  "The Bolshevists," says a gossip writer, "do not always rob Peter to pay Paul." No, they sometimes just rob Peter. A Yarmouth report anticipates a shortage of herrings. It is said that the Prime Minister has a couple of second-hand red ones for disposal which have only been drawn across the path once or twice. "One of the Kaiser's mugs," says a news item, "has just been sold in New York for forty pounds." We have suspected for some time that he was a double-faced fellow. "There should be no temptations to crime in so beautiful a spot," said Mr. Justice Coleridge when presented with white gloves at the Anglesey assizes. The sentiment is thought to be as old as Adam. "If it is necessary to strengthen the hands of the military in Ireland," said Mr. Lloyd George, "the Government will certainly do so." Our own view is that they should be protected even if it means sending the Reserve of Special Constables to do it. According to the Ministry of Transport, there is only one motor-car to every one hundred and twenty people in Great Britain. The necessity of fixing a maximum bag of pedestrians per car does not therefore arise. A purple-eyed fish, eleven feet long, with a horn on its nose and no teeth, has been caught at San Diego, California. That is the sort of thing that makes Prohibition a secondary issue. As the result of some remarks let drop by the crew and repeated by the ship's parrot, several hundred bottles of liquor were found on board the S.S. CuraÇao by the San Francisco port authorities. It is now suggested, in the interests of philology, that the parrot should be put back to hear how the crew takes it. A young man while fishing on the Wye landed a wallet containing twenty-two one-pound Treasury notes. A correspondent writing from North of the Tweed inquires what bait the fellow was using. The Postmaster-General points out that five hundred new telephones are to be erected in rural districts. Local residents should at least be grateful for this little friendly warning. It is reported that M. Krassin told the Premier all about Russia. Mr. Lloyd George was very interested, as he had often heard of the place. With the letter postage at twopence, we read, it is in many cases just as cheap to telephone. And in some cases just as quick. "Will Wilde meet Beckett?" asks a headline. We can only say that we do not intend to stand in their way. General von Kluck has been telling somebody that he lost the battle of the Marne by a fluke. As we can't have the War over again we must let the matter remain at that. According to an evening paper a temperance speaker fainted during a procession in a Kentish town, and was immediately carried into a shop and brought round by whisky. The report that on being informed of this fact he again went off into a faint is happily without foundation. A man aged seventy-six was charged last week with threatening to shoot a West-End family of six. It is said that his parents intend to plead the baneful influence of the cinema. The fact that at least seven people have expressed their intention of swimming the English Channel this year draws attention once more to the lack of accommodation on our cross-Channel steamers. A wheelbarrow has been presented to the parishioners of Hornchurch, Essex. We have maintained all along that the motor-car craze would wear itself out in time. On April the 21st the Maharajah of Bikanir shot his hundredth tiger. All efforts to induce him to join the R.I.C. have so far failed. The case is reported of a hen which lays an egg each morning on her master's bed and then pecks his cheek to wake him up at the proper time for breakfast. Guess where this happens. America? Right. We understand that in view of the paper shortage the West Drayton man who managed to get through on the telephone last week has abandoned the idea of writing a book about it. Much annoyance is said to have been caused to one bricklayer last week. It seems that just before the dinner hour somebody kicked away the brick he had laid and the unfortunate fellow had to start the day all over again. According to The Manila Bulletin the cost of living is going to fall. Not on us, we trust. 'Arriet. 'Lumme! It'll git the place a bad name.' 'Arry. "They're talkin' abaht doin' Greek plays an' pageants an' all sorts o' loopy stunts at 'Ampstead on Bank 'Olidays." 'Arriet. "Lumme! It'll git the place a bad name." The Hire Education.
"Ex-Soldier's Tale.Note to War Prisoner Hidden in Cheese." We should like to hear more of the prisoner and his novel hiding-place. MAY-WEEK.
Though forty years have done their worst To change us to the sere and brown, Since we in verdant freshness first Assumed the triple-chevroned gown, As I perused The Times this very day week Your statement thrilled me through and through— How people still go gathering nuts in May-week Much as they used to do. The courts their dun-grey habit keep, Their velvet-green the sacred lawns; The rooks that marred our matin sleep Still devastate the golden dawns; Beneath my westward windows still the same bridge Sags in the centre as of old; In fact, in all essential matters Cambridge Preserves its ancient mould. Slight innovations have occurred That rudely on your senses strike; Our innocence had never heard The hooting of the motor-bike; And though you might approve, with your rich tresses, The vogue of leaving off your hat, I with a crust that loathes the wind's caresses— I should revolt at that. But for the rest there's little strange; Still Cam pursues his torpid way; 'Tis we alone who suffer change (I could not stick the course to-day); New generations lash the same old river, Spurt up the Long Reach, bump and sup; What if we pass, through weight of years or liver? Somebody keeps it up. Time may have weaned us long ago With even sterner heights to win Than when the once resilient toe Was apt to dance the daylight in; No doubt we've grown in wisdom since we started, But I would give my head (with brain) Just to be back there, young and agile-hearted, Just for one June again. O. S. AUTHORSHIP FOR ALL.
I.—The Responsibilities of Genius.By Miss Dinkie Devereux, the renowned Film Favourite.The Editor of The Weekly Newsbag has kindly asked me to write an article on the duty which we denizens of Flickerland owe to the public. This, it happens, is a subject that has long given me "furiously to think," as a witty Frenchman once said in French. It may be of interest, by the way, to state that I am myself partly of Gallic extraction, my mother having been a Lyons girl before she was enabled to open a tea-shop of her own; and, although born and bred in what I am proud to call my native country, I can even now act just as fluently in a French film as in an all-British production. But I must not let my thoughts run away with my pen, fascinating though such cross-country excursions may be. To return to my appointed topic, heavy indeed is the burden that is laid on the back of a cinema star. You who know me only as the reigning queen of countless Palaces may possibly imagine that my life is spent in flitting butterfly-fashion from film to film, existing only for the golden moment. But one is not born a butterfly, nor does one remain so without constant effort. The strenuous nature of my labours indeed necessitates frequent periods of recuperation, which I seek either in my Highland fastness, or on my Californian peach-farm, or amid the lotus-bushes of my villa on the Riviera. This, then, is one of my first duties to the public—to preserve that Heaven-sent talent which, in the words of mighty Milton, "is death to hide." (Milton, I may say, is my favourite poet next to George R. Sims, and "Odont" is my favourite mouth-wash.) But the intervals between pictures are not all play. When I receive notice of a forthcoming production in which my services are entreated (and I owe it to humanity not to refuse my co-operation provided certain bothersome preliminaries of a financial nature are successfully negotiated), I spend a considerable time steeping myself in the atmosphere of the part I am to fill. One of my most famous rÔles, as I need hardly mention, is that of Lilian the Lift-Girl, in the great Solomonson six-reeler, Ups and Downs. In order to prepare for this momentous undertaking I used to visit Whiteridge's Stores daily and devote an hour or so to travelling in the elevators; only thus could I hope to attain the proper perspective. The attendants of course knew me well and used to ply me with gifts of chocolates, etc.; but after a time I was compelled to refuse these touching offerings because my chauffeur has a tendency to biliousness. Then there is the sacred duty of looking after what my Press agent is good enough to call my "unearthly charm." I do not agree with the dictum that "we are as Heaven made us," and I am sure no film enterprise could carry on successfully on those lines. Of course you must have something to work upon, and for the bare edifice of my beauty, which in all humility I admit was raised by other hands than mine, I claim no special praise. But I think I may justly take credit for the structural alterations I have effected and for the self-sacrificing labours I have willingly undergone to maintain each of my features at its maximum efficiency; to these the advertisement columns of the papers bear constant testimony. (In passing let me observe that I have always found Mrs. Phipps's Face-Fodder of invaluable assistance in "that fierce light which beats upon the screen," as dear old Tennyson—another great favourite of mine—so nearly said.) Naturally enough the public is always ravenous for information concerning the minutest details of my life, and to prevent disappointment in this respect I send the Press a daily budget of my doings, entitled Dinkie Day by Day. That is another burden I cheerfully shoulder, and by this method my admirers are kept fully acquainted with what I may call the real me—with the heart that beats beneath the shadowed counterfeit. Nevertheless at times the most absurd rumours get abroad. Recently, for example, I saw it stated in quite a reputable organ that my favourite jam is blackberry-and-apple; as a matter of fact I find all jams ruinous to the figure, and as a tea-relish I usually limit myself to the more ascetic bloater-paste, with salmon-and-shrimp as an occasional variant. My pet hobby is collecting precious stones, and my favourites among these are pearls and diamonds, especially of the larger variety. Frequently admirers of my art who know of this harmless foible are good enough to add to my collection, and these spontaneous tributes are among the compensations of a life dedicated at every moment of the day to the public service. |
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