May, 1918.
With the coming of May the Vision of Victory which had nerved Germany to her greatest effort seemed fading from her sight. With its last days we see them making a second desperate effort to secure the prize, capturing Soissons and the Chemin des Dames and pushing on to the Marne. This time the French have borne the burden of the onslaught, but Rheims is still held, the Americans are pouring in to France at the rate of 250,000 a month, and have proved their mettle at Cantigny, a small fight of great importance, as it "showed their fighting qualities under extreme battle conditions," in General Pershing's words, and earned the praise of General Debeney for the "offensive valour" of our Allies.
THE THREATENED PEACE OFFENSIVE
GERMAN EAGLE (to British Lion): "I warn you--a little more of this obstinacy and you'll
rouse the dove in me!"
The British troops have met Sir Douglas Haig's appeal as we knew they would:
Their will to win let Boches bawl
As loudly as they choose,
When once our back's against the wall
'Tis not our wont to lose.
Those who have gone back at the seventh wave are waiting for the tide to turn. To the fainthearted or shaken souls who contend that no victory is worth gaining at the cost of such carnage and suffering, these lines addressed "To Any Soldier" may serve as a solvent of their doubts and an explanation of the mystery of sacrifice:
If you have come through hell stricken or maimed,
Vistas of pain confronting you on earth;
If the long road of life holds naught of worth
And from your hands the last toil has been claimed;
If memories of horrors none has named
Haunt with their shadows your courageous mirth
And joys you hoped to harvest turn to dearth,
And the high goal is lost at which you aimed;
Think this--and may your heart's pain thus be healed--
Because of me some flower to fruitage blew,
Some harvest ripened on a death-dewed field,
And in a shattered village some child grew
To womanhood inviolate, safe and pure.
For these great things know your reward is sure.
The Germans have reached Sevastopol, but the Kaiser's Junior Partner in the South is only progressing in the wrong direction. While Wilhelm is laboriously struggling to get nearer the sea, Mehmed is getting farther and farther away from it. The attitude of Russia remains obscure. Mr. Balfour tells us that it is not the intention of the Government to appoint an Ambassador to Russia. But there is talk of sending out an exploration party to find out just where Russia has got to. Russia, however, is not the only country whose attitude is obscure. The Leader of the Irish Nationalist Party is reported to have said to a New York interviewer: "We believe that the cause of the Allies is the cause of Freedom throughout the world." At the same time, while repudiating the policy of the Sinn Feiners, he admitted that he had co-operated with them in their resistance to the demand that Ireland should defend the cause of Freedom. The creed of Sinn Fein--"Ourselves Alone"--is at least more logical than that of these neutral Nationalists:
And is not ours a noble creed
With Self uplifted on the throne?
Why should we bleed for others' need?
Our motto is "Ourselves Alone."
Why prate of ruined lands out there,
Of churches shattered stone by stone?
We need not care how others fare,
We care but for "Ourselves Alone."
Though mothers weep with anguished eyes
And tortured children make their moan,
Let others rise when Pity cries;
We rise but for "Ourselves Alone."
Let Justice be suppressed by Might,
And Mercy's seat be overthrown;
For Truth and Right the fools may fight,
We fight but for "Ourselves Alone."
Meanwhile, the gentle Mr. Duke has retired from the Chief Secretaryship to the Judicial Bench; Mr. Shortt, his successor, recently voted against conscription for Ireland; Lord French, the new Viceroy, is believed to favour it. The appointments seem to have been made on the cancelling-out principle, and are as hard to reconcile as the ministerial utterances on the recent German push. Thus Mr. Macpherson declared that the crisis came upon us like a thief in the night, while on the same day Mr. Churchill observed that the German offensive had opened a month later than we had calculated, and consequently our reserves in munitions were correspondingly larger than they would have been. Anyhow, it is a good hearing that the lost guns, tanks, and aeroplanes have all been more than replaced, and the stores of ammunition completely replenished, while at the same time munition workers have been released for the Army at the rate of a thousand a day. These results have been largely due to the wonderful work of the women, who turned out innumerable shells of almost incredible quality--not like that depicted by our artist.
THE DUD
Mr. Bonar Law has brought in his Budget and asked for a trifle of 842 millions. We are to pay more for our letters, our cheques, and our tobacco. The Penny Postage has gone, and the Penny Pickwick with it. For the rest we have had the Maurice Affair, which looked like a means of resurrecting the Opposition but ended in giving the Government a new lease of life, and Sir Eric Geddes has given unexpected support to the allegations that the German pill-boxes were made of British cement. At least he admitted that the port of Zeebrugge was positively congested with shiploads of the stuff. Proportional Representation has been knocked out for the fifth time in this Parliament; and we have to thank Sir Mark Sykes for telling us that the Whip's definition of a crank is "a wealthy man who does not want a Knighthood, or a nobleman who does not want to be an Under-Secretary."
War is a great leveller. The Carl Rosa Company are about to produce an opera by an English composer. And war is teaching us to revise our histories. For example, "'Nelson,' the greatest naval pageant film ever attempted, will," says the Daily News, "tell the love story of Nelson's life and the outstanding incidents of his career, including the destruction of the Spanish Armada." No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, we trust. The Daily News, by the way, is much exercised by Mr. Punch's language towards the enemy, which it describes as being in the Billingsgate vein. In spite of which rebuke, and at the risk of offending the readers of that patriotic organ, Mr. Punch proposes to go on saying just what he thinks of the Kaiser and his friends.
The price of tobacco, as we have seen, is becoming a serious matter, but Ireland proposes to grapple with the problem in her own way. The Ballinasloe Asylum Committee, according to an announcement in the Times of May 14, have decided, with the sanction of the authorities, to grow tobacco leaf for the use of their inmates. "A doctor said that if the patients were debarred from an adequate supply of tobacco there would be no controlling them."
As a set-off to the anti-"Cuthbert" campaign in the Press the War Cabinet has in its Report declared that "the whole Empire owes the Civil Service a lasting debt of gratitude." It looks as if there was something in red tape after all. We must not, however, fail to recognise the growth of the new competitive spirit in the sphere of production, and Mr. Punch looks forward to the establishment of Cup Competitions for Clydesdale Riveters and London Allotment workers. Woman's work in munition factories has already been applauded; her services on the land are now more in need than ever.
WOMAN POWER
CERES: "Speed the plough!"
PLOUGHMAN: "I don't know who you are, ma'am, but it's no good speeding
the plough unless we can get the women to do the harvesting."
(Fifty thousand more women are wanted on the land to take the place of men called to
the colours, if the harvest is to be got in.)
June, 1918.
The danger is not past, but grounds for hope multiply. The new German assault between Montdidier and Noyon has brought little substantial gain at heavy cost. The attacks towards Paris have been held, and Paris, with admirable fortitude, makes little of the attentions of "Fat Bertha." "The struggle must be fought out," declared the Kaiser in the recent anniversary of his accession to the throne. In the meanwhile no opportunities of talking it out will be overlooked by the enemy. He is once more playing the old game of striving to promote discord between the Allies. At the very moment when the official communiqués announced the capture of 45,000 prisoners, the Chancellor began a new peace offensive, aimed primarily at France, and supported by mendacious reports that the French Government were starting for Bordeaux, Clemenceau overthrown, and Foch disgraced. But the campaign of falsehood has proved powerless to shake France or impose on the German people. Commandeered enthusiasm is giving place to grave discontent. The awakening of Germany has begun, and the promise of a speedy peace falls on deaf ears. In the process of enlightenment the Americans have played a conspicuous part, in spite of the persistent belittlement of the military experts in the official German Press. The stars in their courses have sometimes seemed to fight for Germany, but they are withdrawing their aid.
"COMPLETE ACCORD"; OR, ALL DONE BY KINDNESS
IMPERIAL TRAINER (to his dog Karl): "Now then, no nonsense: through you go!"
THE CELESTIAL DUD.
KAISER: "Ha! A new and brilliant star added to my constellation
of the Eagle!"
GENERAL FOCH: "On the wane, I think."
(It is anticipated in astronomical circles that the new star, Nova Aquilae, will shortly disappear.)
The long struggle between von Kühlmann and the generals has ended in the fall of the Minister; but not before he had indicated to the Reichstag the possibility of another Thirty Years' War, and asserted that no intelligent man ever entertained the wish that Germany should attain world-domination. There was a time when this frank reflection on the Hohenzollern intelligence would have constituted lèse-majesté. Coming from a Minister it amounts to a portent. Now he has gone, but the growing belief that military operations cannot end the war has not been scotched by his fall, and Herr Erzberger vigorously carries on the campaign against Chancellor Hertling and the generals. Austria has been at last goaded into resuming the offensive on the Italian Front and met with a resounding defeat. It remains to be seen how Turkey and Bulgaria will respond to the urgent appeals of their exacting master.
The ordeal of our men on the Western Front is terrible, but they have at least one grand and heartening stand-by in the knowledge that they have plenty of guns and no lack of shells behind them. This is the burden of the "Song of Plenty" from an old soldier to a young one:
The shelling's cruel bad, my son,
But don't you look too black,
For every blessed German one
He gets a dozen back--
But I remember the days
When shells were terrible few
And never the guns could bark and blaze
The same as they do for you.
But they sat in the swamp behind, my boy, and prayed for a tiny shell,
While Fritz, if he had the mind, my boy, could give us a first-class hell;
And I know that a 5.9 looks bad to a bit of a London kid,
But I tell you you were a lucky lad to come out when you did.
Up in the line again, my son,
And dirty work, no doubt,
But when the dirty work is done
They'll take the Regiment out--
But I remember a day
When men were terrible few
And we hadn't reserves a mile away
The same as there are for you,
But fourteen days at a stretch, my boy, and nothing about relief;
Fight and carry and fetch, my boy, with rests exceeding brief;
And rotten as all things sometimes are, they're not as they used to be,
And you ought to thank your lucky star you didn't come out with me.
Our mercurial Premier lays himself open to a good deal of legitimate criticism, but for this immense relief, unstinted thanks are due to his energy and the devoted labours of the munition workers, women as well as men.
The Admiralty have decided not to publish the Zeebrugge dispatches for fear of giving information to the enemy. All he knows at present is that a score and more of his torpedo-boats, submarines, and other vessels have been securely locked up in the Bruges Canal by British Keyes. The Minister of Pensions has told the House the moving story of what has already been done to restore, so far as money and care can do it, the broken heroes of the War, and Lord Newton's alleged obstructiveness in regard to the treatment and exchange of prisoners has been discussed in the Lords. Mr. Punch's own impression is that Lord Newton owes his unmerited position as whipping boy to the fact that he does not suffer fools gladly, even if they come in the guise of newspaper reporters; and that, unlike his illustrious namesake, he has no use for the theory of gravity. Meanwhile the Kaiser, with a sublime disregard for sunk hospital-ships and bombed hospitals, continues to exhibit his bleeding heart to an astonished world.
A PITIFUL POSE
TEUTON CROCODILE: "I do so feel for the poor British wounded.
I only wish we could do more for them."
"We Germans will preserve our conception of Christian duty towards the sick and wounded"
--From recent remarks of the Kaiser reported by a German correspondent.)
Now that the Food Controller has got into his stride, the nation has begun to realise the huge debt it owes to his firmness and organising ability, and is proportionately concerned to hear of his breakdown from overwork. The queues have disappeared, supplies are adequate, and there are no complaints of class-favouritism.
BOBBY (at the conclusion of dinner): "Mother, I don't know how it is, but I never seem to get that--that--nice sick feeling nowadays."
It is remarkable how the British soldier will pick up languages, or at least learn to interpret them. Only last week an American corporal stopped a British Sergeant and said: "Say, Steve, can you put me wise where I can barge into a boiled-shirt biscuit-juggler who would get me some eats?" And the Sergeant at once directed him to a café. The training of the new armies, to judge by the example depicted by our artist, affords fresh proof of the saying that love is a liberal education.
The situation on the Parliamentary Front has been fairly quiet. The popular pastime of asking when the promised Home Rule Bill is to be introduced is no longer met by suitably varied but invariably evasive replies. The Government has now frankly admitted that the policy of running Home Rule and Conscription in double harness has been abandoned, and expects better things from the new pair: Firm Government and Voluntary Recruiting. But sceptics are unconvinced that the Government will abandon the leniency prompted by "the insane view of creating an atmosphere in which something incomprehensible is to occur."
MISTRESS (as the new troops go by): "Which of them is your cousin?"
NURSEMAID (unguardedly): "I don't know yet, ma'am."
The lavish and, in many cases, inexplicable distribution of the Order of the British Empire bids fair to add a peculiar lustre to the undecorated. The War has produced no stranger paradox than the case of the gentleman who within the space of seven days was sentenced to six months' imprisonment for a breach of the Defence of the Realm regulations and recommended for the O.B.E. on account of good services to the country. The fact that the recommendation was withdrawn hardly justified the assumption of a Pacificist Member that a sentence under the Defence of the Realm Act was regarded as the higher honour of the two.
There is one thing, however, that war at its worst cannot do. It cannot make an Englishman forgo that peculiar and blessed birthright which enables him to overthrow the Giant Despair with the weapon of whimsical humour--in other words, to write, as a young officer has written for Mr. Punch, such a set of verses as the following in June, 1918:
When noses first were carved for men
Of varied width and height,
Strange smells and sweet were fashioned then
That all might know delight--
Smells for the hooked, the snub, the fine,
The pug, the gross, the small,
A smell for each, and one divine
Last smell to soothe them all.
The baccy smell, the smell of peat,
The rough gruff smell of tweed,
The rain smell on a dusty street
Are all good smells indeed;
The sea smell smelt through resinous trees,
The smell of burning wood,
The saintly smell of dairies--these
Are all rich smells and good.
And good the smell the nose receives
From new-baked loaves, from hops,
From churches, from decaying leaves,
From pinks, from grocers' shops;
And smells of rare and fine bouquet
Proceed, the world allows,
From petrol, roses, cellars, hay,
Scrubbed planks, hot gin and cows.
But there's a smell that doth excel
All other smells by far,
Even the tawny stable smell
Or the boisterous smell of tar;
A smell stupendous, past compare,
The king of smells, the prize,
That smell which floods the startled air
When home-cured bacon fries!
All other smells, whate'er their worth,
Though dear and richly prized,
Are earthy smells and of the earth,
Are smells disparadised;
But when that smell of smells awakes
From ham of perfect cure,
It lifts the heart to heaven and makes
The doom of Satan sure.
How good to sit at twilight's close
In a warm inn and feel
That marvellous smell caress the nose
With promise of a meal!
How good when bell for breakfast rings
To pause, while tripping down,
And snuff and snuff till Fancy brings
All Arcady to Town!
But best, when day's first glimmerings break
Through curtains half withdrawn,
To lie and smell it, scarce awake,
In some great farm at dawn;
Cocks crow, the milkmaid clanks the pails,
The housemaid bangs the stairs;
And BACON suddenly assails
The nostrils unawares.
Noses of varied width and height
Doth kindly Heaven bestow,
And choice of smells for our delight,
That all some joy may know;
Noses and smells for all the race
That on this earth do dwell,
And for a final act of grace
The astounding bacon smell.
But the War has its drawbacks, and owing to its unexpected prolongation there is a rumour that Mr. H.G. Wells will readjust his ideas on the subject quarterly instead of twice a week as before.
July, 1918.
"France's Day" was held on July 14 under the auspices of the British Red Cross Committee. But this has been France's month, the month in which the miracle of the first battle of the Marne has been equalled by the second, and the Germans have been hurled back across the fatal river by the tremendous counterstroke of General Foch.
HUN TO HUN
ATTILA (to Little Willie): "Speaking as one barbarian to another, I don't
recommend the neighbourhood. I found it a bit unhealthy myself."
(Attila's victorious progress across Gaul was finally checked on the plains of Châlons.)
VERY MUCH UP
A Champagne Counter-Offensive
On the 15th the Germans launched their great offensive. On the 20th they recrossed the Marne, and are now entitled to complain that General Foch not only took over the French and British armies, but has recently started taking over a good part of the German army. The neighbourhood has never been a healthy one for the Huns since the days of Attila.
Fritz has crossed the Marne and recrossed it--according to plan--and is already on the way to the Aisne. The battle of the rivers has begun again, but on new lines. Yet this amazing turn of the tide has been taken very quietly in France and England. The Allies have rung no joy-bells; they are content with doing their best to give Germany no occasion for further indulgence in that form of jubilation. And Germany is meeting them more than half way, their authorities having ordered a supplementary requisition of those church-bells which were exempted when the first confiscation was made. "At this heavy hour," said von Kühlmann to the Reichstag, "none of us fully realise what we owe to the German Emperor." That was a month ago; the realisation of their indebtedness has since advanced by leaps and bounds. There are now 1,000,000 Americans in France. But the Kaiser and his War-lords are still passing their victims through the fire to the Pan-German Moloch, and threatening to send German generals to teach the Austrian Army how to win offensives. It is even reported that the Germans contemplate placing the ex-king of Greece on the throne of Finland. Fantastic rumours are rife in these days; but there is only too good reason to believe the report that the ex-Tsar, the Tsaritsa, and their daughters have all been murdered by their brutal captors at Ekaterinburg. It seems but yesterday when Nicholas was acclaimed as the Saviour and regenerator of his people, and now Tsardom, irrevocably fallen from its high estate, has gone down amid scenes of butchery and barbarity that eclipse the Reign of Terror in France.
Little has happened at Westminster to indicate a consciousness on the part of the members of the great and glorious events in France. The Irish Expeditionary Force, after an absence of three months and a severe training at home, has returned to the Parliamentary Front, and their war-cry is "Devlin's the friend, not Shortt!" But the Chief Secretary was able to make the gratifying announcement that the voluntary recruiting campaign is to be assisted by several Nationalist M.P.'s, including Captain Stephen Gwynn, who has been serving in the trenches, and Colonel Lynch, who, having raised one Irish brigade to fight against us in the Boer War, and been sentenced to death for doing it, has now, with an inconsistency we cannot too gratefully recognise, undertaken to raise another to fight on our side. Mr. Bonar Law has revealed the interesting fact that only 288 members of the House of Commons have received titles, decorations, or offices of profit since it was elected in December, 1910. The unnoticed residue are probably wondering whether it is their own modesty or the shortsightedness of Ministers that has caused them to be passed over. Mr. Billing, after several pathetic but futile efforts to regain his place in the limelight, has at last succeeded in getting himself named, suspended, and forcibly assisted by four stalwart officials in his exit from the House--the most salutary movement, in the opinion of most members, with which he has yet been connected.
Admiral Sir Rosslyn Wemyss, in a recent speech, said that the association between the two Services, the Royal Navy and the Mercantile Marine, had been so close during the War, whatever that association might have been before, that it seemed to him almost incredible that it could ever be broken asunder. The First Sea Lord's statement is welcome and natural. But there is nothing really new in this solidarity of the seas. The Secret of the Ships is an old story:
On their ventures in the service of a Tudor King or Queen
All the ships were just as like as they could be,
For the merchantman gave battle, while the Royal ship was seen
As a not too simple trader over-sea:
Being heirs to ancient customs, when their upper sails came down
As a token of respect in passing by,
They would add the salutation in a language of their own,
"God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."
As the centuries receded came a parting of the ways
Till in time the separation went so far
That a family was founded who were traders all their days,
And another who were always men-of-war;
But whene'er they dipped their colours, one in faith, they understood--
And the sea, who taught them both, could tell you why--
That the custom never altered, so the greeting still held good,
"God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."
Then in days of common sacrifice and peril was it strange
That they ratified the union of the past?
While their Masters, unsuspecting, greatly marvelled at the change,
But they prayed with all their souls that it would last;
And the ships, who know the secret, go rejoicing on their way,
For whatever be the ensign that they fly,
Such as keep the seas with honour are united when they pray,
"God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."
"WAR PICTURES"
THE MOTHER: "Of course, I don't understand them, dear; but they give
me a dreadful feeling. I can't bear to look at them. Is it really like that at
the Front?"
THE WARRIOR (who has seen terrible things in battle): "Thank heaven, no,
mother."
England deplores the death of Lord Rhondda, who achieved success in the most irksome and invidious of offices. He undertook the duties of Food Controller in broken health, never spared himself, and died in harness. It is to be hoped that he realised what was the truth--that he had won not only the confidence but the gratitude of the public.
Spain has rendered herself unpleasantly conspicuous by developing and exporting a new form of influenza, and a Spanish astrologer predicts the end of the world in a few months' time. But we are not going to allow those petty distractions to take our minds off the War. Here we may note that Baron Burian's recent message indicates that but for the War everything would be all right in Austria. Our artists are certainly determined not to let us forget it. But the most valuable pictures do not find their way into galleries, though they do not lack appreciative spectators.
CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER: "That's very clever. Who did it?"
SERGEANT. "Oh, that's by Perkins, sir--quite an expert. Used to paint
sparrows before the war and sell 'em for canaries."
No record of the month would be complete without notice of the unique way in which the Fourth of July has been celebrated by John Bull and Uncle Sam in France. Truly such a meeting as this does make amends.
August, 1918.
July was a glorious month for the Allies, and August is even better. It began with the recovery of Soissons; a week later it was the turn of the British, and Sir Douglas Haig struck hard on the Amiens front; since then the enemy have been steadily driven back by the unrelenting pressure of the Allies, Bapaume and Noyon have been recaptured, and with their faces set for home the Germans have learnt to recognise in a new and unpleasant sense the truth of the Kaiser's saying, "The worst is behind us." The 8th of August was a bad day for Germany, for it showed that the counter-offensive was not to be confined to one section; that henceforth no respite would be allowed from hammer-blows. The German High Command endeavours to tranquillise the German people by communiqués, the gist of which may thus be rendered in verse:
In those very identical regions
That sunder the Marne from the Aisne
We advanced to the rear with our legions
Long ago and have done it again;
Fools murmur of errors committed,
But every intelligent man
Has accepted the view that we flitted
According to plan.
The French rivers have found their voice again:
'Twas the voice of the Marne
That began it with "Garn!
Full speed, Fritz, astarn!"
Then the Ourcq and the Crise
Sang "Move on, if you please."
The Ardre and the Vesle
Took up the glad tale,
And cried to the Aisne
"Wash out the Hun stain."
So all the way back from the Marne the French rivers
Have given the Boches in turn the cold shivers.
"ACCORDING TO PLAN"
LITTLE WILLIE: "Well, Father wanted a war of movement, and now he's got it!"
VON POT AND VON KETTLE
GERMAN GENERAL: "Why the devil don't you stop these Americans coming
across? That's your job."
GERMAN ADMIRAL: "And why the devil don't you stop 'em when they are
across? That's yours."
Hindenburg has confided to a newspaper correspondent that the German people need to develop the virtue of patience. According to the Berliner Tageblatt he has declared that he was not in favour of the July offensive. Ludendorff, on the other hand, may fairly point out that it isn't his offensive any longer. Anyhow, Hindenburg is fairly entitled to give Ludendorff the credit of it since Ludendorff's friends have always said that he supplied the old Mud-Marshal with brains. The amenities of the High Command are growing lively, since the Navy is also concerned, and the failure of the U-boats to check the influx of American troops needs a lot of explaining away. The good news from the Front has been received at home with remarkable composure, when one considers the acute anxiety of the last four months. But it is the way of England to endure felicity with calmness and adversity with fortitude. In the House of Lords Lord Inchcape and Lord Emmott have been propitiating Nemesis by their warnings of the gloomy financial future that is in store for us, while in the Commons the Bolshevist group below the gangway are apparently much perturbed by the prospect that Russia may be helped on to her legs again by the Allies. Mr. Dillon's indictment of the Government for their treatment of Ireland has had, however, a welcome if unexpected result. Mr. Shortt, the new Chief Secretary, an avowed and unrepentant Home Ruler, has been telling Mr. Dillon's followers a few plain truths about themselves: that they have made no effort to turn the Home Rule Act into a practical measure; that instead of denouncing Sinn Fein they had followed its lead; that they had attacked the Irish executive when they ought to have supported it, and by their refusal to help recruiting had forfeited the sympathy of the British working classes. Mr. Lloyd George, in his review of the War, warned the peacemongers not to expect their efforts to succeed until the enemy knew he was beaten, but vouchsafed no information as to his alleged intention to go to the country in the political sense. In spite of the Premier's warning the Pacificists made another futile attempt on the very next day to convince the House that the Germans were ready to make an honest peace if only our Government would listen to it. They were well answered by Mr. Robertson, who was a Pacificist himself until this War converted him, and by Mr. Balfour, who declared that we were quite ready to talk to Germany as soon as she showed any sign of a change of heart. Up to the present there has been no sign of it.
CHILD (who has been made much of by father home on leave for the first time for two years): "Mummy dear, I like that man you call your husband."
Food is still the universal topic. Small green apples, says a contemporary, are proving popular. A boy correspondent, however, desires Mr. Punch to say that he has a little inside information to the contrary. Nottingham children, it is stated, are to be paid 3d. a pound for gathering blackberries, but they are not to use their own receptacles. Captain Amundsen is on his way to the Pole, but we fear that he will not find any cheese there. The vocabulary of food control has even made its way to the nursery. A small girl on being informed by her nurse that a new little baby brother had come to live with her promptly replied: "Well, he can't stay unless he's brought his coupons,"
LATEST ADDITION TO MINISTRY STAFF: "What's
the tea-time here?"
CICERONE: "Usual--three to five-thirty."
Yet one of Mr. Punch's poets, in prophetic and optimistic strain, has actually dared to speculate on the delights of life without "Dora"; Dickens, with the foresight of genius, wrote in "David Copperfield" how his hero "felt it would have been an act of perfidy to Dora to have a natural relish for my dinner."
The enterprise of The Times in securing the reminiscences of the Kaiser's American dentist (or gum-architect, as he is called in his native land) has aroused mingled feelings. But the Kaiser is reported to have stated in no ambiguous terms that if, after the War, any Americans are to be given access to him, from Ambassadors downwards, they must be able neither to read nor write. The Times is also responsible for the headline: "The Archangel Landing." There was a rumour of something of this kind after Mons, but this is apparently official.
One prominent effect of the War has been to make two Propagandist Departments flourish where none grew before, and it is to be feared that the reflection on the industry of our new officials implied in the picture on the previous page is not without foundation.
War has not only stimulated the composition, but the perusal of poetry, especially among women:
When the Armageddon diet
Makes Priscilla feel unquiet,
She prescribes herself (from Pope)
An acidulated trope.
When the lard-hunt ruffles Rose
Wordsworth lulls her to repose,
While a snippet from the "Swan"
Stops the jam-yearn of Yvonne.
When the man-slump makes her fretty
Susie takes to D. Rossetti,
Though her sister Arabella
Rather fancies Wilcox (Ella).
When Evangelina swoons
At the sound of the maroons,
Mrs. Hemans comes in handy
As a substitute for brandy.
And when Auntie heard by chance
That the Curate was in France,
Browning's enigmatic lyrics
Helped to save her from hysterics.
September, 1918.
Since July 15th, when the Kaiser mounted a high observation post to watch the launching of the offensive which was to achieve his crowning victory, but proved the prelude of the German collapse, the conflict has raged continuously and with uninterrupted success for the Allied Armies. The Kaiser Battle has become the Battle of Liberation. The French bore the initial burden of the attack, but since August 8 "hundreds of thousands of unbeaten Tommies," to quote the phrase of a French military expert, have entered into action in a succession of attacks started one after the other all the way up to Flanders. Rawlinson, Horne, and Byng have carried on the hammer work begun by Mangin, Gouraud, and Debeney. Péronne has been recovered, the famous Drocourt-Quéant switch-line has been breached, the Americans have flattened out the St. Mihiel salient. The perfect liaison of British and French and Americans has been a wonderful example of combined effort rendered possible by unity of command. "Marshal Foch strikes to-day at a new front," is becoming a standing headline. And this highly desirable "epidemic of strikes" is not confined to the Western Front. As Generalissimo of all the Allied Forces the great French Marshal has planned and carried out an ensemble of operations designed to shatter and demoralise the enemy at every point. The long inaction on the Salonika Front has been ended by the rapid and triumphant advance of the British, French, Serbians, and Greeks under General Franchet d'Esperey. Eight days sufficed to smash the Bulgarians, and the armistice then granted was followed four days later by the surrender of Bulgaria. In less than a fortnight General Allenby pushed north from Jerusalem, annihilated the Turkish armies in Palestine, and captured Damascus. And by the end of the month the Hindenburg line had been breached and gone the way of the "Wotan" line. Wotan was not a happy choice:
But even super-Germans are wont at times to nod,
And to borrow Wotan's aegis was indubitably odd;
For dark decline o'erwhelmed his line: he saw his god-head wane,
And his stately palace vanish in a red and ruinous vain.