Volume 146 — THE SUBSCRIPTION.
Reading edition
Charles, when our protest was lodged, merely replied that our favour of the 10th inst. was to hand, and that he really could not see his way to moving further in the matter. Let me explain the present extent of Charles's movement.
Miss Donelan, who ought to have known better, had allowed herself to be saddled with a thing called a Branch subscription list on behalf of the St. Nicholas New Year Offering.
Having exploited the probables and possibles she finally handed the document on to me with instructions to tout it round among my friends. (This is the sort of thing you get nowadays for placing your life at a young woman's disposal.)
Unfortunately I have no friends just now, except what I want to keep. While I was thus at a loss, Charles came to stay for a few days three doors off. He lives a long way away and would have time to forget before I saw him again. So on the day before his departure I bearded him like a man.
"Charles," I began, "you are fabulously rich. Your income comes in at such a pace that you hardly ever know within five shillings how much you have at the bank."
Charles blinked through the smoke of a violet-tipped cigarette.
"What about it?" he asked.
"This," I said; "I am, very reluctantly, offering you the chance of doing good. All you have to do is to sign your name here for anything up to a hundred pounds, and the good does itself. It is the Saint Nicholas New Year Offering."
"What does it do?" asked Charles uncomfortably.
"Do?" I answered. "Why, I don't think it does exactly do. You see it's a New Year Offering."
"I see," said Charles. "It doesn't do; it offers. Just like a Member of Parliament."
"I wish," I said, "instead of being funny at other people's expense you would be serious at your own, and tell me exactly how much I can put you down for?"
"There you go again," said Charles. "You want me to think of some definite amount on the spot. You know I hate thinking, and I hate definite amounts. And I loathe doing anything on the spot."
I looked at the subscription list. The last entry was:—
Major-General R. Hewland, £5 5s. 0d.
"You needn't do any thinking," I explained patiently. "You need only stick down exactly the same as the last man. And if you'll promise to do it I'll leave the list with you, and you can fill it in when you feel sufficiently off the spot."
"Exactly the same?" asked Charles.
"Exactly," I said, with rising hopes.
"All right," said Charles. "I'll let you have it some time."
Four days later, at Miss Donelan's urgent request, I wrote to Charles for it. It came in less than forty-eight hours.
Extract from conclusion of subscription list returned by Charles:—
Major-General R. Hewland, £5 5s. 0d. " " " " " " "
Dinner-Table Topics.
"MR. LLOYD GEORGE GOING TO A WARMER CLIMATE."
Midland Evening News.
Another Accident to an Infinitive.
"It is good news to at last hear that progress is being made again towards healing the 'split.'"—Nottingham Football Post.
So far not much progress is visible.
"Lord and Lady Arthur Hill arrived at Maples yesterday from London."—Observer.
And Mrs. and Miss Tomkins (in pursuit of bargains) continue to arrive daily at Peter Snelbody's from Cricklewood.
THE SPLENDID PAUPERS.
FIRST TURKISH OFFICIAL (presented with a photograph of the new Turkish Navy in lieu of six months' deferred pay). "SO, WE'VE GOT A DREADNOUGHT, HAVE WE?"
SECOND TURKISH OFFICIAL. "I DON'T KNOW WHO GETS THE DREAD, BUT I KNOW WE'VE GOT THE NOUGHT."
THE SPELL
whereby the Good People may be brought back to a house which they have deserted.
Fairies!—whatsoever sprite Near about us dwells— You who roam the hills at night, You who haunt the dells— Where you harbour, hear us! By the Lady Hecate's might, Hearken and come near us! Though we greatly fear, alack! Cloddish unbelief Angered you and made you pack To our present grief, Hearts you shall not harden: Bathe your hurts and come you back Here to house and garden! By the oak and ash and thorn, By the rowan tree, This was done ere we were born: Kith nor kin are we Of the folk whose blindness Shut you out with scathe and scorn, Banished with unkindness. See, we call you, hands entwined, Standing at our door, With the glowing hearth behind And the wood before. Thence, where you are lurking, Back we bring you, bring and bind With our magic's working. Lo, our best we give for cess, Having naught above Handsel of our happiness, Seizin of our love. Take it then, O fairies! Homely gods that guard and bless, Little kindly Lares.
(5.35 A.M. workman's train.)
Bill. "'ULLO, 'ERB; GOT A JOB, THEN?"
'Erb. "I AIN'T GOIN' UP TO LON'ON FOR A TANGO LESSON, I GIVE YOU MY WORD."
WHAT OUR READERS THINK OF US.
The Daily Express having invited its readers to intimate their opinion of that journal, Mr. Punch decided also to give the grumblers a chance of saying what they think of his production, and he now publishes a typical selection of the letters which have reached him:—
Sir,—I gave up your journal many years ago on account of its partisanship, and never read it now. Only last week I came across a paragraph in my copy which made me throw the paper into the waste-paper basket.
Yours faithfully, VERITAS.
Sir,—Why is it you always favour the Tories?
Yours faithfully, WELSH MEMBER.
Sir,—If you continue to publish cartoons with a pronounced Radical bias I am afraid you will lose at least one.
OLD SUBSCRIBER.
Sir,—I object to the advertisements. I think it would be a good move if you were to drop these, increase the number of pages, and reduce the price to a halfpenny. In taking this course you would have the support of several influential members of my parish, in addition to myself.
Yours faithfully, A COUNTRY PARSON.
Sir,—What your paper needs is light relief. Could you not give us a little humour now and then?
Yours faithfully, A POPULAR WRITER.
P.S.—The last MS. you returned to me was very much crumpled. Please be more careful in the future.
Sir,—I think it a pity you publish jokes. In this age, when all things—even our dear Bishops—are considered fit subjects for jest, we could do with one serious-minded paper. Trusting you will think this over,
Yours faithfully, HITCHY KIKUYU.
Sir,—-You should see our American comic papers.
Yours faithfully, WASHINGTON G. BUSTER.
Sir,—I find the blank pages at the back of the cartoons very useful for making notes on. Could you not extend this feature?
Yours faithfully, PROFESSOR.
Sir,—I think you would do well to cater more for women—who, after all, are a rising sex. A page each week devoted to modern fashions would not be at all out of place in your paper.
Yours faithfully, EVE.
Sir,—In my opinion your paper is the cleverest in the country—nay in the world. Nowhere else is such exquisite literary discrimination shown. I enclose a small contribution for your consideration, and am,
Yours faithfully, CONSTANT READER.
"TWELFTH NIGHT" (JAN. 6).
Mr. Lloyd George (as Malvolio). "Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused."—Act IV., Scene 2.