"Life and property," writes a correspondent, "are as safe in Hungary to-day as they are in England." It should be borne in mind that there is usually a motive underlying these alarmist reports.
"It is ten days," writes a naturalist, "since I heard the unmistakable 'Cuck, cuck, cuck' of the newly-arrived cuckoo at Hampstead." Not to be confused with the "Cook, cook, cook!" of the newly-married housewife at Tooting.
A weekly paper has an article entitled "The Lost Haggis." We always have our initials put on a haggis with marking ink before despatching it to be tailor-pressed.
At the annual meeting of the National Federation of Fish-fryers the President asked whether it was not possible to make fried fish shops more attractive. It appears that no serious attempt has yet been made to discover a fish that gives off an aroma of violets when fried.
The Directors of the Underground offer a prize of twenty pounds to their most polite employee. We have always felt that the conductor who pushes you off a crowded train might at least raise his hat to you as he moves out of the station.
After considering the Budget very carefully some people are veering round to the theory that we didn't win the War, but just bought it.
"OH, IS 'E? WELL, 'E SEEMS TO 'AVE DONE BETTER OUT OF IT THAN I 'AVE."]
"WANTED, Youth of sixteen for one of the healthiest jobs in the world, most of the time spent basking in the sun, listening to skylarks and throstles; wages 35s. guaranteed to smart youth. Lots of weaklings have been set on their feet and prepared to face the world at this situation."--_Provincial Paper._
Rest from your work, awhile, my son, And let a mug of beer replace The moisture--sign of duty done-- That oozes from your honest face; Your tale of bricks, A long hour's task, already totals 6.
Our goose that lays the bars of gold Must not incur too big a strain; Nor need you, as I think, be told To keep a check on hand and brain, Lest you exceed Your Union's limit in respect of speed.
For homes a homeless people cries, But you've a principle at stake; Though fellow-workers, lodged in styes, Appeal to you for Labour's sake To fill their lack, Shall true bricklayers waive their Right to Slack?
Never! You'll lay what bricks you choose, And let the others waste their breath, These myriads, ranged in weary queues, Who desperately quote _Macbeth_:-- "Lay on, Macduff, And damned be he that first cries 'Hold, enough'!"