For instance, with what rapture were we blest If Some-one gave his nimble tongue a rest And, turning Trappist, stanched the fearsome gush Of egotistic and thrasonic slush; Or if Lord X. eschewed his daily speeches And took to canning Californian peaches; Or if egregious LYNCH could but abstain From "ruining along the illimitable inane" At Question-time, and try to render PLATO'S _Republic_ into Erse, or grow potatoes; Or if our novelists wrote cheerful books, Instead of joining those superfluous cooks Who spoil our daily journalistic broth By lashing it into a fiery froth.
Counsels of sheer perfection, you will say, In times when ev'ry mad dog has his day, Yet none the less inviting as the theme Of a millennial visionary's dream.
And as for Duchesses turned tweeny-maids Or following other unobtrusive trades There's nothing very wonderful or new Or difficult to credit in the view; For DICKENS--whom I never fail to bless For solace in these days of storm and stress-- Found his best slavey in _The Marchioness_.
"They are 'Sammies' now, and the name probably will stick along with 'Tommy,' 'poilu' and 'Fritz.' ... The christening was one of those spontaneous affairs, coming nobody knows how."--_Kansas City Star_.
Mr. Punch, ever reluctant to take credit to himself, feels nevertheless bound to say that the suggestion of the name "Sammies" for our American Allies appeared in his columns as long ago as June 13th. On page 384 of that issue (after quoting _The Daily News_ as having said, "We shall want a name for the American 'Tommies' when they come; but do not call them 'Yankees'; they none of them like it") he wrote: "As a term of distinction and endearment, Mr. Punch suggests 'Sammies'--after their uncle."
"London.-- ---- House. Bed, breakfast 4s., per week 24s. 6d. No other meals at present."
This should encourage the FOOD-CONTROLLER.
[Illustration: _Transport Officer_. "CONFOUND IT, MAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DON'T TEASE THE ANIMALS!"]
(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS_.)
HANSI, the Alsatian caricaturist and patriot, who escaped a few months before the War, after being condemned by the German courts to fifteen months' imprisonment for playing off an innocent little joke on four German officers, and did his share of fighting with the French in the early part of the War, is the darling of the Boulevards. They adore his supreme skill in thrusting the irritating lancet of his humour into bulging excrescences on the flank of that monstrous pachyderm of Europe, the German. _Professor Knatschke_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON), aptly translated by Professor R.L. CREWE, is a joyous rag. It purports to be the correspondence of a Hun Professor, full of an egregious self-sufficiency and humourlessness and greatly solicitous for the unhappy Alsatian who is ignorant and misguided enough to prefer the Welsch (i.e. foreign) "culture-swindle" to the glorious paternal Kultur of the German occupation. And HANSI illustrates his witty text with as witty and competent a pencil. HANSI has, in effect, the full status of an Ally all by himself. He adds out of the abundance of his heart a diary and novel by _Knatschke's_ daughter, _Elsa_, full of the artless sentimentality of the German virgin. It is even better fun than the Professor's part of the business. Naturally the full flavour of both jokes must be missed by the outsider. HANSI is the more effective in that he chuckles quietly, never guffaws and never rails. Fun of the best.