Transcriber's Note: Typo "Professsor" changed to "Professor" in the last paragraph of the last page. Underlining was used to indicate where text appeared upside down in the original.
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 146.
FEBRUARY 25, 1914.
CLOSE OF THE COURSING SEASON.
CHARIVARIA.
The German Crown Prince has the mumps. It seems that his Imperial Father was not consulted in the matter beforehand, and further domestic differences are anticipated.
King Sisovath of Cambodia, we learn from Le Petit Journal, was so pleased with a white elephant sent him by the Governor-General of French Indo-China that he has raised the animal—a fine female—to the dignity of a Princess. The news soon got about, and considerable jealousy is felt at our Zoo, where there is not so much as even a baronet among the inmates.
General von Plettenburgh, commanding the Prussian Guards Corps, has issued a decree against the wearing of the so-called "tooth-brush" moustache, pointing out that such an appendage is unsuitable for a Prussian soldier and "not consonant with the German national character." The implication is very unpleasant.
"It is generally reported," says a contemporary, "that Sir Edward Grey speaks no German, and French very badly. M. Venizelos, the Greek Prime Minister, declared that he had the greatest difficulty in understanding Sir Edward's French." As a matter of fact a little bird tells us that on this occasion our Foreign Secretary was speaking Greek.
"Mr. Asquith," said The Times, "in a massage to the Liberal candidate for South Bucks, emphasizes the prime importance of the Irish issue." There is, of course, nothing like massage for rubbing things in.
Herr Ballin, head of the Hamburg-American Line, and Herr Heineken, head of the rival North-German Lloyd Company, came to London last week, and are said to have concluded peace in the Atlantic rate war. We understand that the arrangement is to be known as the Pool of London.
The authorities at Barotse, The Globe tells us, have put a price on the heads of all lions there. One can picture the mean sportsman, with a pair of field-glasses, picking out the cheapest before firing.
"61,000 Territorials Short."
Daily Mail.
Still, it is pretty generally recognised now that a small man may make every bit as good a soldier as a big one, and, besides, there is always less of him to hit.
Among the temporary teachers appointed to carry on schools in Herefordshire during the teachers' strike was an asylum attendant. This confirms the report that many of the children were mad at finding that the schools did not close in consequence of the strike.
It is denied that the name of the Philharmonic Hall, where Mr. Ponting's moving pictures of the Antarctic Expedition are being shown, is to be changed to the Philmharmonic Hall.
Richard Strauss's new work, dealing with the story, of Joseph and Potiphar's wife, is to be produced shortly in Paris. A musical play version of it, entitled "After the Man," may be looked for here.
From Rome comes the news that a young man who was being examined in a hospital there has been found to have two separate stomachs. This announcement that the ideal man has at last been evolved has caused the greatest excitement here in Corporation circles.
"LYCEUM CLUB.
100 years of peace."Daily Telegraph.
Surely a record for a lady's club?
"Change of Name.
from
Jacob Galba Iwushuku-Bright
to
Galba Iwuchuku Olukotun."Sierra Leone Weekly News.
We notice no improvement.
Commercial Candour.
Notice in a shop window at Reading:
"Try ——'s Sausages: none like 'em."
CIVIL WAR ESTIMATES.
(A Ministerial Apology.)
Your talk is vanity, you who lightly vouch
That we, indifferent to the country's call, shun
A crisis under which the People crouch
Like Damocles beneath the pendent falchion;
That from our minds, incredibly deluded,
Ulster is still excluded.
It is not so. All day (between our meals)
We find this topic really most attractive;
In watches of the night it often steals
Into our waking dreams, and keeps us active,
Like sportsmen whom the rude mosquito chases,
Trying to save our faces.
But we have other tasks, and "Duty First"
Must be our cry before we yield to Pleasure;
Our Annual Estimates must be rehearsed
Ere more alluring themes engage our leisure;
The Budget's claims are urgent; Ulster's fate
Can obviously wait.
Besides, no Government should go to war
Without the wherewithal to pay for forage,
For ammunition and a Flying Corps
And cannéd meats to stimulate the courage;
And this applies, as far as we can tell,
To civil wars as well.
For, though our foes confine us to a sphere
Of relatively narrow operations,
We are advised that they may cost us dear,
And therefore, in our coming calculations,
As Trustees of the Race we dare not miss
To estimate for this.
Hence these delays—all carefully thought out.
But when from hibernation we emerge on
The vernal prime and things begin to sprout,
Our Ulster policy shall also burgeon;
With sap of April coursing through our blood
We too shall burst in bud.
O. S.
THE GREAT RESIGNER.
(A Forecast.)
March, 1914.
Mr. William O'Brien describes Mr. John Redmond as "brother to the middle-aged sea-serpent from the County Clare."
Mr. John Redmond denies that he is a sea-serpent.
Mr. William O'Brien, having denounced this denial as "the last effort of a defeated dastard," resigns his seat for Cork City.
Mr. O'Brien is re-elected without a contest.
April, 1914.
Mr. William O'Brien in an impassioned speech advocates conciliation all round in Ireland, and refers to Mr. John Redmond as "a moth-eaten, moss-gathering malingerer of unparalleled ferocity."
Mr. Redmond is seen to smile.
Mr. O'Brien, declaring that he has never been so much insulted in his life, resigns his seat for Cork City.
Mr. O'Brien is re-elected without a contest.
May, 1914.
An Alderman of Cork fails to take off his hat to Mr. O'Brien.
Mr. O'Brien summons a meeting of his supporters and, in a five-hours' speech, states that, in spite of the unexampled infamy of Mr. Redmond, he will never abandon his efforts for Irish unity.
Mr. Redmond says nothing.
Mr. O'Brien states that "the truckling truculence of a mock-modest monster of meretricious mendacity cannot be allowed to prevail against a policy of sober and sympathetic silence."
Mr. Redmond having abstained from a reply, Mr. O'Brien resigns his seat for Cork City and is shortly afterwards re-elected without a contest.
June, 1914.
Mr. Asquith, in moving the Second Reading of the Home Rule Bill, does not mention Mr. O'Brien, who swoons in his place and is carried speechless from the House of Commons.
On the following day Mr. O'Brien issues to the world a manifesto of 60,000 words, in which he describes Mr. Redmond as "a palsied purveyor of pledge-breaking platitudes," and announces that the Irish question can be settled only by the good will of men of all parties.
Mr. Redmond takes no notice.
Mr. O'Brien declares that he can no longer pursue a policy of conciliation and mildness, and resigns his seat for Cork City as a protest against the "frenzied flaunting of flattery and folly" in which, he says, Mr. Redmond spends his time.
Mr. O'Brien, having been re-elected without a contest, immediately re-resigns twelve times in advance.
CINEMA NEWS.
Final preparations have now been made to film Mr. Thornton's first day as General Manager of the Great Eastern Railway. By kind permission of Lord Claud Hamilton representatives of all the other railway companies are to be present to take notes, like the foreign military attachés in a war. A good "movie" should result.
Another film which should provide entertainment and instruction in the highest degree is the "Day in the Life of Mr. C. K. Shorter" which is now being arranged for. The great critic will be followed hour by hour with faithful persistence. He will be seen editing The Sphere with one hand and putting all the writing fellows in their place with the other. He will be seen in that wonderful library of his which covers two acres in St. John's Wood, reading, annotating and correcting; he will be seen at lunch at his club with other intellectual kings, his intimate friends; shaking hands with Mr. Hardy; entering a taxi; leaving a taxi and paying the fare; dining with Sir W. Robertson Nicoll; attending a first night and applauding only when applause is merited; and finally returning home to read more books. In all, about fourteen miles.
It will be regretfully learned by the great public, always ready for new thrillers, that all efforts to induce Mr. Balfour to part with the cinema rights of his Gifford lectures have failed.
"In consequence of the farm labourers and carters employed on various farms in the parish and village of Chitterne having come out on strike, work of all kinds, with the exception of lambing, is at a complete standstill."—Bath and Wilts Chronicle.
These black-leg ewes!
"Mr. Kipling, who met with a warm deception."—Daily Graphic.
Not a bit of it. Everyone was frankly delighted to see and hear him.
THE THRONE PERILOUS.
Austria and Italy (to the new Ruler of Albania). "BE SEATED, SIR."
Mother (to her boy, who has just struck his little sister with his Teddy bear). "Why did you hit your sister in the face, John?"
John. "'Cos it was the only part of her I could see."
MUSICAL DIAGNOSIS.
Dr. James Cantlie has reported that "the placing of a tuning-fork; against the body of a patient enables him to gauge the limits of the liver with almost hair-breadth precision." He believes that musical diagnosis will prove reliable in the case of broken bones, and asserts that already it has been proved that a fatty liver gives out tones distinct from a cirrhosed liver.
A superb performance of Herr Richard Strauss's "German Measles Concerto" was given last night by the Queen's Hall orchestra. The tempo was throughout wonderfully high. The three fine solo passages for the left kidney were finely rendered; while the exquisite diminuendo to convalescence with which the work concludes greatly impressed a neurotic audience.
The tuning-fork test has proved that several of the most popular of recent rag-time tunes were originally scored by the brain of a patient who had met with a severe concussion while attempting to escape over the high wall of an Asylum for Incurable Idiots.
An interesting incident is reported in the Medical press from a well-known Nursing Home. It appears that one of the female attendants, on applying the tuning-fork to what was alleged to be the broken heart of a patient, was astonished to obtain as response the first five bars of "You Made Me Love You." The case has, we learn, been since discharged cured.
NUPTIAL NOVELTIES.
["Two prominent members of the Herne Bay Angling Association were married on Saturday afternoon at St. Martin's Church, Herne Bay.
An interesting feature of the wedding was the assembly of members of the association, who lined the pathway to the church door and formed an archway of fishing-rods, to which silver horseshoes had been attached.
The bridegroom's father is not only president of the angling association, but captain of the Herne Bay Fire Brigade, members of which formed a guard of honour with crossed hatchets."—Daily Chronicle.]
The nuptials of Mr. Desmond Waddilove and Miss Esther Priddie, whose parents are prominently implicated in the milk trade, were marked by several interesting and appropriate spectacular incidents. A specially attractive feature was the progress of the wedding procession between a double row of milk-cans. Later on the bride and bridegroom left for Cowes (I.W.) amid a volley of pats of butter deftly hurled by the officials of the Sursum Corda Dairy Company, Ltd.
Last Saturday the wedding of Mr. Nestor Young and Miss Leonora Dargle was celebrated with great éclat at St. Mark's, Datchet. Out of respect for the calling of the bride's father all the wedding party proceeded to the sacred edifice in bath-chairs, which imparted to the ceremony an air of solemnity too often neglected at up-to-date weddings. The bridegroom's father being a leading pork-butcher, imitation sausages formed part of the trimmings of the bride's going-away dress.
Mr. Donald MacLurkin, the golf professional of the Culbin Sands Golf Club, was married last Friday at Lossiemouth to Miss Janet Sutor, of Cromarty. A charming effect was produced by a guard of honour, composed of members of the golf club, holding aloft crossed brassies, beneath which the happy pair passed into the church, while the caddies clashed niblicks and other iron clubs. The bride wore a cream silk bogey skirt, slightly caught up so as to show the pink dots of the stymied underskirt, and a simple Dunlop V corsage. A dainty little pot-bunker hat completed a costume as novel as it was natty.
THE ROYALISTS.
Eight of us travel up to town every morning by the Great Suburban Railway. I have no politics. Gibbs is a Unionist Free Trader. Three of the others are Radicals and three Unionists. On one side of the compartment are ranged The Daily Mail, The Daily Express and The Daily Telegraph. Boldly confronting them are two Daily Chronicles and a Daily News. Gibbs contents himself with a Daily Graphic, while I choose every day the paper with the least sensational placard.
You can imagine what the journeys are like. Filmer will put down his Daily Express and say with feeling, "If I could only get that infernal Welsher by the throat." Then Rodgers will lay down his Daily News and sneer, "What has aggravated the toadies of the Dukes to-day?" In a moment the battle is in full swing. Bennett breaks in with assertions that peace and unity will never prevail till the Cabinet has been hanged. Chalmers makes a mild proposal for the imprisonment of the Armament Ring which is gnawing at the country's vitals. And when there has been a by-election and both sides claim the moral victory I have no doubt that the men in signal-boxes think that murder is taking place in our carriage.
However, one day Filmer made a reference to Marconi speculations which caused Rodgers to shake the dust from his feet (an easy thing on the Great Suburban line) and leave the compartment at the next station. Then Chalmers and Simcox bore down on Filmer with statistics about our booming trade. When we reached the next station, Filmer darted out of the compartment, declining to travel any longer with a set of miserable Cobdenite Little Englanders. I was horrified—not at the absence of Rodgers and Filmer, which could have been endured—but at the idea that the gaps they left in the carriage might be tilled up by even worse persons than politicians. Suppose golfers took their places. On one occasion, when Gibbs had influenza, an intruder had described to us the fixing of a new carburettor to his car.
Then the great idea came to me—the formation of the Society. The next morning I went up to Filmer and Rodgers as they stood apart from us and each other on the platform and said, "Come to the others for a moment. They want to apologise to you."
They didn't, but sometimes one has to choose between the cause of peace and that of truth.
"Gentlemen," I said, "I have noticed this. Nearly all our little controversies begin in one way. Somebody says, 'I call a spade a spade and Bonar Law (or Lloyd George) a lying, treacherous scoundrel.' I propose that we form ourselves into the Society for Not Calling a Spade a Spade."
"What do you propose to call it? 'A Royal'?" This from Gibbs, who is a master of auction bridge.
"By all means," I said. "It gives dignity and an enhanced value to a vulgar agricultural utensil. And the Society can be called 'The Royalists' for short. Its single rule is to be this, that any member speaking of any politician of the opposite Party except in terms of eulogy shall be fined ten shillings and sixpence. The fines to be divided equally between the Tariff Reform League and the Free Trade Union."
For a moment there was hesitation. Then the Opposition rejoiced at the idea of hearing the Radicals praise Law and Long, and the Radicals thought it would be ecstasy to hear panegyrics of Lloyd George and Masterman from the Unionists.
The Society was formed at once and has proved an enormous success. Peace and goodwill reign amongst us. It is a perpetual delight to see Filmer put down his Daily Express and with the veins bulging out from his forehead say, "That accurate and careful financier who has so immeasurably raised the status of the Chancellorship of the Exchequer"; or to hear Chalmers remark, "Sad would it be if that most honey-tongued and softhearted of politicians, dear F. E. Smith, should have his life ended by a British bayonet."
One or two prepare their delicate eulogies beforehand and refer to notes; but this is thought unfair. The compartment, as a whole, prefers the impromptu praise that has the air of coming from the heart.
I am thinking of offering to the House of Commons and the House of Lords free membership in The Royalists. Perhaps Messrs. Lloyd George and Leo Maxse would consent to act as perpetual Joint Presidents, with Lord Hugh Cecil and the Rev. Dr. Clifford as Chaplains.
MacBull. "I shall be a gay grass widower for the next two months—wife's gone for a holiday to the West Indies."
O'Bear. "Jamaica?"
MacBull. "No, it was her own idea."
"He is only a tame duck who with sheepish timidity attempts to controvert the determination of a body of frontiersmen from their purpose by firing at them with a water squirt."
Bulawayo Chronicle.
It sounds more like a wild duck.
From Publishers' Announcements:—
"'Borrowed Thoughts.'
(A Handbook for Lent, with an Introduction by a popular Bishop.) Limp, 9d."
"Lot 3. Extra Dry, Cuvée Beservée, 60/-. A really excellent pure Wine, which we bought lying abroad."
We trust they won't sell it lying at home.
"Generally crime is normal and no increase in mortality is reported. Little wandering, emigration, or emaciation is noticed. Cattle are being sold in large numbers in Hamirpur. Blankets are being distributed to the poor.
(For other Sporting News see page 8)."
Advocate of India.
There is nothing narrow about the sporting tastes of our Oriental contemporary.
Larry. "Treshpassing, is ut? Just wait till we git Home Rule. Ivery man'll do as he likes thin—and thim's that won't'll be made to!"
THE INVADERS.
From all sides news pours in concerning the rush for American managers of English concerns. At last the excellence of the American businessman's habits are being recognised, probably not a little owing to the vogue of such plays as Get-rich-quick Wallingford, Broadway Jones and The Fortune Hunters, wherein we see hustling methods justifying by their success all the odd measures which led to dollars. That the dominating business man who thus rises to greatness has to marry a clerk or typist is perhaps only a detail, but if the plays are to be taken as a guide it is expected of him.
The great tailoring house of Tarn, which has just appointed a manager from Cleveland, Ohio, on the advice of Lord Claud Hamilton, has completely transformed its cutting department. All jackets are now made to reach to the knees, with shoulders that project beyond the wearer's body one foot on each side. The trousers are wide at the knees and tight at the ankles, and are very effective. Walking-sticks must not be worn with these suits. Messrs. Tarn hope to bring back the frock coat very shortly, especially for politicians.
The American scholar who has just been appointed to the Chair of English Composition at Oxford has already made some drastic reforms. No longer may the student write that he has a book "at home"; he must say "to home." The participle "got" has gone in favour of "gotten"; while the only text-books in use are of Trans-Atlantic origin. The University has adopted the college cry of "No, No, No Eng Lish Need, Need, Need Apply!"
This yell will be used by Oxford partisans at the Inter-University Sports during the performances of American Rhodes Scholars.
The latest news to reach us as we go to press is that the directors of various London music halls are thinking seriously whether or not they will call in American assistance for their revues, either producers, actors or musicians. But this is an innovating step which will require the deepest thought.
SINGING WATER.
I heard—'twas on a morning, but when it was and where,
Except that well I heard it, I neither know nor care—
I heard, and, oh, the sunlight was shining in the blue,
A little water singing as little waters do.
At Lechlade and at Buscot, where Summer days are long,
The tiny rills and ripples they tremble into song;
And where the silver Windrush brings down her liquid gems,
There's music in the wavelets she tosses to the Thames.
The eddies have an air too, and brave it is and blithe;
I think I may have heard it that day at Bablockhythe;
And where the Eynsham weir-fall breaks out in rainbow spray
The Evenlode comes singing to join the pretty play.
But where I heard that music I cannot rightly tell;
I only know I heard it, and that I know full well:
I heard a little water, and, oh, the sky was blue,
A little water singing as little waters do.
R. C. L.
AN APOLOGY THAT MADE THINGS WORSE.
We had a fancy-dress ball on December 30th. They have these things in nearly all Swiss Hotels and you have to put up with them. As a matter of fact Matilda and I enjoyed ourselves. We supped well and danced quite often. At 3.30 a.m. we set out for our rooms. We took a lighted candle with us to keep us warm as we went. The way to get the most warmth from a candle is to sit round it. As the corridor was cold, we sat round the candle outside Miss Wortley's room, but this was quite accidental.
We didn't know that she had gone to bed at 10.30 p.m. with the primary object of sleeping and the ulterior motive of getting up the next morning in time to catch an early train. We weren't to know that she had wasted her time from 11 p.m. to 3.25 a.m. listening to a procession of revellers retiring to their rooms. We had no suspicion that she was just dozing off for the first time when we stopped to warm ourselves. We really made very little noise, though we may have laughed just a little. The report which has got about, that I tried to climb up the wall to see the time, is inaccurate. The clock is not nearly high enough up the wall to render this necessary, and I didn't care a button what the time was.
If we had known that the Germans who ought to have been asleep in the room opposite to Miss Wortley would come out into the corridor and shout in their nasty guttural language, we should probably not have tried to find out whether anything was attached to the other end of a piece of tape that protruded from under their door. It was quite a long piece of tape, and there was something attached to the end of it, though we never found out what that something was. Anyway, it was too large to pass under the door, though we pulled the tape quite hard. We had just given up our investigation and reached our respective rooms when the German family arrived in the corridor and commented on the matter.
I can't see that we were really to blame because Miss Wortley suffered from insomnia, missed her early train next morning and had to pay an extra half franc for having breakfast in her bedroom. She was very unpleasant about it and went round telling everybody that we had kept her awake all night. She was one of those women who——But there, I don't want to be nasty, and anyone who reads this will guess the kind of woman she was.
The next day was New Year's Eve. After dinner we took part in an Ice Carnival, then we saw the New Year in, and then we drank practically everybody's health. At 2 a.m. I was sitting in the lounge talking to Matilda when a kind of peaceful sensation came over me, and I began to be sorry that there was any bad feeling between Miss Wortley and us; so I said to Matilda, It's New Year's Day and I should like to start it on friendly terms with everyone, including Miss Wortley. I think I shall apologise to her about last night; we may have been a little thoughtless."
"I don't see what there is to apologise for," said Matilda, "but I suppose it can't do any harm and it may help to make things pleasant all round. If you're going to apologise I suppose I ought to do the same."
"Come on then," I said.
"Where to?"
"To apologise."
"Don't be absurd; we can't apologise now. We'll apologise to-morrow."
"We might miss her to-morrow, and we ought to do a thing like this without delay and as early in the New Year as possible. If I don't do it now, I may not feel apologetic later on, and I don't want to go through the year with even a tittle of Miss Wortley's insomnia on my conscience."
Matilda seemed rather uncertain about it, but after a time recognised that I was right, and we went up to Miss Wortley's room. I had to knock loudly on her door before I got any answer, but eventually a sleepy voice said, "Come in."
I didn't think that we had better do that, so I knocked again.
"All right, you can bring in the water."
"It isn't exactly your shaving water—in fact it's hardly time to get up yet," I shouted.
"What's the matter? Is the place on fire?" I heard sounds as of a person getting out of bed, so I said, "You needn't get up, it's only us. We wanted to apologise about last night. We're sorry you didn't sleep very well. Of course it wasn't altogether our fault, but still we thought that we should like to apologise; in fact we didn't feel that we could go to sleep until we had apologised; and—and we wanted to wish you a Happy New Year."
I am not sure that I did the thing very well, but I am sure that it would have sounded better and that I shouldn't have ended so lamely if Matilda hadn't been so tactless as to laugh in the middle. Somehow I got the idea that the apology hadn't been accepted in the spirit in which it had been tendered. Suspicious sounds came from within, including the click of a water jug; also the German family opposite seemed to be under the impression that it was time to get up—so we didn't wait to say Good-night, but slipped quietly out of the way. Miss Wortley's door and the door opposite opened simultaneously. There were two splashes like water thrown from jugs, and I fancy that more than one person got wet. It isn't easy to discover exactly what is happening when two people are shouting at the tops of their voices in different languages, but I didn't gather that they quite cleared the matter up to their mutual satisfaction.
EVERY AUTHOR'S WIFE.
["What is the first step towards literary production? It is imperative, if you wish to write with any freshness at all, that you should utterly ruin your digestion."—H. G. Wells.]
"What have you dined on, husband mine?"
"Chocolate creams and ginger wine."
"What did you take as an appetiser?"
"Haggis and Sauerkraut à la Kaiser."
"Didn't they give you any sweet?"
"Hard-boiled eggs and whisky neat."
"And your fruit, I trust, was over-ripe?"
"Doughnuts five with a pound of tripe."
"Have you had nothing at all since then?"
"Lobster and stout." "Then here's your pen,
"You must do a chapter or two to-night;
Have a banana and start to write."
New Anglo-German Entente.
"Young gentlemen wish young English lady to learn know for the common joint exchange for the language sunday by flying outs Pleasing writing at the office chiffre J. 810."—Leipziger Neuste Nachrichten.
"Notice.
In order to popularise the Corporation Crematorium, at Crematorium Road, the Corporation have decided as an experimental measure to abolish the fees now charged for the use of the Crematorium for one year."
Capital (Calcutta).
The inducement leaves us cold.
The Infant Samson.
"2s. 6d. reward will be paid for name of Small Boy who pushed a Cab Horse down in the Station Yard, Teigumouth."
Express and Echo (Exeter).
More Commercial Candour.
From a Leeds grocer's circular:—
"A perfection of blending is obtained in —— Tea, which, upon analysis, is pronounced to be absolutely injurious to health."
"Have you any golf balls guaranteed to go straight?"
"Not here, Madam. You might try the Conjuring Department—first floor."
THE IDEAL FILM PLOT.
[The brisk demand by Cinema companies for new picture-play stories has led many writers of talent to turn their attention to this fascinating branch of literature. Unfortunately they often fail not only to acquire a proper knowledge of the technique of the art, but to take steps to ascertain what the public really wants. With the object of helping authors in both directions we publish below a scenario which has been described by an authority as "the ideal film plot.">[
THE FIREBRAND'S REDEMPTION.
Persons:
Ferdinand, a Cowboy.
General Devereux.
Phyllis Devereux, his daughter.
Joe, a soldier.
Cowboys, miners, soldiers, Indians,
etc.
Part I.
Ferdinand's headlong career to the Devil is arrested by the beautiful Phyllis Devereux.
First Scene.—A drinking saloon in the Wild West. Cowboys, miners and Western demi-mondaines playing cards at top speed and drinking heavily. Enter Ferdinand, drunk and carrying a huge revolver in each hand and a tomahawk between his teeth. He forces the bar-tender to "hands up" and begins shooting down the bottles ranged along the counter. Enter Phyllis. As soon as Ferdinand sees her he drops the pistols and trembles violently. Phyllis regards him searchingly and leaves the saloon. Ferdinand follows unsteadily. Projection on screen:—
Gee, boys! Ferd's hit, sure!
Second Scene.—Outside the saloon. Phyllis is seen entering a sumptuous motor. Ferdinand falls to his knees, but she disregards him. As the motor moves away he prepares to strike himself on the back of the neck with his tomahawk, but when the fatal blow is about to fall Phyllis leans over the back of the car and blows him a kiss. Enlargement of Ferdinand's face working with emotion and finally settling into an expression of immense determination. Projection on screen:—
I swear never to drink again!
Part II.
Ferdinand is called upon to show himself worthy, but the old Adam conquers.
First Scene.—Outside General Devereux's tent. Soldiers, Staff Officers, etc. General sits in full uniform at a table. Enter Joe, a very fat soldier. He trips over his rifle, turns a somersault and salutes. The General points to the left and Joe goes off. Enter Phyllis, who talks and gesticulates with feeling. Projection on screen:—
Pop, I love him!
Enter Ferdinand. Much talk and discussion. Projection on screen:—
You must prove yourself worthy of her!
The General points dramatically to the left and writes at great speed. Projection on screen, in angular/handwriting:—
Send help at once! We are surrounded
and in sore straits!—Devereux.
He hands paper to Ferdinand. Both point dramatically to the left. Phyllis leans over her lover's shoulder and reads. All three point dramatically to the left.
Second Scene.—A wood. Enter Joe, walking cautiously. Suddenly a Red Indian in full war paint rushes towards him. Joe turns tail and flies.
Third Scene.—More wood. Joe is seen running at about thirty-five miles an hour, pursued by seven Indians.
Fourth Scene.—A tract of rocky country. Joe is seen running at about fifty-two miles an hour, pursued by fifteen Indians.
Fifth Scene.—The bank of a river. Joe is seen running at about seventy-eight miles an hour, pursued by twenty-three Indians. He trips over a stone and falls into the water. Enter Ferdinand on horseback. He dismounts and fires a revolver. Four Indians bite the dust. He fires again. Four more Indians bite the dust and the rest fly. Ferdinand shades his right eye, peers into the river, dives in and presently reappears with Joe. The latter feels anxiously in his pockets and produces a flask. He hands it to Ferdinand, who drinks. Enlargement of Ferdinand drinking.
Part III.
Phyllis again to the rescue.
First Scene.—The same. Ferdinand and Joe lie on the ground drunk. Enter Phyllis disguised as a soldier. Expressive despair. She searches Ferdinand's pockets and finds despatch, which is again projected on the screen. She points dramatically to the left and looks doubtfully at Ferdinand. Then she takes out a revolver, averts her eyes and shoots him in the shoulder. Projection on screen:—
They will think he has been wounded
by the enemy and will suspect
nothing!
Second Scene.—A wood. Phyllis on horseback riding at a great pace and waving the despatch in her right hand.
Part IV.
All's well that ends well.
First Scene.—A hospital. Ferdinand and Joe lying in cots and attended by nurses. Ferdinand signals to Joe and they leap out of bed, gag the nurses and tie them up with towels. Then they make a rope of bedclothes and climb out of the window.
Second Scene.—Outside the hospital. Ferdinand, in pyjamas, is seen sliding rapidly down the rope. Joe follows. The rope breaks and he falls with a crash to the ground.
Third Scene.—A field, with an aeroplane attended by mechanics standing in it. Enter Ferdinand and Joe running. They climb into the machine, the motor is started and they shoot out of the picture.
Fourth Scene.—The sky. An aeroplane flying very high and very fast.
Fifth Scene.—A forest. Phyllis is tied to a tree and three Red Indians are about to run her through with spears. Suddenly they look upwards as if disturbed by some noise. At this moment Ferdinand drops to the ground from the top of the picture. He at once shoots the Indians and releases Phyllis. The latter points dramatically to the right and produces a paper. Projection on screen:—
30,000 men will relieve you
to-morrow!—Conolly.
Ferdinand and Phyllis both point dramatically to the right.
Sixth Scene.—Outside the General's tent. Soldiers and Staff Officers as before. Enter Ferdinand and Phyllis. Ferdinand hands the despatch to the General. Despatch is again projected on the screen. The General rises and salutes with much emotion. All present salute, Ferdinand clasps Phyllis in his arms to kiss her.
Seventh Scene.—The Kiss—about twenty-five times life-size.
Mistress (discussing housemaid who has given notice). "Well, of course, if she wants to go she must. But it seems foolish of her if her only reason is that she wants a change. She won't get a better place than this."
Cook. "That's just what i tell the silly girl, Ma'am. 'Depend upon it,' I says to her, 'you'll only be going out of the frying-pan into the fire.'"
"Mr. G. Dyson, who succeeded Mr. W. S. Bambridge as organist at the college a little over two years ago, is leaving to go to Rugby, as organist there. Since he has been at Marlborough Mr. Dyson has given a large number of much-appreciated recitals in the college chapel. The organ is still undergoing repair."—The Standard.