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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Vol. 147 September 23 1914 by Various
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Vol. 147.
September 23, 1914.
CHARIVARIA.
The KAISER, we are told, travels with an asbestos hut. We fancy, however, that it is not during his lifetime that the most pressing need for a fire-proof shelter will arise.
"The Germans," said one of our experts last week, "are retreating to what looks like a bottle-neck exit." Their fondness for the bottle is, of course, well known and may yet be their undoing.
A somewhat illiterate correspondent writes to say that he considers that the French ought to have allowed the Mad Dog to retain Looneyville.
With one exception all goods hitherto manufactured in Germany can be made just as well here. The exception is Lies.
A Corps of Artists for Home Defence is being formed, and the painter members are said to be longing for a brush with the enemy.
Cases have been brought to our notice by racing men of betting news having been delayed on more than one occasion owing to the wires being required for war purposes. We are confident that if a protest were made to Lord KITCHENER he would look very closely into the matter.
Another item reaches us from the dear old village of Pufflecombe this week. The oldest inhabitant met a stranger. "'Scuse me, Zur," he said, "but be you from Lunnon town?" The visitor nodded. "Then maybe, Zur," said the rustic, "you can tell me if it be true, as I have heerd tell, that relations 'tween England and Germany be strained?"
The Press Bureau cannot guarantee the truth of this.
Germans on board, who were arrested, stated that reports circulated in Hamburg declared that the British troops had been annihilated and Paris was in flames.
"Sixty-two British ships lie at Hamburg."
They must have caught it from the Germans.
PROBATION.
Now is your time of trial, now When into dusk the glamour pales And the first glow of passion fails That lit your eyes and flushed your brow In that great moment when you made your vow.
Your mother's pride, your comrades' praise-- All that romance that seemed so fair Grows dim, and you are left to bear The prose of duty's sombre ways And labour of the long unlovely days.
Yet here's the test to prove you kin With those to whom we trust our fate, Sober and steadfast, clean and straight, In that stern school of discipline Hardened to war against the foe within.
O. S.
UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.
No. 1.
MAJESTY,--Though you will never receive this letter, I feel that I must write it if only to relieve my mind of an intolerable burden. There is no doubt about it, things are not going well with us, and we shall soon be in a situation of a most deplorable kind. Our armies have been driven back in France--this is what VON STEIN means when he declares that we have had "partial successes"--and Paris, which was to be captured weeks ago, seems to be as strong and as defiant as ever. The English are still unbroken and are pouring new armies into France. In Galicia the wretched Austrians are running like sheep; even Servia has beaten them and is invading Hungary and Bosnia; and our wonderful fleet, which cost so much good money, is bottled up. Soon we shall have the Cossacks on our backs, and then the dance will begin in earnest.
But you don't care--not a bit of it. You've been prancing about and making speeches and showing yourself on balconies and congratulating God on being such a good German. Do for Heaven's sake give us all a rest. We are in for a frightful war, and untold miseries are sure to fall upon us. Do you suppose that we shall be helped to bear them if you continue to act like an inebriated madman in the sight of the whole world?
Of course I shall have to bear the responsibility. I know that well enough. So, while I still have the liberty to use my pen, I mean to make my protest and throw back the burden you want to put upon me. Let me tell you this: you can't go on bragging and trampling on others and glorifying your splendid and immaculate self without rousing anger somewhere. Other people have their feelings--I've got some left myself--and in the long run they're bound to get tired of being exposed to your insolence. We may be miserable worms, but we don't want to be told so every day.
I could add more, but what I have said is enough. At any rate I am now feeling better.
Yours, with all deference,
VON BETHMANN HOLLWEG.
THE EVANGELIST.
I have found favour in the sight of God; From all His servants He selected Me To take His gospel, "God and Germany," To Belgian heretics. Lo, I have trod Through Belgium terribly, and taught the pack; I put their ancient cities to the sack, I gave their men and women to the sword, I took their Belgian babes upon my knee And broke them to the glory of the Lord.
A. A. M.
A FABLE.
A Suffolk Sportsman, wandering out with his Gun to get what he could, once brought down a Pigeon.
It was a fine Bird, and he popped it in a Pie and made a hearty Meal of it.
And then he began to feel most horribly ill in his Stomach.
The Moral is that one should not eat German homers, for Evil Communications Corrupt Good Digestions.
Obviously the writer of the above paragraph.
UNCLE SAM. "CUT IT OUT!"
THE SPLENDID FAILURE.
I found my old cheerful active friend in the depths of woe.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Well," he said, "I'm done for, useless. You see I'm forty-six, and that's a devil of an age just now. You're as fit as you ever were in your life, but of course the War Office won't look at you. Forty-six is impossible! 'But I can walk thirty miles a day,' I tell them. 'Not with all the accoutrements,' they say. 'I'm a member of the Alpine Club,' I tell them. 'You're over age,' they say. 'I'm stronger than any of your twenty-year-old recruits,' I tell them. 'You're forty-six,' they say. And it's true!"
"Then the new regiment of Sportsmen came along," he continued, "and I tried them. No good. Forty-five is their maximum. So there you are! I'm done--useless. No one wanted to help more than I did, and I can do absolutely nothing."
"I'll bet you've done a lot," I said, "if you would only confess."
"I tell you I've done absolutely nothing," he repeated testily. "I'm no use."
"But surely you're on a dozen committees?" I said.
"No," he said, "not one."
"Then you have started a Fund? Some minor fund guaranteed not to divert any money from the big ones?"
"No."
"But of course you've written to the papers?" I went on.
"No."
"Not about anything? Not to make the Government buck up about blankets or squashing German lies, or allowing Correspondents at the Front, or anything like that?"
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