You are here
قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, May 14, 1919
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, May 14, 1919
id="pgepubid00009">TUBES.
A picture of a widow wringing her hands with grief, and under it this pungent hint: "This is the widow of a man who tried to light his cigarette on the 'live rail.'"
A picture of a man who has been cut in half, with, say, a crisp little couplet:—
"Here are two portions of Benjamin Yates
Who scorned the request to 'stand clear of the gates.'"
A photograph of the interior of a hospital ward full of patients, with the following: "Interior of a ward in the Bakerdilly Hospital, exclusively for patients who stepped off the moving staircase with the wrong foot."
TRAINS.
A picture of a stately building standing in its own grounds with the description: "The N.S.E. & W. Railway Orphanage for children whose parents crossed the line by the track instead of the footbridge."
A picture of a decapitated body with the poignant comment:—
"Be warned by the ending
Of Ferdinand Goschen
Who leaned out of window
While the train was in motion."
And perhaps a few general hints such as:—
(1) In stepping off an omnibus always alight feet first.
(2) In crossing crowded thoroughfares, proceed through the traffic, not under it.
(3) Before stepping from the pavement make quite sure that there is a road there, etc., etc.
Imagination, colour—that's all that's wanted, and if this propaganda is carried far enough the safety of the public will be assured, for either they really will try not to be killed while travelling or walking in the streets, or they will stay indoors altogether.
A Disciplinarian.
"SCHOOLMISTRESS'S RESIGNATION."
Miss —— will have the satisfaction of knowing that she has left her mark on those who have passed through her hands."—Provincial Paper.
"Closing scores in the professional golf match were Newman 14,835; Inman 13,343."—Provincial Paper.
This high scoring was due, we understand, to the large number of losing hazards which had to be negotiated.
"Aerial fights to and from towns on the coast are to be a feature of Hythe's holiday season."—Belfast Weekly News.
We are all in favour of popularising aviation, but we think this is over-doing it.
Director of old-established firm. "I HOPE YOU DON'T SMOKE?"The new "Boy." "NO—GIVEN IT UP. FIND IT 'PUFFS' ME FOR JAZZIN'."
SPRING CLEANING
The hailstorm stopped; a watery sun came out,
And late that night I clearly saw the moon;
The lilac did not actually sprout,
But looked as if it ought to do in June.
I did not say, "My love, it is the Spring;"
I rubbed my chilblains in a cheerful way
And asked if there was some warm woollen thing
My wife had bought me for the first of May;
And, just to keep the ancient customs green,
We said we 'd give the poor old house a clean.
Good Mr. Ware came down with all his men,
And filled the house with lovely oily pails,
And went away to lunch at half-past ten,
And came again at tea-time with some nails,
And laid a ladder on the daffodil,
And opened all the windows they could see,
And glowered fiercely from the window-sill
On me and Mrs. Tompkinson at tea,
And set large quantities of booby-traps
And then went home—a little tired, perhaps.
They left their paint-pots strewn about the stair,
And switched the lights off—but I knew the game;
They took the geyser—none could tell me where;
It was impossible to wash my frame.
The painted windows would not shut again,
But gaped for ever at the Eastern skies;
The house was full of icicles and rain;
The bedrooms smelled of turpentine and size;
And if there be a more unpleasant smell
I have no doubt that that was there as well.
My wife went out and left me all alone,
While more men came and clamoured at the door
To strip the house of everything I own,
The curtains and the carpets from the floor,
The kitchen range, the cushions and the stove,
And ask me things that husbands never know,
"Is this 'ere paint the proper shade of mauve?"
Or "Where is it this lino has to go?"
I slunk into the cellar with the cat,
This being where the men had put my hat.
I cowered in the smoking-room, unmanned;
The days dragged by and still the men were here.
And then I said, "I too will take a hand,"
And borrowed lots of decorating gear.
I painted the conservatory blue;
I painted all the rabbit-hutches red;
I painted chairs in every kind of hue,
A summer-house, a table and a shed;
And all of it was very much more fair
Than any of the work of Mr. Ware.
But all his men were stung with sudden pique
And worked as never a worker worked before;
They decorated madly for a week
And then the last one tottered from the door,
And I was left, still working day and night,
For I have found a way of keeping warm,
And putting paint on everything in sight
Is surely Art's most satisfying form;
I know no joy so simple and so true
As painting the conservatory blue.
A.P.H.
THE PROFESSOR, IN HIS CAGE, INTENDED TO STUDY THE LANGUAGE OF MONKEYS. BUT, WHEN THE KETTLE UPSET, THE MONKEYS HAD AN OPPORTUNITY OF STUDYING THE LANGUAGE OF PROFESSORS.THE LAST OF HIS RACE.
IT is interesting, though ill-mannered, to watch other people at a railway bookstall and guess their choice of literature from their outward appearance.
Had you pursued this diversion, however, in the case of Mr. Harringay Jones as he stood before the bookstall at Paddington, you would, I fear, have been far out in your conjecture. For Mr. Jones, who had the indeterminate baldheadedness of the bank cashier and might have been anything from thirty-five to sixty, did not purchase a volume of essays or a political autobiography, but selected a flaming one-and-sixpenny narrative of spy hunts and secret service intrigue.
Still, how could you have guessed that Mr. Jones's placid countenance and rotund frame concealed an imagination that was almost boyish in its unsatisfied craving for adventure? Humdrum year had succeeded humdrum year, yet he had never despaired. Some day would come that great moment when the limelight of the world's wonder would centre on him, and he would hold the stage alone.
But till its arrival he consoled himself with literature and found vicarious enjoyment in the deeds of