PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 146.

May 27, 1914.

CHARIVARIA.

We hear that the news of the defeat of Messrs. Travers, Evans ("Chick") and Ouimet in the Amateur Golf Championship was received by President Huerta's troops with round upon round of cheering. Frankly, we think it rather petty of them.

The statement in The Daily Mail to the effect that about two million pounds have been sunk in the new German liner Vaterland is apt to be misconstrued, and we are requested to state that the vessel is still afloat.

There was a fire at the Press Club off Fleet Street last week, but we refuse absolutely to credit the rumour that this was the work of a member anxious that his paper should have first news of the conflagration.

We came across a flagrant example, the other day, of an advertisement that did not speak the truth. Seated on the top of an omnibus were six persons with most regrettable faces. Underneath them was an inscription, which ran the length of the knife-board:—

Persons who are hesitating to visit the Anglo-American Exposition may like to know that the representation of New York there is not so realistic as to be unpleasant.

Mr. A. Kipling Common writes to The Daily Mail deploring England's lack of great men. We are sorry that The Times should be so shy in using its power to remedy this defect. Letters from the great are always printed by our contemporary in large type. A few promotions might surely be distributed now and then among the small-type men?

A friendly intimation is said to have been conveyed by the Royal Academy to a restaurant in the immediate neighbourhood which advertises an Academy luncheon that its name might with advantage be changed to one of a nature less inciting to Suffragettes. We refer to Hatchett's.

Is cannibalism to be Society's latest fad? We notice that somebody's Skin Food is being advertised pretty freely.

The Criterion Restaurant, we see, is advertising a "Souper Dansant." Personally we dislike the kind of supper which, when eaten, will not lie down and rest.

It looks, we fear, as if in Break the Walls Down the Savoy Theatre has not found a play which will Bring the House Down.

The proposal that a "full blue" should be awarded at Cambridge to those who represent the University at boxing was recently considered but not adopted. We should have thought that a "black and blue" would have been the appropriate thing.

Some idea of the heat last week may be gathered from the following order issued by the Cambridge University Officers' Training Corps:—

INTER-COMPANY COMPETITION.

Dress:—Two pouches will be worn on the right.

A translation is announced of a book by August Strindberg, entitled "Fair Haven and Foul Strand." Those of us who remember the Strand of twenty years ago, with its mud baths, will not consider the epithet too strong.

There is, we hear, considerable satisfaction among the animals at the Zoo at the result of a recent competition open to readers of The Express. It has been decided that the ugliest animal in the collection is the orang-utan, who resembles a human being more closely than any other animal.

Meanwhile it has been decided, humanely, not to break the news to the orang-utan himself until the weather gets cooler.

The Patriarch. "I don't believe this 'ere about tellin' a man's character just by lookin' at 'is face. It ain't possible."

DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM.

Lines dedicated to the outraged memory of Keats.

[Two pretty poor sonnets by Keats have been exposed by a Mr. Horner and exploited in facsimile, twice over in one week, by The Times. In its Literary Supplement, where they made their second appearance, we are told with cynical candour that "afterwards, when he had become ashamed of his crowning" (the foolish episode which is the subject of these two sonnets) Keats "kept them from publication; and Reynolds" (the friend to whom he confided them), "knowing the story, respected his feelings after his death."]

O. S.

THE AUDIT.

This income of mine, in which the world has suddenly become so interested, must be calculated from the following returns of past years, being the figures supplied privately to Phyllis:—

(2) My capital is invested in Ordinary Stock, and brings in anything from £50 to £100 a year, in accordance with the varying moods of the directors.

(3) Lastly, I have now bought, out of my earnings, the freehold of the premises in which I carry on my practice. In making out a Balance Sheet this item must be regarded either as a liability or as an asset accordingly as one takes the dark or the bright view of the position. Either I owe myself so much a year for rent of the premises, in which case it is a liability: or else myself owes me so much for rent, in which case it is an asset. Practically speaking it doesn't much matter, because it is a bad debt either way.

Those amongst my (apparently) most intimate friends, who are money-lenders, do not ask for details. They are content to assume the worst and hope for the best. Sir Reginald Hartley and Mr. Charles Dugmore, Assessor of Taxes, the most interested enquirers, are not, however, money-lenders.

Sir Reginald is not naturally an inquisitive man, and his concern for me, in spite of my frequent appearance at his table, had hitherto been limited to my services in getting the port decanter round its circuit. It was I who, when one evening we were doing this alone, led up to the subject.

"Sir Reginald," said I.

He passed the port again,