A STORY WITH A POINT. (With Mr. Punch's apologies for not having sent it on to "The Spectator.") Geoffrey has an Irish terrier that he swears by. I don't mean by this that he invokes it when he becomes portentous, but he is always annoying me with tales, usually untruthful, of the wonderful things this dog has done. Now I have a pointer, Leopold, who really is a marvellous animal, and... more...

HIS FUTURE. Part I.—The Proposal, 1920. "About this boy of ours, my dear," said Gerald. "Well, what about it?" said Margaret. "He weighed fourteen pounds and an eighth this morning, and he's only four months and ten days old, you know." "Is he? I mean, does he? Splendid. But what I was going to say was this: in view of the present social and economic disturbances and... more...

OUR BALLYBUN LOTTERY. [À propos of Premium Bonds it has been recalled that in his evidence, given some years ago before a Select Committee, the then Under-Secretary for Ireland stated that in that distressful country "lotteries are very much used for religious purposes by people of all denominations," and that "it would be flying in the face of public opinion, especially of the great... more...

March 31, 1920. We were glad to see that two of our most important Universities were again successful in obtaining first and second places in this year's boat-race. (As this was written before the race we crave the indulgence of our readers if our prophecy should prove incorrect.) Bradford Corporation is selling white collars to its citizens at sixpence a-piece. How the Labour Party proposes to... more...

"SMALL ADS." "Where do you get servants from?" I asked. "From small ads.," said Phyllis promptly. I picked up the paper from the floor where I had thrown it in the morning. My wife is one of those rare women who always leave things where you put them. It is this trait that endears her to me. I ran my trained eye over an ad. column. "Got it at once," I said with... more...

WITH THE AUXILIARY PATROL. An Honourable Record. Many years ago, in the reign of good Queen Victoria, a little ship sailed out of Grimsby Docks in all the proud bravery of new paint and snow-white decks, and passed the Newsand bound for the Dogger Bank. They had christened her the King George, and, though her feminine susceptibilities were perhaps a trifle piqued at this affront to her sex, it was a... more...

THE IDENTIFICATION OF HOBBS. Old Hobbs, the gardener, has been in our family longer than I have. Although we live within twenty miles of London only once has he made the journey to the great city, for that one memorable day so nearly ended in disaster that he always speaks of it with a shudder. Indeed, but for the arrival of Mrs. Hobbs, belated, flustered and inquiring everywhere for her man, he must... more...

HOLIDAY ANTICIPATIONS. [Now that holiday-planning is in season we have pleasure in announcing a few proposed schemes for the recreation of some of the mighty brains that shape our destinies and guide our groping intelligences. But it must be clearly understood that in these inconstant times we cannot vouch for their authenticity or guarantee fulfilment.] Mr. Asquith's recent success in spotting... more...

April 14, 1920. "Hat-pins to match the colour of the eyes are to be very fashionable this year," according to a Trade journal. This should be good news to those Tube-travellers who object to having green hat-pins stuck in their blue eyes. Enterprise cannot be dead if it is really true that a well-known publisher has at last managed to persuade Mr. Winston Churchill to write a few words... more...

A WHIFF OF THE BRINY. As I entered the D.E.F. Company's depôt, Melancholy marked me for her own. Business reasons—not my own but the more cogent business reasons of an upperling—had just postponed my summer holiday; postponed it with a lofty vagueness to "possibly November. We might be able to let you go by then, my boy." November! What would Shrimpton-on-Sea be like even at the... more...