Chapter V: From "the Piræus Pictorial."

GET A MOVE ON.

_BY MR. DEMOSTHENES._

[_The brilliant Editor of "Pal Athene," who has been aptly
styled "the leading light of the democracy," contributes what
is perhaps the most wonderful and powerful article which we
have had the pleasure of publishing from his trenchant pen._]

Words won't do it, my friends. We don't want speeches. We want _action_. I ask you to give the Buskers socks. Kick this Chorus of Five Hundred out of the orchestra. Ostrichise the Government! Give them the bird!

If I read my countrymen aright (and who does if I don't?), what they are saying now is, "We must have a definite plan of strong action. We are not going to fight any longer with speeches and despatches." That's the way, Athenians! Good luck to you! Zeus bless you. And the same to you, Tommy Hoplites and Jack Nautes, and many of them! _You_ don't mean PHILIP to be Tyrant of Athens, do you? _You_'re not going to have him turning our beautiful Parthenon into a cavalry stable? _You_'re not going to see the Barbarians hanging up their shields on the dear old statue of Athene. Of course you're not. When I walk through the city and see, as I pass the houses of my humbler brethren, the neat respectable little altars and the good old well-used wine-presses (which I never do without breathing a little prayer, uncantingly, straight from the heart), I say, "It's a foul calumny to pretend that the people are not all right. They are, Zeus bless 'em! All they are waiting for is a lead. And action!"

We've got to have a strong policy, my friends, and my tip to you is--"Trust the Army! Curse the politicians!" It's no use sitting still while ÆSCHINES AND Co. are spouting. You and I, my brothers and sisters, as I'm proud to call you, _we_ don't spout, do we? We mean business! _And PHILIP means business too_! At any moment he may come down on us and devastate our quiet picturesque little demes which we all love so well and get disgustingly drunk on _our_ wine. So give us the word, ÆSCHINES AND Co.--not many words, please, but just _one_ word--and we'll tackle him as he ought to be tackled and put a pinch of Attic salt on his tail. We don't want _this_ PHILIP, but we _do_ want a fillip of our own. Meanwhile, are we downhearted? I _don't_ think.

(_Another powerful philippic by Mr. Demosthenes next week._)

* * * * *

WHAT TO DO WITH OUR PRISONERS.

"Private Jones, V.C., single handed captured 102 Germans;
limited number for sale, best offers; proceeds military
hospital."--_Bazaar_.

* * * * *

"The towing to Madrid of the Greek steamer _Spyros_ lacks
confirmation."--_Daily Telegraph_.

We always had our doubts about the report.

* * * * *

"Nevertheless, though nobody has ever sympathised with the
goose that laid the golden eggs, it is now widely recognized
that it was bad policy to kill him."--_G.B. Shaw in "The
Times_."

Even in War-time, you will notice, "G.B.S." cannot get away from the sex-problem.

* * * * *

FREMDENBLATT.--Mr. Lloyd George will recognise one day that the Allies put their heads in a sling on the day they rejected Germany's terms."--_Daily Paper_.

But we may trust little DAVID to know what to do with a sling.

* * * * *

BRITANNIA CALLS A WAR CONFERENCE OF THE EMPIRE.]

* * * * *

HIS MASTER'S VOICE.

FOR AMERICAN CONSUMPTION.

I am the White House typewriter!
I am the Voice of the People
And then some!
I speak, and the Western Hemisphere attends,
All except Mexico and WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN,
Who has a megaphone of his own.
I am the soul of a great free people!
Hence the _vers libre_
Which breathes the spirit of Democracy
Because anybody can do it.

Who secured a second term of office for my master, President WILSON?
Was it the War or OSWALD GARRISON VILLARD or General HARRISON GRAY OTIS?
It was not.
It was I!
Though the others helped, especially Gen. OTIS.

I am of antiquated design, as invisible as Colonel HOUSE and nearly as
useless as Senator WORKS,
But as my master only works me with one thumb
(For fear of saying something that might have to be explained away)
I do very nicely.
And when it comes to throwing the bull
I am the real Peruvian doughnuts.

I was new once, but obscure,
Wasting my freshness on a _Life of Jefferson_ (extinct)
And a _History of the United States_,
Which by the kindness of the Democratic party and the MCCLURE Syndicate
Is now appearing in dignified segments on the back page of provincial
newspapers
Along with _Dainty Diapers_ and _Why I Love the Movies_, by MARY
PICKFORD.

I am the Defender of Liberties!
Never have I hesitated to tell Germany not to do it again;
Never have I failed to protest in the severest terms when the British
Navy threatened to interfere with business.
Next to Mr. LANSING,
Who is said to use a Blickensderfer,
I am the hottest little protester in Protestville,
And in consequence nobody loves me,
Neither REVENTLOW nor GEORGE SYLVESTER VIERECK nor WILLIAM RANDOLPH
HEARST;
Nor even _The Spectator_,
Which never did like Democrats, anyway.

But now I am the Harbinger of Peace
By special request.
Imperial Germany,
Sated with victory and a shortage of boiled potatoes,
Implores me to save the Entente Powers from utter annihilation,
And the prayer is echoed
By Sir EDGAR SPEYER and the other neutrals.
So my keys tap out the glad message
Of friendship for all and trouble for none.

I ask them what they are fighting about,
And if it is really true that Belgium has been invaded,
And propose that we should all get together and talk it over
Nice and quietly over tea and muffins
And away from all the nasty blood and noise.

Thus I address them,
And humane Germany
Almost falls on my neck in her anxiety to comply with my request;
But the stiff-necked Entente,
With an old-fashioned obstinacy reminiscent of the LINCOLN person at his
worst,
Merely utter joint and several sentiments
The substance and effect of which appear to be
"Nix!"

ALGOL.

* * * * *

_William_. "OH, A GOODISH BIT, BILL."

_Bill_. "WHAT DO YOU CALL A 'GOODISH BIT,' WILLIAM?"

_William_. "WELL, A LONGISH TIME, BILL."

_Bill_. "WELL, WHAT'S THAT WHITE ON THE HILL? IS IT SNOW OR DAISIES?"]

* * * * *

THE ONLY REGRET.

ONCE UPON A TIME.

Once upon a time a man lay dying.

He was dying very much at his ease, for he had had enough of it all.

None the less they brought a priest, who stretched his face a yard long and spoke from his elastic-sided boots.

"This is a solemn moment," said the priest. "But sooner or later it comes to us all. You are fortunate in having all your faculties."

The dying man smiled grimly.

"Is there any wrong that you have done that you wish redressed?" the priest asked.

"None that I can remember," said the dying man.

"But you are sorry for such wrong as you have done?"

"I don't know that I am," said the dying man. "I was a very poor hand at doing wrong. But there are some so-called good deeds that I could wish undone which are still bearing evil fruit."

The priest looked pained. "But you would not hold that you have not been wicked?" he said.

"Not conspicuously enough to worry about," replied the other. "Most of my excursions into what you would call wickedness were merely attempts to learn more about this wonderful world into which we are projected. It's largely a matter of temperament, and I've been more attracted by the gentle things than the desperate. Strange as you may think it, I die without fear."

"But surely there are matters for regret in your life?" the priest, who was a conscientious man, inquired earnestly.

"Ah!" said the dying man. "Regret? That's another matter. Have I no occasion for regret? Have I not? Have I not?"

The priest cheered up. "For opportunities lost," he said. "The lost opportunities--how sad a theme, how melancholy a retrospect! Tell me of them."

"I said nothing about lost opportunities," the dying man replied; "I said that there was much to regret, and there is; but there were no opportunities that in this particular I neglected. They simply did not present themselves often enough."

"Tell me of this sorrow," said the priest. "Perhaps I may be able to comfort you."

The dying man again smiled his grim smile. "My greatest regret," he said, "and one, unhappily, that could never be remedied, even if I lived to be a thousand, is--"

"Yes, yes," said the priest, leaning nearer.

"Is," said the dying man, "that I have known so few children."

* * * * *

_Officer._ "WELL, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?"

_Sentry._ "I COULDN'T TELL YOU, SIR, I'M SURE. I'M A STRANGER HERE MYSELF."]

* * * * *

"ABSENTEE ARRESTED.

Sergeant Storr stated that he saw Shann on a lighter in the
Old Harbour. He failed to produce his registration card and
could offer no reason why he had not reported for service.
Subsequently he said he was 422 years of age."--_Hull Daily
News_.

Passed for centenarian duty.

* * * * *

"Wanted, strong Boy, about 14, for milk cart; to live
in."--_Provincial Paper_.

He will at least have the advantage of living close to his work.

* * * * *

"THE BHAKTHI MARGA PRASANGA SABHA.--At Nagappa Chetty Pillayar
Vasantha Mantapam, 322 Thumbu Chetty Street, Georgetown,
to-morrow 4 P.M. Bramhasri Mangudi Chidambara Bhagavathar will
give a harikatha on 'Pittukkumansuman tha Thiruvilayadal.'"
--_Madras Paper_.

We like the words and should be glad to hear the tune.

* * * * *

NURSERY RHYMES OF LONDON TOWN.

(SECOND SERIES.)