Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150, April 5, 1916Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150, April 5, 1916
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
I was at first inclined to look upon this dove as being largely
symbolical. So far as I could gather it had never been here before--at
any rate no one could be found who had seen it here or in the
neighbourhood, and it seemed obvious that its sudden emergence, as it
were, out of nothing must have some high and dove-like signification.
Probably before the end of the week the KAISER would sue for peace and
swallow Mr. ASQUITH'S formula. Since then, however, Verdun has happened
and VON TIRPITZ has gone, and nobody seems in the least disposed to stop
the crash of arms. That being so, and the dove being still with us, I am
forced, in spite of myself, to look upon it as an entirely real bird and
to keep on wondering what strange freak brought it to us and made it an
honoured member of this household.
It arrived about ten weeks ago quite unexpectedly and suddenly. One
morning there was no dove; on the following morning, having fluttered
hither from I know not what remote and solitary region, it had perched
on the branch of a poplar set close to the house. There it remained
while we breakfasted, and from that point of vantage it broke out into a
long series of loud and melodious cooings that sounded like nothing so
much as a gurgling stream of benedictions poured out over the house and
those who dwelt in it by one who plainly proposed to be a grateful
though not a paying guest. It was wonderful to hear it.
From the branch this persistent and pleasing bird shortly removed itself
to the window-sill of one of the bedrooms, and into this room, when
breakfast was over, the children trooped. The dove was pecking eagerly
at the window-pane. "Let's open the window for it," said one of the
girls, "and see what happens." Very gently, then, the window was opened,
and what immediately happened was that, without the least sign of alarm,
nay rather with the air of one repeating a customary action, the dove
walked in, took a short flight, and settled on the toilet-table. There
it caught sight of its soft grey reflection in the looking-glass and at
once began to parade up and down before it, swelling itself out and
bobbing its head in evident admiration of the beautiful being so
fortunately offered to its view. Soon it attempted to approach this
vision, but was surprised to find itself foiled by the cold impermeable
surface of the glass. Puzzled, but not, I think, definitely hopeless--it
performs the same antics in one or other of the bedrooms every day--it
left the toilet-table, circled round the room and perched confidingly on
the shoulder of one of the little girls who were admiring it, and began
once more to coo in a very ecstasy of enjoyment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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