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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 152 March 21 1917 by Various
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VOL. 152.
March 21st, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
There is a convict at Pentonville who is said to be exactly like the KAISER. He feels that in view of the great inconvenience he has suffered it is the KAISER'S duty at once to remove his moustache or grow side whiskers.
The revolutionary spirit in Germany seems to have extended to the vegetable kingdom. In a riot at Barmen which occurred recently the chief of police was "seriously wounded" by a turnip.
A telegram from Mexico City announces that General CARRANZA has been elected President of the Mexican Republic. It is expected that a full list of the casualties will be published shortly.
A Melbourne despatch states that Mr. HUGHES has been offered thirty-four seats in the forthcoming elections. The Opposition, it is understood, has expressed its willingness to allow Mr. HUGHES to occupy all thirty-four.
"There is no monument more enduring than brass," writes Mr. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW, War Correspondent. The general feeling, however, is that there is a kind of brass that is beyond enduring.
The new order prohibiting newspapers from printing contents bills is bearing hardly in certain quarters, and it is rumoured that at least one sensational contemporary has offered to forgo publishing itself in return for the privilege of selling its posters.
Kensington Council states that 300,000 tons of food are consumed annually by thousands of dogs which serve no useful purpose. The dogs, on the other hand, are asking what would become of the nation's womanhood if there were no dogs to take it out for exercise in the afternoon.
The Government, it appears, is determined to keep Charing Cross Railway Station on the North side of the river. All the objections to the present site, they point out, are easily outweighed by its proximity to the National Gallery.
At Highgate, says a news item, a man named YELLS was fined for having in his possession pork which was not sound. It was suggested that defendant had held back the squeal for his own purposes.
An applicant recently informed the House of Commons' Tribunal that cutting sandwiches was highly skilled work, which could not be done satisfactorily by women. The difficulty appears to consist not in the actual cutting, but in conveying the hammy taste from the knife to the bread without actually parting with the ham itself.
Skipping is recommended as a healthy recreation. Several Germans on the Ancre say they already owe their lives to this practice.
It has been decided by Mr. PAUL TAYLOR at Marylebone that bacon is meat. Lord DEVONPORT, now that his suspicion has been judicially confirmed, has announced his intention of going ahead on that basis.
CHILDREN'S TALES FOR GROWN-UPS.
ITS OWN REWARD.
"What fun!" cried the wasp.
"Where?" asked the bee looking up with a subdued smile.
"I mean I can't help laughing," said the wasp.
"A disgusting habit," said the bee.
"Look at those people nearly out of their wits. Here goes for old Bless-my-Soul again!" He flew off and buzzed round the old gentleman's neck and then flew back to the bee, laughing louder than ever at his purple rage.
"I don't know what you think of your conduct," said the bee severely, "but I think it is insects like you who give us all a bad name."
"A busy life and a useful one, rather," said the bee. "I am proud to be the friend of man."
"Good heavens!" shouted the wasp. "Here comes old Bless-my-Soul bent on murder. Look out! I'm going for his neck."
Old Bless-my-Soul slashed wildly with his table-napkin and slew the bee. He went back triumphantly with his spoil.
"A bee!" shouted everybody. "I thought it was a wasp. I didn't know bees were like that."
"All insects are vicious," said old Bless-my-Soul.
Another Impending Apology.
In the circumstances who shall blame them?
NOTICE.
THE MUD LARKS.
When I was young, my parents sent me to a boarding school, not in any hopes of getting me educated, but because they wanted a quiet home.
The occasion that established his reputation with the pen was a Natural History essay. We were given five sheets of foolscap, two hours and our own choice of subject. I chose the elephant, I remember, having once been kind to one through the medium of a bag of nuts.
Frederick D. Milroy headed his effort "THE FERT" in large capitals, and began, "The fert is a noble animal--" He got no further, the extreme nobility of the ferret having apparently blinded him to its other characteristics.
The other day, as I was wandering about on the "line," dodging Bosch crumps with more agility than grace, I met Milroy once more.
He was standing at the entrance of a cosy little funk-hole, his boots and tunic undone, sniffing the morning nitro-glycerine. He had swollen considerably since our literary days, but was wearing his hair as red as ever, and I should have known it anywhere--on the darkest night. I dived for him and his hole, pushed him into it, and re-introduced myself. He remembered me quite well, shook my chilblains heartily, and invited me further underground for tea and talk.
It was a nice hole, cramped and damp, but very deep, and with those Bosch love-tokens thudding away upstairs I felt that the nearer Australia the better. But the rats! Never before have I seen rats in such quantities; they flowed unchidden all over the dug-out, rummaged in the cupboards, played kiss-in-the-ring in the shadows, and sang and brawled behind the old oak panelling until you could barely hear yourself shout. I am fond of animals, but I do not like having to share my tea with a bald-headed rodent who gets noisy in his cups, or having a brace of high-spirited youngsters wrestle out the championship of the district on my bread-and-butter.
The ferrets arrived in due course, received the names Burroughs and Welcome, were blessed and turned loose.
They had had a rough trip over at the bottom of the mail sack and were looking for trouble. An old rat strolled out of his club to see what all the noise was about, and got the excitement he needed. Seven friends came to his funeral and never smiled again. There was great rejoicing in that underground Mess that evening; Burroughs and Welcome were f?ted on bully beef and condensed milk, and made honorary members.
For three days the good work went on; there was weeping in the cupboards and gnashing of teeth behind the old oak panelling. Then on the fourth day Burroughs and Welcome disappeared, and the rats swarmed to their own again. The deserters were found a week later; they had wormed through a system of rat-holes into the next dug-out, inhabited by the Atkinses, and had remained there, honoured guests.
Freddy was of opinion that, when the battalion proceeded up Unter den Linden, Burroughs and Welcome would be with it as regimental mascots, marching behind the band, bells on their fingers, rings on their toes. He also assured me that if he ever again has to write an essay on the Fert, its characteristics, the adjective "noble" will not figure so prominently.
HERBS OF GRACE.
SWEET MARJORAM.
Private TRICHNEY'S second distinction was awarded presumably for something extra good in the bombing line.
Uncle has probably seen to that.
ELLA REEVE.
One can't be too careful how one boasts, especially if there is the chance of the boast being put quickly to the proof. In fact, it is better perhaps not to boast at all.
I was sitting with a friend and a stranger in a London restaurant, having joined their table for coffee. The stranger, on introduction, turned out to be connected with the stage in some capacity as agent, and among his regular clients were the managers of various big provincial theatres, for whom he provided the leading lights of pantomime, or, as he would call it, panto. Panto was indeed the mainstay of his business; it was even the warp and woof of his life. He lived for panto, he thought panto, and he talked panto. No one, according to him, had a more abysmal knowledge of principal boys with adequate legs, principal girls with sufficient voices, contralto fairy queens with abundant bosoms, basso demon kings, Prince Dandinis, Widow Twankays, Ugly Sisters, and all the other personages of this strange grease-paint mythology of ours. Listening to him, I learned--as those who are humble in spirit may learn of all men. I learned, for example, that Ugly Sisters are at Christmas-time always Ugly Sisters, and very often use again the same dialogue, merely transferring themselves from, say, Glasgow to Wigan, or from Bristol to Dublin; and this will be their destiny until they become such very old men that not even the kindly British public will stand it any longer. England, it seems, is full of performers who, touring the halls from March to December, are then claimed for panto as her own, arriving a little before Christmas not less regularly than the turkey; and the aim of all of them is as nearly as possible to do the next Christmas what they did last Christmas.
Not only did my new acquaintance know all these people, their capabilities and the lowest salary that could be offered to them with any chance of acceptance, but he was also, it seemed, beloved by them all. Between agent and client never in the history of the world had such charming relations subsisted as between every pro. on his books and himself.
It was then that Ella Reeve came in.
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