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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, January 3, 1917
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 152, January 3, 1917
OF OUR AWFUL RESPONSIBILITY BEFORE HUMANITY."
Hans. "AND THESE EVERLASTING SARDINES FOR EVERY MEAL."
WARS OF THE PAST.
(As recorded in the Press of the period.)
V.
From "The Piræus Pictorial."
GET A MOVE ON.
By Mr. Demosthenes.
[The brilliant Editor of "Pal Athene," who has been aptly styled "the leading light of the democracy," contributes what is perhaps the most wonderful and powerful article which we have had the pleasure of publishing from his trenchant pen.]
Words won't do it, my friends. We don't want speeches. We want action. I ask you to give the Buskers socks. Kick this Chorus of Five Hundred out of the orchestra. Ostrichise the Government! Give them the bird!
If I read my countrymen aright (and who does if I don't?), what they are saying now is, "We must have a definite plan of strong action. We are not going to fight any longer with speeches and despatches." That's the way, Athenians! Good luck to you! Zeus bless you. And the same to you, Tommy Hoplites and Jack Nautes, and many of them! You don't mean PHILIP to be Tyrant of Athens, do you? You're not going to have him turning our beautiful Parthenon into a cavalry stable? You're not going to see the Barbarians hanging up their shields on the dear old statue of Athene. Of course you're not. When I walk through the city and see, as I pass the houses of my humbler brethren, the neat respectable little altars and the good old well-used wine-presses (which I never do without breathing a little prayer, uncantingly, straight from the heart), I say, "It's a foul calumny to pretend that the people are not all right. They are, Zeus bless 'em! All they are waiting for is a lead. And action!"
We've got to have a strong policy, my friends, and my tip to you is—"Trust the Army! Curse the politicians!" It's no use sitting still while ÆSCHINES AND Co. are spouting. You and I, my brothers and sisters, as I'm proud to call you, we don't spout, do we? We mean business! And PHILIP means business too! At any moment he may come down on us and devastate our quiet picturesque little demes which we all love so well and get disgustingly drunk on our wine. So give us the word, ÆSCHINES AND Co.—not many words, please, but just one word—and we'll tackle him as he ought to be tackled and put a pinch of Attic salt on his tail. We don't want this PHILIP, but we do want a fillip of our own. Meanwhile, are we downhearted? I don't think.
(Another powerful philippic by Mr. Demosthenes next week.)
What to do with our Prisoners.
"Private Jones, V.C., single handed captured 102 Germans; limited number for sale, best offers; proceeds military hospital."—Bazaar.
"The towing to Madrid of the Greek steamer Spyros lacks confirmation."—Daily Telegraph.
We always had our doubts about the report.
"Nevertheless, though nobody has ever sympathised with the goose that laid the golden eggs, it is now widely recognized that it was bad policy to kill him."—G.B. Shaw in "The Times."
Even in War-time, you will notice, "G.B.S." cannot get away from the sex-problem.
FREMDENBLATT.—Mr. Lloyd George will recognise one day that the Allies put their heads in a sling on the day they rejected Germany's terms."—Daily Paper.
But we may trust little DAVID to know what to do with a sling.
AN ANSWER TO PEACE TALK.
BRITANNIA CALLS A WAR CONFERENCE OF THE EMPIRE.
HIS MASTER'S VOICE.
FOR AMERICAN CONSUMPTION.
I am the White House typewriter!
I am the Voice of the People
And then some!
I speak, and the Western Hemisphere attends,
All except Mexico and WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN,
Who has a megaphone of his own.
I am the soul of a great free people!
Hence the vers libre
Which breathes the spirit of Democracy
Because anybody can do it.
Who secured a second term of office for my master, President WILSON?
Was it the War or OSWALD GARRISON VILLARD or General HARRISON GRAY OTIS?
It was not.
It was I!
Though the others helped, especially Gen. OTIS.
I am of antiquated design, as invisible as Colonel HOUSE and nearly as useless as Senator WORKS,
But as my master only works me with one thumb
(For fear of saying something that might have to be explained away)
I do very nicely.
And when it comes to throwing the bull
I am the real Peruvian doughnuts.
I was new once, but obscure,
Wasting my freshness on a Life of Jefferson (extinct)
And a History of the United States,
Which by the kindness of the Democratic party and the MCCLURE Syndicate
Is now appearing in dignified segments on the back page of provincial newspapers
Along with Dainty Diapers and Why I Love the Movies, by MARY PICKFORD.
I am the Defender of Liberties!
Never have I hesitated to tell Germany not to do it again;
Never have I failed to protest in the severest terms when the British Navy threatened to interfere with business.
Next to Mr. LANSING,
Who is said to use a Blickensderfer,
I am the hottest little protester in Protestville,
And in consequence nobody loves me,
Neither REVENTLOW nor GEORGE SYLVESTER VIERECK nor WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEARST;
Nor even The Spectator,
Which never did like Democrats, anyway.
But now I am the Harbinger of Peace
By special request.
Imperial Germany,
Sated with victory and a shortage of boiled potatoes,
Implores me to save the Entente Powers from utter annihilation,
And the prayer is echoed
By Sir EDGAR SPEYER and the other neutrals.
So my keys tap out the glad message
Of friendship for all and trouble for none.
I ask them what they are fighting about,
And if it is really true that Belgium has been invaded,
And propose that we should all get together and talk it over
Nice and quietly over tea and muffins
And away from all the nasty blood and noise.
Thus I address them,
And humane Germany
Almost falls on my neck in her anxiety to comply with my request;
But the stiff-necked Entente,
With an old-fashioned obstinacy reminiscent of the LINCOLN person at his worst,
Merely utter joint and several sentiments
The substance and effect of which appear to be
"Nix!"
Bill (coming to after a shell has hit his dug-out). "HAVE I BEEN LONG UNCONSCIOUS, WILLIAM?"
William. "OH, A GOODISH BIT, BILL."
Bill. "WHAT DO