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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 26, 1917
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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 26, 1917
the Government getting the best of a bargain.
"What is a bun?" asked the Willesden magistrate last week; which only shows that with a little practice magistrates will get into the way of doing these things almost as well as the High Court judges.
The Frankfurter Zeitung declares that "the Germany that President Wilson wants to talk peace with will only be a Germany beaten to its knees." Our own opinion is that it will be a Germany beaten to a frazzle.
There appears to be a great demand for small second-hand yachts. The fact is connected, in well-informed circles, with the report that The Daily Mail contemplates taking up the anti-submarine question.
Some solicitors have been helping to run the gas works of a certain Corporation during a strike. While commending this action, we admit that we can conceive of nothing more likely to undermine the resolute patriotism of the man in the street than a gas bill furnished by solicitor.
Women are formally warned by the Ministry of Munitions against using T.N.T. as a means of acquiring auburn hair. Any important object striking the head—a chimney-pot or a bomb from an enemy aeroplane—would be almost certain to cause an explosion, with possible injury to the scalp.
"I'M COMING TO YOU WITH 'ARF A TON IN A MINUTE, SO DON'T FRET YOURSELF, OLE PERISCOPE."
German Thoroughness Again.
"TO HOLD POTATO CROP.
"NEW GERMAN FOOD DICTATOR WILL CONSUME ALL FOOD."—Victoria Daily Times.
"An intelligent postal service has delivered those addressed to 1,000, Upper Grosvenor Street, W. 1, to the Ministry of Good at Grosvenor House."—Daily Mail.
This is the first we have heard of this Ministry.
TO THE POTSDAM PACIFIST.
Now for the fourth time since you broke your word,
And started hacking through, the seasons' cycle
Brings Autumn on; the goose, devoted bird,
Prepares her shrift against the mass of MICHAEL;
Earth takes the dead leaves' stain,
And Peace, that hardy annual, sprouts again.
Yet why should you support the Papal Chair
In fostering this recurrent apparition?
Never (we gather) were your hopes more fair,
Your moral in a more superb condition;
Never did Victory's goal
Seem more adjacent to your sanguine soul.
HINDENBURG holds your British foes in baulk
Prior to trampling them to pulp like vermin;
Russia is at your mercy—you can walk
Through her to-morrow if you so determine;
There is no France to fight—
Your gallant WILLIE'S blade has "bled her white."
In England (as exposed by trusty spies)
We are reduced to starve on dog and thistles;
London, with all her forts, in ashes lies;
Through Scarboro's breached redoubts the sea-wind whistles:
And Margate, quite unmanned,
Would cause no trouble if you cared to land.
Roumania is your granary, whence you draw
For loyal turns a constant cornucopia;
Belgium, quiescent under Culture's law,
Serves as a type of Teutonised Utopia;
And, as for U.S.A.,
They're scheduled to arrive