PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 150.

February 23, 1916.

CHARIVARIA.

The threatened shortage of paper has led a few unkind persons to enquire upon what our diplomatic victories are hereafter to be achieved.

An interned German was recently given a week's freedom in which to get married, and the interesting question has now been raised as to whether his children, when they reach the age of twenty-one, will be liable to the Conscription Act or will have to be interned as alien enemies.

According to Miss Ellen Terry but little attention has been given by the critics to the letters in Shakspeare's plays. We rather thought that one of Germany's intelligent young professors had recently subjected the letters to a searching analysis, the result being to establish beyond a reasonable doubt that England started the War.

From The Observer:—

"The King has sent a congratulatory letter to Mrs. Mann of Nottingham, who has nine sons serving in the Army and Navy. This is believed to be a record for one working-class family."

Though a mere bagatelle, of course, for the idle rich.

We regret to read of the death from tuberculosis of one of the most popular and playful of the Zoological Society's crocodiles. Death is said to have been hastened by a severe chill contracted by the intelligent reptile as the result of leaving off a warm undervest, the gift of an elderly female admirer, in order to pursue, in jest, of course, the keeper of the reptile house down a drain.

A Persian newspaper entitled Kaveh is now being published in Berlin for the purpose of increasing popular interest in Persian affairs. Its title is short for "Kaveh kanem!" (Beware of the Bulldog!)

Women who have volunteered to do agricultural work in place of men called to the colours will wear a green armlet, green being selected in preference to red on account of the possibility of cows.

The proposal that wives whose husbands, though of military age, have not attested under the Derby Act shall be allowed to wear a ribbon on the left arm to signify that it is not their fault, is said to have received considerable support.

There is no pleasing everybody. Last week Mr. Tennant told the House of Commons that hereafter "the Navy would undertake to deal with all hostile aircraft attempting to reach this country, while the Army undertook to deal with all aircraft which reached these shores." And now the Horse Marines are asking bitterly why they are not to be permitted to share in the great work.

ONLY TO THINK THAT KAISER WILHELM, COUNT ZEPPELIN, VON TIRPITZ, AND CROWN PRINCE WILLIE ALL LOOKED LIKE THIS ONCE!

OUGHT WE TO GROW UP?

The German Government has put restrictions on the sale of sauerkraut, and a hideous rumour is afoot to the effect that they are preparing to use it on the prisoners by forcible feeding.

It is said of the Chicago meat-packers that they use every part of the pig except the squeal. As the result of the restriction put upon wood pulp an equally economical process is to be applied to our old newspapers.

"Several new records were established at the Geelong wool sales, including 20d. for greasy merino lambs.—Reuter."

This revival of the ancient pastime of chasing the greasy lamb will be of interest to antiquarians.

From The Irish Times: "Wanted Lad as assistant plumber. Experience not necessary." After all there is something to be said for the ravages of war.

ERZERUM: A SET-BACK IN THE HOLY WAR.

Kaiser to Sultan.

O.S.

MY WAR STORIES.

Did you ever try to write War stories? I am not alluding to Press telegrams from Athens, Amsterdam or Copenhagen, but legitimate magazine fiction. Once I was reasonably competent and could rake in my modest share of War profits. But recently Clibbers, of the International Fiction Syndicate, approached me and said, "Old man, do me some War stuff. Anything you like, but it must have a novel climax."

"Not in a War story," I protested.

"Can you deliver the goods?" said Clibbers sternly.

After that what could I do but alter the stories I had in stock.

For example there was my fine story, "Retrieved." The innocent convict (would that I had the happy innocence of the convict of fiction!) emerges from Portmoor. In a few well-chosen words the genial old prison governor (to avoid libel actions I hasten to say that no allusion is made to any living person) advises the released man to make a new career. The convict marches to the recruiting office and enlists. In a couple of paragraphs he is at the Front; on the second page he saves the Colonel's life, captures a German trench on page three, and in less time than it takes to do it gains the V.C., discovers the villain dying repentant with a full confession in his left puttee, and embraces the girl who chanced to be Red-Crossing in the rear of the German position—presumably having arrived there by aeroplane. This seemed to me both probable and credible in a magazine. Still a novel climax was needed. After the few well-chosen words from the prison governor I took the convict to the nearest public-house, let him discover that the new restrictions were in force, and brought the story to a novel conclusion by making him say with oaths to the recruiting officer that he would be jiggered if ever he formed fours for such a