CHARIVARIA.

Punch, February 19, 1913

 

How true it is that even the very greatest have their cross to bear, just as much as the rest of us. It is officially stated that three helpings of meat are no longer permitted to those who take the shilling dinner at the House of Commons.

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We take exception to the criticism in The Express of the provincial hen which has just laid an unusually small egg. It may be small, but, carefully aimed, it might just make the difference between a dull and an interesting political meeting.

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We would also point out to a correspondent of the same paper, who reports hearing a lark last week at Bromley and describes the bird’s song as “not very good or clear,” that the lark had probably only just left its watery nest. A damp bed would account for any little hoarseness.

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To such of our panel doctors as are not gorged with their gains and thinking of retiring with a fortune the case of one Gustav Probst, of Switzerland, may be of interest. He has just died, leaving £28,000, amassed from one-and-eightpenny fees for his medicine, which, we are told, consisted in all cases of pounded rhubarb and beetroot.

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The fact that, at a recent Society wedding in Baltimore, U.S.A., it only took three policemen to rescue the bride from the crowd, who were clipping souvenirs off her dress, convinces us that the American spectator is losing his dash.

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“They manage these things better in Mexico,” sighed an enthusiastic Unionist, on reading that the Cabinet Ministers of that country had been chased out of the capital and were now in hiding in the suburbs.

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The Dancing Craze.—First the Turkey Trot, and now the Territorial Breakdown.

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Champagne destroys the teeth, says a dentist. Too late, however, to save Mr. Ben Tillett, whose celebrated dinner-party is now quite ancient history.

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We have seldom heard of a more excellent idea than that of the New York suffragettes, who have decided to ride on horseback to San Francisco. Mr. Punch’s heartiest moral support will be given to such London militants as decide to attempt something on the same lines. A pilgrimage to, say, Peru, if they took their time over it and did not hurry their return, would surely be wonderfully impressive.

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As a reward for having asked 25,000 questions, the lawyers in the Titanic inquiry are to receive £16,000; while Senator Smith, who must have asked double that number, has had, as far as we have been able to ascertain, nothing, not even a music-hall engagement.

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When they do agree, their unanimity is wonderful. A man, his wife, four sons, two daughters, and parents-in-law have been arrested in Spain for uttering counterfeit coin; and the movements of the family cat are being carefully watched by the police.

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The recent arson case in Hampshire has added one more to the list of things which are not evidence. What the bloodhound smelt is now ruled to be as unreliable as “what the soldier said.”

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There seems to be no end to the disguises which the early cuckoo can adopt, doubtless for purposes of self-protection. The sample shot at Saffron Walden turns out to be an owl, while the one heard by an eminent naturalist at Harpendedn was a bricklayer named George King.

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The Motor Traffic Committee have been testing the efficacy of cow-catchers on motor-omnibuses. The rôle of pedestrian was entrusted to a dummy. As it came out of the collision minus both legs, an arm, and its head, we think we prefer, if it is all the same to the authorities, to go on taking the old chances.

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The Wave of Crime. On top of all this Motor Bandit business comes the news that two men have been charged at Cardiff with breaking into a bakery and stealing a sponge-cake, value one penny.

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Even Mr. Eustace Miles, despite a certain natural gratification, must have been sorry for the owner of the dog which, suddenly adopting vegetarianism the other day, ate five bank-notes out of its master’s pocket-book.

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Mr. Oliver, editor of The Outlook, in which paper Mr. Lawson’s Marconi articles appeared, declared before the Committee that he thought them a most valuable series. Will Oliver ask for more?

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Hampstead Heath ordinaries, wires our Stock Exchange correspondent, suffered a severe slump on the receipt in the City of the news that rhinoceros beetles had severely damaged the Samoa cocoanut plantations.

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The Daily Mail having no Dresden edition, the authorities of that town have been able to forbid the production there of The Miracle.

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A large hammer was thrown through the window of the Reform Club, at Manchester, a few nights ago. The person responsible escaped. It is not often that one finds skill at Throwing the Hammer combined with the ability to sprint.

 

 

                               

 

Unsigned column as printed; credited to P. G. Wodehouse in the Index to Vol. 144 of Punch. Wodehouse wrote seven columns in early 1913, taking over temporarily from Walter Emanuel, the longtime author of the “Charivaria” column.