قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 12, 1917

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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 12, 1917

Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 12, 1917

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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SUPPLY AND DEMAND.


Mother (to maid, who has offered Marjorie some jam). "OH NO, THANK YOU, NOT WITH THE FIRST PIECE."
Marjorie. "BUT, MUMMY, I HAVE GIVEN UP HAVING A FIRST PIECE NOW—WAR ECONOMY."

THE TRENCH CODE.

Ah! with what awe, what infantile impatience,

We eyed the artifice when issued out,

And racked our brains about the Regulations,

And tried to think we had them free from doubt!

As Rome's old Fathers, reverently leaning

In secret cellars o'er the Sibyl's strain,

Beyond the fact that several pars

Had something vague to do with Mars,

Failed, as a rule, to find the smallest meaning,

But told the plebs the oracle was plain.

So did we study it, ourselves deceiving,

In hope to say, "We have no rations here,"

Or, "Please, Brigade, this regiment wants relieving,"

And "Thank you for the bombs—but why no beer?"

And wondered always, with a hint of presage,

Since never word emerged as it was planned,

If it was Hermes, Lord of Craft,

Compiled the code, or someone daft,

So that no mortal could compose a message

Which anybody else could understand.

Too soon the Staff, to spoil our tiny slumbers,

Or, as they said, to certify our skill,

Sent us a screed, all signs and magic numbers,

And what it signified is mystery still.

We flung them back a message yet more mazy

To say we weren't unravelling their own,

And marked it urgent, and designed

That it should reach them while they dined.

All night they toiled, till half the crowd were crazy

And bade us breathe its burthen o'er the 'phone.


But now they want it back—and it is missing!

And shall one patriot heart withhold a throb?

For four high officers have been here, hissing,

And plainly panicky about their job.

I know they think some dark, deluded bandit

Has gone and given it to KAISER BILL.

But though I'm grieved the General's cross,

I have no qualms about the loss—

If clever men like us can't understand it,

I don't suppose the Wilhelmstrasse will!

A. P. H.


SPREAD OF THE TEMPERANCE MOVEMENT.

"I, J.A.H. De la Bere, of Woolsevy Rectory, Morchard Bishop, Devon, desire to Alter my Surname to De la Fontaine."—Times.

"WANTED

end August in Swiss family (2 persons) living in villa near Lausanne

NURSERY'S MAID

able to saw, iron attend at table and take entire care of healthy baby 19 months old Good English accent serious references." La Tribune de Lausanne.

We are glad to hear that the baby has a good English accent; he will be able to employ it with effect when the Nursery's Maid begins to saw and iron him.


"In the cases in which the surgeon his obliged to vast empty a bone so that offers then itself difficulties therapeuticals not little because of pus and consequenty becauses of impossibility of transplantations, plastics, plombages ecc., the A. propose to go on the bone with specials inesions, not on the surface when the bone is most superficial, but from the surface in which are aboundings and easily cessible wet tissue, removing the margin of the bone's cavity and mathing in mode as, by cause of repaidis process, this tissue by hemselves adhere to a ground of cavity and full it."—La Clinica Chirurgica.

That makes it perfectly clear.



"AVANTI, SAVOIA!"


A DAUGHTER OF THE BACK STEPPES.

(Russia may not yet be quite sufficiently herself to be the martial ally that we could desire, but she still continues to send us the most delightful fiction. Mr. PUNCH is privileged in being able to offer his readers the opening of a new and fascinating story translated from the Russian of Ghastlilkoff.)

I was born in the year 18—, and I have never ceased to regret it. I lived with my grandmother. She was called Natasha. I do not know why. She had a large mole on her left cheek. Often she would embrace me with tears and lament over me, crying, "My little sad one, my little lonely one!" Yet I was not sad; I had too many griefs. Nor was I lonely, for I had no playmates.

Often my grandmother told me I was ugly. I had no mirror, so I believed her. When I was sixteen a man I met in the street went mad for love of me and cut his throat. For the first time in my life I wondered if my grandmother always spoke the truth. I went home and wept, but when she asked me why I could not tell her.

Our house was quite dark. It had three rooms leading in and out of one another, and no windows. There was not much fresh air. Every morning my grandmother went out to buy otchkza and pickled onions. The man who sold them was very old. He had a cast in each eye. He inquired of my grandmother if she would allow him to be my husband, but she refused. His name I do not remember.

Our neighbours were very pleasant people, kindly and simple. There was a half-witted youth called Krop. He used to fill his mouth with large brass-headed nails. I did not dare to go near him, for he always tried to bite my arms. One day I learned that he had died. My grandmother bought me black silk mittens to wear at his funeral. I was very proud, and ran out into the road to show them to the other children. But in my haste I split them across from seam to seam, and my grandmother whipped me and put me to bed.

My grandmother's chief friend was a woman who sold toasted cheese. It was her custom to bring round the delicacy on a small hand-cart and sell to the children for a few kopecks. This woman was reputed to be very rich. She was not beautiful, for she had no teeth, and had hair on her face. The first time I saw her I ran into the house and hid behind the large barrel of butter-milk. My grandmother took me by the ear and led me to her friend.

"This is Ilonoka," she said. "She is a good girl."

I remember that I cried very loud.

Afterwards my grandmother told me that perhaps the woman would leave me all her money. Next time she came I wished to speak to her, but unfortunately I had a quinsy. When the woman eventually died it was discovered that she had been destitute for a long time. She left her hand-cart by will to my grandmother, and in her disappointment my grandmother beat me over the head with it. Soon afterwards my hair began to come out, and my

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