Vanity Fair (UK), September 8, 1904
[See attribution note on Vanity Fair menu page]
 

In the Stocks.
 

SIR WILLAM BAILEY has been speaking at Newcastle. He is expected to go home shortly.

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The honour of being a dignitary of the Hindoo Church is somewhat mitigated, we should imagine, by the costume which etiquette demands that the devotee should wear upon important occasions. Srimat Murugasa Swamigal has just conducted a service simply, but tastefully, clad in 12,000 silver arrows and a pair of spiked iron slippers. The arrows were driven into the flesh by local costumiers, and, so says the usually well-informed Hindoo Society Whisperer, “looked chic without being bizarre.”

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The Marquess of Anglesey’s passion for out-of-the-way costumes seems to have no limit. It is stated now that he has made up his mind to become a monk.

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New York, just recovering from the perturbation caused by the unmasking of its food referred to in this column last week, has been thrown into another panic by the announcement that lager beer produces “heart.” In the charge-sheets at the New York police courts, a case of “drunk and disorderly” is generally entered now as an affaire de cœur.

•   •   •   •   •

COMING OVER.

(Mrs. Carrie Nation proposes to visit London.)

Mrs. Nation, your work at a distance,
 Away beyond fathomless seas,
Has lent a fine spice to existence:
 Your methods exhilarate, please.
Distasteful to those who are near you,
 You’re loved and admired from afar;
We chuckle and grin when we hear you
 Have visited somebody’s bar.

But, ah! our enjoyment is undone,
 Our satisfied smiles disappear
When we read that you’re coming to London,
 To look after publicans here.
Your raids in Topeka and Kansas
 Appeared merely excellent fun:
In the Strand they would lose all romance, as
 A joke that had been overdone.

Mrs. ——, may I address you as Carrie?
 Oh! pause, ere you visit us, pray:
Reflect how much good, if you tarry,
 You may do to the great U.S.A.
For them whet the edge of your hatchet,
 Exhibit your wonderful powers;
If somebody’s destined to catch it,
 Their need is much greater than ours.

Does America harbour no cocktails,
 And draw no detestable cork?
Have you ceased, then, to hear, with a shock, tales
 Of the gilded saloons of New York?
There’s work for you there. Quite enormous
 Are the ills it’s your duty to fight.
Oh! ere you attempt to reform us,
 Just see that the Yankee’s all right.

•   •   •   •   •

There was some consternation at the Dundee Zoo the other day owing to an attack made by a hyena on his trainer, a Mr. Bardell. According to eye-witnesses, it was no laughing matter—though the hyena appeared to think so—and it was only prompt interference that prevented Mr. Bardell, like his namesake in “Pickwick,” “fading gently and almost imperceptibly from the world.”

•   •   •   •   •

A man was shot the other day in Algeria at a masked dance which followed a wedding. It appeared that he had been mistaken for the bridegroom. With true French politeness the assailant apologised to his host and hostess. He said he was desolated that such a mistake should have occurred. The host in particular begged him earnestly not to mention it.

•   •   •   •   •

An evening paper has been publishing Mr. Adolf Beck’s experiences, written by himself. A weekly paper, published by a rival firm, now announces “The True Story of My Martyrdom, by Adolf Beck.” There is a nasty innuendo in that adjective.

•   •   •   •   •

Mr. Plowden has reserved his decision with regard to Keiro. An excellent way of settling the whole affair would be for Keiro to predict what that decision will he. If he foretold it correctly, then his claims to genuine powers would be established.

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.