THE BULLDOG BREED.

THE BULLDOG BREED.Sportsman(whose opponent has just achieved the hole in one). "This for a half!"

Sportsman(whose opponent has just achieved the hole in one). "This for a half!"

[A daily paper states that very few housewives will be able to indulge in the luxury of Spring cleaning this year owing to the enormous increase in the cost of materials and labour.]

Sing!I will make me a song about Spring;I will write with delight of the brightness in store;I will sing of a Spring never dreamed of before,A Spring with a new and more beautiful meaning,A season of reason, a Spring without cleaning,A Spring without painters, a Spring without pain,A Spring that for once will not drive me insane.I lift up my voice and rejoice at this thing,This excellent Spring.DiWill in all probability cry;She will rave at the news and refuse with disgust;She will say that shemusthave a thrust at the dust;But I know what I'm saying,We've got to go slow;Wecan'tgo on paying—Spring-cleaning must go.It's the knell of the mop and the doom of the broom;We cannot afford to do even one room;If she wants her own way I shall say with a frown,"It's too dear, and I fear, until prices come down,We must try and deny ourselves this little thing."Magnificent Spring!I'mGoing to have a delectable time;Though in previous years I've been hustled about,And they've driven me mad till I had to go out,Without flurry or worry this year I shall stayAnd know just where to look for my book ev'ry day;It's the finest of schemes;It's a blessing, a miracle;Spring of my dreams,I can'thelpgrowing lyricalOver this quite unbelievable thing—Glorious Spring!ThisIs a song of unqualified bliss;I have never sung quite such a song in my life;I have nothing but jeers for the tears of my wife;She may moan, she may groan, she may weep and grow wild,But the Spring shall remain undisturbed, undefiled,Spring with a new and more beautiful meaning,Spring as it ought to be, Spring without cleaning;Halcyon days!Oh, let us raiseShouts of thanksgiving and pæans of praise.Join me, O men. Bound the world let it ring—ExquisiteSpring!

Sing!

I will make me a song about Spring;

I will write with delight of the brightness in store;

I will sing of a Spring never dreamed of before,

A Spring with a new and more beautiful meaning,

A season of reason, a Spring without cleaning,

A Spring without painters, a Spring without pain,

A Spring that for once will not drive me insane.

I lift up my voice and rejoice at this thing,

This excellent Spring.

DiWill in all probability cry;She will rave at the news and refuse with disgust;She will say that shemusthave a thrust at the dust;But I know what I'm saying,We've got to go slow;Wecan'tgo on paying—Spring-cleaning must go.It's the knell of the mop and the doom of the broom;We cannot afford to do even one room;If she wants her own way I shall say with a frown,"It's too dear, and I fear, until prices come down,We must try and deny ourselves this little thing."Magnificent Spring!

Will in all probability cry;

She will rave at the news and refuse with disgust;

She will say that shemusthave a thrust at the dust;

But I know what I'm saying,

We've got to go slow;

Wecan'tgo on paying—

Spring-cleaning must go.

It's the knell of the mop and the doom of the broom;

We cannot afford to do even one room;

If she wants her own way I shall say with a frown,

"It's too dear, and I fear, until prices come down,

We must try and deny ourselves this little thing."

Magnificent Spring!

I'mGoing to have a delectable time;Though in previous years I've been hustled about,And they've driven me mad till I had to go out,Without flurry or worry this year I shall stayAnd know just where to look for my book ev'ry day;It's the finest of schemes;It's a blessing, a miracle;Spring of my dreams,I can'thelpgrowing lyricalOver this quite unbelievable thing—Glorious Spring!

I'm

Going to have a delectable time;

Though in previous years I've been hustled about,

And they've driven me mad till I had to go out,

Without flurry or worry this year I shall stay

And know just where to look for my book ev'ry day;

It's the finest of schemes;

It's a blessing, a miracle;

Spring of my dreams,

I can'thelpgrowing lyrical

Over this quite unbelievable thing—

Glorious Spring!

ThisIs a song of unqualified bliss;I have never sung quite such a song in my life;I have nothing but jeers for the tears of my wife;She may moan, she may groan, she may weep and grow wild,But the Spring shall remain undisturbed, undefiled,Spring with a new and more beautiful meaning,Spring as it ought to be, Spring without cleaning;Halcyon days!Oh, let us raiseShouts of thanksgiving and pæans of praise.Join me, O men. Bound the world let it ring—ExquisiteSpring!

This

Is a song of unqualified bliss;

I have never sung quite such a song in my life;

I have nothing but jeers for the tears of my wife;

She may moan, she may groan, she may weep and grow wild,

But the Spring shall remain undisturbed, undefiled,

Spring with a new and more beautiful meaning,

Spring as it ought to be, Spring without cleaning;

Halcyon days!

Oh, let us raise

Shouts of thanksgiving and pæans of praise.

Join me, O men. Bound the world let it ring—

ExquisiteSpring!

"The Town Clerk said that Kilkenny coal, or coal raised elsewhere in Ireland, was uncontrollable."—Irish Paper.

Like most other things in that country.

"Customers in London.—Hardly creditable, yet true; we satisfy them; let us satisfy you. —— Laundry."—Scotch Paper.

On the contrary, we think it most creditable.

OCCASIONAL COMRADES.Mr. Asquith."AS I WAS SAYING THE OTHER DAY, 'THERE ARE MANY ROADS WE CAN TRAVEL SIDE BY SIDE.' THIS IS ONE OF THEM."Labour."AH! AND AS YOU WERE ALSO SAYING ON VARIOUS OTHER OCCASIONS—'WAIT AND SEE.'"

Mr. Asquith."AS I WAS SAYING THE OTHER DAY, 'THERE ARE MANY ROADS WE CAN TRAVEL SIDE BY SIDE.' THIS IS ONE OF THEM."

Labour."AH! AND AS YOU WERE ALSO SAYING ON VARIOUS OTHER OCCASIONS—'WAIT AND SEE.'"

Monday, March 22nd.—As if the condition of Ireland were not bad enough, Mr.Clem Edwardssought to make our flesh creep by asking whether the Government had information that risings had been planned for Easter Monday, not only in that country but in Liverpool, Manchester and Glasgow as well. ThePrime Ministerdeclined to answer the question, and was manifestly relieved when Mr.Jack Jones, with great tact, changed the subject by asking if a white blackbird had been caught that morning on Hackney Marshes.

IT IS UNDERSTOOD THAT MR. NEIL MACLEAN AND MR. DAN IRVING HAVE DECIDED TO BOYCOTT THE HAIR-CUTTING INDUSTRY PENDING ITS NATIONALISATION.

LordWintertonand the other "Young Turks" were again inquisitive about the suppressed report of the alleged Greek outrages at Smyrna, until Mr.Lloyd Georgeput an end to the catechism with the remark that "Even Christians are entitled to a fair trial."

Chafing under the accusation that the trade unions are largely responsible for preventing ex-Service men from obtaining employment the Labour Party pressed thePrime Ministerto produce his evidence. To-day they got it, in stacks. All the unions, in principle, are in favour of training disabled men, but in practice most of them require that a workman shall have worked at his craft for from three to six years before being admitted to their ranks. "You have fought for us, but you shall not work for us" is their attitude.

On the Army Estimates SirSamuel Scottpleaded for the formation of an Imperial General Staff. Even in peace-time there were plenty of problems to be solved. We should never be really at peace, moreover, so long as there were tribes on our frontiers who looked upon war as an amusement and a pastime, "as hon. Members look upon golf." Surely this is to underestimate the devotion of our earnest golfers. Judging by the condition of the links on Sunday I should say some of them look upon it as a religion.

Mr.Neil Macleanpretended not to understand why we wanted an army at all. Was not the last war "a war to end war"? But his main point—in which he will be surprised to find many quite respectable people agreeing with him—is that it should not be officered from one class. Mr.Macleanis not so revolutionary as he thinks himself. The most insurgent thing about him is his hair, and even that is not more rebellious than Mr.Dan Irving's.

The Addison Bird."Beautiful spring weather, John."John Bullfinch."Yes, my dear. But you don't seriously mean to start building—what?"

The Addison Bird."Beautiful spring weather, John."

John Bullfinch."Yes, my dear. But you don't seriously mean to start building—what?"

Tuesday, March 23rd.—LordPeelwas evidently surprised at the amount of opposition encountered by the Silver Coinage Bill. Having a specimen of the new shilling in his pocket he himself was feeling particularly bobbish, and could not understand the gloomy vaticinations of LordBuckmasterand LordSalisburyas to what might happen in West Africa and elsewhere if we depreciated our currency. But his usual self-confidence so far deserted him that he confessed that he could not "answer for the whole of the British Empire at a moment's notice."

TheLord Chancellorrefused to accept LordBalfour of Burleigh'sproposal to abolish the D.O.R.A. regulation forbidding the sale of confectionery in theatres, on the ground that it would be unfair to the ordinary shops to allow this competition, and that the business of the theatre was to supply drama not chocolate. LordBalfourwas unconvinced. His imagination boggled at the thought of a Scotsman, at any rate, paying for a seat in a theatre in order to purchase a shilling's worth of "sweeties."

The House of Commons has a childlike sense of humour. There is nothing that it enjoys more than to have a Minister struggling with the pronunciation of some outlandish place-name. When, therefore, Mr.Illingworth, posed with the deficiencies of the mail service to Bryngwran and Gwalchmai, made a gallant but ineffectual effort to get over the first obstacle and evaded the second by calling it "the other place," Members roared with delighted laughter.

In the further debate on the Army Estimates a good deal was said about the unfortunate events in Ireland. Mr.T. P. O'Connorhad the grace to withdraw some of the unfortunate insinuations against the conduct of the British soldiers into which he had been betrayed the day before, but Messrs.KenworthyandMalonerepeated them with additions of their own, and incurred thereby a castigation from Mr.Churchillwhich the House cordially approved.

The Coal Mines (Emergency) Bill was read a third time. On behalf of the Labour Party, Mr.Adamsondeclared that the profits of the coal industry must be "pooled"—a proposition which would command general approval if there seemed any likelihood that consumers would receive a share of the pool.

Wednesday, March 24th.—SinceDisraelistartled a scientific meeting by declaring himself to be "on the side of the angels" there has been no more remarkable piece of self-revelation than LordBirkenhead'sdefence of the Matrimonial Causes Bill. It was not so much his wealth ofecclesiastical lore or the impassioned appeal that he made for the victims of the present divorce law that impressed the Peers as the high line that he took in condemning the opponents of the measure. He as good as told the occupants of the Episcopal Bench that their view of marriage was lacking in spirituality. The Archbishop ofCanterburywas so dumbfounded by the accusation that he meekly confessed himself unable to follow theLord Chancellor'sreligious arguments. LordSalisburydisplayed more pugnacity in a reassertion of views that had been described as "mediæval superstition." But the Peers preferred the Use of Birkenhead to the Use of Sarum, and gave the Bill a Second Reading by a two-to-one majority.

ThePostmaster-General, Mr.Illingworth(after some unsuccessful attempts to ring up thePrime Ministerfor particulars about the pronunciation of Gwalchmai). "Ah well, if I can't get on to David within the next half-hour I must content myself with calling it 'the other place.'" [Does so.]

In the course of the debate LordBuckmasterexpressed his regret that so effective an orator as the Archbishop ofYorkshould have deserted the Law for the Church. After this afternoon's display I could not help wondering what would have happened if "F. E.'s" call had been to the Church instead of the Bar, and whether a shovel-hat would not have suited him even better than a wig.

Members who display a friendly interest in the revival of German trade were gratified to learn that the clock-manufacturers, at any rate, are taking time by the forelock and are already sending their goods to this country. So far are they, moreover, from cherishing animosity or desiring to magnify the Fatherland that they modestly label them "Westminster Chimes." It is pleasant to record that the Board of Trade, exhibiting the same spirit of self-abnegation, has insisted on substituting the time-honoured inscription, "Made in Germany."

THE RIGHT REVEREND THE LORD BISHOP OF BIRKENHEAD.

It is a mistake to suppose that there are no limits to the ambition of theGeddesfamily. "I never wanted air-transport," said SirEricthis afternoon, and later on he expressly disclaimed the megalomania which had been attributed to him "by those best able to diagnose the disease." He is certainly coming on as a Parliamentary speaker, and gave an informing and, on the whole, hopeful account of the work of the railways in promoting reconstruction.

Thursday, March 25th.—ThePrime Ministerwas rather husky this afternoon. He had been having a strenuous time with the miners and possibly some of the coal-dust had got into his throat. But his spirit is unabated, and he flatly refused to withdraw his charge that the trade unions, by refusing to modify their regulations, are holding up the building industry.

In connection with the proposal to raise the Tube fares, Mr.Will Thorneinquired whether this would not mean an increase of two pounds a week in the expenditure of some families, and, on the figure being challenged, said that it was quite correct, for one of the families was his own. Members entered into rapid calculations on their Order Papers with the view of discovering how many olive-branches had sprung from thisThorne.

After Mr.Asquith's"prave 'orts" at the National Liberal Club the mildness of his criticism upon the Government's foreign policy sadly disappointed his more ardent supporters. His only concrete suggestion was that we should surrender our mandate for Mesopotamia and retire to the coast, and this did not meet with much approval.

The train ran into Victoria Station and pandemonium.

A struggling mass of people trying to get out, another mass trying to get in; everybody pushing and muttering, grunting and groaning; and above all the howling of the Specially Selected Band of Hustlers in their now famous and unpopular performance:—

"'Urry up off the car, please.Waittill they're all off. Move right down the centre, please. Wot are you doin' there? Come orf it if you're comin' orf. Get a move on, please. 'Urry up on board. Come on there.Right behind."

A siren shrilled and we were moving again.

"Can't you set the kid down, Mother?" said a voice. "You can't carry her like that. Be quiet, 'Enry, will you."

I managed to struggle out of my seat.

"Thank you, Sir," said the man. "Sit down, Em'ly. That's better. Now you can 'old the kid. Shut up, 'Enry, will you?"

I looked for Henry and found him wedged in a forest of legs.

"I think he's afraid of being trodden on," I said.

We managed, with some effort, to extract the child and make him a little more comfortable. His father turned with a sigh of relief to me.

"Awful business travellin' with kids nowadays, ain't it?" he said.

"I can quite believe it," I said.

"Bad enough anywhere," he went on, "but on this line—well—and they stick up placards tellin' you to be patient. Patient! With a wife and two kids, and them young jackanapes at Victoria a-howling at you all the time. If there's one thing I 'ate it's bein' 'ustled." He laughed resentfully. "'Come on, get a move on.' 'Jump to it!' Shoutin' and howlin' till you don't know whether you're gettin' on or gettin' orf. Anybody'd think we was a lot of blinkin' animals."

Something clicked inside my head (I hesitate to suggest what) and the carriage and the swaying people went out of focus.

There was a little squad of soldiers piling arms.

"Stand clear," said the subaltern in charge.

"Stand at—ease. Stand easy. Carry on, Sergeant."

The P.T. Instructor came forward.

"Now, lads," he said briskly, "take off your equipment and your tunicsand puttees and roll up your sleeves. And while you're doin' it listen to your Uncle Brown, who's goin' to give things away.

"I 'aven't took any of you lads before—(come along there, my son; we ain't syncopatin' the movements)—but I'm told you're all B.E.F. men. Well then, I expect you think you know something. So you do. You know what a Jerry looks like and what a Whizzbang sounds like. But that ain't much. You don't know me. 'Ave a good look at me. You'll 'ear what Isoundlike in a minute."

He paused for effect and breath.

"Now you 'ave 'ad a look at me you'll know me. Not the Apollo Belgravia, but just plain Brown—Mrs. Brown's old man—that's me; and thank 'Eaven it's 'im you've got to deal with and not Mr. Brown's old woman. Now we'll get to work, lads, and 'ustle's the word."

He moved away a few paces.

"When I say 'Round me nip,'" he shouted, "I want to see a cloud of dust and a livin' statue. Round me—Nip!"

There was boxing.

"'It 'im," yelled Brown; "you ain't doin' a foxtrot! Bite 'is ear orf! Make 'is nose bleed!"

Their noses bled.

There were bayonet charges on stuffed sacks.

"Kick 'em," roared Brown, leaping round like a dervish; "make faces at 'em! I want to see ye getting uglier every minute."

They grew uglier.

Half-an-hour later the squad, limp and perspiring, lay down for a rest.

"Well, you've not done too bad," said Brown; "you're all breathin', anyway. Get dressed now, and don't be 'alf-an-hour at it. Don't forget, my lads, 'ustle's the word what makes such men as me—and you too by the time I've finished with you. I'll make it a bit stiffer to-morrow."

He strolled off.

A voice arose from the squad:—

"Anybody'd think we was a lot of blinkin' animals."

I came back suddenly to the carriage and the crush.

"So you've altered your ideas about hustling?" I said.

"Altered them? Why?"

"Well," I said, "I can remember a day when Mrs. Brown's old man——"

"Why, Sir, you mean to say——"

"I do," I said.

And after a time:—

"Well, good-bye, Sergeant. Awfully glad to have seen you again, and to know you don't like being hustled any more than we did."

He laughed.

"One for you, Sir," he said. "But after all you was carrying a rifle, not a bloomin' baby."

Old Gentleman."Is that your baby?"Little Girl."No, Sir, it ain't ourn. We ain't 'ad none since me."

Old Gentleman."Is that your baby?"

Little Girl."No, Sir, it ain't ourn. We ain't 'ad none since me."

"Visit of 10 Wesleyan Ministers.—— Wesleyan Church.'Is happiness possible to-day?'"Provincial Paper.

"Visit of 10 Wesleyan Ministers.

—— Wesleyan Church.

'Is happiness possible to-day?'"

Provincial Paper.

"Nursery Governess to go to Jamaica early May; two boys ages seven and four; one able to give first lessons and music."—Times.

Then why can't he teach the other?

"A UNIQUE OPPORTUNITY.

Exceptional Purchase of —— Cigars. Weight about 1½ lbs. Length 5 inches."Advt. in Evening Paper.

Exceptional Purchase of —— Cigars. Weight about 1½ lbs. Length 5 inches."

Advt. in Evening Paper.

But only suitable, we should imagine, for very heavy smokers.

"Ex-Government Bedside Tables, make Boat Cupboards, Safes, Bookcases, Wash-stands, etc., not large enough to live in."Provincial Paper.

"Ex-Government Bedside Tables, make Boat Cupboards, Safes, Bookcases, Wash-stands, etc., not large enough to live in."

Provincial Paper.

Not a solution of the housing problem after all.

Head of the House."Don't think I'm complaining, Emma. I know I can't afford to buy new clothes, and don't in the least object to having Wilfrid's trousers cut down to fit me; but the bag of the knee makes them fall so awkward at the ankle."

[According to Mr.W. G. Faulkner, who has recently interviewedCharlie Chaplinat Los Angeles, the great film comedian chiefly reads serious books on philosophy and social problems, being specially interested in the prices of food and clothing. Romantic novels have no attraction for him, and it is nonsense to say that he ever hoped to playHamlet, for "he does not like Shakespeare, whose works neither entertain nor interest him."]

There is bitter grief at Stratford, on the silver Avon's marge,Where the cult ofWilliam Shakespeareis extremely fine and large,For across the broad Atlantic comes the petrifying newsThat the greatest film comedian does not care forWilliam'sMuse.Serious problems—economics and the price of margarine—Occupy the hours of leisure that he snatches from the screen;But the works ofWilliam Shakespearehe dismisses as inane,And he harbours no ambition to enact the princely Dane.This momentous revelation, little birds reveal to me,Has produced a spasm of anguish in the heart ofSidney Lee;Wails arise fromHenry Ainley,Benson,LangandMoscovitch,Though so far no word of protest emanates fromLittle Tich.Still, by way of compensation for this ruthless turning downOf the chief Elizabethan by a neo-Georgian clown,'Tis averred thatStoll(SirOswald), in a life of storm and stress,Finds distraction from his labours in the works ofWilliam S.In this context I may notice that the "consequential"KeynesFrom an economic survey of the cinema abstains;But this curious lacuna does not prove that he has missedCharlie Chaplin'strue importance as a sociologist.All the same, good ViscountMorleyis, we are prepared to state,Unaware of the existence of the peerlessHarry Tate;And the name ofMary Pickforddoesn't palpably conveyAny sort of connotation to the mind of ViscountGrey.This is much to be regretted, but I'm not without the hopeThat our publicists and statesmen may enlarge their mental scopeBy frequenting entertainments where the pleased spectators rockAt the antics ofGeorge Robeyor the drolleries ofGrock.So, conversely,Charlie Chaplin, in a later, mellower phase,May attain to the enjoyment of Elizabethan plays,And, when economic problems on his jaded palate pall,Recognise that there is something in ourWilliamafter all.

There is bitter grief at Stratford, on the silver Avon's marge,

Where the cult ofWilliam Shakespeareis extremely fine and large,

For across the broad Atlantic comes the petrifying news

That the greatest film comedian does not care forWilliam'sMuse.

Serious problems—economics and the price of margarine—Occupy the hours of leisure that he snatches from the screen;But the works ofWilliam Shakespearehe dismisses as inane,And he harbours no ambition to enact the princely Dane.

Serious problems—economics and the price of margarine—

Occupy the hours of leisure that he snatches from the screen;

But the works ofWilliam Shakespearehe dismisses as inane,

And he harbours no ambition to enact the princely Dane.

This momentous revelation, little birds reveal to me,Has produced a spasm of anguish in the heart ofSidney Lee;Wails arise fromHenry Ainley,Benson,LangandMoscovitch,Though so far no word of protest emanates fromLittle Tich.

This momentous revelation, little birds reveal to me,

Has produced a spasm of anguish in the heart ofSidney Lee;

Wails arise fromHenry Ainley,Benson,LangandMoscovitch,

Though so far no word of protest emanates fromLittle Tich.

Still, by way of compensation for this ruthless turning downOf the chief Elizabethan by a neo-Georgian clown,'Tis averred thatStoll(SirOswald), in a life of storm and stress,Finds distraction from his labours in the works ofWilliam S.

Still, by way of compensation for this ruthless turning down

Of the chief Elizabethan by a neo-Georgian clown,

'Tis averred thatStoll(SirOswald), in a life of storm and stress,

Finds distraction from his labours in the works ofWilliam S.

In this context I may notice that the "consequential"KeynesFrom an economic survey of the cinema abstains;But this curious lacuna does not prove that he has missedCharlie Chaplin'strue importance as a sociologist.

In this context I may notice that the "consequential"Keynes

From an economic survey of the cinema abstains;

But this curious lacuna does not prove that he has missed

Charlie Chaplin'strue importance as a sociologist.

All the same, good ViscountMorleyis, we are prepared to state,Unaware of the existence of the peerlessHarry Tate;And the name ofMary Pickforddoesn't palpably conveyAny sort of connotation to the mind of ViscountGrey.

All the same, good ViscountMorleyis, we are prepared to state,

Unaware of the existence of the peerlessHarry Tate;

And the name ofMary Pickforddoesn't palpably convey

Any sort of connotation to the mind of ViscountGrey.

This is much to be regretted, but I'm not without the hopeThat our publicists and statesmen may enlarge their mental scopeBy frequenting entertainments where the pleased spectators rockAt the antics ofGeorge Robeyor the drolleries ofGrock.

This is much to be regretted, but I'm not without the hope

That our publicists and statesmen may enlarge their mental scope

By frequenting entertainments where the pleased spectators rock

At the antics ofGeorge Robeyor the drolleries ofGrock.

So, conversely,Charlie Chaplin, in a later, mellower phase,May attain to the enjoyment of Elizabethan plays,And, when economic problems on his jaded palate pall,Recognise that there is something in ourWilliamafter all.

So, conversely,Charlie Chaplin, in a later, mellower phase,

May attain to the enjoyment of Elizabethan plays,

And, when economic problems on his jaded palate pall,

Recognise that there is something in ourWilliamafter all.

Extract from a lover's letter, read recently in court:—

"I see those self-same eyes, which are my own love's, looking at each other with all that tenderness with which they once looked into mine."—Provincial Paper.

It would appear that the object of his affections suffered from some obliquity of vision.

As one of family—cat(lady), elderly; would give slight services (mousing, etc.) in return for comfortable home. No dogs. Highest refs. Strictest confidence.

Parrotseeks sit. with refined conversationalists. Eighty years in last place. Cause of leaving, death of owner.

Rabbit.—Quiet, domesticated, with family of nine, wishes to find home with vegetarians. Sleep out.

Dog, young, seeks home in cheerful family. Well-bred society. Children not objected to. Liberal table and good outings necessary.

Pony, no longer young, quiet tastes, is seeking post with family where motor is kept.

Sow, eleven encumbrances, wishes to board with Jewish family. Liberal table.

Lonelygoldfish would like to meet with another similarly situated. View to partnership.

Donkey, at present in seaside town, wishes post inland during holiday months. Suitable for bed-ridden invalid.

Canary, powerful notes, enthusiastic singer, seeks board-residence with musical family.

Homes from home—Cuckooscoming England in April desire addresses of well-appointed nests for depositing eggs. Personally investigated.

Au pair—Robin, having maisonette larger than he requires (flower-pot), would like to find another to share it.

Cockerel, early riser, smart, good appearance, seeks sit. in country house. Preference for one with home-farm immediately adjacent.

Pet lamb, the property of butcher's daughter, desires home with humane gentlewomen.

Spaniel, field, rather stout but pleasing appearance, is giving up country pursuits owing to difference with game-keeper. Would join lady in carriage drives and meals.

Pekinese, noble birth, would go as companion in Ducal family living in good neighbourhood. Carriage. No knowledge of Chinese required.

"I'm looking for my mother. Has she been in here? I know she went to buy a chicken, but I don't know if you're her chicken butcher."

I'm looking for my mother. Has she been in here? I know she went to buy a chicken, but I don't know if you're her chicken butcher."

Sir Auckland Geddes and Other Problems."Canadian Gazette.

Sir Auckland Geddes and Other Problems."

Canadian Gazette.

But we understand that the late President of the Board of Trade is no longer a problem. The last thing he did before leaving office was to issue a licence for his own exportation.

"Details of the distribution of the payments to soldiers' wives in lieu of separation allowances have not yet been finally approved, but the amount is to be made up to 3s. a day. Sir James Allen told a Post reporter this morning; in reply ants and 2nd lieutenants would share in the distribution."New Zealand Paper."The Defence Minister was asked by Mr. G. Witty if he would extend the payment of gratuities on behalf of deceased soldiers to sisters and cousins when the soldier had made a will to that effect."—Same paper, later.

New Zealand Paper.

"The Defence Minister was asked by Mr. G. Witty if he would extend the payment of gratuities on behalf of deceased soldiers to sisters and cousins when the soldier had made a will to that effect."—Same paper, later.

The reason why Mr.Witty'ssolicitude was limited to the sisters and cousins evidently was that the ants had been already provided for.

"Sir Oliver's personality is like that of one of the prophets of old. Venerable, white of beard and what scanty locks of hair remain, a dome-like head, over six feet in height."Boston Herald.

"Sir Oliver's personality is like that of one of the prophets of old. Venerable, white of beard and what scanty locks of hair remain, a dome-like head, over six feet in height."

Boston Herald.

This must be the result of the American atmosphere, as we are quite certain that the last time we saw SirOliverhis head was not an inch over three feet in height.

India, 1920.

"I'm goin' home," said Hennessey, "for I've been East too long;I want the English hedges an' fields an' the English thrush's song,An' the honest English faces an' never nobody black;It's home for mine," said Hennessey, "so it's down your tents and pack.It'll pass out hereFor a month or a year,But not for a lifetime—no dam fear.I want my folks," said Hennessey, "an' I'm jolly well goin' back."ButIsaid, "Home's gone different an' I've somehow lost the touch,An' nobody's written for fifty years, sothey're not worryin' much;An' I like it here; I love it." Says Hennessey, "Well, I'm shot!Would ye die an' be buried in India?" "Well, Natty," says I, "why not?""East Africa, then," said Hennessey; "it's a promisin' place is that—Money to make an' jobs galore, easy an' rich an' fat;An' think of the ridin' an' shootin' an' the camp an' the trekkin' too;You've no ties," said Hennessey; "it's the place for a chap like you.There's a grand careerFor a pioneer,Which is more than ever you'll see out here.East Africa's it," said Hennessey, "if the half they say is true."ButIsaid, "Blow East Africa an' slavin' yourself all day;I'm an idle man—bone idle—with a little bit saved away,An' I like them palm-tree beaches an' the warm blue sunlit sea;East India, yes, an' welcome, but East Africa—no, not me.""Well, Palestine," said Hennessey; but I cut him short and sweet,An' "Natty," I said, "I've heard it all an' I don't want to repeat—Jerusalem or Mombasa, Tahiti or Timbuctoo,Or careers an' pioneerin' an' the rest of it all—nah poo!It's no good, Nat,For I tell you flatI've cottoned to India an' that's just that;Bus hogeva; all done—finish; I'm here till the trees turn blue,For I love them early mornings, shiny an' clear an' grey,An' I love the cool o' the evening when the temple drummers play,An' the long, long, lazy afternoons, when the whole creation sleeps—Quit it? Old man, I couldn't; I'm India's now for keeps."So Hennessey, you go home," I says, "an' see to the wife an' kid.""You'll follow me there one day," says he, an' I says, "Heaven forbid!I'll just be goin' about an' about an' keepin' an open mindAn' sometimes doin' a job o' work, but not if I'm not inclined;An' I won't careIf I'm here or there,Jungle or forest or feast or fair;I'll take it all as it comes along, as the Maker o' things designed;I'll tramp it North to the Kashmir hills an' South to the Nilgiris;I'll find my friends as I find my fun—and that's where I dam well please;An' never nosamanor houses or taxes or servants to send things wrong.""It wouldn't suit me," said Hennessey. "It wouldn't," says I. "So long!"

"I'm goin' home," said Hennessey, "for I've been East too long;

I want the English hedges an' fields an' the English thrush's song,

An' the honest English faces an' never nobody black;

It's home for mine," said Hennessey, "so it's down your tents and pack.

It'll pass out here

For a month or a year,

But not for a lifetime—no dam fear.

I want my folks," said Hennessey, "an' I'm jolly well goin' back."

ButIsaid, "Home's gone different an' I've somehow lost the touch,

An' nobody's written for fifty years, sothey're not worryin' much;

An' I like it here; I love it." Says Hennessey, "Well, I'm shot!

Would ye die an' be buried in India?" "Well, Natty," says I, "why not?"

"East Africa, then," said Hennessey; "it's a promisin' place is that—Money to make an' jobs galore, easy an' rich an' fat;An' think of the ridin' an' shootin' an' the camp an' the trekkin' too;You've no ties," said Hennessey; "it's the place for a chap like you.There's a grand careerFor a pioneer,Which is more than ever you'll see out here.East Africa's it," said Hennessey, "if the half they say is true."ButIsaid, "Blow East Africa an' slavin' yourself all day;I'm an idle man—bone idle—with a little bit saved away,An' I like them palm-tree beaches an' the warm blue sunlit sea;East India, yes, an' welcome, but East Africa—no, not me."

"East Africa, then," said Hennessey; "it's a promisin' place is that—

Money to make an' jobs galore, easy an' rich an' fat;

An' think of the ridin' an' shootin' an' the camp an' the trekkin' too;

You've no ties," said Hennessey; "it's the place for a chap like you.

There's a grand career

For a pioneer,

Which is more than ever you'll see out here.

East Africa's it," said Hennessey, "if the half they say is true."

ButIsaid, "Blow East Africa an' slavin' yourself all day;

I'm an idle man—bone idle—with a little bit saved away,

An' I like them palm-tree beaches an' the warm blue sunlit sea;

East India, yes, an' welcome, but East Africa—no, not me."

"Well, Palestine," said Hennessey; but I cut him short and sweet,An' "Natty," I said, "I've heard it all an' I don't want to repeat—Jerusalem or Mombasa, Tahiti or Timbuctoo,Or careers an' pioneerin' an' the rest of it all—nah poo!It's no good, Nat,For I tell you flatI've cottoned to India an' that's just that;Bus hogeva; all done—finish; I'm here till the trees turn blue,For I love them early mornings, shiny an' clear an' grey,An' I love the cool o' the evening when the temple drummers play,An' the long, long, lazy afternoons, when the whole creation sleeps—Quit it? Old man, I couldn't; I'm India's now for keeps.

"Well, Palestine," said Hennessey; but I cut him short and sweet,

An' "Natty," I said, "I've heard it all an' I don't want to repeat—

Jerusalem or Mombasa, Tahiti or Timbuctoo,

Or careers an' pioneerin' an' the rest of it all—nah poo!

It's no good, Nat,

For I tell you flat

I've cottoned to India an' that's just that;

Bus hogeva; all done—finish; I'm here till the trees turn blue,

For I love them early mornings, shiny an' clear an' grey,

An' I love the cool o' the evening when the temple drummers play,

An' the long, long, lazy afternoons, when the whole creation sleeps—

Quit it? Old man, I couldn't; I'm India's now for keeps.

"So Hennessey, you go home," I says, "an' see to the wife an' kid.""You'll follow me there one day," says he, an' I says, "Heaven forbid!I'll just be goin' about an' about an' keepin' an open mindAn' sometimes doin' a job o' work, but not if I'm not inclined;An' I won't careIf I'm here or there,Jungle or forest or feast or fair;I'll take it all as it comes along, as the Maker o' things designed;I'll tramp it North to the Kashmir hills an' South to the Nilgiris;I'll find my friends as I find my fun—and that's where I dam well please;An' never nosamanor houses or taxes or servants to send things wrong.""It wouldn't suit me," said Hennessey. "It wouldn't," says I. "So long!"

"So Hennessey, you go home," I says, "an' see to the wife an' kid."

"You'll follow me there one day," says he, an' I says, "Heaven forbid!

I'll just be goin' about an' about an' keepin' an open mind

An' sometimes doin' a job o' work, but not if I'm not inclined;

An' I won't care

If I'm here or there,

Jungle or forest or feast or fair;

I'll take it all as it comes along, as the Maker o' things designed;

I'll tramp it North to the Kashmir hills an' South to the Nilgiris;

I'll find my friends as I find my fun—and that's where I dam well please;

An' never nosamanor houses or taxes or servants to send things wrong."

"It wouldn't suit me," said Hennessey. "It wouldn't," says I. "So long!"

You are doubtless aware that in the successful musical comedy,The Girl of Forty-Seven, there is a scene in which Miss Verbena Vaine, asClementina, the horse-dealer's beautiful daughter, denounces the disreputable old veterinary surgeon,Binnett, so whimsically played by that ripe comedian, Mr. Sid Apps.

On my first visit to the play many weeks ago an incident occurred which both enhanced Mr. Apps's reputation for spontaneous humour and highly diverted the audience.

It will be remembered that at the climax of her outburst,Clementina, with eyes ablaze and voice vibrating with passion, hisses, "Loathsome scoundrel, how I detest and despise you!" On the evening to which I refer a mock-submissive look came into Apps's face when these words were spoken, and he interrupted gently, "Not too much soda, Verbena," glancing with mischievous curiosity to see how she would take his humorous comment upon her emphatic utterance of this line of many sibilants.

The audience was greatly delighted by this effect. Miss Vaine failed completely to maintain therôleof the indignant beauty and turned her back to the footlights to hide her face, though her laughter was betrayed by the shaking of her handsome shoulders. There was a pause of some moments before she resumed, "My father shall know of this," and so forth.

Last week, when Doris, my niece, chose that I should take her to seeThe Girl of Forty-Seven, I was not unwilling again to enjoy Apps's humour. I listened with especial care as we approached the scene in the play to which I have referred. Perhaps he would employ some still more successful gag. At last cameClementina'soutburst. "Loathsome scoundrel, how I detest and despise you!" she exclaimed with vehemence. "Not too much soda, Verbena," replied the comedian gently, with a mischievous glance of curiosity. The actress gave a look of amazement, then quickly turned her back to the audience, where she stood for some moments with her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking, the audience laughing aloud with delight. The action of the play was delayed for some moments before Miss Verbena Vaine resumed her part.

"Wanted, Housemaid, £45, for three in family, three maids; no children; good room; all time off usual."—Morning Paper.

"——'s Registry have ladies waiting here daily, 2 to 4.30, for all kinds of maids (with or without experience)."—Scotch Paper.

We don't doubt it for a moment.

"Councillor ——: Can we afford to allow the town to be in real jeopardy every hour?The Chairman (to the Brigade Captain): Did you have to take the horses away from a funeral the other day, when there was a call?Brigade Captain: We had to wait until the funeral party got back."Local Paper.

"Councillor ——: Can we afford to allow the town to be in real jeopardy every hour?

The Chairman (to the Brigade Captain): Did you have to take the horses away from a funeral the other day, when there was a call?

Brigade Captain: We had to wait until the funeral party got back."

Local Paper.

"Where are the gees of the Old Brigade?""Gone to a funeral, Sir," she said.

"Where are the gees of the Old Brigade?"

"Gone to a funeral, Sir," she said.

HUNT STEEPLECHASE.Voice from the Crowd(to sportsman whose horse has refused the brook). "Now then, guvnor, what yer afraid of?—Spoiling the fishing?"

Voice from the Crowd(to sportsman whose horse has refused the brook). "Now then, guvnor, what yer afraid of?—Spoiling the fishing?"

(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)

Countless readers, fusionists and others, will be glad to have Mr.Harold Spender'ssparkling abstract of the more romantic passages in the life ofThe Prime Minister(Hodder and Stoughton). The first half of the book describes the upbringing and early battles of this man of peace, Rose Cottage at Llanystumdwy with "Uncle Lloyd"—there is a touching picture of the courage, wisdom and unselfishness of this grand old man—the little attorney's office at Portmadoc, squire- and parson-baitingpassim, capture of Carnarvon Boroughs, guerilla tactics in the House, suspension, recognition, pacifism, office, original budgeting, Limehousing (very reticently indicated), social reform. Then War and the supreme opportunity for the energy, persuasiveness, adroitness and determination which must extort even from opponents the tribute of admiration. Not a dull page; occasionally an obscure one. None of your cold and calculated criticism for Mr.Spender. Have idols clay feet? Well, not this one, thank you. And it is an attitude which enables him to convey to the reader something of the irresistible personal magnetism of his distinguished friend, and the courage which delights in riding the storm and is at its best in the tight corner (one might suspect thePremierof holding the view that if there were no tight corners it would be necessary to invent them). The summary of the War period is admirably done. The history of events leading to the formation of the second Coalition Government—and the third—is again tactfully presented. It would be unreasonable to suppose that all of Mr.Spender'sverdicts and estimates will be unchallenged by historians. But it is unlikely that thePremierwill find a more competent hagiographer.

A story that so far violates the conventions as to start with a mother whose moral instability is a worry to her children, and a hero who longs to be a practical builder despite a parental command to follow art—such a tale can at least claim the merit of originality. Mr.J. D. Beresfordwould be fully justified in claiming this and much more forAn Imperfect Mother(Collins). Here is an interesting, fascinating and certainly unusual story, in which only two characters are of any real moment,Cecilia, the imperfect mother, embodiment of the artist temperament, egotistical almost to inhumanity, who abandons her dull husband and boring daughters to "live her own life"; andStephen, the son, who alone can give her a half-sympathetic, half-resentful understanding. You see already the cleverness of Mr.Beresford'sconception. Really, it is just this that works (at least for me) its undoing. His characters are fashioned with the nicest ingenuity; the positions into which he so dextrously manipulates them compel your interest and delighted wonder; but never once do they touch your emotions, and never once can you see them as anything but the creations of a highly talented brain. This is the more strange because Mr.Beresford'speople are as a rule so convincingly real. Perhaps to some degree the effect of artifice is due to the author's exclusive preoccupation with his central character.Cecilia'shusband, her daughters, the home of her early married life, are shown to us only by the light of her flashing personality; this withdrawn,they simply cease to exist. On the whole, therefore, I should callAn Imperfect Mothera highly entertaining example of pure intellect, admirable but uninspired, which for my own part I enjoyed amazingly.

Though "E. H. Anstruther" (Mrs.J. C. Squire) has called her latest storyThe Husband(Lane) one can hardly resist the feeling that this is rather a generous description of the central character, who indulged in so much philandering with one person or another that it is difficult to regard him as more than a husband in, so to speak, his spare time.Richard Dennithorne, I must believe, was a "ladies' man" in two senses, since he is undeniably a very womanly conception of the all-conquering male, with indeed more than a little ofMr. Rochesterin his composition. The story tells howPenelope, the heroine, comes to live with her adopted auntMargery, of whomRichardwas the spouse intermittent); howRichard, at the moment absent upon amorous affairs, returned, and so fascinatedPenelopewith his masterful ways that she fled to London; how, almost immediately after, she stultified her precautions, but saved the plot, by becomingRichard'ssecretary at his office in that city; and how, finally, poorMargery(who throughout monopolised my sympathy), having generously expired,Penelopeand the ex-husband fell into each other's arms. Of course there is a lot more than this really, so don't think that I have spoilt the fun for you. As for the quality of the tale, this, I fancy, may be better appreciated by women than men, since, as I have hinted, its outlook is so essentially feminine. Mrs.Squirewrites with sincerity and brings her characters to life. She needs, however, to remember that words unwatched are dangerous. Such slipshod phrasing as "youngmuscularyouth" must grieve the judicious, while the effect of the sentimental interview on p. 99 was simply ruined for me through the unfortunate suggestion conveyed by "her blood rosein a boilto her face." The italics are mine, but the proof-reading is (or should have been) the author's.

Miser's Money(Heinemann) brings Mr.Eden Phillpottsback to Devonshire, and I wave my little flag to welcome him. Of late he has sometimes been a shade too didactic for my liking, but here he gives us yet another plain tale of his beloved moor, and he is instructive only in showing the danger of too much money—a danger at which most of us can in these days afford to smile. TheMortimerswere, one would have supposed, a clan unlikely to be moved from their native soil by anything less convulsive than an earthquake. But money did it. One of them was a miser, and when he died—after a terrific gorge at his brother's expense—he left trouble behind him. Some of his relations wanted more of his money than was good for their souls, and one of them (actually) fought shy of receiving her proper share. Altogether a pretty tangle, which was not unravelled until theMortimershad resolved to try new pastures. True, they did not go very far, but the disturbing influence of money is sufficiently illustrated by the fact that it induced such deeply-rooted folk to move at all. If the theme of this story is a little sordid it is relieved by its treatment from any reproach, and faithful followers of thePhillpotts'trail will enjoy every word of it.

All that we ever hoped—some day, when the War was over—to hear about those most fascinating mysteries, the Tanks, has been put together by Major C. and Mr.A. Williams-Ellis, under the titleThe Tank Corps(Country LifeOffices). Here are genuine uncamouflaged pictures of all kinds of tanks, with detailed maps and descriptions showing their operations, as well as stories not only of those that walked in orthodox fashion through enemy villages "with the British army cheering behind," but of others that disappeared entire in mud, or drove themselves unaided back to our lines when too full of gas to be occupied, or scrunched up batteries of field-guns, or cruised alone for hours, like the famous one called Musical Box, among the enemy's communications, or crossed vast trenches over bundles of faggots carried upon their backs. Every boy of the right kind who inherits the proper zeal for mechanisms will certainly find in this book the most absorbing of yarns. Not that the subject is treated in the least lightly or frivolously, but, since the barest truth is here incredible romance, the authors, soberly collecting materials from despatches, diaries and so on, as well as drawing on their own obvious first-hand knowledge, have achieved a fairy-tale of mechanics. That the crews were no less wonderful than their machines we knew before, but the writers' modest yet illuminating account of the difficulties under which they worked is none the less welcome.

If you decide to go onCircuits(Methuen) with Mr.Philip Camborneyou will find him an interesting and informing companion. His hero and heroine are a Wesleyan minister and his wife, so completely out of tune with the usual heroes of contemporary fiction that they are actually shameless enough to be in love with one another from the first page to the last. Though he shows a remarkable insight into the lives of Wesleyan ministers, Mr.Cambornedeclines the popular methods of sectarian fiction and refrains from any attempt to proselytize. Instead we are simply given a clear and often amusing account of whatMark Frazerhad to put up with in his wanderings from circuit to circuit. Mr.Camborneis modern in confining himself to the history of a single family, but in outlook he belongs to a past century. And I mean that for a compliment.

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