(_To the makers of journalese, and others, from a fastidious reader._)
When I see on a poster
A programme which "features"
CHARLIE CHAPLIN and other
Delectable creatures,
I feel just as if
Someone hit me a slam
Or a strenuous biff
On the mid diaphragm.
When I read in a story,
Though void of offences,
That somebody "glimpses"
Or somebody "senses,"
The chord that is struck
Fills my bosom with ire,
And I'm ready to chuck
The whole book in the fire.
When against any writer
It's urged that he "stresses"
His points, or that something
His fancy "obsesses,"
In awarding his blame
Though the critic be right,
Yet I feel all the same
I could shoot him at sight.
But (worst of these horrors)
Whenever I read
That somebody "voices"
A national need,
As the Bulgars and Greeks
Are abhorred by the Serb,
So I feel toward the freaks
Who employ this vile verb.
* * * * *
"Some of the public men of Rawmarsh have high ambitions for their
township, and at the Council meeting on Wednesday there was
considerable industrial developments immediately after the war."
_Botherham Advertiser_.
Happy Rawmarsh! In our part of the country it is not over yet.
* * * * *
"NAVY Pram. for Sale, good condition." _Provincial Paper_.
Just the thing to prepare baby for being "rocked in the cradle of the
deep."
* * * * *