THE PESSIPHONE.
It is weary work being a pessimist these days, for the process of corrugating the brow and groaning at the War news must of necessity entail much energy. For some time past it has been patent to sympathetic observers that what the pessimist to-day really needs is a machine to do the work for him.
To meet this want the Electrophobia Syndicate have invented the Pessiphone—a mixture of gramophone and pessimist—believing that he who to-day can make two whimpers grow where one grew before deserves well of his country in war time. With the Pessiphone there is now absolutely no excuse for cheerfulness. It is the marvel of the age, and has very fittingly been described as worth a guinea a groan. With one pint of petrol the Pessiphone will disseminate more depression throughout the household in ten minutes than could be accomplished in a day by thirty human pessimists.
As soon as people commence to be cheerful all you have to do is to press the button and hold on to something. A child can start it but nobody can stop it. Ten minutes is all that is sufficient to give a whole family melancholia or creeping dyspepsia. It has been known to be fatal at 200 yards' range. Messrs. Wilkie Bard and George Graves have already offered a heavy reward for the body dead or alive of the inventor—a fact which speaks highly for the machine and its maker.
When the instrument was first tried on a select party of confirmed optimists two of them rushed out of the office and have not been heard of since, while the others clawed savagely at the office mat.
No burglar will go near it. It will drive away rate-collectors and poor relations. One client has already used it on his mother-in-law with favourable results.
The Pessiphone is fitted with a little oil-bath, all black fittings, self-starting lever, Stormy Arthur two-speed gear, thus rendering it easy of change from "Mildly Miserable" to "Devastating," and the whole is packed complete with accessories and delivered carriage free to your back garden, where it may be let loose.
The following letters from grateful pessimists—all involuntary contributions—speak for themselves:—
Gentlemen,—For years I have been troubled with ginger hair, but since using the Pessiphone I have had the beastly stuff turn grey.
Dear Sirs,—I used to read The Moaning Herald aloud each morning, but I now use the Pessiphone with more deadly effect.
Householder writes: Please turn the Pessiphone off at the main. None of my family has been able to get near the house for five days.
Golder's Green says: The other day the butcher's boy, cheerful as usual, was coming up the garden path whistling, and though it may hardly seem credible this so affected the Pessiphone that it actually jumped off the table and bit the boy.