It is rumoured that a gentleman who purchased a miniature two-seater
car at the Motor Show last week arrived home one night to find the cat
playing with it on the mat.
* * *
It appears that nothing definite has yet been decided as to whether
_The Daily Mail_ will publish a Continental edition of the Sandringham
Hat.
* * *
The matter having passed out of the hands of D.O.R.A., the Westminster
City Council recommend the abolition of the practice of whistling for
cabs at night. Nothing is said about the custom of making a noise like
a five-shilling tip.
* * *
We shall not be surprised if Mr. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN becomes the
Viceroy of India, says a gossip-writer. We warn our contemporary
against being elated, for it is almost certain that another Chancellor
of the Exchequer would be appointed in his place.
* * *
During the Lord Mayor's Show last week we understand that the LORD
MAYOR'S coachman was accompanied by the LORD MAYOR.
* * *
The licensee of a West Ham public-house has just purchased a parrot
which is trained to imitate the bagpipes. The bird's life will of
course be insured.
* * *
Ireland will have to be careful or she will be made safe for
democracy, like the other countries.
* * *
Upon hearing that Mr. WILLIAM BRACE had accepted a Government
appointment several members of the Labour Party said that this only
confirmed their contention that his moustache would get him into
trouble one day.
* * *
Mrs. STACKPOOL O'DELL warns girls against marrying a man whose head
is flat at the back. The best course is to get one with a round head;
after marriage it can be flattened to taste.
* * *
A man who persistently refused to give any information about himself
was remanded at the Guildhall last week. He is thought to be a British
taxpayer going about _incognito_.
* * *
The cackle of a hen when she lays an egg, says a scientist, is akin to
laughter. And with some of the eggs we have met we can easily guess
what the hen was laughing at.
* * *
The National Collection of Microbes at the Lister Institute now
contains eight hundred different specimens. Visitors are requested not
to tease the germs or go too near their cages.
* * *
A large spot on the sun has been seen by the meteorological experts
at Greenwich Observatory. We understand that it will be allowed to
remain.
* * *
Mr. RAYMOND FORSDIK, of Chicago, states that twelve times more murders
are committed in Chicago than in London. But, under Prohibition, Satan
is bound to find mischief for idle hands.
* * *
Canon F. J. Meyrick, of Norwich, is reported to have caught a pike
weighing twenty-five pounds. In view of the angler's profession we
suppose we must believe this one.
* * *
A curate of Bedford Park has had his bicycle stolen from the church,
and as there were a number of people in the congregation it is
difficult to know whom to blame.
* * *
"Shall Onkie Live?" asks a _Daily Mail_ headline. We don't know who he
is, but he certainly has our permission. We cannot, however, answer
for Mr. BOB WILLIAMS.
* * *
With reference to the complaint that a City man made about his
telephone, we are pleased to say that a great improvement is reported.
The instrument was taken away the other day.
* * *
Discussing the remuneration of Cabinet Ministers a contemporary doubts
whether they get what they deserve. This only goes to prove that we
are a humane race.
* * *
Hatters say that the price of rabbit skins is likely to ruin the
trade. Meanwhile the mere act of getting the skins is apt to ruin the
rabbit.
* * *
"Mine," says General TOWNSHEND, "was a mission which NAPOLEON would
have refused." We doubt, however, if Lord NORTHCLIFFE is to be drawn
like that.
* * *
Dr. E. HALFORD ROSS, of Piccadilly, is of the opinion that coal
contains remarkable healing powers. Quite a number of people
contemplate buying some of the stuff.
* * *
"What does milk usually contain?" asks a weekly paper. We can only say
it wouldn't be fair for us to reply, as we know the answer.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Small Boy at Tailor's (to father, who seems to be
impressed with "Jazz" tweed_). "I SAY, DAD, GO SLOW. REMEMBER WHO'S
GOT TO WEAR IT AFTER YOU'VE FINISHED WITH IT."]
* * * * *
=An Indomitable Spirit.=
"Mr. ----'s tank held only ---- Spirit during the whole climb and
not satisfied with climbing _up_ Snowdon Mr. ---- then drove down
again." _Motoring Paper_.
* * * * *
"WHY I DIDN'T GO TO THE BAR. By Horatio Bottomley." "_John Bull_"
_Poster_.
Perhaps it was after hours.
* * * * *
"This upset Mr. Chesterton, a patriotic, beer-eating
Englishman."--_Sunday Paper_.
We deplore the modern tendency to pry into the details of an author's
dietary.
* * * * *
"What the word 'Democracy' was intended to mean was that every
man should have to betrTcOshrdluesthafaodfabadofgarfaf." _Local
Paper_.
We have long suspected this.
* * * * *
"MILWAUKEE.--Fourteen cases of whiskey, a large quantity of
brandies, gin and wines were found stored in a bathhouse. It will
be presented to the federal grand jury for action." _Canadian
Paper_.
Not the obvious form of "direct action," we trust.
* * * * *
=HOW TO VITALISE THE DRAMA.=
_A hint of what might be done by following the example of the Press_.
["More than one actor-manager during the past few months has been
searching round frantically in his efforts to find a new play."
_The Times_.]
Oh, have you marked upon the breeze
The wail of hunger which occurs
When starved theatrical lessees
Commune with hollow managers?
"Where is Dramatic Art?" they say;
"Can no one, _no one_, write a play?"
I cannot think why this should be,
This bitter plaint of sudden dearth;
To write a play would seem to me
Almost the easiest thing on earth.
Sometimes I feel that even I
Could do it if I chose to try.
What! can this Art be in its grave
Whose form was lately so rotund,
Whose strength was as a bull's and gave
No sign of being moribund?
I'm sure my facts are right, or how
Do you account for _Chu Chin Chow_?
As for the gods, their judgment shows
No loss of _flair_ for grace or wit;
We see the comic's ruby nose
Reduce to pulp the nightly pit,
Whose patrons, sound in head and heart,
Still love the loftiest type of Art.
Nor should the playwright fail for lack
Of matter, if with curious eyes
He follows in our Pressmen's track,
Who find the source of their supplies
In Life, that ever-flowing font,
And "give the public what they want."
If authors, moving with the times,
Would only feed us, like the Press,
On squalid "mysteries," ugly crimes,
Scandals and all that carrion mess,
I see no solid reason why
Dramatic Art should ever die.