Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 159 November 10 1920 by Various Seaman Owen Editor

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N LISTENING TO YOUR ARGUMENTS; AND LET ME TELL YOU WE'RE ALL IN THE SAME BOAT."

I think the time has come for me to follow the example of so many other people and offer to the world a few pen pictures of prominent statesmen of the day. I shall not call them "Shaving Papers from Downing Street," nor adopt the pseudonym of "The Man with the Hot Water ," nor shall I roundly assert that I have been the private secretary, the doctor, the dentist or the washerwoman of the great men of whom I speak. Nevertheless I have sources of information which I do not mean to disclose, except to say that heavy persons who sit down carelessly on sofas may unknowingly inflict considerable pain, through the sharp ends of broken springs, on those beneath.

I shall begin naturally with Mr. LLOYD GEORGE.

Let us turn then to the younger PITT. I have read somewhere of the younger PITT that he cared more for power than for measures, and was ready to sacrifice great causes with which he had sincerely sympathised rather than raise an opposition that might imperil his ascendency. That is just the kind of nasty and long-winded thing that anybody might say about anybody. It was by disregarding this kind of criticism that the younger PITT kept on being younger. But apart from this, does Mr. LLOYD GEORGE quote HORACE in the House? Never, thank goodness. How many times did WILLIAM PITT cross the English Channel? Only once in his whole life. That settles it.

The predominant note--I may almost say the keynote--of the PRIME MINISTER'S character is rather a personal magnetism such as has never been exercised by any statesman before or after. When he rises to speak in the House all eyes are riveted on him as though with a vice until he has finished speaking. Even when he has finished they sometimes have to be removed by the Serjeant-at-Arms with a chisel. His speeches have the moral fervour and intensity of one of the Minor Prophets--NAHUM or AMOS, in the opinion of some critics, though I personally incline to MALACHI or HABAKKUK. This personal magnetism which Mr. LLOYD GEORGE radiates in the House he radiates no less in 10, Downing Street, where a special radiatorium has been added to the breakfast-room to radiate it. Imagine an April morning, a kingfisher on a woody stream, poplar-leaves in the wind, a shower of sugar shaken suddenly from a sifter, and you have the man.

Talking of THOMAS ? BECKET, rather a curious story has been told to me, which I give for what it is worth. It is stated that some time ago Mr. LLOYD GEORGE was so enraged by attacks in a certain section of the Press that he shouted suddenly, after breakfast one morning in Downing Street, "Will no one rid me of this turbulent scribe?" Whereupon four knights in his secretarial retinue drew their swords and set out immediately for Printing House Square. Fortunately there happened to be a breakdown on the Metropolitan Railway that day, so that nothing untoward occurred.

THE WHALE.

The whale has a beautiful figure, Which he makes every effort to spoil, For he knows if he gets a bit bigger He increases the output of oil.

That is why he insists upon swathing His person with layers of fat. You have seen a financier bathing? Well, the whale is a little like that.

At heart he's as mild as a pigeon And extremely attached to his wife, But getting mixed up with religion Has ruined the animal's life.

For in spite of his tact and discretion There is fixed in the popular mind A wholly mistaken impression That the whale is abrupt and unkind.

And it's simply because of the prophet Who got into a ship for Tarshish But was thrown off it And swallowed alive by "a fish."

Now I should not, of course, have contested The material truth of the tale If the prophet himself had suggested That the creature at fault was a whale.

But the prophet had no such suspicion, And that is convincing because He was constantly in a position To see what the miscreant was.

A. P. H.

"Dancers are born, not made," said John.

"Well, I'm not going to have it thrust on me any way," retorted John. "I never have liked dancing and I never shall. I haven't danced for years and years and I don't intend to. I don't know any of these new-fangled dances and I don't want to."

"Don't be so obstinate," said Cecilia. "What you want doesn't matter. You've got to learn, so you may as well give way decently. Come along now, I'll play for you, and Margery will show you the steps."

"If Margery attempts to show me the steps I shall show her the door. I won't be bullied in my own house. Why don't you make your brother dance, if somebody must?" said John, waving his arm at me.

"Come on, Alan," said Margery; "we can't waste our time on him. Come and show him how it's done."

"My dear little sister," I said sweetly, "I should simply love it, but the fact is--I can't."

"Can't," echoed Margery. "Why not?"

"I hate to mention these things," I explained, "but the fact is I took part in a war that has been on recently, and I have a bad hip, honourable legacy of same."

"Oh, Alan," said Margery, "how can you? Your hip's absolutely fit, you know it is. You haven't mentioned it for months."

"My dear Margery," I said, drawing myself up, "I hope your brother knows how to suffer in silence. But if you suppose that because I don't complain--Great heavens, child, sometimes in the long silent watches of the night--"

"Well, how about, tennis, then?" said Margery. "You've been playing all this summer, you know you have."

"All what summer?" I asked.

"That's a good one," said John; "I bet she can't answer that."

"Don't quibble," said Margery.

"Don't squabble," said Cecilia.

"Yes, stop squibbling," said John.

John and I leaned against each other and laughed helplessly.

"When you have finished," said Cecilia with a cold eye, "perhaps you will decide which of you is going to have the first lesson."

"Good heavens," said John tragically, "haven't they forgotten the dancing yet?"

"We may as well give way, John," I said; "we shall get no peace until we do."

"I suppose not," said John dismally "Very well, then, you're her brother you shall have first go."

He waved me politely to Margery.

"Not at all," I said quickly "Brothers-in-law first in our family--always."

"Could we both come together?" asked John.

"No, you can't," said Margery.

"Then we must toss for it," said John, producing a coin.

"Tails," I called.

"Tails it is," said John, walking across the room to Margery.

And the lesson commenced.

"Five shillings on Twinkle, please," I interrupted.

Margery stopped and looked at me.

"You keep quiet, Alan," shouted Cecilia, cheerfully banging the piano.

"I shall never learn," said John miserably from the middle of the room, "not in a thousand years."

"Take away the number you first thought of," I suggested, "and the answer's the Louisiana Glide."

"To finish up," said Margery, "we grasp each other firmly, prance round, two bars...."

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