"After all," asks a writer, "why shouldn't Ireland have a Parliament,
like England?" Quite frankly we do not like this idea of retaliation
while more humane methods are still unexplored.
* * *
"The miners' strike," says a music-hall journal, "has given one
song-writer the idea for a ragtime song." It is only fair to say that
Mr. SMILLIE had no idea that his innocent little manoeuvre would
lead to this.
* * *
The Admiralty does not propose to publish an official account of the
Battle of Jutland. Indeed the impression is gaining ground that this
battle will have to be cancelled.
* * *
We are asked to deny that, following upon the publication of _Mirrors
of Downing Street_, by "A Gentleman with a Duster," Lord KENYON is
about to dedicate to Sir CLAUDE CHAMPION DE CRESPIGNY a book entitled
_A Peer with a Knuckle-Duster_.
* * *
"Mr. Lloyd George seems to have had his hair 'bobbed' recently," says
a gossip-writer in a Sunday paper. Mr. HODGES still sticks to the
impression that it was really two-bobbed.
* * *
"Cigars discovered in the possession of Edward Fischer, in New York,"
says a news item, "were found to contain only tobacco." Very rarely do
we come across a case like that in England.
* * *
"Water," says a member of the L.C.C., "is being sold at a loss." But
not in our whisky, we regret to say.
* * *
What is claimed to be the largest shell ever made has been turned out
by the Hecla Works, Sheffield. It may shortly be measured for a war to
fit it.
* * *
A taxi-driver who knocked a man down in Gracechurch Street has
summoned him for using abusive language. It seems a pity that
pedestrians cannot be knocked down without showing their temper like
this.
* * *
After months of experiment at Thames Ditton the question of an
artificial limb of light metal has been solved. It is said to be just
the thing for Tube-travellers to carry as a spare.
* * *
In connection with Mr. PRINGLE'S recent visit to Ireland we are asked
to say that he was not sent there as a reprisal.
* * *
Mr. GEORGE LANSBURY recently told a Poplar audience why he went to
Australia many years ago. No explanation was offered of his return.
* * *
A coal-porter summoned for income-tax at West Ham Police Court said
that his wages averaged eight hundred pounds a year. We think it only
fair to say that there must be labouring men here and there who earn
even less than that.
* * *
"The thief," says a weekly paper report, "entered the house by way of
the front-door." We can only suppose that the burglars' entrance was
locked at the time.
* * *
A small boy, born in a Turkish harem, is said to have forty-eight
step-mothers living. Our office-boy, however, is still undefeated in
the matter of recently defunct grandmothers.
* * *
The number of accidental deaths in France is attaining alarming
proportions. It is certainly time that a stop was put to the quaint
custom of duelling.
* * *
A rat that looks like a kangaroo and barks like a prairie dog is
reported in Texas, says _The Columbia Record_. We can only say that,
when we last heard that one, it was an elephant with white trunk and
pink eyes.
* * *
"Why do leaders of the Bar wear such ill-fitting clothes?" asks a
contemporary. A sly dig, we presume, at their brief bags.
* * *
A reduction in prices is what every housewife in the land is looking
for, says _The Daily Express_. It is not known how our contemporary
got hold of this idea.
* * *
There is no truth in the report that _The Daily Mail_ has offered a
prize of a hundred pounds to the first person who can prove that it
has been talking through its prize hat.
* * *
"What should _The Daily Mail_ hat be worn with?" asks an enthusiast.
"Characteristic modesty" is the right answer.
* * *
Emigrants to Canada, it is stated, now include an increasingly large
proportion of skilled workers. Fortunately, thanks to the high wages
they earn at home, we are not losing the services of our skilled
loafers.
* * *
A burglar who was recently sentenced in the Glasgow Police Court was
captured while in the act of lowering a chest of drawers out of a
window with a rope. The old method of taking the house home and
extracting the furniture at leisure is still considered the safest by
conservative house-breakers.
* * *
Found under a bed in a strange house at Grimsby, a man told the police
who arrested him that he was looking for work. It was pointed out to
him that the usual place for men looking for work is in bed, not under
it.
* * *
In a recent case a Hull bargee gave his name as ALFAINA SWASH.
Nevertheless the Court did not decide to hear the rest of his evidence
_in camera_.
* * *
A cyclist who stopped to watch a stag-hunt near Tivington Cross, in
Somerset, was tossed into the hedge by the stag. On behalf of the
beast it is claimed that the cyclist was off-side.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "SHE DON'T 'ARF SWANK SINCE 'ER FARVER WAS KNOCKED OVER
BY A ROLLS-ROYCE."]
* * * * *
"The Czecho-Slovaks will shortly be able to see the successful
play, 'The Right to Stroke.'"--_Evening Paper._
Good news for the local pussies.
* * * * *
"The first annual dinner of the ---- Club was held in the Club
Rooms on Saturday evening, a large number sitting down to an
excellent coal collation."--_Local Paper._
Surely a little extravagant in these times.
=THE POET LAUREATE AND HIS GERMAN FRIENDS.=
"Prisoners to a foe inhuman, Oh, but our hearts rebel;
Defenceless victims ye are, in claws of spite a prey.
* * * * *
Nor trouble we just Heaven that quick revenge be done
On Satan's chamberlains highseated in Berlin;
Their reek floats round the world on all lands neath the sun:
Tho' in craven Germany was no man found, not one
With spirit enough to cry Shame!--Nay but on such sin
Follows Perdition eternal ... and it has begun."
_The POET LAUREATE, in "The Times," November 4th, 1918._
"The letter [of reconciliation from Oxford Professors, etc., 'to
their fellows in Germany'] is written ... with the recognition
that we have both of us been provoked to 'animosities' which we
desire to put aside ... The commonest objection was that the
action was 'premature'--my own feeling being that of shame
for having vainly waited so long in deference to political
complications, and that shame was intolerably increasing ... It
is undiscerning not to see that at a critical moment of extreme
tension they [the German Professors] allowed their passion to get
the better of them."
_The POET LAUREATE, in "The Times," October 27th, 1920_.
[The author of the following lines fears that he has failed to
do full justice to the metrical purity of the Master's
craftsmanship.]
Such people as lacked the leisure to peruse
My scripture, one-and-a-quarter columns long
In _The Times_, may like me, as having the gift of song,
To prosodise succinctly my private views.
Did I cry Shame! in November, 1918,
On those who never cried Shame! on the lords of hell?
Rather the shame is mine who delayed to clean
My soul of a wrong that grew intolerable.
What if our German colleagues, our brothers-in-lore,
Preached and approved for years the vilest of deeds?
Yet is there every excuse when the hot blood speeds;
We too were vexed and wanted our fellows' gore,
Saying rude things in a moment of extreme tension
Which in our calmer hours we should never mention.
Dons in their academic ignorance blind,
With passions like to our own as pea to pea,
Shall we await in them a change of mind?
Shall we require a repentant apology?
Or in a generous spasm anticipate
The regrets unspoken that, under the heavy stress
Of labour involved in planning new frightfulness,
They have been too busy, poor dears, to formulate?
Once I remarked that on German crimes would follow
"Perdition eternal"; Heaven would make this its care,
Nor need to be hustled, with plenty of time to spare.
Those words of mine I have a desire to swallow,
Finding, on further thought, which admits my offence,
That a few brief years of Coventry, of denied
Communion with Culture--used in the Oxford sense--
Are ample for getting our difference rectified.
What is a Laureate paid for, I ask _The Times_,
If not to recant in prose his patriot rhymes?
I stamp my foot on my wrath's last smouldering ember,
And for my motto I take "_Lest we remember_." O. S.
* * * * *
=THE SUPERFECTION LAUNDRY.=
I let myself into my flat to find a young woman sitting on one of
those comfortless chairs designed by upholsterers for persons of
second quality who are bidden to wait in the hall.
"You want to see me?" I inquired. "Yes; what is it?"
"I have called, Madam, to ask if you are satisfied with your laundry."
"Far from it," I said. "It is kind of you to ask, but why?"
"Because I wish to solicit your custom for the laundry I represent."
"What faults do you specialise in?" I inquired.
"I beg your pardon, Madam?"
"Will you send home my husband's collars with an edge like a
dissipated saw?"
The young woman's face brightened with comprehension.
"Oh, no, Madam," she replied. "We exercise the greatest care with
gentlemen's stand-up collars."
"Will you shrink my combinations to the size of a doll's?"
An expression of horror invaded her countenance. "The utmost
precaution," she asserted, "is taken to prevent the shrinkage of
woollens."
"Is it your custom to send back towels reduced to two hems connected
by a few stray rags in the middle?"
The young woman was aghast. "All towels are handled as gently as
possible to avoid tearing," she replied.
"How about handkerchiefs?" I asked. "I dislike to find myself grasping
my bare nose through a hole in the centre."
The suggestion made my visitor laugh.
"Are you in the habit of sewing nasty bits of red thread, impossible
to extricate, into conspicuous parts of one's clothing?"
"Oh, no, Madam," she asseverated; "no linen is allowed to leave our
establishment with any disfiguring marks."
"You never, I suppose, return clothing dirtier than when it reached
you?" I proceeded.
Suppressed scorn that I could believe in such a possibility flashed
momentarily from her eyes before she uttered an emphatic denial.
"Nor do you ever perhaps send home garments belonging to other people
while one's own are missing?"
"Never, I can assure you, Madam."
"Does the man who delivers the washing habitually turn the basket
upside down so that the heavy things below crush all the delicate
frilly things that ought to be on top?"
She seemed incapable of conceiving that such perverted creatures could
exist.
"Do they never whistle in an objectionable manner while waiting for
the soiled clothes?"
"Whistling on duty is strictly forbidden, Madam."
"Well, all these things I have mentioned my laundry does to me, and
even more, and when I write to complain they disregard my letters."
"We rarely have complaints, Madam, and all such receive prompt
attention. I can give references in this street--in this block of
flats even."
"Well," said I, "if you like to give me a card I am willing to let you
have a trial."
The young woman opened her bag with alacrity and handed me a card.
"The Superfection Laundry," I read with amazement. "Surely there must
be some mistake?"
"Are you not Mrs. Fulton?" asked the young woman.
"No, you have come a floor too high. Mrs. Fulton lives in the flat
below me."
"I must apologise for my call, then; I was sent to see Mrs. Fulton.
But all the same may we not add you to the list of our customers?"
"Impossible," I said.
"May I ask your reasons, Madam?"
"Because the laundry I employ at present is the Superfection."
* * * * *
=The Church Militant in the Near East.=
"Resht was bombed by Red aeroplanes on September 28 and 30; one of
the machines was forced to descend on the latter date some 6 miles
to the north of the town. The pilot and observer were taken by the
Cassocks."--_Evening Paper._
[Illustration: OUR VILLAGE SIGN.]
[Illustration:
_The Guest (exasperated with waiting)._ "I'VE A GOOD MIND TO DRIVE
OFF, BUT I'M AFRAID OF HITTING THAT IDIOT IN FRONT."
_The Hostess._ "HIT HIM WHERE YOU LIKE, DEAR--IT'S MY HUSBAND."]
* * * * *
=PROOF POSITIVE.=
This kind of thing had been going on morning after morning until I was
quite tired.
_They._ You ought to get hold of a good dog.
It is extraordinary how many things one ought to get hold of in the
country. Sometimes it is a wood-chopper and sometimes a couple of
hundred cabbages, and sometimes a cartload of manure, and sometimes a
few good hens. I find this very exhausting to the grip.
_I._ What for?
_They._ To watch your house.
_I._ I do not wish to inflict pain on a good dog. What kind of a dog
ought it to be?
_They._ Well, a mastiff.
_I._ Isn't that rather a smooth kind of dog? If I have to get hold of
a dog, I should like one with rather a rougher surface.
_They._ Try an Irish terrier.
_I._ I have. They fight.
_They._ Not unless they're provoked.
_I._ Nobody fights unless he is provoked. But more things provoke an
Irish terrier than one might imagine. The postman provoked my old one
so much that it bit the letters out of his hand and ate them.
_They._ Well, you didn't get any bills, then.
_I._ Yes, I did. Bills always came when the dog was away for the
week-end. He was a great week-ender, and he always came back from
week-ends with more and more pieces out of his ears until at last they
were all gone, and he couldn't hear us when we called him.
_They._ Well, there are plenty of other sorts. You might have a Chow
or an Airedale or a boar-hound.
_I._ Thank you, I do not hunt boars. Besides, all the dogs you mention
are very expensive nowadays. In the War it was quite different. You
could collect dogs for practically nothing then. My company used to
have more than a dozen dogs parading with it every day. They had never
seen so many men so willing to go for so many long walks before. They
thought the Millennium had come. A proposal was made that they should
be taught to form fours and march in the rear. But, like all great
strategical plans, it was stifled by red tape. After that--
_They._ You are getting away from the point. If you really want a good
cheap dog--
_I._ Ah, I thought you were coming to that. You know of a good cheap
dog?
_They._ The gardener of my sister-in-law's aunt has an extremely good
cheap dog.
_I._ And would it watch my house?
_They._ Most intently.
That is how Trotsky came to us. Nobody but a reckless propagandist
would say that he is either a mastiff or a boar-hound, though he once
stopped when we came to a pig. I do not mind that. What I do mind is
their saying, now that they have palmed him off on me, "I saw you out
with your what-ever-it-is yesterday," or "I did not know you had taken
to sheep-breeding," or "What is that thing you have tied up to the
kennel at the back?" There seems to be something about the animal's
tail that does not go with its back, or about its legs that does not
go with its nose, or about its eyes that does not go with its fur. If
it is fur, that is to say. And the eyes are a different colour and
seem to squint a little. They say that one of them is a wall-eye. I
think that is the one he watches the house with. Personally I consider
that they are very handsome eyes in their own different lines, and my
opinion is that he is a Mull-terrier; or possibly a Rum. Anyhow he is
a good dog to get hold of, for he is very curly.
The village policeman came round to the house the other day. I think
he really came to talk to the cook, but I fell into conversation with
him.
"You ought to be getting a licence for that dog of yours," he said.
"What dog?" I asked.
"Why, you've got a dog tied up at the back there, haven't you?" he
said.
"Have I?" said I.
And we went out and looked at it together. Trotsky looked at me with
one eye and at the policeman with the other, and he wagged his tail.
At least I am not sure that he wagged it; "shook" would be a better
word.
"Where did you get it?" he inquired.
"Oh, I just got hold of it," I said airily. "It's rather good, don't
you think?"
He stood for some time in doubt.
"It's a dog," he said at last.