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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, January 3, 1917
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, January 3, 1917
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, January 3, 1917
    Ebook110 pages49 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, January 3, 1917

    By Various Various

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, January 3, 1917

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, January 3, 1917 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152,

      January 3, 1917, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, January 3, 1917

      Author: Various

      Release Date: October 31, 2004 [EBook #13903]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***

      Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team.

      PUNCH,

      OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

      Vol. 152.

      January 3, 1917.

      MORE DISCIPLINE.

      Yes, Sir, said Sergeant Wally, accepting one of my cigarettes and readjusting his wounded leg,—yes, Sir, discipline's the thing. It's only when a man moves on the word o' command, without waiting to think, that he becomes a really reliable soldier. I remember, when I was a recruit, how they put us through it. I'd been on the square about a week. I was a fairly smart youngster, and I thought I was jumping to it just like an old soldier, when the drill sergeant called me out of the ranks. Look 'ere,' he said, 'if you think you're going to make a fool o' me, standing about there till you choose to obey the word o' command, you've made a big mistake.' I could 'a' cried at the time, but I've been glad often enough since for what the sergeant said that day. I've found that little bit of gag useful myself many a time.

      I was meditating with sympathy upon the many victims of Sergeant Wally's borrowed sarcasm when he spoke again.

      When I first came up to London from the depôt, he said, "I'd a brother, a corporal in the same battalion. You know as well as I do, Sir, that as a matter o' discipline a corporal doesn't have any truck with a private soldier, excepting in the way of duties, and my brother didn't speak to me for the first week. Then one day he called me up and said, 'It ain't the thing for me to be going about with you, but as you're my brother I'll go out with you to-night. Have yourself cleaned by six o'clock.'

      "Well, I took all the money I'd got—about twelve bob—and off we went.

      "We had a bit o' supper first at a place my brother knew of, and a very good supper it was. My brother ordered it, but I paid. Then we got a couple of cigars—at least, I did. Then we went to a music-hall, me paying, of course. We had a drink during the evening, and when we came out my brother said, 'We'd better come in here and have a snack.'

      "'Well, I ain't got any money left,' I sez. My brother looked at me a minute, and then he said, 'I don't know what I've been thinking of, going about with you, you a private and me a corporal. Be off 'ome !' And he stalks away.

      Yes, Sir, discipline's the thing. Thank you, I'll have another cigarette.

      Simpler Fashions in India.

      The bride, who was given away by her father, looked happy and handsome in a beautiful red fern dress.—Allahabad Pioneer.

      TO THE KAISER FOR HIS NEW YEAR.

      Now with the New-born Year, when people issue

      Greetings appropriate to all concerned,

      Allow me, WILLIAM, cordially to wish you

      Whatever peace of mind you may have earned;

      It doesn't sound too fat,

      But you will have to be content with that.

      For you will get no other, though you ask it;

      No peace on diplomatic folios writ,

      Like what you chucked in your waste-treaty-basket,

      Torn into fragments, bit by little bit;

      In these rude times we shrink

      From vain expenditure of pulp and ink.

      You hoped to start a further scrap of paper

      And stretched a flattering paw in soft appeal,

      Purring as hard as tiger-cats at play purr

      With velvet padding round your claws of

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