELITI'S.

  I troll you no song that will hinder you long,
    I pen you no ponderous treatise,
  The theme that I sing is a gossamer thing
    As light as the cakes at PELITI'S.

  Grey roofs mid the pines and a heaven that shines
    As blue as the water where Crete is,
  The malachite green of a misty ravine,
    That's the balcony view at PELITI'S.

  There are mortals, may be, who abominate tea
    (One's poison another man's meat is),
  Who shy at the touch of a crumpet--for such
    There is music and love at PELITI'S.

  See that G.S.O.2 with the lady in blue;
    Has she noticed where one of his feet is,
  Or the issue that hangs on the plate of meringues
    Which he buys her each day at PELITI'S?

  Here the rulers of Ind, from the Salween to Sind,
    Take their ices and wafers (MCVITIE'S)
  And elaborate schemes over chocolate creams
    At five-o'clock tea at PELITI'S.

  And I think, when we die and the wraiths of us fly
    To that peace which depends not on treaties,
  The joys which we find will but serve to remind
    Of the hours that we spent at PELITI'S.

  J.M.S.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Thomas ---- was fined £5 £at £Oswestry yesterday for selling goods
    to a German prisoner.

    The chairman said defendant had sold goods to the value of 11s,
    1-1/2d. Where the German had got that large sum of money from was
    quite a mystery."--_Daily Paper_.

It seems pretty evident from the report that there was a good deal of
money about somewhere.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I'M TOLD SHE'S ALWAYS WRITING TO HER DRESSMAKER ABOUT
NEW FROCKS."

"I SUPPOSE SHE ENCLOSED A STAMPED AND ADDRESSED ENVELOPE FOR THAT ONE."]

       *       *       *       *       *

A CRUSADER.

One hears sometimes of pure altruists, but on analysing their purity an
alloy is perceptible. Although their work is for others, an element of
personal gratification is present.

Personal gratification or self-indulgence is of course inevitable; as it
can even enter into grief and pain; but now and then it is reduced to a
minimum: as, I hold, in the latest activities for her fellow-creatures
in which my friend Mrs. Delta has embarked.

During the War Mrs. Delta was indefatigable (I am not often sure of
my words, but I use this without a tremor of misgiving) in promoting
charities and collecting money to sustain them. At no time of day was
it safe to meet her, for you had to stand and deliver. There were no
privations due to the War which she was not out to mollify or remove,
and her ingenuity in discovering worthy objects was uncanny.

As, however, War was raging and most people are, underneath, kinder than
not, she escaped very severe criticism and amassed some good round
sums. And, since all her various Funds had committees and meetings and
minutes, Mrs. Delta, although that may have been only the least among
her motives, was the recipient of certain expressions of gratitude.
Organised charity cannot elude votes of thanks.

But that Mrs. Delta likes work for work's sake, apart altogether from
honeyed praises, is now beyond question, for the campaign she has just
inaugurated is unlikely to yield them.

"You must," she said to me yesterday, "give me something for my new
scheme."

"I hope I shall have enough strength of mind not to; but what is it?"

"You have noticed in what a dreadful state so many of the shop windows
in London now are?" she asked.

"The iniquitous prices of the goods?"

"Oh, no; I didn't mean that. I mean the dropped letters. Where they have
glass letters stuck on, you know, and some have gone. Surely you must
have noticed?"

"Yes, of course," I replied; "but I thought the shop-keepers were too
lazy or careless to bother. The War has increased carelessness, you
know."

"No, it isn't that," she said. "The poor fellows are so understaffed and
overworked that they can't find time. My idea is to raise a fund so
that it can be done for them. My heart aches. Only this morning I saw a
barber's with  ASH AND  RUSH UP on it; and a confectioner's"--she referred
to her notebook--"with ICE  REAMS, and an undertaker's with PINKING  ONE
 ERE."

"What is pinking?" I asked. "I always wanted to know."

"And," she continued, again consulting her book, "a tobacconist's with
BEST  OLDEN VIRGIN  , and a dentist's with PA  LESS EXTRACTION. Something
really must be done. Don't you agree?"

I murmured that there were other abuses that were possibly more in need
of immediate redress, but Mrs. Delta again turned to her book.

"And a dairyman with FAMILIES   UP  LIE , and a stationer's with  LUE  LACK
INK. Isn't it distressing?--and so bad for growing children to see so
much slovenliness. And what can foreigners think of us? The Americans,
for instance, who are always so spick and span, and--"

The means of rescue came to me in the shape, of a vast monster on
wheels, bright with yellow and scarlet, thundering over the road.
"That's my bus," I said, and ran.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Father (to troublesome small boy_). "NOW LOOK HERE,
TONY. I SHAN'T WARN YOU AGAIN. THE VERY _NEXT_ TIME YOU MISBEHAVE YOU
GO _STRAIGHT_ UPSTAIRS TO BED."

_Small Sister_. "AND THAT'S _THAT_. ISN'T IT, DADDY?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THOSE DRESSES.

_(Being a Midsummer Night's Dream, or thereabouts.)_

  More gay than day and plumier
    Than Birds of Paradise,
  It was no Court Costumier
    That made them look so nice;
  No milliners nor drapers
    On mortal business terms
  Of those sweet modes were shapers,
  Though several evening papers
    Mention the actual firms.

  But fairies wove that raiment
    Of starshine and of flowers;
  They asked no better payment,
    They craved no shorter hours;
  With eglantine and lilies
    They worked a June night long,
  And that is just where "Phyllis"
  In "Ascot frocks and frillies"
    Goes absolutely wrong.

  'Neath beech-tree and 'neath cedar,
    In rings of moonlit green....
  What bilge, you say, good reader?
    My very dear old bean,
  Think of the state of Prices,
    Think of the slump in Trade,
  Turn to the Paris Crisis,
  Ponder the cost of ices
    And buns and gingerade.

  New War-loans shriek for money;
    All work is at an end;
  It seems extremely funny
    There's any cash to spend;
  Yet still the tide of laces,
    The foam of fluff and silk
  Comes round in cardboard cases
  To lots of people's places
    As punctual as the milk.

  While, sworn to get revenge in,
    And waiting at the door,
  That grim three-handed engine
    Prepares to strike once more,
  Who built these gowns we mutely
    Admire on lawn and lea?
  Who bought them (think acutely),
  With England absolutely
    As broke as she can be?

  Therefore I say the fabric
    Was wrought of faery woof,
  Not made in walls of drab brick
    Nor won with mortal oof;
  Delicate, dream-like, pretty
    As sunshine after rain,
  Worn by Miss Hodgson ("Kitty")--
  It seems a dreadful pity
    She spilled the iced champagne.

  Therefore I say that, toiling
    With wild white roses' bloom--
  No printers' vats a-boiling
    Nor labour of the loom--
  With fern and foxglove chalice
    On tiny feet or wings
  Titania's elves made sallies,
  And that's how Lady Alice
    Had on those lovely things.

  EVOE.

       *       *       *       *       *

A HAPPY THOUGHT.

    "When the blessing had been pronounced and the bridal pair were
    kneeling at the altar Dame Nellie Melba, wearing a blue dress and
    hat, crept from the side chapel to the choir and to the joy of the
    audience sang the pathetic 'Ave Maria' that Desdemona sings in the
    last act of Verdi's _Othello_ when she feels her predestined doom
    approaching."--"_Evening Standard" on a Society wedding_.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Mr. Bottomley objects to By Jingo."

    _Daily Paper_.

Yet in one or another of his "powerful" articles we seem to have seen
something like "Damn the Kaiser" and "To Hell with Hindenburg."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE PHILANDERER.

SINN FEIN. "BE MINE."

PRESIDENT WILSON. "I DO HOPE I HAVEN'T GIVEN YOU TOO MUCH
ENCOURAGEMENT--BUT I CAN NEVER BE MORE THAN A BROTHER TO YOU."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _First Australian_. "'OO's YER SWELL PAL,
DIGGER?"

_Second Ditto_. "I DUNNO HIS NAME, BUT I REMEMBER HIS FACE. I GIVE HIM A
BIT OF BACON JUST OUTSIDE ST. QUENTIN."]

       *       *       *       *       *

WHY DRAG IN MRS. SIDDONS?

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Nothing annoys me more than the assumption that
wit, learning, fancy, etc., were the monopoly of the past. For
example, a correspondent of one of our leading dailies has
been trotting out Mrs. SIDDONS' use of blank verse in familiar
conversation, and quoting from LOCKHART:--

"John Kemble's most familiar table-talk often flowed into blank
verse; and so indeed did his sister's [Mrs. Siddons']. Scott (who
was a capital mimic) often repeated her tragic exclamation to a
foot-boy during a dinner at Ashestiel--

  'You 've brought me water, boy,--I asked for beer!'

Another time, dining with a Provost of Edinburgh, she ejaculated, in
answer to her host's apology for his _pièce de résistance_--

  'Beef cannot be too salt for me, my lord.'"

This is all very well, but just as good blank verse is commonly used by
eminent men and women to-day; indeed some of them excel in impromptu
rhymes. Thus in Mr. HAROLD WESTMORELAND'S interesting volume,
_Eavesdroppings_, there is this charming story of the first meeting
of Madame CLARA BUTT and Miss CARRIE TUBB. They were introduced at a
garden-party at Fulham, and Mr. WESTMORELAND overheard the memorable
quatrain in which Madame CLARA BUTT greeted her sister-artist:--

  "In our names we 're alike
    But in minstrelsy--ah no!
  For I'm a contralto
    And you're a soprano."

To the same veracious chronicler I am indebted for a specimen of the
impromptus which Lord READING frequently throws off, to the delight of
his friends. Mr. WESTMORELAND was having a pair of boots tried on at
a famous Jermyn Street bootmaker's when Lord BEADING was undergoing a
similar ordeal, and electrified the courteous assistant by observing:--

  "The right-foot boot to me seems rather tight;
  The left, _per contra_, feels exactly right."

But perhaps the finest exponent of the art is a famous General, whose
_obiter dicta_ in verse are innumerable. I have only space to quote one,
spoken to a soldier with whom he had shaken hands:--

  "You are the proudest man in France,
    Or at any rate in Flanders,
  For you've shaken hands, in a great advance,
    With the greatest of Corps Commanders."

Surely in the light of these examples, which might be indefinitely
multiplied, there is no need for the present to fear comparison with the
past in the sphere of conversational verse?

I am, dear Mr. Punch,

Yours faithfully,

NOSTRI TEMPORIS LAUDATOR.

       *       *       *       *       *

CULTURE IN THE STY.

    "Yorkshire Pork Pies, possessing character and individuality, 5 lb.
    Price, 15s.--_Daily Express_.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "COLUMBUS OF THE AIR.

    Captain Alcock's Story of his Great Atlantic Flight."--_Dublin
    Evening Telegraph_.

Would not Vimy-bus be better?

       *       *       *       *       *

Slough Verdict: _Dulce est de-Cippenham in loco_.

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE PLAY.

"THE CINDERELLA MAN."

The importation of theatrical sweet-stuff from America is of course a
growing industry. The latest consignment, _The Cinderella Man_, first
arrived in this country in the form of a novel, and the difficulty it
offered was that the struggling hero, _Anthony Quintard_, whose fate
depended, in the absence of common-sense, on his winning a ten thousand
dollar prize for an opera libretto, seemed to me, from samples of his
work exhibited, to be an unlikely competitor. But I must say that when
at the play I saw our Mr. NARES in his garret sucking at his pipe in
that masterful manner and modifying what might so easily have been a too
sticky situation with a charmingly light touch, I began to think better
of _Anthony's_ chances and therefore necessarily of Mr. EDWARD CHILDS
CARPENTER'S general idea. For the author obviously may claim the credit
of this reading, even if I harbour an obstinate private suspicion that
it was only by a very deliberate and steadfast determination on the
part of Mr. NARES as hero and Mr. HOLMAN CLARK as matchmaker that this
particular reading prevailed.

Mr. CARPENTER doesn't believe in mystifications. He explains everything
with the completest candour in his first Act, from which you gather that
a millionaire's daughter, returning from Paris to the immense stuffy New
York mansion, is desperately lonely, and has also cut herself free from
an unsatisfactory affair of the heart; that a young poet, a friend
of the millionaire's sentimental lawyer, is also lonely, living like
_Cinderella_ (isn't this wrong?) in an attic next-door, proud as poor;
that another friend of the millionaire has offered a prize for a
libretto. Having thus put the rabbit, the bird-cage and the flowerpot
into the hat in front of you he proceeds in a leisurely manner to take
them out again.

The young millionairess, posing as a poor "companion," visits the
starveling poet _viâ_ the snow-covered roof and the attic window,
bringing food, stoves, coverlets, wool to mend his socks and ideas to
mend his opera. Naturally here were opportunities of unlimited business,
during which _Marjorie_ (Miss RENÉE KELLY) looked perfectly sweet, as I
heard more than one ardent young lady declare to approving lieutenants.

Miss KELLY has indeed all the air of a heroine of honeyed romance. In
particular she played one episode, the trying over of a new song, in
a winningly natural manner. I found the way in which she flapped her
eyelids a subject of puzzled study. I have not observed that maidens in
real life indulge in these calisthenics. This is perhaps as well; they
are evidently very deadly. Within a fortnight of their being brought
into action poet _Quintard_ is in the _Kamerad_ stage. Not _Anne
Whitfield_ herself exhibits more explicitly the urgency of the life
force, the will to wed.

Mr. OWEN NARES, who has a following more than sufficient to justify his
recent assumption of management, gave a very attractive and indeed,
within the limits imposed by the piece, a distinguished performance
as the proud and hungry poet. An extreme naturalness of pose and
intonation, without over-stresses or affectations, characterised this
agreeable study. Mr. HOLMAN CLARK, that finished actor in the bland
manner, very adroitly, as I have hinted, settled the mood of the piece
and made the good appear the better line and the ordinary line good. Mr.
SYDNEY VALENTINE had a Valentine part ready made. It would take more
than an indisposition, which he pluckily ignored, to put him off his
stroke. Mr. TOM REYNOLDS was effective as a maudlin serving-man who
had once butled a real gentleman and could never forget it. Miss ANNIE
ESMOND gave a depressingly clever rendering of a quite unbelievably
appalling landlady.

[Illustration: A Fairy Godmother (Miss RENÉE KELLY) reduced to tears by
the unsusceptibility of her Godchild (MR. OWEN NARES).]

Altogether a pleasant wholesome evening's entertainment. Young men and
maidens of our day needn't hesitate to take their parents.


"ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGONS."

There is much more of the substance of wit and truth in Mr. EDEN
PHILLPOTTS' "Devon comedy" at the Kingsway. The _St. George_ of the
title is not the Cappadocian, but that somewhat irreverent Father in
God, _St. George Loftus_, Bishop of Exeter; the dragons are two quite
unsuitable suitors for the hands of _Monica_ and _Eva_ (daughters of
his dull old friend, _Lord Sampford_), who don't believe in class
distinctions. _Monica's_ young man is the son of a yeoman farmer,
personable, certainly, on horseback and of a blood older than the
_Sampfords'_, but an essential resilient, and altogether impossible when
playing the concertina or after mixing his drinks (or both). _Eva's_
follower is a brilliant raw young man from Glasgow, recently ordained,
with professional ambitions as pronounced as his accent.

The parents try the now exploded method of direct opposition. _St.
George's_ weapons are smooth words and a heart chokefull of guile. Does
his god-daughter _Monica_ want to elope with her yeoman? By all means
let love have his sacred way. But his lordship will contrive in the
_rôle_ of a strayed and bogged fisherman to be at Stonelands Farm before
the young couple arrive _en route_ for London and the registry-office,
and he will see to it that _Monica_ learns what the daily life of a
working farmer is like, and what the beer (or bad champagne for festal
occasions) and rabbit pie in the kitchen; with sudden frank explanations
as to the imminence of the crisis in the interesting condition of
_Snowdrop_ the Alderney; what, too, is the Stonelands' notion of music
and the dance, with Teddy's braying concertina and cousin Unity's
quavering treble and the ragged bass and candid speech of old _Caunter_,
the head man.... So much for _Monica_.

And _Eva_ thinks she wants to tie herself to this crude Glaswegian.
Well, here it will be best to insinuate to the young man how unfortunate
it is that the vacant chaplaincy to the Bishop of Exeter is designed
for a celibate, and to the young woman that to marry so brilliant (and
ingenuous) a youth is to hang a millstone round his neck. For, after
all, muses the prelate, revealing dreadful depths of low cunning and
perfidy, it's easier to change a chaplain than a husband.

A thoroughly amusing affair. Of course Mr. PHILLPOTTS shirks his
problem, _Teddy Copplestone_ need not have been a bounder (the odds
indeed were against it), nor need his cigars, his champagne or his music
have been so bad. But then we should have missed a diverting piece of
fun and have been saddled with a solemn problem-play unsuited to the
(alleged) gaiety of the hour.

The general level of the playing was high, and, after a somewhat nervous
opening (and perhaps just a few affectations of the fourth-wall school),
the piece swung into a pleasant rhythm.

Mr. ERNEST THESIGER interprets with consummate ability Mr. PHILLPOTTS'
amusing and original creation, this puss-in-gaiters Machiavelli, _St.
George Exon_. Miss LILLAH MCCARTHY (_Monica_), in the familiar _rôle_ of
beauty in revolt, had an easy task, which she fulfilled very agreeably.
Miss ALBANESI (_Eva_) put brains and fire and (not at all a negligible
gift of the gods) precise enunciation into her work. Mr. FEWLASS
LLEWELLYN and Miss MARY BROUGH were quite delightful as old
_Copplestone_ and his wife. Mr. CLAUDE KING as _Teddy Copplestone_ had
perhaps the most difficult task, a part that by no means played itself,
but needed a sustained skill, duly forthcoming. But I think the
performance that pleased me most was that of Miss EVELYN WALSH HALL, a
name new to me, in the small part of _Unity Copplestone_, played with a
directness and sincerity which was quite distinguished.

Let me add that the flapping of eyelids (to which I have referred in my
remarks on _The Cinderella Man_) is here also a feature. One member
of the cast (of my own sex, too) gave a display of virtuosity in this
_genre_ which was technically superb.

Two insignificant details of management caused me some amusement.
The solemn clang of a gong presaging doom as dire as OEDIPUS'S (and
incidentally inaudible to cigarette smokers in the foyer) gives notice
of the resumption of the play, while at the end of the Acts the curtain
flutters up and down at a feverish pace as if the idea was to get in as
many "calls" as possible before the applause stops. Are we as guileless
as all that, I wonder? And, anyway, no such manoeuvre was necessary. The
applause was hearty, the laughter spontaneous, and anybody who cares for
plays made and played with brains should go and see this engaging piece.

T.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Taxi-driver._ "WHERE ARE WE ALL OFF TO?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SPREAD OF DEMOCRACY.

    "The Earl of Loudoun, whose English seat it is, possesses eight
    jeerages."--_Field_.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.

    "'Honour among thieves' is an old saying, but the pickpocket who
    stole Lieut.-Commander Grieve's watch during his reception was an
    exception to the rule."--_Illustrated Leicester Chronicle_.

       *       *       *       *       *

A correspondent asks us if there is any truth in the statement that
Peace will be signed in time for the Peace Celebrations. At the moment
of going to press it is still doubtful.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "NOTE.--The Swan used in this Production is supplied by the
    well-known firm of Messrs. Swan and Edgar, Piccadilly Circus,
    London."--_Programme of Shakespeare Theatre, Liverpool_.

We understand that the business is in the charge of Mr. EDGAR during his
partner's absence.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

_Jinny the Carrier_ (HEINEMANN) was, as Mr. ZANGWILL lets us know in a
felicitous epistle-dedicatory to an evidently charming lady, designed as
a "bland" and leisurely book, free from any trace of war's horrors or
modern perplexities, the sort you could read comfortably with a sore
throat on you. I think if I had not been in such rude health I might
have managed the five hundred and eighty odd close-set pages without
getting just a little tired of his worthy Essex peasants of the time of
the great Hyde Park Exhibition. _Jinny_ herself is a perfect darling, of
real wit and character, and her business as the local carrier gives a
plausible machinery for the introduction of an enormous number, a truly
Dickensian profusion, of subsidiary characters. _Jinny_ indeed is above
criticism, but the trouble with many, indeed with most, of the others,
seemed to me to be their exaggerated sprightliness of speech, just a
little too clever to be credible and not quite amusing enough to be
palatable in large doses. To me the real pleasure of the book comes from
the author's craftsmanlike use of words and the humour and imagination
of his descriptions and asides. But if I may be humbly candid beyond the
custom of my trade I must confess to an uncomfortable impression
that sounder qualities in the reviewer would have discovered greater
qualities in the work.

       *       *       *       *       *

I rather suspect Mrs. GERTRUDE ATHERTON of having written _The
Avalanche_ (MURRAY) either for the amusement of exercise in an
unfamiliar medium, or, well, for any motive that might explain a
production certainly not quite up to her own standard. Its publishers
(who may be prejudiced) consider _The Avalanche_ as "a brilliant and
engaging study of mystery and romance;" me it impressed as a melodrama
dependent on one long-heralded sensation, which proves on tardy arrival
an affair of disappointment. I suppose I must be careful not to give
away the mystery, such as it is. _Price Rugler_ was anxious to discover
why his attractive wife assumed a worried look when money was mentioned
and fainted on being told that she was not to wear the family ruby at a
particular masque. All this happened (you may not be astonished to hear)
in San Francisco, amongst that luxurious, idle, over-moneyed society
whose manners Mrs. ATHERTON knows and describes so well. _Price_ had
already found out, with the assistance of a not too brilliant detective,
that his wife's mother derived her income from a gambling saloon;
the remaining problem was how to link up this knowledge with the odd
behaviour of _Mrs. Price_. Perhaps you see it already. She had been--No,
I said I wouldn't, and I won't. Of course the discovery couldn't be
called cheerful, though it was fortunately made in time to prevent any
great harm. But it was nothing like an avalanche.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: UNRECORDED HISTORY.

INCONSIDERATE FLAPPER WAYLAYS KING JOHN ON HIS RETURN FROM SIGNING MAGNA
CARTA AT RUNNYMEDE.]

       *       *       *       *       *

It is much harder, I am afraid, to be a good Bengali than a good
Englishman. _Nikhil_, the Rajah of Sir RABINDRANATH TAGORE'S _The Home
and the World_ (MACMILLAN), persists in treating _Sandip Babu_ (a
convinced Nietzchean in philosophy and a Nationalist of the most
inflammable type) as an honoured guest of his household, in spite of the
fact that he differs from the fellow profoundly on every conceivable
topic and is well aware, moreover, that _Sandip_ is rapidly winning the
heart of his Rani, _Bimala_. _Nikhil_, you see, considers that "all
imposition of force is weakness," and that "only the weak dare not be
just." Most Westerners, I think, would have kicked the rhapsodical and
rather plausible agitator out-of-doors and felt all the better for it
from the boot-toe upwards. The real truth is that the story, which is
written in the form of a triple autobiography (_Nikhil, Sandip_ and
_Bimala_ all taking a hand at telling it in turn) is an exposition of
two views of Suadeshi, or what may be called the Sinn Fein movement in
India. _Nikhil_ is the apostle of "self-realisation" as a moral force;
_Sandip_ believes in grabbing whatever you can. The latter first deifies
his country (_Bande Mataram,_ or "Hail, Mother!" is the Nationalist
motto) and then identifies _Bimala_ with the object of his worship,
which seems a very convenient theory. As for _Bimala_, she wavers
between the two. The romantic interest of the book (which is, by the
way, a translation) breaks down rather badly when it becomes clear that
_Sandip_ is not really a big enough man to make a complete conquest
of the Rani; but from every other point of view it is supremely
interesting. And if _Nikhil_ might perhaps have been improved by a
little less force of character and more of shoe-leather, _Bimala_, at
any rate, is a delightful personage.

       *       *       *       *       *

Even "KATHARINE TYNAN" must sometimes fall below her own standard, and
_The Man from Australia_ (COLLINS), though written with considerable
grace and charm, is too thin in plot to be altogether satisfactory.
_John Darling_, a youngish man of wealth and an extremely liberal
disposition, came from Australia to visit his connexions in the West of
Ireland and--if opportunities occurred--to help them. Opportunities did
offer themselves in abundance. The _Adairs_ in their various ways were
ripe for a benefactor of the _Darling_ type to appear, and _John_ soon
got busy. In the course of his activities--for it would have been unkind
(and very dull) to bring him all the way from Australia to Ireland just
to serve as a travelling relief-fund--he is made to fall in love with
one of the _Adair_ girls. And that's almost the whole story. One may
always trust Mrs. HINKSON to get her atmosphere right; but she is not so
happy in her attempt to contrast the preternaturally unselfish _Darling_
who, like an earlier _Mr. Darling_, would have been content to live in a
kennel) with the inordinately self-indulgent father of the _Adairs_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EPILOGUE]

THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS.

"I assume," said the Cynic, "that you are sufficiently sanguine to
rejoice in the prospects of Peace."

"I derive a certain satisfaction from those prospects," replied Mr.
Punch on a note of reserve.

"But you ought to be jazzing for joy, like the other fools in their
Paradise of nigger minstrelsy."

"My years excuse me from choric exercises," said the Sage. "And, anyhow,
it doesn't take me that way."

"Then you are not in the movement. You are not in touch with the
spiritual pulse of our throbbing Metropolis; you take no active part in
the New Life that is springing from the seed of England's sacrifices.
True, your years, as you say, are against you, however well you wear
them: it is to the young that we look first for signs of the great
Regeneration. And in particular we look to those who are to be the
mothers of that future race which should reap the full harvest of our
blood and tears.

"And what do we find?" continued the Cynic. "We find a contempt for the
old virtues of simplicity and reticence; we find the distinction of sex
wiped out, and with it all reverence and sense of mystery. Nature is a
back number with them; they must for ever be plastering their noses
with powder--not just privily, as used to be the better way of faded
charmers, but shamelessly in public places. In dress they barely keep
within the bounds of decency prescribed by the police. They make their
own advances, rounding up and capturing their 'boys' for partners,
lest the haunts of jazzery should be closed against them. And in this
competition for their favours the good modest fellows who only a little
while ago were fighting our battles for us are now giving themselves the
airs of spoilt beauties. What do you make of all this in your scheme of
Renaissance?"

"I admit much of what you say," said Mr. Punch, "but I ascribe it, in
part at least, to a natural reaction from the strain and horror of War."

"'Reaction'!" snorted the Cynic. "A very comfortable word. But what were
the sufferings from which they are 'reacting'? The loss, you will say,
of the flower of our chivalry in battle? Well, one would think that
might have steadied them. Is this what our manhood died for--to make a
British carnival?"

"I don't pretend to understand that side of it," said the Sage, "but I
know that during the War we respected the silence of their grief; and I
know that nature must choose its own way of recovering from a loss and
reasserting its claim to happiness. Remember, too, that War must always
have its demoralising features, however splendid the cause for which you
are fighting. 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,' says the
soldier in his brief intervals of release. And some of us at home went
more than half-way to meet him, imitating an attitude excusable in him
but not in us. And that attitude is bound to survive for a little time
the causes that induced it. But you must not forget that many of the
type which you are now attacking did noble work in the War; and they
will do it again."

"That may be," said the Cynic; "but is it necessary to have an orgy of
_Carmagnole_ in between?"

"I think perhaps it is like the case of a crew or a team going out of
training. They permit themselves a certain relaxation before they start
training for the next contest. But I think too that there is something
to be said for your reference to the _Carmagnole_. We are passing
through a phase of Revolution, very natural after a great upheaval. The
sense of freedom--the very thing for which we have been fighting--is apt
to turn the heads of the young and thoughtless. There is a spirit of
rebellion in the air, which at its worst takes the form of Bolshevism,
but here is seen in a relatively harmless shape as a general revolt
against social restriction, a general passion for what is known as 'a
good time.' In any case it is only a passing phase. Already there are
signs of a reaction from this reaction; of a return to the decency of
other days. They tell me, for a slight but significant indication, that
the waltz is coming back; that we may even look to see a revival of the,
minuet and pavane."

"Then it is just a question of a cycle of vogues? We are to be swayed by
recurring gusts of fashion, and not inspired by a fixed ideal."

"Fashion counts with us, of course, for we are human and some of us are
feminine. There was a fashion of patriotism as there is now a fashion of
something that might easily be mistaken for its opposite. But the range
of its influence is largely confined to a rather negligible element in
London, the most provincial of capitals. The Press--and notably the
Photographic Press--gives it a prominence out of all relation to its
importance. The great majority are untouched by it. They talk little
and they advertise less. But in a thousand quiet ways they are setting
themselves to make good."

"To make good money, you mean. Our world seems made up of profiteers and
of those who would be profiteers but can't, and so abuse those who can.
Can you name to me a period when there was a wilder rush for wealth, or
a more blatant display of luxury? Sometimes I wish the War back; England
was at her best when the call for sacrifice came home to her. But
how--we hear great talk of Reconstruction, but I am reminded rather of
the Restoration."

"My friend," said the Sage, "I shall believe that this too is only a
temporary phase. Memory is not our strong point, but you can perhaps
throw back your mind to a year ago and recall how near we came to
the ruin of our hopes. Victory took us by surprise; and we were less
prepared for Peace at that moment than we ever had been for War. And,
just as in the first days of the fighting we went astray, running after
the cry, 'Business-as-usual,' so to-day we are making as bad a mistake
when we run after 'Pleasure-as-usual'--or rather more than usual. But
we soon revised that early error, and we shan't waste much time about
revising this. For though we lacked imagination then, and still lack
it, we have the gift, perhaps even more useful if less showy, of common
sense. And when common sense is found in natures that are honest and
hearts that are clean it may make mistakes, but not for long.

"No, I am an optimist, and an incorrigible old fool, if you like, but I
am certain that the spirit which won the War is not going to fail us
at this second call. Perhaps we have only been waiting for the actual
consummation of Peace to settle down to our new and greater task.

"And now I must excuse myself from further dialogue, having a mission
to perform in connection with this very task. I go to distribute a
corrective for some of the evils of Peace, as indicated by you. My
motor-lorry, stuffed with samples, awaits me without."

"And what is the nature of your patent medicine?" said the Cynic, very
cynically.

"It is," replied Mr. Punch, very confidently but also very
modestly,--"it is a little thing of my own. It is, in fact; my

[Illustration: ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIXTH VOLUME".]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: INDEX]

       *       *       *       *       *

CARTOONS.

  PARTRIDGE, BERNARD
    Babes in the Wood (The) 25
    Bear Turns (The) 443
    Cinderella 183
    Cramping his Style 283
    "Dora" discomfited 63
    Dove at Sea (The) 303
    "Dry" Humour 123
    England Expects 163
    Faith Restored 463
    First German Victory (The) 83
    Foch-Terrier (The) 203
    Germany Draws the Pen 383
    Ghosts at Versailles 363
    Giving Him Rope 143
    Honour Satisfied 423
    In the Subscription Lists 483
    Irresistible Claim (An) 223
    Loving Cup (The) 403
    Military Muzzle (The) 343
    1919 Model (The) 9
    Overweighted 243
    Peril Without (The) 263
    Philanderer (The) 503
    Progressive Weight-lifter (The) 103
    Reckoning (The) 323
    World's Desire (The) 43

  RAVEN-HILL, L.
    Another Threatened Industry 215
    Army of Unoccupation (The) 275
    Cautious Dictator (A) 375
    Cheerful Pachyderm (The) 315
    Dawn of Intelligence in Berlin 155
    Distractions of an Indispensable 235
    Easter Offering (The) 295
    Finishing Touch (The) 475
    Goose that Lays the Golden Eggs (The) 135
    Great Renunciation (The) 415
    Home from Home (A) 175
    Imperial Preference 355
    International Stakes (The) 435
    Lost Ally (The) 75
    New Commercial Traveller (The) 55
    New Issue (The) 455
    Order of Release (The) 95
    Peace Queue (The) 395
    Reconstruction; a New Year's Task 3
    Redress Rehearsal (A) 495
    Ruins of Empire 35
    Spring Defensive (A) 255
    Turn of the Tide (The) 195
    Victim (The) 115

  TOWNSEND, F. H.
    Menace of May (The) 335
    War Against the Public (The) 19

       *       *       *       *       *

ARTICLES.

  ANDERSON, MAJOR GORDON
    Mistress and Maid 262

  ARMSTRONG, H.
    Labour Notes 449
    _Rus in Urbe_ 428

  BAIN, CAPT. B. W.
    Cast 134

  BELL, ROBERT
    _Autres Temps, Autres Moers_ 54
    Perfectly Unauthentic Anecdotes 234

  BERRY, H. W.
    To an Egyptian Boy 24

  BIRD, CAPT. A. W.
    Joshua 40

  BRETHERTON, CYRIL
    Bolshevismus 346
    Charivaria weekly
    Coal 450
    _Dulce Domum_ 110
    Patriot's Reward (The) 217
    Songs of Innocence 432
    To a dear Departed 138
    To-day in the Food Garden 274
    War-Dogs' Party (The) 65, 88

  BROWN, C. L. M.
    Back to the Cam 374
    Good-bye to the Auxiliary Patrol 154, 174
    Rhymes of Rank 320
    Tragedy of Over-Education (A) 58

  BROWN, J. B.
    Contracts 148

  BURGE, M. R. K.
    Small-Talk 318

  BURROW, C. K.
    Red Wine of the Country (The) 186

  CARTER, DESMOND
    Bakerloonacy 407

  CHANDLER, MISS B. W.
    Collaboration. 366

  COWAN, M. A.
    Blighty Impressions 80

  CRASTER, LIEUT. COL. J. E. E.
    Edentulous Persons 114

  CRAWFORD, CAPT. L. I.
    N.Y.D. 448
    Propaganda in the Balkans 296

  CUNDY, C. W.
    "As You Were" 338
    Balaam Stakes (The) 474
    Error in Tactics (An) 456
    Spring Ideal (A) 414
    Tangled Triangle (A) 496

  DARMADY, CAPT. E. S.
    Poet (The) 476

  DEANS, F. H.
    Our Beauty Column 60

  DE BANZIE, ERIC
    Spoil-Sport (The) 314

  DE STEIN, EDWARD
    My Sergeant-Major-Domo 96

  DIXEY, H. G.
    Early One Morning 86

  DRAKE, MAURICE
    Diamond-cut-Diamond 408

  DUKES, MAJOR A.
    Pumpenheim 436

  ELIAS, FRANK
    With the Red Guards. 321

  ELLIS, D. C.
    Acute Angler (The) 136

  ENGLEMAN, S. E.
    Tendencies 126

  FARJEON, MISS E.
    Dancing demobilised 128
    State Lotteries 190

  FENN, C. R.
    Real Dalrymple (The) 96

  FOOTE, S. H. W.
    Maternal Instinct (The) 280

  FOX-SMITH, MISS C.
    Old Ships (The) 290
    Rhyme of the "Rio Grande" 34

  FYLEMAN, MISS ROSE
    Bird Lore 477, 499
    Blue Hat (The) 316
    Princess Charming 156
    Royal Interview (A) 468
    Trees and Fairies 74

  GARSTIN, CROSBIE
    Hairies (The) 402
    Mud Larks (The) 22, 68, 120, 156, 214, 260, 300, 360, 478
    Old Soldiers 342

  GARVEY, MISS INA
    Blanche's Letters 416
    Tea-cup Twaddle 254

  GILLMAN, CAPT. W. H.
    Career, (The) 54
    Career (Postponed) (The) 318
    Demobilisation Disaster (A) 20
    Macedonia 286
    Teaching Tommy 79

  GLASGOW, GEORGE
    Embarrassment and the Lawyer 454
    Game of the Telephone (The) 210

  GRAHAM, R. D. C.
    Brighter Side of Peace (The). 294

  GRAVES, C. L.
    Anti-Picadors (The) 5
    Brains and Baldness 345
    Celtic Counterblast (A) 366
    Conscription of Brains (The) 467
    Contra Appreciation (A) 139
    Literary Gossip 308
    More Musical Reconstruction 406
    Musical Gossip 23
    Musical Reconstruction 386
    Need of our Times (The) 498
    Passing of Greek (The) 298
    Recognition à la mode 446
    Renaissance (The) 429
    Silly Seasoning 248
    Test of Friendship (The) 208
    To M. Georges Clemenceau 182
    To the Speaker on his Re-election 117
    Weary Titan (The) 41
    Why drag in Mrs. Siddons? 505
    Winchester's Opportunity 106

  GREENLAND, GEORGE
    Going to the Bank 494

  GUTHRIE, ANSTEY
    Dogs' Delight 348
    Treacherous Son (The) 420

  HEALY, LESLIE
    Day (The) 410

  HERBERT, LIEUT. A. P., R.N.V.R.
    Anniversary (The) 369
    Another Crisis 102
    Appointment (The) 122
    Revolt (The) 349
    Space Problem (The) 207
    Spring Cleaning 377
    Thoughts in Committee 62

  HODGE, H. S. V.
    Chant Royal of Cricket 380

  HODGKINSON, T.
    Cricket Bargain (A) 480
    Plea for Proportion (A) 106

  HODGSON, CAPT. N.
    To a Chinese Coolie 150

  HOLMES, CAPT. W. K.
    Army of Entertainment, Ltd. 28
    Art in the Arctic 490
    Blanket Astray (The) 130
    Murman Amenities 418
    Murmansk Mosquito (The) 470
    Spring Modes at Murmansk 380

  HOLT, R. G.
    Local Colour 128

  HOPWOOD, REAR-ADMIRAL
    New Navy (The) 60

  HUTCHINSON, H. G.
    Fine Ear for the Haspirate (A) 80

  HYSLOP, CAPT. A. F.
    Last of His Race (The) 378

  IMAGE, MRS.
    Coal-Dust 160

  IRVING, CAPT. L. H.
    Tragedy of the Super-Patriot 257

  IRWIN, FELIX
    Mélisande's Point of View 438

  JAGGER, ARTHUR
    Ptero-dactyls 202

  JAY, THOMAS
    Charivaria weekly
    Midget (The) 166

  JENKINS, ERNEST
    Daily and Maily 97
    New School (A) 85

  KERR, S. P.
    Counter-Revolutionary Collar 270

  KIDD, ARTHUR
    Drink of the Gods (The) 90

  KILPATRICK, MRS.
    _Français tel que l'on le parle (Le)_ 170
    _Nouvelles de Paris_ 140, 180, 220
    Peace Terms 320

  KNOX, CAPT. E. V.
    New Arm (The) 422
    Nomads (The) 398
    Revanche 362
    Those Dresses 502
    Veges on Strike (The) 490
    Waiting for the Spark 440
    Way Out 390

  LANCASTER, G. B.
    Our Bivvie 87

  LANGLEY, MAJOR F. O.
    Career (A) 179
    Watch Dogs (The) 10, 200

  LEHMANN, R. C.
    Bablingo. 327
    Consultation (A) 150
    Criticism in Excelsis 310
    End of the Volunteers (The) 70
    Father Thames Talks 86
    Hair Cutting and Dentistry 30
    Hanwelliad (The) 270
    Hardy Annual (A) 190
    Laxity in Quotations 368
    Milky Molar (The) 167
    More Alleviations 390
    Mrs. Bloggings's Statement 239
    New Game (The) 50
    Old Dog (An) 208

  LEWIS, M. A.
    Boy (Second Class) 6
    Business as Usual 442
    Cross Country 500
    Fearful Odds 322
    More Reprisals 38
    On the high C.'s 482
    Patriot Pig (The) 116
    Trump Suit (The) 180

  LIAS, A. G.
    Necromancers (The) 36

  LIPSCOMB, CAPT. W. P.
    How to throw off an Article 18
    Lèse-Majesté 48
    On the Rhine 196, 218, 276
    Road to the Rhine (The) 76, 176

  LOCKER, W. A.
    Essence of Parliament weekly during Session
    Parliamentary Casualties 26

  LUCAS, E. V.
    Alas! poor Panther 460
    Another Historic Interview 2
    Art of Leaving (The) 188
    Beautiful Words (The) 168
    "Botches" 288
    C.K.S. and U.S.A. 388
    Clear the Galleries 258
    Crusader (A) 501
    Dramatists to the Rescue 246
    Expensive Amusement (An) 90
    Great Cold-Cure Debate (The) 198
    Our Friend the Fish 350
    Reports 30
    Romance while you wait 110
    Roofs of the Mighty (The) 486
    Transformation 56
    Visionary Triumph (The) 440

  LULHAM, HABBERTON
    On the Safe Side 121

  MCMASTER, BRYCE
    Ark (The) 158

  MARTIN, N. R.
    Evicted 94
    Novel Reconstruction 6

  MASON, MRS.
    Rime Fairies 140

  MEEK, J.
    Ballade of Approaching Baldness 459
    In Memory of Dora 8

  MENZIES, G. K.
    Cook (The) 382
    Polly 310
    Six-hour Day (The) 250

  MILNE, A. A.
    Arrival of Blackman's Warbler 356
    Getting Out 74
    Housing Question (The) 340
    Perils of Reviewing (The) 400
    To the Death 240
    Two Visits (The) 160

  NICHOLSON, R. T.
    Capital Outlay (A) 396

  NORRISS, CECIL
    Bird Notes 439
    Charivaria weekly
    Germ (The) 368

  OGILVIE, W. H.
    Good-bye, Australians 36
    Little Grey Water 462

  OYLER, MISS MADELINE
    Literary Options 142

  PARKES, J. W.
    Demobilisation 162

  PAYNE, H. H.
    Occupied Opera 201

  PHILLIPS, GORDON
    _Après la Guerre_ 100

  POOLE, J. C.
    Civil Education for Soldiers 108

  PRESTON-TEWART, A.
    Another Pending Indemnity 488
    Communications 370
    Kismet 159

  PRING, B. V.
    Schloss Billet (The) 242

  RIGBY, BEGINALD
    Archaeologists (The) 480
    Boom in Architecture (The) 26
    Domestic Question Solved (The) 358
    Gallery Play 236
    Hints on Selecting an Aeroplane 458
    Sporting Chance (A) 430

  ROACH, MISS M. E.
    Brother Service (The) 8

  ROBERTS, E. L.
    Delysious Details 220

  ROBINSON, J. P.
    Linguist (The) 70

  ROWAN-ROBINSON, MRS.
    Daisy 230

  SALVIDGE, STANLEY
    Pink Georgette 308

  SEAMAN, OWEN
    America and Sinn Fein 494
    At the Opera 267
    At the Play 14, 228, 388, 410, 428, 488
    Brest--Bucharest--Versailles 394
    Cam Offensive (The). 134
    Counter-Order of the Bath (The) 374
    Hun as Idealist (The) 154
    Letters to People I don't know 354
    Monuments of the War 194
    "_Mutabile Semper_" 314
    New Order of Things (The) 509
    Paying Game (A) 294
    Peace at the Seaside 334
    Preliminary Dove: its Prospects 234
    Price of Freedom (The) 254
    _The Times_ as Peacemaker 274
    Tonic of March (The) 174
    To Peace, on her Celebrations 434
    To Robert of the Force 454
    Verdict of Democracy (The) 18

  SHAKESPEARE, CAPT. W. G.
    Souvenir of Cologne (A) 314

  SHARPLES, HENRY
    Ruling Passion (The) 434

  SMITH, JAMES
    F. E. 56

  SOMERVILLE, MISS MAISIE
    Humour's Labour Lost 460

  STRUNSKY, SIMEON
    Food Problem in Paris (The) 109
    Guaranteed 12

  STUART, MISS D. M.
    Last Watch of the Night (The) 302
    Swans of Ypres (The) 240

  SUMMERSGILL, J.
    Getting a Job 279

  SYMNS, J. M.
    Songs of Simla 414, 440, 460, 474, 500

  TALBOT, MISS ETHEL
    Fairies' Flitting (The) 266

  TAYLOUR, COMMANDER BASIL
    Opium Hound (The) 47
    Civilian Flying, 1930 336

  THOROLD, R. A.
    Lines to a Legionary 98
    To a March Brown, swallowed alive 229

  THORP, JOSEPH
    At the Play 268, 350, 506

  THURGOOD, OWEN
    House-Hunter (The) 248

  TROTTER, MRS.
    Visitor (The) 78

  UPTON, CAPT. C. F.
    Beetle of Buda-Pesth (The) 394
    Great Beard Mystery (The) 334
    Tube Nightmare (A) 498

  WHEELWRIGHT, J. E.
    Frost and Thaw 146
    Year's Reprisals (A) 328

  WHITE, R. F.
    Demobilised Daydreams 230
    Pair of Military Gloves (A) 194

  WHITMARSH, F. J.
    Shady Tenant (A) 420
    Truthful Traveller (The) 50

  WODEHOUSE, E. A.
    To an Unknown Colleague 1


PICTURES AND SKETCHES.

  ACOCK, W. 372

  ARMOUR, MAJOR G. D. 5, 151, 211

  BATEMAN, H. M. 101, 181, 421, 498

  BAUMER, LEWIS 15, 24, 39, 62, 81, 122, 142, 162, 182, 202, 222, 242,
    282, 302, 321, 342, 382, 409, 422, 436, 462, 502

  BELCHER, GEORGE 147, 485

  BIRD, W. 10, 17, 86, 113, 132, 152, 153, 272, 273, 308, 313, 378, 432,
    447, 481

  BLAIKLEY, ERNEST 233

  BRIGHTWELL, L. R. 329, 368, 406, 478

  BROADHEAD, W. S. 351

  BROCK, H. M. 4, 20, 97, 119, 137, 207, 238, 347, 369, 407

  BROOK, RICARDO 12, 16, 26, 33, 52, 68, 88, 108, 148, 192, 210, 328,
    346, 373

  COTTRELL, T. 59, 212, 229

  DIXON, GEORGE 470

  DOWD, J. H. 51, 176, 206, 257, 358, 391, 453

  DOWD, L. P. 293, 431

  FERRIER, ARTHUR 129, 248, 318

  "FOUGASSE" 281, 353, 376, 469

  FRASER, P. 216, 252, 253, 319, 333,410,438, 448

  GARRATT, ARTHUR 46, 91, 106, 218, 312

  GARSTIN, MISS ALETHEA 219

  GHILCHIK, D. L. 38

  GRAVE, CHARLES 67, 109, 118, 179, 247, 297, 317, 393, 397, 473

  HARRINGTON, J. W. 112

  HARRISON, CHARLES 167, 418

  HART, FRANK 198, 399

  HASELDEN, W. K. 14, 228, 268, 388, 428, 488, 506

  HOLLAND, G. C. 288

  HORNE, A. E. 356, 377

  HOWELLS, CAPTAIN W. A. 61

  JENNIS, G. 49, 79, 171, 231, 309, 367 429, 459

  LEETE, ALFRED 40

  LEWIN, F. G. 133

  LONGMIRE, G. 93

  MCHUTCHON, J. F. 172, 413

  MAY, FRED. 348

  MILLS, A. WALLIS 11, 28, 65, 78, 139, 199, 241, 258, 278, 307, 327,
    427, 451, 467, 479


  MORELAND, ARTHUR 58, 136, 287, 338, 491

  MORROW, EDWIN 332

  MORROW, GEORGE 7, 29, 47, 72, 73, 87, 98, 127, 138, 169, 209, 232,
    239, 259, 292, 381, 401, 412, 419, 452, 472, 492, 508

  NORRIS, ARTHUR 507

  PARTRIDGE, BERNARD 1

  PEGRAM, FRED 262

  PETT, NORMAN 32, 352, 392

  PRANCE, BERTRAM 66, 433

  RAVEN-HILL, L. 189, 510

  REYNOLDS, FRANK 27, 57, 77, 99, 111, 117, 161, 177, 201, 213, 221,
    249, 256, 277, 296, 316, 336, 357, 411, 441, 471, 476, 505

  ROUNTREE, HARRY 486

  SHEPARD, E. H. 41, 191, 251, 449, 458, 489

  SHEPPERSON, C. A. 31, 45, 85, 105, 131, 168, 271, 291, 311, 349,
    371, 461

  STAMPA, G. L. 13, 21, 37, 71, 89, 107, 126, 141, 159, 217, 236, 269,
    276, 298, 322, 339, 362, 379, 396, 416, 439, 466, 477, 501

  THOMAS, BERT 178, 196, 267, 279, 299, 337, 341, 359, 387, 398, 426,
    442, 456, 497

  THOMPSON, A. 92

  TOWNSEND, F. H. 8, 23, 42, 53, 69, 82, 102, 121, 125, 145, 146, 149,
    157, 165, 173, 185, 188, 197, 205, 225, 226, 227, 237, 245, 246,
    261, 265, 266, 285, 286, 289, 301, 305, 306, 325, 326, 331, 345,
    361, 365, 366, 385, 386, 389, 402, 405, 417, 425, 437, 445, 446,
    457, 465, 482, 496

  WILSON, H. R. 158, 187, 193, 487, 499

  WOOD, STARK  493

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FINIS]

       *       *       *       *       *

END.







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