قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 146, January 7, 1914
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
src="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@12294@12294-h@images@009-1.png" alt="THE HOLIDAY ENTERTAINERS-1." tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}img"/>
"WE TOOK THEM TO THE PANTOMIME; | THEY CAME OUT GOLFING WITH US; |

AT OUR LOCAL FANCY CARNIVAL.
Individual in Tights. "I SAY, THIS PLACE IS BEASTLY WARM—I THINK I'LL CUT OFF HOME."
The One with the Scythe. "I THINK I WILL ALSO. I WONDER WHAT THE TIME IS?"
THE SUBSCRIPTION.
Charles, when our protest was lodged, merely replied that our favour of the 10th inst. was to hand, and that he really could not see his way to moving further in the matter. Let me explain the present extent of Charles's movement.
Miss Donelan, who ought to have known better, had allowed herself to be saddled with a thing called a Branch subscription list on behalf of the St. Nicholas New Year Offering.
Having exploited the probables and possibles she finally handed the document on to me with instructions to tout it round among my friends. (This is the sort of thing you get nowadays for placing your life at a young woman's disposal.)
Unfortunately I have no friends just now, except what I want to keep. While I was thus at a loss, Charles came to stay for a few days three doors off. He lives a long way away and would have time to forget before I saw him again. So on the day before his departure I bearded him like a man.
"Charles," I began, "you are fabulously rich. Your income comes in at such a pace that you hardly ever know within five shillings how much you have at the bank."
Charles blinked through the smoke of a violet-tipped cigarette.
"What about it?" he asked.
"This," I said; "I am, very reluctantly, offering you the chance of doing good. All you have to do is to sign your name here for anything up to a hundred pounds, and the good does itself. It is the Saint Nicholas New Year Offering."
"What does it do?" asked Charles uncomfortably.
"Do?" I answered. "Why, I don't think it does exactly do. You see it's a New Year Offering."
"I see," said Charles. "It doesn't do; it offers. Just like a Member of Parliament."
"I wish," I said, "instead of being funny at other people's expense you would be serious at your own, and tell me exactly how much I can put you down for?"
"There you go again," said Charles. "You want me to think of some definite amount on the spot. You know I hate thinking, and I hate definite amounts. And I loathe doing anything on the spot."
I looked at the subscription list. The last entry was:—
"You needn't do any thinking," I explained patiently. "You need only stick down exactly the same as the last man. And if you'll promise to do it I'll leave the list with you, and you can fill it in when you feel sufficiently off the spot."
"Exactly the same?" asked Charles.
"Exactly," I said, with rising hopes.
"All right," said Charles. "I'll let you have it some time."
Four days later, at Miss Donelan's urgent request, I wrote to Charles for it. It came in less than forty-eight hours.
Extract from conclusion of subscription list returned by Charles:—
" " " " " " "
Dinner-Table Topics.
"MR. LLOYD GEORGE
GOING TO A WARMER CLIMATE."
Another Accident to an Infinitive.
"It is good news to at last hear that progress is being made again towards healing the 'split.'"—Nottingham Football Post.
So far not much progress is visible.
"Lord and Lady Arthur Hill arrived at Maples yesterday from London."—Observer.
And Mrs. and Miss Tomkins (in pursuit of bargains) continue to arrive daily at Peter Snelbody's from Cricklewood.

THE SPLENDID PAUPERS.
FIRST TURKISH OFFICIAL (presented with a photograph of the new Turkish Navy in lieu of six months' deferred pay). "SO, WE'VE GOT A DREADNOUGHT, HAVE WE?"
SECOND TURKISH OFFICIAL. "I DON'T KNOW WHO GETS THE DREAD, BUT I KNOW WE'VE GOT THE NOUGHT."
THE SPELL
whereby the Good People may be brought back to a house which they have deserted.
Fairies!—whatsoever sprite
Near about us dwells—
You who roam the hills at night,
You who haunt the dells—
Where you harbour, hear us!
By the Lady Hecate's might,
Hearken and come near us!
Though we greatly fear, alack!
Cloddish unbelief
Angered you and made you pack
To our present grief,
Hearts you shall not harden:
Bathe your hurts and come you back
Here to house and garden!
By the oak and ash and thorn,
By the rowan tree,
This was done ere we were born:
Kith nor kin are we
Of the folk whose blindness
Shut you out with scathe and scorn,
Banished with unkindness.
See, we call you, hands entwined,
Standing at our door,
With the glowing hearth behind
And the wood before.
Thence, where you are lurking,
Back we bring you, bring and bind
With our magic's working.
Lo, our best we give for cess,
Having naught above
Handsel of our happiness,
Seizin of our love.
Take it then, O fairies!
Homely gods that guard and bless,
Little kindly Lares.

Bill. "'ULLO, 'ERB; GOT A JOB, THEN?"
'Erb. "I AIN'T GOIN' UP TO LON'ON FOR A TANGO LESSON, I GIVE YOU MY WORD."
WHAT OUR READERS THINK OF US.
The Daily