Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150, February 16, 1916 — John Shaqi
Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150, February 16, 1916Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150, February 16, 1916
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
[Illustration: SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY IN THE FATHERLAND.
It chanced that on the fourteenth day of February the
boy Cupid strayed into the precincts of Potsdam, and
came all unawares upon the War Lord; who deeming him to
be an alien babe essayed to make a characteristic end of
him.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Disgusted Instructor._ "NOW THEN, NONE
O' THEM PEACE TACTICS! 'ERE I'M TRYING TO TEACH YER 'OW
TO KILL THE ENEMY, AND YER GOES AND KISSES 'IM!"]
* * * * *
BLANCHE'S LETTERS.
WAR FASHIONS.
_Park Lane._
DEAREST DAPHNE,--People are going to the theatre a good deal, but not in
the old way. We wait in the queue now, and work our way up into the
gallery. We leave the stalls and boxes to _ces autres_. "Olga" has
created a simply charming queue-coat, heavy grey frieze, with plenty of
pockets and a cap to match with ear-pieces. You take a parcel of
sandwiches to eat while you're waiting (the _dernier cri_ is to wrap the
parcel in a spotted handkerchief), and, if you want to be immensely and
utterly right, you'll _walk_ home and buy a piece of fried fish on the
way for your supper.
A propos, there's quite a good little story being told about Lady
Goreazure and these topsy-turvy times. She was in the gallery at the
Incandescent the other night, and, on coming down, the gallery people,
finding it was pouring in torrents, crowded into the chief entrance for
shelter, to the enormous disgust of the stalls and boxes, who were just
coming out. A rose-coloured satin gown with ante-war bare arms and
shoulders, an ermine wrap, and a paste hair-bandeau was particularly
furious, and announced loudly that it was "an abominable shame to mix us
up with the gallery people in this way." Lady Goreazure thought she knew
the voice, and, turning, recognised in the angry pink-satin person her
maid, Dawkins, who left her some months ago to go into munition work.
She's a skilled hand now and simply coining money, as she told Lady G.
in a hurried furtive whisper, adding, "Please don't talk to me any more.
I shouldn't like my friends to see that I know anyone from the gallery."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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