Madame Eulalie’s Rare PlumsVanity Fair (UK), July 7, 1904
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In the Stocks.
COUNT VON BUELOW reports that the toasts exchanged between the King and the Kaiser were of the warmest possible nature. Warm toast with plenty of butter is very soothing.
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Are the German Emperor’s professions of friendliness towards the English genuine? We do not like to doubt it, but there is a nasty look about the rumour that the Municipality of Kiel has been instructed to supply every English sailor with a quantity of strong German cigars.
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It is suggested in a contemporary that the windows of the poor should be provided with bars to prevent children falling into the street. As the writer points out, it does the children no good, and only annoys passers-by. And an umbrella is very little protection during a heavy shower.
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A Mr. Thunderbolt appeared in an action last week. By Jove!
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A versatile gentleman of New York has been sent to gaol because he bit pieces out of the dinner-plates, sawed the legs off the sofa and chairs, and threw them at his wife; ate the flowers off his wife’s Sunday hat, and put the cat in the milk-jug and the dog in the oven. His defence, that he was trying to be happy though married, failed to convince the jury.
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People should really be more careful how they take their neighbour’s character away. A Blackburn policeman described a gentleman of that town as having been “staggering drunk.” It turned out on enquiry that accused had been nothing of the kind. “I was zig-zagging drunk,” he protested hotly.
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JULY, 1904.
Julys that I remember
In years, thank goodness, gone
Were rather like December:
The sun too rarely shone;
And when it wasn’t freezing
The rain was sure to pour:
But you are mild and pleasing,
July of nineteen-four.
Last year we’d sit and shiver,
Or seek an early bed;
The road was like a river,
The sky resembled lead.
But gaiters and goloshes
We seem to need no more;
We’ve sold our mackintoshes,
July of nineteen-four.
You show in many ways your
Anxiety to please;
The firmament is azure,
Distinctly warm the breeze.
We’re under obligations
’Twere idle to ignore;
My best congratulations,
July of nineteen-four.
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The Emperor of Korea, having lost one palace by fire, means to have his next one built of some incombustible material. Some cheerful lunatic has suggested papier maché, and now a thousand unhappy Koreans have been told off to chew up the paper. In the matter of employment the Korean workman cannot pick and choose. He only chews. But, though a hard taskmaster, his Imperial Majesty is not ungenerous. They are allowed to keep what they swallow, without having it reckoned as a meal.
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The Church has not been slow in hitting back in answer to Miss Marie Corelli’s attacks on them. Last Sunday the Rev. W. Carlile preached a sermon on her attack, with magic-lantern accompaniment. The Church, it seems, has its “views” as well as Miss Corelli.
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“There is a shoe manufacturer in Davos,” says the “Express,” “who makes shoes for dead men only. The article is a patent leather slipper, in which the corpse is buried.” It must be a “large thirteen.” Undertakers of Davos complain bitterly that the demand for coffins has ceased altogether.
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It has been recognised for some time that the English language was only equal to a few of the many emergencies of life. Mr. Jacobs speaks with praise of the captain of the battleship who invented an entirely new form of oath for use in the Navy. The latest convert is Sir Cyprian Bridge. He thinks all naval officers ought to learn Latin and Greek. There are certainly some good, snappy things to be said in both these languages.
Rasper.
Printed unsigned in Vanity Fair; entered by Wodehouse as “In the Stocks” for this date in Money Received for Literary Work. It is possible that not all individual items are by Wodehouse.