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Read Ebook: Haney's Art of Training Animals A Practical Guide for Amateur or Professional Trainers. Giving Full Instructions for Breaking Taming and Teaching All Kinds of Animals Including an Improved Method of Horse Breaking Management of Farm Animals Training of S by Burroughs W H
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Ebook has 157 lines and 8409 words, and 4 pages
Editor: Owen Seaman
PUNCH,
VOL. 147.
AUGUST 26, 1914.
CHARIVARIA.
An eclipse of the sun took place on Friday last. It is supposed to have been an attempt on the part of the sun to prevent the Germans finding a place in it.
South Africa has now declared with no uncertain voice that she intends to fight under the British Flag, and the KAISER'S vexation on realising that the money spent on a certain famous telegram was sheer waste is said to have been pitiable.
We hear, by the way, that HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY is also extremely annoyed that so many English people should be resuming their summer holidays at the seaside. This is considered a slight on the power and ubiquity of the German Navy.
Some idea of how well the secret of their ultimate destination was kept even from the soldiers of our expeditionary force may be gathered from the fact that their favourite song on arriving in France was "It's a long way to Tip-per-ar-y."
The German newspapers no doubt perceive in this a reference to our Civil War in Ireland.
We are glad that the lie about the cutting-up of the Black Watch has been scotched. May they yet live to be "The Black Watch on the Rhine."
"THE GOEBEN'S INGLORIOUS SCUTTLE."
Yes, and now full of Turkey's coal.
The London Museum is open again. The Curator, we understand, would be glad to add to his collection of curiosities any Londoner who is still in favour of a small Navy.
The Devon and Somerset stag-hounds have stopped hunting, and there is said to be a movement on foot among the local stags in favour of passing a vote of thanks to a certain mad dog.
Which reminds us that that rare spectacle, a smile on the face of an oyster, may now be seen. It has been decided that the Whitstable oyster feast shall not be held this year.
The Duc D'ORL?ANS has sent back to the AUSTRIAN EMPEROR the collar of the Golden Fleece which His Majesty conferred on him in 1896. One can understand a Frenchman objecting to being collared by an Austrian.
It is, as is well known, an ill wind that blows no one any good. As a result of the War the proceedings of the British Association are not being reported at their usual length in our newspapers.
Another little advantage arising out of the War seems to have escaped notice. Owing to the fact that such Germans as are left among us eat much more quietly than formerly in order not to attract attention to themselves, it is now possible to hear an orchestra at a restaurant.
The horse-race habit is, we suppose, difficult to shed. A newsvendor was heard shouting the other day, "European War. Result!"
"An artist who called at a famous firm of etching printers," a contemporary tells us, "found the men were away printing bank-notes." We trust that they were authorised to do so.
"Cambridge public-houses," we read, "are to close at 9 P.M." Such dons as are still up for the Long Vacation are said to be taking it gamely in spite of the inconvenience of accustoming themselves to the new regulation.
Some of our contemporaries are referring to the Germans as "Modern Huns." We would point out that, as a matter of fact, they are not real Huns. They are wrong Huns.
"The idea is to make it possible for every individual to register for himself a number at the General Post Office.... All you do is to address him, say: '105051, care General Post Office,' and the officials look up 05051's latest address and forward the letter."
We fear that this is just what they would do.
"The members of Caldicot Wesleyan Church Sunday School had their annual summer tea on Tuesday in a field kindly lent by Mr. W. Howard of Church Farm."
After which the proceedings closed amid approving shouts of "."
Conversely, eating too much brings on a prominent form of waist.
THE CALL OF ENGLAND.
Sirs, we should be shamed indeed If the bitter cry for bread, Children's cries in cruel need, Rose and fell uncomforted! Ah, but since the patriot glow Burns in English bosoms yet, Twice and thrice ye will, I know, Pay your debt!
O. S.
A DETERMINED ISLAND.
During this season of splendid weather you may be sure that we in Totland Bay have not been idle. We swim, men, women and children, and we perform great feats of diving from the moored rafts which the authorities have kindly provided for that purpose. And we toil off on the usual picnic parties and inhale great draughts of health as we lie on our backs on the heather-clad slopes of the hill. But even while we pursue these simple pleasures our thoughts are with the great warships in their ceaseless vigil in the North Sea or with the gallant fellows who slipped away under cover of the night and are now taking their place in the fighting line with our French and Belgian friends. England, too, it seems, can perform a great operation of war on sea and land, and can do it with a swiftness, a precision and a silence that no other nation could surpass. So we hold our heads high and are proud to reckon ourselves the fellow-countrymen of JELLICOE and KITCHENER. We have begun well. May we have strength and resolution to endure without faltering to the end.
I am glad to say that the sewing brigade, which I mentioned in my last, shows an ever-increasing activity. All good female Islanders are busy about the manufacture of pyjamas for the soldiery. One of the marks of patriotism amongst our ladies is the possession of a pair of pyjama legs. No picnic party is complete without them. When the men light their cigarettes the women bring out their pyjamas and add stitch upon stitch. Pyjama legs are awkward things in a breeze, being apt to flap about, but they are resolutely tucked round arms or otherwise restrained, and the needle continues its deft work in spite of all difficulties. Pyjama jackets, too, are of course made in the proper number, but they are not so dramatic in their movements as the legs, and I have not noticed them so much.
I am still in trouble about my tame alien, the children's maid, Maria Hasewitz. Her permit, obtained at Newport with some labour, authorises her to reside at Totland, but not to move more than five miles from the limits of that place. Having decided to leave Totland with family and household on Monday I have suddenly been brought up against the stone wall of Maria's alienship. It was obviously necessary to secure permission for this forlorn German girl to travel home with us. The idea of dropping Maria into the sea five miles from here could not be entertained, in spite of the fact that she is technically an enemy. So I applied, stating the facts, to the Chief Constable, who, with a promptitude and a courtesy which I desire to acknowledge, sent a sergeant to interview me. Struggling against that sense of general and undefined guilt which the propinquity of a police officer always inspires and striving to assume an air of frank and confident honesty, I approached the sergeant and learnt from him that, this being a prohibited area, the Chief Constable could not give the required permission to travel without the express authority of the HOME SECRETARY, to whom he begged to refer me. I urged that it would be a profound relief to the Chief Constable to get rid even of an alien so harmless as Maria; but this plea the sergeant at once put aside. I have therefore written to the HOME SECRETARY. If he refuses I wonder what will happen to Maria.
P.S.--The Home Office has replied authorising Maria to embark at Ryde and land at Portsmouth. This is like telling a Londoner to embark at Hull and land at Bristol on his way to Windsor. I have telegraphed.
R. C. L.
"As a last word about this charming country, may I point out its advantages as a holiday playground? It offers attractions of many kinds to the sportsman.... The climate ... remains singularly warm right up to the end of October."
THE NEW NEWS.
While cordially endorsing all the deserved tributes that have lately been paid to the tact and loyalty of our daily Press, we venture to express a hope that the practice of printing every kind of contradictory war report will not become of universal application to other forms of intelligence.
Imagine, for example, being confronted with this kind of thing in the Cricket specials:--
THE GREAT MATCH BEGUN.
A telegram from Canterbury, dated 11 A.M., Aug 18th, states that the great match has actually begun. No details are given.
AMAZING LANCASTRIAN VICTORY.
Rumour's Agency learns that the resistance of Kent has everywhere been entirely overcome; no fewer than forty-three of the home side have been dismissed for sixteen runs. Twenty-nine wickets fell before lunch.
STARTLING REPORT.
A private telegram received in Liverpool states that SHARP took seventeen wickets for no runs in eleven minutes. Up to the time of going to press this had not been officially confirmed.
Folkestone unofficial wires state that at lunch the scores stood--Kent all out 463: Lancashire 14 for 2 wickets .
STOP PRESS.
The Press Bureau have just issued a statement that no play has yet been possible in the Kent v. Lancashire match on account of rain.
Pingoism should be carefully distinguished from pongoism.
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