Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol 150, February 9, 1916

73 pages

English

Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol 150, February 9, 1916

tepuh - Various

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol 150,
February 9, 1916, by Various
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol 150, February 9, 1916
Author: Various
Editor: Owen Seaman
Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29518]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH/CHARIVARI, FEB 9, 1916 ***
Produced by Jason Isbell, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.Vol. 150.FEBRUARY 9, 1916.
Tommy. "'Ere, Ted, what's the matter?" Ted (ex-plumber). "Wy, I'm goin' back for me baynet,
o' course."
Tommy. "'Ere, Ted, what's the matter?"
Ted (ex-plumber). "Wy, I'm goin' back for me baynet, o' course."CHARIVARIA.
The German claim that as the result of the Zeppelin raid "England's industry to a considerable extent is in ruins" is
probably based on the fact that three breweries were bombed. To the Teuton mind such a catastrophe might well seem
overwhelming.
A possible explanation of the Government's action in closing the Museums is furnished by the Cologne Gazette, which
observes that "if one wanted to find droves of Germans in London one had only to go to the museums." But if the
Government is closing them merely for ...

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Publié par	tepuh
Publié le	08 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	28
Langue	English

Extrait

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol 150, February 9, 1916, by Various

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol 150, February 9, 1916

Author: Various

Editor: Owen Seaman

Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29518]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH/CHARIVARI, FEB 9, 1916 ***

Produced b Jason Isbell, Jonathan In ram and the

Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 150.

FEBRUARY 9, 1916.

Tommy. "'Ere, Ted, what's the matter?" Ted (ex-plumber). "Wy, I'm goin' back for me baynet, o' course."

CHARIVARIA.

The German claim that as the result of the Zeppelin raid "England's industry to a considerable extent is in ruins" is probably based on the fact that three breweries were bombed. To the Teuton mind such a catastrophe might well seem overwhelming.

A possible explanation of the Government's action in closing the Museums is furnished by theCologne Gazette, which observes that "if one wanted to find droves of Germans in London one had only to go to the museums." But if the Government is closing them merely for purposes of disinfection it might let us know.

Irritated by the pro-German conversation of one of the guests at an American dinner-party the English butler poured the gravy over him. The story is believed to have greatly annoyed the starving millionaires in Berlin. They complain that their exiled fellow-countrymen get all the luck.

Is the Office of Works feeding Germany? We have lately learned that no bulbs are to be planted in the London parks this season; and almost simultaneously we read in theFrankfurter Zeitunga suggestion that, as bulbs are so cheap owing to the falling-off in the English demand, they should be used as food by the German housewife. What has Mr. Harcourt to say about this?

Mr. Ted Heaton, a noted Liverpool swimmer, is acting as sergeant-instructor to the Royal Fusiliers at Dover, and is expected to have them in a short time quite ready for the trenches.

A London magistrate has ruled that poker is a game of chance. He was evidently unacquainted with the leading case in America, where, on the same point arising, the judge, the counsel and the parties adjourned for a quiet game, and the defendant triumphantly demonstrated that it was a game of skill.

In an article describing the wonders of modern French surgery Mrs. W.K. Vanderbilt mentioned that she had watched an operation in which a part of a man's rib was taken out and used as a jawbone. "Pooh!" said the much-married general practitioner who read it, "that's as old as Adam. "

A man who applied recently to be enlisted in the Royal Flying Corps as a carpenter was medically rejected because he had a hammer toe. If he had lost a nail we could have understood it.

The following letter has been received by the matron of an Indian hospital:—

"Dear and fair Madam,-I have much pleasure to inform you that my dearly unfortunate wife will be no longer under your care, she having left this world for the next on the 27th ult. For our hel in this matter I shall ever

remain grateful. Yours reverently, ——."

A correspondent, anxious about etiquette, writes: —"Sir,—The other day I offered my seat to the lady-conductor of a tramcar. Did I right?—Yours truly, Noblesse Oblige."

It is stated that one of the principal items of discussion during the new Session of the Prussian Diet will be a Supplementary War Bill. Some of the members are expected to protest, on the ground that the present War is quite sufficient, thank you.

INTELLECTUAL RETRENCHMENT.

[The annual expenses that will be saved by the closing of the London Museums and Galleries amount to about one-fifth of the public money spent on the salaries of Members of Parliament.]

Fetch out your padlocks, bolt and bar the portals, That none may worship at the Muses' shrine; Seal up the gifts bequeathed by our Immortals To be the birthright of their ancient line; At luxury if you would strike a blow, Let Art and Science be the first to go. Close down the fanes that guard the golden treasure Wrun b our hands from Nature's hidden wealth;

Treat them as idle haunts of wanton pleasure, Extremely noxious to the nation's health; Show that our statesmanship at least has won A vandal victory o'er the vandal Hun. And when her children whom the seas have sent her Come to the Motherland to fight her war, And claim their common heritage, to enter The gate of dreams to that enchanted store, To other palaces we'll ask them in, To purer joys of "movies" and of gin. But let us still keep open one collection Of curiosities and quaint antiques, Under immediate Cabinet direction— The finest specimens of talking freaks, Who constitute our most superb Museum, Judged by the salaries with which we fee 'em. O.S.

DIPLOMACY.

"Tell us," said Phyllis laboriously, "about diploma——" and there it stuck.

"Tistics," added Lillah in a superior manner.

Being an uncle, I can never give my brain a rest. It is the easiest thing in the world to be found out by a child of seven.

"You mean," I said, "diplomatists?"

"Yes," said Phyllis in a monotone. "Daddy said they-weren't-any earthly-blast-them and——"

"Yes, yes!" I said hastily. I can imagine what George said about diplomatists. He held a good deal of Balkan stock.

"Well, are they?" asked Lillah innocently.

"Diplomatists," I said, "are people in spats and creased trousers, and the truth is not in them. "

"What is spats?" asked Phyllis.

"Spats," I answered, "are what people wear when they want to get a job and their boots are shabby."

"Are diplomatists shabby?" queried Lillah.

"Not a bit," I answered rather bitterly.

"Do they want jobs?"

"They want to keep them," I said.

"So they have spats," said Phyllis, completely satisfied.

"Exactly," I said. "Then they go into an extremely grand room together and talk."

"What about?" said Lillah.

"Oh, anything that turns up," I answered—"the rise in prices or the late thaw; or if everything fails they simply make personal remarks."

"Like clergymen," said Phyllis vaguely.

"Exactly," I said. "And all round the building are secret police disguised as reporters, and reporters disguised as secret police. And then each of the diplomatists goes away and writes a white paper, or a black paper, or a greeny-yellow paper, to show that he was right."

"And then?" Phyllis gaped with astonishment.

"Then everybody organises, and centralises, and fraternises, and defraternises, and, in the end, mobilises."

Phyllis and Lillah simply stared.

"Why?" they both gasped.

"Oh, just to show the diplomatists were wrong," I said airily.

"And then?" said Lillah breathlessly.

"The ratepayers pay more."

"What is a ratepayer?" asked Phyllis.

A notorious geek and gull," I said, borrowing from a " more distinguished writer.

Lillah stared at me with misgiving.

"But why don't the diplomists say what's true?" she asked.

"Because," I said, "they'd lose their money and nobody would love them."

"But," said Phyllis, "Mummie said if we were good everyone would love us."

"Your mother was quite right," I answered, with a distinct twinge of that thin-ice feeling.

"Well, but you said nobody would love diplomists if they were good," said Phyllis.

So good people aren't loved," added Lillah, "and " Mummie said what wasn't true."

I fought desperately for a reply. This could not be allowed to pass. It struck at the roots of nursery constitutionalism.

"Ah," I said, without any pretence at logic, "but the poor diplomatists don't know any better."

"Like the heathen that Mummie tells us about on Sunday?"

"Between the heathen and a diplomatist," I said, "there is nothing to choose."

Phyllis sighed. "I wish I didn't know any better," she said yearningly. Lillah looked at me dangerously from the corner of her eye.

"And got money for it," she added.

"Would you like to play zoo?" I said hastily.

They were silent.

"I'll be a bear," I said eagerly—"a polar one."

No answer. I felt discouraged, but I made another effort. "Or," I said, "I can be a monkey and you can throw nuts at me, or" —desperately— "a ring-tailed lemur, or an orangoutang, or an ant-eater...." My voice tailed away and there was silence. Then the small voice of Phyllis broke in.

"Uncle," she said, "why aren't you a diplomist?"

At that point Nurse came in and I slid quietly off. As I was going out of the door I heard the voice of Lillah.

"Nannie," she said, "tell us about diplomists."

"You leave diplomatists alone, Miss Lillah," said Nurse; "they won't do you no harm if you don't talk about them."

Now why couldn't I have thought of that? It's just training, I suppose.

An Impending Apology.

"Lieut.-Col. —— is out of the city in the interests of recruiting."

Winnipeg Evening Tribune.

"Nevertheless a strong Bulgarophone and Turkophone feeling prevails in Greece, especially in military circles."