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62
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
January 27, 1915.


THE MURDERERS.
(Lines addressed to their Master.)

If I were asked what gives me most amaze Among your signs of mental aberration, I should select, from several curious traits, Your lack of commonplace imagination.
You seem to think, if once you win the day, You justify your means; it won't much matter What laws of man you broke to get your way, What rules of chivalry you chose to shatter.
Is that your reading in the glass of Time? And has your swollen head become so rotten That you suppose success could cancel crime, Or murder in its triumph be forgotten?
Man shall not live, O King, by bread alone, Though spiced with blood of innocent lives for leaven; He must have breath of honour round him blown As vital as the very air of Heaven.
What should it serve you, though your end were won And earth were made a mat to wipe your boot on, If every decent race beneath the sun Spits for contempt upon the name of Teuton?O.S.


THE FISH FAMINE

It is only proper that an agitation should be on foot to compel the Government to take measures to prevent a further rise in the cost of bread, the food of the people.

But what is the Government prepared to do to remedy the present deplorable dearth in the food of the people's thinkers—fish?

Scientists, statisticians, fishmongers and other authorities tell us that for the development of the human brain there is nothing to compare with fish. Indeed, one has only to glance at the throng assembled in any popular fish-bar of a night to realise that the people of our country are alive to their need in this respect.

Consider what this shortage of fish must mean in the development of the intellectual life of the people of this country. How can we expect our parcels to be delivered intelligently, our gas-fittings to be adjusted properly, our bulbs to be planted effectively, if our carmen, our plumbers, our jobbing gardeners, and so forth, are deprived of their daily bloater or bloaters, as the case may be?

How can we hope that Mr. H. G. Wells, Mr. Arnold Bennett or even Lord Kitchener himself will continue to guide the nation effectively with the fish course obliterated from the menu?

What is the use of the Poet Laureate to the country if Billingsgate is inactive? And without Billingsgate how can our half-penny morning papers adjust their differences, or illuminating discussion among intellectuals be maintained?

How much longer will The Spectator and The Church Times be worth reading if the present scarcity of fish continues? Is a Hampstead thinkable without halibut?

A marked deterioration has already been noted in the quality of the discourses of the senior curate at one of our suburban churches. We may be capturing trade, and the position of our banks may be wonderfully sound; but against that must be recorded the lamentable fact that in a certain town iu the Home Counties last week only twenty-two people attended a widely announced debate on the subject, "Have Cinema Pictures a more refining influence upon the Poor than Classical Poetry?"



THE BRITISH ARMY.
(As seen from Berlin.)

[The Socialist Vorwärts, which takes considerable pains to correct the mistakes of its contemporaries, solemnly rebukes journals which, it says, have described the Scots Greys as "the Scottish Regiment of the Minister Grey."—The Times.]

The desperate straits of the British are indicated by the statement that it has become necessary for what is called in England the "senior service" to take a hand in recruiting the junior, i.e. the British Army. We learn that the naval gunnery expert, Sir Percy Scott, has raised a regiment known as Scott's Guards.

It illustrates the difficulty which the British have in raising recruits, that the Government, now that it has acquired the railways, is ruthlessly compelling even the older servants to join the army. One section of these men, who hitherto have been occupied with flag and whistle, and have never been mounted in their lives, are being enlisted in a special battalion known as the Horse Guards, while, as the authorities themselves admit, the railways furnish whole regiments of the line. The War Office has even made up a force from the men who drive King George's trains, under the title of the Royal Engineers.

The British commemorate their generals in their regiments. For instance, the name of the Duke of Wellington is carried by the West Riding Regiment, which, as its name indicates, is a cavalry regiment; and the Gordon Highlanders—the Chasseurs Alpins of the British army—were founded to preserve the name of the late General Gordon.

The curious practice of bathing the body in cold water at the beginning of day, which is compulsory in the British army, is an old one, and is said to have been inaugurated by a royal regiment which even to-day commemorates the beginning of the odd habit in its title of Coldstreamers.



THE BELLS OF BERLIN.
(Which are said to be rung by order occasionally to announce some supposed German victory.)

The Bells of Berlin how they hearten the Hun(O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee); No matter what devil's own work has been done They chime a loud chant of approval, each one, Till the people feel sure of their place in the sun (O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee).
If Hindenburg hustles an enemy squad (O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee), The bells all announce that the alien sod Is damp with the death of some thousand men odd, Till the populace smiles with a gratified nod (O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee).
If Tirpitz behaves like a brute on the brine (O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee), The bells with a clash and a clamour combine To hint that the Hated One's on the decline, And the city gulps down the good tidings like wine (O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee).
The Bells of Berlin, are they cracked through and through (O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee), Or deaf to the discord like Germany too? For whether their changes be many or few, The worst of them is that they never ring true (O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee).