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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, February 4, 1914

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Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, February 4, 1914

Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, February 4, 1914

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 146.

FEBRUARY 4, 1914.


CHARIVARIA.

The statement, made at the inquiry into the Dublin strike riots, that 245 policemen were injured during the disturbances has, we hear, done much to allay the prevailing discontent among the belabouring classes.


"Coaling the Stores" is a headline which caught our eye in a newspaper last week. To be followed, after the strike, we imagine, by "Storing the Coals."


A Russian officer, last week, shot the leader of a gipsy choir in a St. Petersburg restaurant, not because he sang out of tune but merely because he expressed resentment at the officer's conduct towards his daughter. It is thought that the incident may lead to an Entente between Germany and Russia.


Our Navy standard of 16 Dreadnoughts to 10 of the next most powerful Navy is, says Mr. C. P. Trevelyan, rough and ready. Well, in this matter our standards may or may not be rough, but let's hope they're ready, anyhow.


An organisation called "The Parents' League" has been formed in New York for the purpose of simplifying the lives of children. This has caused a considerable amount of uneasiness in juvenile circles, and it is said that a "Hands-off-our-jam" party has already been formed.


In a letter of Mrs. Carlyle's just published, the wife of the Chelsea sage describes a cat as "a selfish, immoral, improper beast." This has given no little satisfaction in canine circles, where the deceased lady is being hailed as a human being with the insight of a dog.


The Cambridge Review is talking of dropping the publication of the University sermon. It is possible, however, that the mere threat may have the effect of making the sermons more entertaining.


A volume entitled "The Great Scourge and How to End it" has made its appearance. We had imagined this to be a treatise on the anarchist activities of a certain section of the Suffragists until we discovered the name of Miss Christabel Pankhurst as its authoress.


Messrs. Hutchinson's interesting History of the Nations, the first part of which has just appeared, is something more than a mere compilation of facts already known to us. We had thought that both photography and limited companies were comparatively recent inventions. An illustration, however, in this new work, entitled "Charles I. going to execution," bears the description, "Photo by Henry J. Mullen, Ltd."


Councillor Sherlock has been elected Lord Mayor of Dublin for the third time in succession, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle will be interested to hear that there is some talk now of calling the local Mansion House "Sherlock's Home."


Belief in the innocence of the dove dies hard. At Driffield, last week, a Mr. Dove, who was charged with conducting a lottery, was acquitted in spite of his pleading guilty.


A music-hall performer gave a turn in a King's Bench court the other day. There was a time when a judge would have objected to his court being turned into a theatre, but since the advent of comic judges the line of demarcation has become blurred.


According to Dr. Frank E. Lakey, of the English High School, Boston, U.S.A., boys are at their naughtiest between 3 and 4 p.m.; and at their best at 10 a.m. But surely most boys are awake and out of bed at 10 a.m.?


"POPULAR MICROBES

Audience of 2,000 at a Blackpool Lecture."

Daily News.

One is so accustomed to think of the little chaps in millions that this seems rather a poor attendance.



THE HELPMATE.

Newly-wedded Husband (fresh from the altar). "Excuse me taking the liberty, Sir, but do you happen to know of any place where my wife could get a little charring to do?"


HONORIFICS.

A cowardly hoax was recently perpetrated in Paris, where a number of politicians consented to assist in raising a statue to Hégésippe Simon, the educator of the Democracy and author of the famous epigram, "The darkness vanishes when the sun rises," only to discover later that Hégésippe Simon had never existed.

Needless to say, this has produced a profound impression upon public men in this country, who are regarding invitations of a similar character with the gravest suspicion.

For instance, Mr. William Archer, on receiving a request for his assistance in raising a monument to Ibsen, is reported to have replied cautiously that he would like to know more about this writer before giving an answer.

Mr. Clement Shorter, on being asked to join the committee of a Brontë memorial, replied suspiciously, "Why do you ask me of all people?"

Mr. J. L. Garvin, on being approached on the subject of a bust of Mr. Filson Young, is reported to have consulted his assistant-editor as to whether the name might not be a pure invention; while Mr. G. K. Chesterton remarked, when asked to assist in raising a bas-relief to Charles Dickens, that he didn't believe there was no such a person.


"Mr. M'Call, K.C., said Dr. Keats had charge of the boys in the infirmary, and for the purpose of maintaining order he was sometimes compelled to resort to corporal astonishment."—Glasgow Daily Record.

Billy Brown (surprised): "Ow!"


In our last issue, quoting from a Johannesburg telegram, we referred to The Evening Chronicle as a "Labour organ." Its London Manager writes protesting against this description; and we now offer our heartiest regrets for the grave injustice that we seem to have done to our South African contemporary.


SMITHERS, B.C.

I saw it on a map, most large and fine

(I saw it with the naked eye—no dream),

Showing how trains upon the Grand Trunk line,

Grand but Pacific, run along by steam

Right to Prince Rupert on the sea (a port)

And there are brought up short.

Smithers! I saw it on a map, I say,

A panoramic map in Cockspur Street.

And sudden in my heart began to play

Echoes of old romance, and all my feet

Fluttered responsive to the name's sheer beauty,

So rhythmical and fluty.

Smithers! The music of it filled my mouth.

I saw Provence and that enchanted shore,

And lotus-isles amid the dreamy South,

And champions out of mediæval lore

Looking at large for ladies in distress

Round storied Lyonnesse.

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