Volume 152 — OLD RHYMES FOR RATION TIMES.
Reading edition
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children she didn't know what to do; She gave them some broth without any bread, So as not to exceed her allowance per head. Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard To get her poor dog a bone; But when she got there the cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none. She went to the kitchen and scolded the slavey, Who answered, "All bones must be boiled down for gravy." "Mary, Mary, quite contrairy, how does your garden grow?" "Early greens and haricot beans and cauliflowers all in a row." When good KING ARTHUR ruled this land he was a goodly king, He stored ten sacks of barleymeal to last him through the Spring; The Food-Controller heard thereof, and said, "This wicked hoarding Must not go on—and if it does I'll have to act according."
CHILDREN'S TALES FOR GROWN-UPS.
v.
THE RIVALS.
The frog challenged the nightingale to a singing contest. "Of course for gurgling and untutored warbling I know he has it," he said to his friend the toad, "but in technique I shall beat him hollow."
So the jury was chosen. The nightingale proposed the lark, the thrush, the blackbird and the bullfinch as experts in singing, and the frog proposed the starling, the linnet, the chaffinch and the reed-warbler.
The nightingale was overcome with emotion at the generosity of the frog, and insisted on adding the crow and the toad as experts in croaking.
The nightingale sang first, whilst his trade rivals sat and chattered. They chattered so loud that the nightingale stopped singing in a huff.
"You are hardly at your best, you know, old thing," said the linnet sympathetically.
"You will find these throat lozenges excellent for hoarseness," said the blackbird.
"His upper register is weak—abominably weak," said the starling to the lark.
"Perhaps if his voice were trained," suggested the lark.
Meanwhile the frog croaked away lustily, but no one listened to him. "The jury must vote by ballot," he said as he finished the last croak.
"Of course we must," twittered the jury.
The frog won by eight votes to two.
"I voted for the nightingale," whispered the crow to the toad.
"So did I," whispered the toad.
A LOSS.
For many reasons the passing of the poster is to be welcomed. For one thing, it robbed the papers themselves of that element of surprise which is one of life's few spices; for another, it added to life's many complexities by forcing the reader into a hunt through the columns which often ended in disappointment: in other words the poster's promise was not seldom greater than the paper's performance. Then, again, it was often offensive, as when it called for the impeachment of an effete "old gang," many of whose members had joined the perfect new; or redundant, as when it demanded twenty ropes where one would have sufficed.
But, even although the streets may be said to have been sweetened by the absence of posters, days will come, it must be remembered, when we shall badly miss them. It goes painfully to one's heart to think that the embargo, if it is ever lifted, will not be lifted in time for most of the events which we all most desire, events that clamour to be recorded in the large black type that for so many years Londoners have associated with fatefulness. Such as ("reading from left to right"):—
FALL OF METZ. STRASBURG FRENCH AGAIN. ALLIES CROSS THE RHINE. FLIGHT OF CROWN PRINCE. RUSSIANS NEARING BERLIN.
BRITISH AND FRENCH NEARING BERLIN. REVOLUTION IN GERMANY. FALL OF BERLIN. THE KAISER A CAPTIVE. VICTORY!
And Finally—
AMERICA DECLARES WAR. PEACE!
It will be hard to lose these.
FRITZ'S APOLOGIA.
Yes, war is horrible and hideous— It jars upon my sense fastidious, My "noble instincts," to decline To actions that are not divine. So, when I mutilate your pictures, So far from meriting your strictures, Compassion rather is my due For doing what I hate to do. It grieves my super-saintly soul Even to smash a china bowl; To carry off expensive clocks My tender conscience sears and shocks; I really don't enjoy at all Hacking to bits a panelled hall, Rare books with priceless bindings burning, Or boudoirs into cesspools turning. My heart invariably bleeds When I'm engaged upon these deeds, And teardrops of the largest size Fall from my heav'n-aspiring eyes. But, though my sorrow is unfeigned, Still discipline must be maintained; And, when the High Command says, "Smash, Bedaub with filth, loot, hack and slash," I do it (much against the grain) Because, though gentle and humane, When dirty work is to be done I always am a docile Hun.
"It is proposed to collect from Nottinghamshire householders bones and fat for the extraction of glycerine."—Christian World.
Poor "lambs"!
"Lady Companion Wanted, immediately, by young married woman; servant kept, and there are no children: applicant must be well educated, well read, well-bred, and of impeachable character."—Provincial Paper.
So as to give her employer something to talk about?
"'Baghdad' written large on the wall of the terminus in English and Arabic reminded them that they had arrived. In the booking office, now deserted, there had been a rush for tickets to Constantinople. The last train had gone out at 2 a.m. A supper officer discovered the way-bill."—Daily Paper.
A poor substitute if he was looking for the bill-of-fare.
From an Egyptian picture-palace programme:—
"Sensationing. Dramatic. MARINKA'S HEART. Great drama, in 3 parts, of a poignancy interest, assisting with anguish at the terrible peripeties of a Young Girl, falling in hand, of Bohemian bandits. Pictures of this film are celicious, being taken at fir trees and mountan's of the Alpes.— Great success. Comic. Silly laughter."
The translator of the French original was probably justified in his rendering of "fou rire."
PROTESTS OF AN AMMUNITION MULE.
OH—GET A MOVE ON!
Mule. "WHAT ON EARTH'S HE STOPPING FOR?
NOW WHAT'S THE TROUBLE?
WELL, OF ALL THE—
HERE, HOLD ON—YOU WAIT FOR ME NOW. HANG THESE FLIES!".
