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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, July 1, 1914
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 147.
July 1, 1914.
PROGRESS.
["Giving evidence recently before a Select Committee of the House of Commons, Miss C. E. Collet, of the Home Office, said the commercial laundry was killing the small hand laundry."—Evening News.]
The little crafts! How soon they die!
In cottage doors no shuttle clicks;
The hand-loom has been ousted by
A large concern with lots more sticks.
The throb of pistons beats around;
Great chimneys rise on Thames's banks;
The same phenomena are found
In Sheffield. (Yorks) and Oldham (Lancs).
No longer now the housewife makes
Her rare preserves, for what's the good?
The factory round the corner fakes
Raspberry jam with chips of wood.
'Tis so with what we eat and wear,
Our bread, the boots wherein we splosh
'Tis so with what I deemed most fair,
Most virginal of all—the Wash.
'Tis this that chiefly, when I chant,
Fulfils my breast with sighs of ruth,
To think that engines can supplant
The Amazons I loved in youth.
That not with tender care, as erst
By spinster females fancy-free,
These button-holes of mine get burst
Before the shift comes back to me;
That mere machines, and not a maid
With fingers fatuously plied,
The collars and the cuffs have frayed
That still excoriate my hide;
That steam reduces to such states
What once was marred by human skill;
That socks are sundered from their mates
By means of an electric mill;
That not by Cupid's coy advance
(Some crone conniving at the fraud),
But simply by mechanic chance,
I get this handkerchief marked "Maud."
This is, indeed, a striking change;
I sometimes wonder if the world
Gets better as the skies grow strange
With coils of smoke about them curled.
If the old days were not the best
Ere printed formulas conveyed
Sorrow about that silken vest
For all eternity mislaid;
Ere yet the unwieldy motor-van
Came clattering round the kerbstone's brink,
Its driver dreaming some new plan
To make my mauve pyjamas shrink.
Evoe.
THE ENCHANTED CASTLE.
There are warm days in London when even a window-box fails to charm, and one longs for the more open spaces of the country. Besides, one wants to see how the other flowers are getting on. It is on these days that we travel to our Castle of Stopes; as the crow flies, fifteen miles away. Indeed, that is the way we get to it, for it is a castle in the air. And when we are come to it Celia is always in a pink sun-bonnet gathering roses lovingly, and I, not very far off, am speaking strongly to somebody or other about something I want done. By-and-by I shall go into the library and work ... with an occasional glance through the open window at Celia.
To think that a month ago we were quite happy with a few pink geraniums!
Sunday, a month ago, was hot. "Let's take train somewhere," said Celia, "and have lunch under a hedge."
"I know a lovely place for hedges," I said.
"I know a lovely tin of potted grouse," said Celia, and she went off to cut some sandwiches. By twelve o'clock we were getting out of the train.
The first thing we came to was a golf course, and Celia had to drag me past it. Then we came to a wood, and I had to drag her through it. Another mile along a lane, and then we both stopped together.
"Oh!" we said.
It was a cottage, the cottage of a dream. And by a cottage I mean, not four plain rooms and a kitchen, but one surprising room opening into another; rooms all on different levels and of different shapes, with delightful places to bump your head on; open fireplaces; a large square hall, oak-beamed, where your guests can hang about after breakfast, while deciding whether to play golf or sit in the garden. Yet all so cunningly disposed that from outside it looks only a cottage or, at most, two cottages persuaded into one.
And, of course, we only saw it from outside. The little drive, determined to get there as soon as possible, pushed its way straight through an old barn, and arrived at the door simultaneously with the flagged lavender walk for the humble who came on foot. The rhododendrons were ablaze beneath the south windows; a little orchard was running wild on the west; there was a hint at the back of a clean-cut lawn. Also, you remember, there was a golf course, less than two miles away.
"Oh," said Celia with a deep sigh, "but we must live here."
An Irish terrier ran out to inspect us. I bent down and patted it. "With a dog," I added.
"Isn't it all lovely? I wonder who it belongs to, and if——"
"If he'd like to give it to us."
"Perhaps he would if he saw us and admired us very much," said Celia hopefully.
"I don't think Mr. Barlow is that sort of man," I said. "An excellent fellow, but not one to take these sudden fancies."
"Mr. Barlow? How do you know his name?"
"I have these surprising intuitions," I said modestly. "The way the chimneys stand up——"
"I know," cried Celia. "The dog's collar."
"Right, Watson. And the name of the house is Stopes."
She repeated it to herself with a frown.
"What a disappointing name," she said. "Just Stopes."
"Stopes," I said. "Stopes, Stopes. If you keep on saying it, a certain old-world charm seems to gather round it. Stopes."
"Stopes," said Celia. "It is rather jolly."
We said it ten more times each, and it seemed the only possible name for it. Stopes—of course.
"Well?" I asked.
"We must write to Mr. Barlow," said Celia decisively. "'Dear Mr. Barlow, er——Dear Mr. Barlow,——we——' Yes, it will be rather difficult. What do we want to say exactly?"
"'Dear Mr. Barlow,—May we have your house?'"
"Yes," smiled Celia, "but I'm afraid we can hardly ask for it. But we might rent it when—when he doesn't want it any more."
"'Dear Mr. Barlow,'" I amended, "'have you any idea when you're! going to die?' No, that wouldn't do either. And there's another thing—we don't know his initials, or even if he's a 'Mr.' Perhaps he's a knight or a—a duke. Think how offended Duke Barlow would be if we put '—— Barlow, Esq.' on the envelope."
"We could telegraph. 'Barlow. After you with Stopes.'"
"Perhaps there's a young Barlow, a Barlowette or two with expectations. It may have been in the family for years."
"Then we——Oh, let's have lunch." She sat