Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Aug 29, 1917 - Various
The Squires, the Centaurs of the chase
And all the chase's patrons,
Each in his own, his ordered place;
The comfortable matrons--
These were your stuff, and these your skill
Consigned to future ages,
And caught and set them down at will
In Mr. Punch's pages.
Besides, you bound us to your praise
With many strong indentures
By limning Mr. Briggs, his ways
And countless misadventures.
For these and many a hundred more,
Far as our voice can reach, Sir,
We send it out from shore to shore,
And bless your name, JOHN LEECH, Sir.
R.C.L.
II.--HISTORIAN AND PROPHET.
A hundred years ago to the very day was JOHN LEECH born. Mr. Punch
came into the world on July 17th, 1841, and was thus twenty-four years
younger. But in spite of any disparity in age the two great men were
made for each other. JOHN LEECH without Mr. Punch would still have
spread delight, for did he not illustrate those _Handley Cross_ novels
which his friend THACKERAY said he would rather have written than any
of his own books? But to think of Mr. Punch without JOHN LEECH is,
as the Irishman said, unthinkable. From the third volume, when LEECH
got really into his stride, until his lamented early death in 1864,
LEECH'S genius was at the service of his young friend: his quick
perceptive kindly eyes ever vigilant for humorous incident, his
ears alert for humorous sayings, and his hand translating all into
pictorial drama and by a sure and benign instinct seizing always upon
the happiest moment.
His three monumental volumes called _Pictures of Life and Character_
constitute a truer history of the English people in the middle of
the last century than any author could have composed: history made
gay with laughter, but history none the less. And this leaves out of
account altogether the artist's work as a cartoonist, where he often
exceeded the duty of the historian, and not only recorded the course
of events but actually influenced it.
To influence the course of events was however far from being this
simple gentleman's ambition. What he chiefly wished was to enable
others to share his own enjoyment in the fun and foibles of a world
in which it is better to be cheerful than sad, and, in the process of
passing on his amusement, to earn a sufficient livelihood to enable
him to pay his way and now and then be free to follow the hounds.
All these praises he would probably wish unsaid, so modest and
unassuming was he. Let us therefore stop and merely draw attention to
the two pages of his drawings which follow, each of which shows JOHN
LEECH in the light of a prophet.
* * * * *
ANTICIPATIONS BY JOHN LEECH.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE RIGHT SORT.
_Grandmamma_. "WHAT _CAN_ YOU WANT, ARTHUR, TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL SO
PARTICULARLY ON MONDAY FOR? I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO STAY WITH US
TILL THE END OF THE WEEK!"
_Arthur_. "WHY, YOU SEE, GRAN'MA--WE ARE GOING TO ELECT OFFICERS FOR
OUR RIFLE CORPS ON MONDAY, AND I DON'T LIKE TO BE OUT OF IT!"
_"Punch," June 30, 1860._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR SPECIALS.
_Special's Wife_. "CONTRARY TO REGULATIONS, INDEED! FIDDLESTICKS! I
MUST _INSIST_, FREDERICK, UPON YOUR TAKING THIS HOT BRANDY-AND-WATER.
I SHALL BE HAVING YOU LAID UP NEXT, AND NOT FIT FOR ANYTHING."
_"Punch," April 22, 1848._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: CURIOUS ECHO AT A RAILWAY STATION.
_Traveller_. "PORTER! PORTER!"
_Echo_. "DON'T YOU WISH YOU MAY GET HIM?"
_"Punch," October 19, 1861._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE RIGHT MEN IN THE RIGHT PLACE; VIZ., A CLUB WINDOW.
_Old General Muddle_. "WHAT I SAY, IS--IS--EH? WHAT? BY JOVE! WHAT THE
DOOCE SHOULD CIVILIANS KNOW ABOUT--EH? WHAT--AHEM!--MILITARY AFFAIRS!
AFFAIRS! EH?"
_Colonel Splutter_. "HAH! THE PRESS, SIR! BY JOVE, THE PRESS IS THE
CURSE OF THE COUNTRY, AND WILL BE THE RUIN OF THE ARMY! BY JOVE, I'D
HANG ALL LITTERY MEN--HANG 'EM, SIR!"
_"Punch," February 27, 1858._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: WELL INTENDED, NO DOUBT.
_Quaker to British Lion_. "THERE, FRIEND! NOW LET ME PUT AWAY THOSE
DANGEROUS VANITIES!"
_"Punch," November 20, 1852._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A DISTRESSED AGRICULTURIST.
_Landlord_. "WELL, MR. SPRINGWHEAT, ACCORDING TO THE PAPERS, THERE
SEEMS TO BE A PROBABILITY OF A CESSATION OF HOSTILITIES."
_Tenant (who strongly approves of War prices)_. "GOODNESS, GRACIOUS!
WHY, YOU DON'T MEAN TO SAY THAT THERE'S ANY _DANGER OF PEACE_!"
_"Punch," February 2, 1856._]
* * * * *
ANTICIPATIONS BY JOHN LEECH.
[Illustration: THE PARLIAMENTARY FEMALE.
_Father of the Family_. "COME, DEAR; WE SO SELDOM GO OUT TOGETHER
NOW--CAN'T YOU TAKE US ALL TO THE PLAY TO-NIGHT?"
_Mistress of the House and M.P._ "HOW YOU TALK, CHARLES! DON'T YOU SEE
THAT I AM TOO BUSY? I HAVE A COMMITTEE TOMORROW MORNING, AND I HAVE MY
SPEECH ON THE GREAT CROCHET QUESTION TO PREPARE FOR THE EVENING."
_"Punch's Almanack" for 1853._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: AN ASTONISHING REQUEST.
_Fast young lady (to old gent)_. "HAVE YOU SUCH A THING AS A LUCIFER
ABOUT YOU, FOR I'VE LEFT MY CIGAR-LIGHTS AT HOME?"
[_"Punch," August 29, 1857._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: NOT VERY LIKELY.
_Mistress_. "WELL, I'M SURE! AND PRAY WHO IS THAT?"
_Cook_. "OH, IF YOU PLEASE, 'M, IT'S ONLY MY COUSIN WHO HAS CALLED
JUST TO SHOW ME HOW TO BOIL A POTATO."
_"Punch," August 31, 1850._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR SPECIALS.
_Special Constable._ "NOW MIND, YOU KNOW--IF I KILL YOU, IT'S NOTHING;
BUT IF YOU KILL ME, BY JINGO, IT'S MURDER."
_"Punch," April 22, 1848._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A PEACE CONFERENCE.
_Flora._ "OH, I AM SO GLAD--DEAR HARRIET--THERE IS A CHANCE OF
PEACE--I AM MAKING THESE SLIPPERS AGAINST DEAR ALFRED COMES BACK!"
_Cousin Tom._ "HAH, WELL! I AIN'T QUITE SO ANXIOUS ABOUT PEACE--FOR,
YOU SEE, SINCE THOSE SOLDIER CHAPS HAVE BEEN ABROAD, WE CIVILIANS HAVE
HAD IT PRETTY MUCH OUR OWN WAY WITH THE GURLS!"
_"Punch," March 22, 1856._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HOME AMUSEMENTS.
GRAND PEACE DEMONSTRATION IN OUR NURSERY!
_"Punch," May 24, 1856._]
* * * * *
A BALLAD OF EELS.
["Lord Desborough has just been reminding us of the neglected
source of food supply that we have in the eels of our rivers and
ponds. He stated, 'The food value of an eel is remarkable. In food
value one pound of eels is better than a loin of beef.... The
greatest eel-breeding establishment in the world is at Comacchio,
on the Adriatic. This eel nursery is a gigantic swamp of 140 miles
in circumference. It has been in existence for centuries, and in
the sixteenth century it yielded an annual revenue of L1,200 to
the Pope.'"--_Liverpool Daily Post_.]
When lowering clouds refuse to lift
And spread depression far and wide,
And when the need of strenuous thrift
Is loudly preached on every side,
What boundless gratitude one feels
To DESBOROUGH, inspiring chief,
For telling us: "One pound of eels
Is better than a loin of beef"
Of old, Popes made eel-breeding pay
(At least Lord DESBOROUGH says they did),
And cleared _per annum_ in this way
Twelve hundred jingling, tingling quid.
In fact my brain in anguish reels
To think we never took a leaf
Out of the book which taught that eels
Are better than prime cuts of beef.
In youth, fastidiously inclined,
I own with shame that I eschewed,
Like most of my unthinking kind,
This luscious and nutritious food;
But now that DESBOROUGH reveals
Its value, with profound belief
I sing with him: "One pound of eels
Is better than a loin of beef."
I chant it loudly in my bath,
I chant it when the sun is high,
And when the moon pursues her path
Noctambulating through the sky.
And when the bill of fare at meals
Is more than usually brief,
Again I sing: "One pound of eels
Is better than a loin of beef."
It is a charm that never fails
When friends accost me in the street
And utter agonizing wails
About the price of butcher's meat.
"Cheer up," I tell them, "creels on creels
Are hastening to your relief;
Cheer up, my friends, one pound of eels
Is better than a loin of beef."
Then all ye fearful folk, dismayed
By threatened shortage of supplies,
Let not your anxious hearts be swayed
By croakers or their dismal cries;
But, from Penzance to Galashiels,
From Abertillery to Crieff,
Remember that "one pound of eels
Is better than a loin of beef."
But these are only pleasant dreams
Unless, to realise our hopes,
Proprietors of ponds and streams
Re-stock them, like the early Popes.
Then, though we still run short of keels
And corn be leaner in the sheaf,
We shall at least have endless eels,
Unnumbered super-loins of beef.
* * * * *
AT THE PLAY.
"BILLETED."
No wonder the Royalty Management, realising how resolutely determined
the public was to have nothing to do with anything so witty and
workmanlike as _The Foundations_ of Mr. GALSWORTHY, have for their
new bill declined upon the pleasantly trivial comedy of errors and
tarradiddles, _Billeted_.
[Illustration: BILLETING AND COOING.
_(The happy ending.)_
_Captain Rymill_ ... MR. DENNIS EADIE.
_Betty Taradine_ ... MISS IRIS HOEY.]
_Betty Taradine_ is billeting at her pretty manor-house a nice
vague Colonel. The Vicar's sister disapproves, because _Betty_ is a
grass-widow, and _Penelope_, the all-but-flapper, an insufficient
chaperone. She expresses her disapproval with a hardy insolence
which must be rare with vicars' sisters in these emancipated times.
Naturally when you have a great deal of palaver about _Betty's_
husband having deserted her two years ago after a serious tiff, and no
word spoken or written since, you rightly guess that the expected new
Adjutant, _Captain Rymill_, will be none other than the missing man.
But you probably don't guess that _Betty_, to spoof the Church and
keep the _Colonel_, has decided to kill her husband by faked telegram.
So you have a distinctly intriguing theme, which Miss TENNYSON JESSE
and Captain HARWOOD handle with very considerable adroitness and
embroider with many really sparkling and laughter-compelling lines.
I should like to ask the pleasant authors some questions. How is it
that the infinitely susceptible Colonel who loves _Penelope_, but
is so overcome by the pseudo-sorrowing _Betty_ that he is afraid of
"saying so much more than he means," and appeals to his invaluable
Adjutant for help--how is it he survived a bachelor till fifty? And
how did _Betty_, with her abysmal ignorance of pass-book lore, manage
to postpone her financial catastrophe for two whole years? And how do
they suppose so popular and personable man as _Taradine_ could come
back to England under an assumed name without a number of highly
inconvenient questions being asked? More seriously, I would ask if
they really expect us to believe in the reconciliation on so deep
a note of this nice butterfly and this callous husband, who never
intended, but for the War, to come back from his big-game shooting,
and who took no pains to arrange suitable guidance (there was a lawyer
vaguely mentioned but he seems to have been singularly unobtrusive)
for the obviously incompetent spouse whom he professes still to love?
I am afraid it will not do. The one real point of weakness in the
presentation was that Mr. EADIE could not modulate from the key of
agreeable flippancy in which the comedy as a whole was set into that
of the solemnly sentimental coda. Thus was the artistic unity of a
pleasant trifle destroyed.
Mr. DAWSON MILWARD'S clever careful method made the _Colonel_ a
very live and plausible figure. Some of his intimate touches were
exceedingly adroit. The authors deserve a fair share of the credit.
Indeed there was throughout a suggestion of clever characterisation
conspicuously above the average of this _genre_. _Penelope_ was an
excellently developed part, rendered with unexpectedly mature skill by
Miss STELLA JESSE. The _Vicar_ promised at first to be a new type, but
the authors seemed to have lost interest in him half-way, and not even
Mr. LAWRENCE HANRAY'S skill and restraint could quite save him. I rate
Mr. EADIE as an actor too high to be much amused by him in obviously
EADIE parts. "A man's reach must exceed his grasp." I think it just to
Miss HOEY to say that she seemed a little handicapped by efforts of
memory, a condition which will duly disappear and leave her charm to
assert itself. Mr. GEORGE HOWARD was quite admirable as a Scots bank
manager; Miss BLANCHE STANLEY, a really sound combination of essential
good-nature and wounded dignity as a cook on the verge of giving
notice. Miss GERTRUDE STERROLL tackled a vicaress of the Mid-Victorian
era (authors' responsibility this) with a courage which deserves both
praise and sympathy.
T.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE OPTIMIST.
"IF THIS IS THE RIGHT VILLAGE THEN WE'RE ALL RIGHT. THE INSTRUCTIONS
IS CLEAR--'GO PAST THE POST-OFFICE AND SHARP TO THE LEFT AFORE YOU
COME TO THE CHURCH.'"]
* * * * *
THE AIRMAN.
Jack loves dreadnoughts, Peggy loves trains,
But I know what I love--aeroplanes.
Jack will sail the high seas if he can stick it;
Peggy'll be the girl in blue who asks to see your ticket;
But I will steer my aeroplane over London town
And loop the loop till Nurse cries out, "Lor', Master Jim, come down!"
Jack will be an admiral if he isn't sick;
Peggy'll take the tickets and punch them with a click;
But I will make a splendid hum up there in the blue;
I'll look down on London town, I'll look down on you.
Jack will hunt for U-boats and sink the beasts by scores;
Peggy'll have a perfect life, slamming carriage doors;
But I shall join the R.F.C. and Nurse herself will shout,
"There's Master Flight-Commander Jim has put them Huns to rout."
* * * * *
"A well-known Liverpool shipowner and philanthropist is giving
L70,000--L100 for each year of his life--to various charitable
and philanthropic objects."--_Scotsman_.
He might almost have lived in the time of the Patriarchs, but we
gather that he preferred the days of the profits.
* * * * *
"Often it was impossible to detect the existence of underground
works until their occupants opened fire. At one such spot a white
hag was displayed, and when our men charily approached a burst of
fire met them."--_East Anglian Daily Times_.
The enemy is evidently up to his old trick--taking cover behind women.
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)
I foresee the appearance, during the next few years, of many
regimental handbooks that will record the history at this present
visibly and gloriously in the making. One such has already reached me,
a second edition of _A Brief History of the King's Royal Rifle Corps_
(WARREN), compiled and edited by Lieut.-General Sir EDWARD HUTTON,
K.C.B. It is a book to be bought and treasured by many to whom the
record of a fine and famous regiment has become in these last years
doubly precious. The moment of its appearance is indeed excellently
opportune, from the fact that, in the first place, the K.R.R. was
recruited from our brothers across the Atlantic, the 60th Royal
Americans (as they were then) having been raised, in 1756, from the
colonists in the Eastern States, with a view to retrieving the recent
disaster to General BRADDOCK'S troops, and to provide a force that
could meet the French and Indians upon equal terms. Thus the Regiment,
which its historian modestly calls a typical unit of the British Army,
is in its origin another link between the two great English-speaking
allies of to-day. It has a record, certainly second to none, from
Quebec to Ypres--one that splendidly bears out the words, themselves
ringing like steel, of its motto, _Celer et Audax._ I should add that
all profits from the sale of the book will go to "The Ladies' Guild of
the King's Royal Rifle Corps." Friends past and present will no doubt
see to it that these profits are considerable.
* * * * *
In _The Immortal Gamble_ (A. AND C. BLACK), by A.T. STEWART and C.J.
PESHALL, the Acting Commander and Chaplain of _H.M.S. Cornwallis_
describe the part taken by their ship and its gallant complement in
the bombardment of Gallipoli and the subsequent landings down to the
final evacuation. The account is clear, concise, unemotional, and
uncontroversial. As a glimpse rather than a survey of the Dardanelles
campaign it strengthens our faith in the spirit of the race without
hopelessly undermining our confidence in its intelligence. Beyond
the fact that it records deeds of brave men the book has no mission,
and its cheerful detachment might not, in the absence of sterner
chronicles, be salutary. But as long as there are enough Commissions
to publish scathing reports on this or that phase of national
ineptitude it is not the publishers' business to provide cathartics
for the fatted soul of a self-satisfied people. As the passing of time
obliterates the futilities and burnishes the heroisms of the noblest
and most forlorn adventure in the history of the race, _The Immortal
Gamble_ will find a just place among the simple chronicles of courage
which the War is storing up for the inspiration of the generations to
come.
* * * * *
I fancy that of late the cinema has somewhat departed from its
life-long preoccupation with the cow-boy, otherwise, I should have
little hesitation in predicting a great future on the film for _Naomi
of the Mountains_ (CASSELL). For this very stirring drama of the
wilder West is so packed with what I can't resist calling "reelism"
that it is almost impossible to think of it otherwise than in terms
of the screen. It is concerned with the wooing, by two contrasted
suitors, of _Naomi_, herself more or less a child of nature, who dwelt
in the back-of-beyond with her old, fanatic and extremely unpleasant
father. But, though the action is of the breathless type that we
have come to expect from such a setting, there is far more character
and serious observation than you would be prepared to find. Mr.
CHRISTOPHER CULLEY has drawn a real woman, and at least two human and
well-observed men. I will not give you in detail the varied course
of _Naomi's_ romance, which ends in a perfect orgy of battle, with
sheriffs and shooting, redskins and revolvers--in short, all the
effects that Mr. HAWTREY not long ago so successfully illustrated on
the stage. To sum up, I should describe _Naomi of the Mountains_ as
melodrama with a difference--the difference residing in its clever
character-drawing and some touches of genuine emotion which lift it
above the ordinary. And this from one to whom the Wild West in fiction
has long been a weariness is something more than tepid praise.
* * * * *
Sir CHARLES WALDSTEIN, author of the thoughtful _Aristodemocracy_, is
a thinker with an internationalist mind. But pray don't think he's
not a whole-hogger about the War. In _What Germany is Fighting For_
(LONGMANS) he analyses the Germans' statement of their war-aims and
does good service by presenting an excellent translation, with comment
and epilogue, of the famous manifesto of "The Six Associations," and
the "Independent Committee for a German Peace." It is an insolent,
humourless, immoral document. Anything like it published in England
would be laughed out of court by Englishmen. It is difficult to keep
one's temper when one reads all this nauseating stuff about the
little German lamb being threatened by the wolf, England (or Russia
or France, as best suits the current paragraph), and Germany's fine
solicitude for the freedom of the seas. It is no disrespect to Sir
CHARLES WALDSTEIN that his acute and dispassionate comment is not so
forcible an argument to hold us unflinchingly to the essence of our
task as any page of the manifesto itself. The German, with all his
craft, has an almost unlimited capacity for giving himself away. It
would seem that, after all, humour _is_ the best gift of the gods....
Our commentator ends with an epigram to the general effect that
"until they adopt, in common with us, the ideal of the Gentleman, in
contradistinction to that of the Superman," we must continue to strafe
them in war or peace. His book constitutes an important War document.
* * * * *
If I had been compelled to nominate an author to write a book called
_The Gossip Shop_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) I should have selected Mrs.
J.E. BUCKROSE without a moment's hesitation. So I ought to be happy.
Anything more soothing to tired nerves than the tittle-tattle of
these Wendlebury old ladies it is impossible to imagine. And to add
to the lullaby we are given an ancient cab-horse called _Griselda_,
who with a flick of her tail seems to render the atmosphere even
more calm and serene. Then there is a love-story which, in spite of
misunderstandings, is never really perturbing, and--as a spice--a
fortune telling lady who in such respectable society is as near to
being naughty as doesn't matter. Small beer? Perhaps. But if you want
to get away from the War and rumours of it, I advise you to take a
draught of this tranquillizing potion.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR HISTORICAL MUSEUM.
FANCY PORTRAIT OF THE LAST BLOWER OF THE LAST WHISTLE FOR A LONDON
CAB, AUGUST 21ST, 1917.]
* * * * *
From a Booksellers' Catalogue:--
"PLUTARCH: His Life, his Parallel Lives, and his Morals. 3/6."
So spicy a story is surely cheap at the price.
* * * * *
"The cause of the explosion is unknown, but it is assumed that
some combustible matter was among the coal."--_Daily Dispatch_.
It is only fair to some of the coal merchants to say that they take
great pains to reduce this danger to a minimum.
* * * * *
THE FISHES' FEAST.
"Sugar cargoes amounting to over 40,000 tons have been put down
by mines and submarines."--_Daily Paper_.
Full many a cube of Sparkling Loaf agleam
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a sack of Crystals melts astream
And wastes its sweetness on the fishes there.