BUSINESS AS USUAL.

GEORGE WERE ALWAYS A TURRIBLE ONE TO CLEAN 'ISSELF; BUT THE ARMY DO SEEM TO 'AVE MADE UN WORSEMother. "GEORGE WERE ALWAYS A TURRIBLE ONE TO CLEAN 'ISSELF; BUT THE ARMY DO SEEM TO 'AVE MADE UN WORSE."Father. "AH! 'E GIVES WAY TO IT."

Mother. "GEORGE WERE ALWAYS A TURRIBLE ONE TO CLEAN 'ISSELF; BUT THE ARMY DO SEEM TO 'AVE MADE UN WORSE."

Father. "AH! 'E GIVES WAY TO IT."

Gambler's Wife (after reading result of the Derby). "TAKE THE PARROT OUTSIDE, NELLIE. THE MASTER WILL BE HOME DIRECTLY AFTER THE HORSE HE BACKED HAS COME IN LAST."

Rolling stones like Edward RossNever gather any moss.He was one of those who think it'sEasier to gather trinkets—Silver watch or golden chain,Purse or bag or châtelaine;So that at the age of thirty,Though his clothes were old and dirty,Yet there were no flies uponEdward, as you'll see anon.Just before the Mons RetreatHe emerged upon the streetFrom His Majesty's Hotel,Where they'd kept him safe and well,Gratis. But, in spite of this, TedCaught the fever and enlisted.'Twas our gallant pocket-sniper'sFate to find himself at Wipers,And because he showed no fearHe was made a pioneer.For the very sight of wireAlways set his soul afire(We are bound by early habits—It reminded him of rabbits);If the Huns but showed an inch of itTeddy took what he could pinch of it,Which was all, for, as I've said,Flies were not at home on Ted.Once our friend, by sad mishap,Fell into a German sap,And, on rising to depart,Found a pistol at his heart.Feeling almost at a loss,"Kamerad!" said Edward Ross.Through some miles of trench they wentTill they reached a swagger tentWhere a German General satIn a highly polished hat(Clearly an important man),Studying a priceless plan.Ted; who felt he simply hated him,While the man interrogated him,Quite adroitly picked the plan offThat astonished Hun and ran off.Teddy's captor, who to stop himSimply had to shoot and drop him,Fired his pistol twice, but clicked itAll in vain, for Ted had picked it—Picked the tool that looked so grimAfter they had collared him,While his escort dodged a dudOutside in the Flanders mud.For on Ross, remember, please,Flies were always ill at ease.But the crowning insult heAdded to the injuryStill remains to tell. As TeddySnatched the priceless plan and fled, heAlso pinched the polished hat,Saying, as he vanished, that,When in England far from here,He would like a souvenirOf the pleasant time he'd spentIn a German General's tent,As a proof for English eyesThat he wasn't telling lies.Though pursued by two or moreFurious German Army Corps'Twere superfluous to sayThat our hero got away,For on coves of Edward's mettleFlies are ill-advised to settle.

Rolling stones like Edward Ross

Never gather any moss.

He was one of those who think it's

Easier to gather trinkets—

Silver watch or golden chain,

Purse or bag or châtelaine;

So that at the age of thirty,

Though his clothes were old and dirty,

Yet there were no flies upon

Edward, as you'll see anon.

Just before the Mons RetreatHe emerged upon the streetFrom His Majesty's Hotel,Where they'd kept him safe and well,Gratis. But, in spite of this, TedCaught the fever and enlisted.

Just before the Mons Retreat

He emerged upon the street

From His Majesty's Hotel,

Where they'd kept him safe and well,

Gratis. But, in spite of this, Ted

Caught the fever and enlisted.

'Twas our gallant pocket-sniper'sFate to find himself at Wipers,And because he showed no fearHe was made a pioneer.

'Twas our gallant pocket-sniper's

Fate to find himself at Wipers,

And because he showed no fear

He was made a pioneer.

For the very sight of wireAlways set his soul afire(We are bound by early habits—It reminded him of rabbits);If the Huns but showed an inch of itTeddy took what he could pinch of it,Which was all, for, as I've said,Flies were not at home on Ted.

For the very sight of wire

Always set his soul afire

(We are bound by early habits—

It reminded him of rabbits);

If the Huns but showed an inch of it

Teddy took what he could pinch of it,

Which was all, for, as I've said,

Flies were not at home on Ted.

Once our friend, by sad mishap,Fell into a German sap,And, on rising to depart,Found a pistol at his heart.Feeling almost at a loss,"Kamerad!" said Edward Ross.

Once our friend, by sad mishap,

Fell into a German sap,

And, on rising to depart,

Found a pistol at his heart.

Feeling almost at a loss,

"Kamerad!" said Edward Ross.

Through some miles of trench they wentTill they reached a swagger tentWhere a German General satIn a highly polished hat(Clearly an important man),Studying a priceless plan.Ted; who felt he simply hated him,While the man interrogated him,Quite adroitly picked the plan offThat astonished Hun and ran off.

Through some miles of trench they went

Till they reached a swagger tent

Where a German General sat

In a highly polished hat

(Clearly an important man),

Studying a priceless plan.

Ted; who felt he simply hated him,

While the man interrogated him,

Quite adroitly picked the plan off

That astonished Hun and ran off.

Teddy's captor, who to stop himSimply had to shoot and drop him,Fired his pistol twice, but clicked itAll in vain, for Ted had picked it—Picked the tool that looked so grimAfter they had collared him,While his escort dodged a dudOutside in the Flanders mud.For on Ross, remember, please,Flies were always ill at ease.

Teddy's captor, who to stop him

Simply had to shoot and drop him,

Fired his pistol twice, but clicked it

All in vain, for Ted had picked it—

Picked the tool that looked so grim

After they had collared him,

While his escort dodged a dud

Outside in the Flanders mud.

For on Ross, remember, please,

Flies were always ill at ease.

But the crowning insult heAdded to the injuryStill remains to tell. As TeddySnatched the priceless plan and fled, heAlso pinched the polished hat,Saying, as he vanished, that,When in England far from here,He would like a souvenirOf the pleasant time he'd spentIn a German General's tent,As a proof for English eyesThat he wasn't telling lies.

But the crowning insult he

Added to the injury

Still remains to tell. As Teddy

Snatched the priceless plan and fled, he

Also pinched the polished hat,

Saying, as he vanished, that,

When in England far from here,

He would like a souvenir

Of the pleasant time he'd spent

In a German General's tent,

As a proof for English eyes

That he wasn't telling lies.

Though pursued by two or moreFurious German Army Corps'Twere superfluous to sayThat our hero got away,For on coves of Edward's mettleFlies are ill-advised to settle.

Though pursued by two or more

Furious German Army Corps

'Twere superfluous to say

That our hero got away,

For on coves of Edward's mettle

Flies are ill-advised to settle.

"House Parlourmaid wanted; most comfortable home; small family; good outings; last one 7 years."—Times.

Quite a nice little holiday.

THE BEAR TURNS.THE BEAR TURNS.

Monday, May 26th.—On the whole I do not think that Sir AUCKLAND GEDDES, who has now definitely succeeded Sir ALBERT STANLEY as President of the Board of Trade, is to be congratulated on exchanging the academic serenity of McGill University for the turmoil of Whitehall (Bear) Gardens. The modified system of Protection introduced under the stress of war seems to please nobody. While Colonel WEDGWOOD complained that the price of gas-mantles (of which I should judge him to be a large consumer) has gone up owing to the prohibition of foreign imports, others objected that licences were issued so lavishly as to cause British producers to be undersold in the home-market by their American, Japanese and Italian rivals.

To avoid treading upon any of these varied susceptibilities the great AUCKLAND had to execute a sort of diplomatic egg-dance; but he did it with consummate skill and temporarily satisfied everybody with the promise of a full statement upon trade policy so soon as Peace has been signed. I hope this won't make the Germans more dilatory than ever.

A DIPLOMATIC EGG-DANCE.A DIPLOMATIC EGG-DANCE.SIR AUCKLAND GEDDES.

SIR AUCKLAND GEDDES.

At the Press Gallery dinner the other night the SPEAKER, who was the guest of the evening, recalled the three golden rules for Parliamentary orators—"Stand up; speak up; shut up"; and added that while some Members paid very little attention to the second of them there were a few whose stentorian tones he would like to borrow in case of a disturbance. But really I don't think he need worry. To dam a rising tide of "Supplementaries" this afternoon he called the next name on the Order-Paper; and hiscrescendoeffect—"Mr. Grattan Doyle!—Mr.Grattan Doyle!!—Mr. GRATTAN DOYLE!!!—Mr. GRATTAN DOYLE!!!!"—could not have been bettered by Mr. JACK JONES.

I hope the fighting Services are not going to revive their pre-war jealousy of one another. The tone in which Dr. MACNAMARA, when somebody asked a question about the Portsmouth "butchery department," jerked out "War Office!" was calculated to give rise to misapprehension.

The Ministry of Health Bill found Mr. DEVLIN in a dilemma. He makes it a rule never to support anything that emanates either from the House of Lords or from the Government. But on this occasion his twobêtes noirswere in opposition, for the Lords had decided that the new Minister should have but one Parliamentary Secretary, and the Government was determined to give him two. Whichever way he voted the Nationalist Leader was bound to do violence to his principles. And so, with that quick-wittedness for which his countrymen are justly renowned, he walked out without voting at all.

I WON'T SUPPORT ANYTHING."I WON'T SUPPORT ANYTHING."MR. DEVLIN.

MR. DEVLIN.

Tuesday, May 27th.—It is odd that the House of Lords, which has done so much for the emancipation of women still refuses to allow peeresses in their own right to take part in its debates. They would have been very useful this afternoon, when two Bills affecting their sex were under discussion. An extraordinary amount of heat was developed by the Nurses Registration Bill, introduced by Lord GOSCHEN, and I am sure some of the charming ladies in the Strangers' Gallery must have been longing to produce their clinical thermometers and descend to the floor to take the temperatures of the disputants.

So far as one could gather, the Bill is the outcome of a quarrel between the College of Nurses and the rest of the profession. Who shall decide when nurses disagree?

In Committee on the Bill for enabling women to become Justices of the Peace Lord STRACHIE moved to restrict the privilege to those who have "attained the age of thirty years." The LORD CHANCELLOR strongly resisted the limitation on the ground that the Government are pledged to establish "equality between the sexes." He was supported by Lord BEAUCHAMP, who, however, thought it unlikely that any ladies under that age would in fact be appointed. I am not so sure. Who knows but that some day the Woolsack may be tenanted by a really susceptible Chancellor?

There are limits to the credulity of the House of Commons. Mr. BOTTOMLEY'S assertion that many clergymen did not know whether they might marry a woman to her deceased husband's brother, and had written to him for an authoritative opinion, only excited ribald laughter.

His inquiry whether the Recess could start three days earlier, in order that Members might take advantage of the Epsom carnival to study the social habits of the people and form an opinion as to the possibility of raising revenue from taxes on racing and betting, was in better vein, and reminded old Members of the days when Lord ELCHO (now Lord WEMYSS) used annually to delight the House with his views on the Derby adjournment. Entering into the spirit of the jest, Mr. BONAR LAW replied that he regretted that his honourable friend should be put to inconvenience, but he must do what we all have to do at times, and decide whether his duty lay at Epsom or Westminster. From Mr. BOTTOMLEY'S rejoinder one gathered that he had already made up his mind, and that Epsom had it.

Wednesday, May 28th.—Colonel WEDGWOOD'S complaint that aeroplanes were used to disperse rioters in India was ostensibly based on the fact that, like the gentle rain from heaven, bombs fell alike on the just and the unjust, but really, I fancy, on what I gather to be his rapidly-growing belief that any anarchist is preferable to any Government. Mr. MONTAGU, however, declined to interfere with the use of a weapon which for the moment has greatly strengthened the hands of the Indian Administration in dealing with disorder, whether on the frontiers or in the cities.

The Ministry of Labour has lately introduced a course of domestic training for "wives and fiancées." The indefiniteness of the latter term offendedCaptain LOSEBY, who wanted to know at what exact period of "walking-out" a lady became a fiancée. Mr. WARDLE, although the author of a work on "Problems of the Age," confessed that this one baffled him, and asked for notice.

The recent disturbance in the neighbourhood of the House by indiscreet friends of the unemployed soldier led to a rambling debate, chiefly remarkable for the hard things said by and about Mr. HOGGE, whose aim, according to ex-Private HOPKINSON, was to make soldiers uncomfortable; and for a hopeful speech by Sir ROBERT HORNE, who said that, despite the "dole," unemployment was beginning to diminish, and that four-fifths of the "demobbed" had already been reabsorbed by industry.

Off to raise revenue—for the National Exchequer (bien entendu).Off to raise revenue—for the National Exchequer (bien entendu).Mr. BOTTOMLEY.

Mr. BOTTOMLEY.

Then followed a lively but inconclusive discussion upon that hardy annual, the alleged sale of honours. General PAGE CROFT attributed it to the secrecy of party funds and proudly declared that the. National Party published all the subscriptions it received, and heartily wished there were more of them. The weakness of his case and that of his supporters was that no specific instances of corruption were brought forward, if we may except Mr. BOTTOMLEY'S assertion that some years ago he might have had a peerage if he had paid for it.

Thursday, May 29th—A constitutional crisis is impending on the question whether the MINISTER OF HEALTH should have one Parliamentary Secretary or two; the Commons demand two; the Lords will not allow more than one, even though tempted by Lord CURZON with the bribe that the second shall sit in the Upper House. Having heavily defeated the Government on this point, the Peers then decided that Miss VIOLET DOUGLAS-PENNANT was entitled to a judicial inquiry into the. circumstances that led to her retirement from the Air Force. The LORD CHANCELLOR opposed the proposal in a speech described by Lord SALISBURY as that "of an advocate rather than a judge;" but in spite or because of this the Government were beaten by 69 to 20.

Somebody ought to move for a return of the amount expended by the Government on the hire of furniture vans since the Armistice. Sir A. MOND stated that in order to release certain hotels their official occupants had been transferred to the Alexandra Palace, while the interned aliens recently housed in the Palace had been sent to certain country camps, whose late occupants (we may infer) have now gone to the hotels. It is suggested that the Office of Works should now be known as the "General Post" Office.

One can easily imagine what use a fiery demagogue would have made of the secret circular sent out some months ago by the War Office, instructing commanding officers to ascertain the attitude of their men to the trade unions in the event of a general strike. Fortunately Mr. ADAMSON is not that type of man, and he couched his criticisms in a vein rather of sorrow than of anger. There was more sting in the speech of Mr. DAVISON, and one Churchillian phrase: "They could not maintain constitutional government on the theoretical inexactitudes of kaleidoscopic politicians," which evidently pleased the originator.

Mr. CHURCHILL himself was more concerned with facts than phrases. The impugned circular, though he took no responsibility for its wording, was essential at the time it was sent out, for the State was bound to defend itself not against ordinary strikes, but against those which would entail universal paralysis. Turning to Russia, he described Bolshevism as a disease rather than a policy; it spread rapidly, but died out quickly and left its victims—as Colonel WEDGWOOD might be glad to know—immune for the future.

From the report of a Landlordv.Tenant case:—

"Mrs. Barkiss said she was quite willing to leave some day."—Local Paper.

"GATWICK MEETING.Never has this popular rendezvous looked more beautiful, thanks to the wealth of owers on the members' lawn."—Provincial Paper.

"GATWICK MEETING.

Never has this popular rendezvous looked more beautiful, thanks to the wealth of owers on the members' lawn."—Provincial Paper.

We gather that it had been a bad day for backers.

(A Romance of False Perspective.)

The Press, ever anxious, as the guardians of public sentiment, to correct the reaction that is apt to follow upon any great outburst of popular enthusiasm, did well to describe the impending arrival of Prince Ongtong, of the Solomon Islands, with his famous mixed choir, as the second best news since the signing of the Armistice. We are glad to think that the reception of this illustrious potentate in our midst was worthy of the occasion.

There was a time when our relations with the Solomon Islanders were strained. Their pagan and, we regret to say, anthropophagous habits laid them open to a certain amount of criticism. Not many years ago Mr. Bamberger, the famous violinist, in the course of a triumphal tour in the Southern Pacific, was captured by the inhabitants of Kulambranga, detained for several weeks in captivity in a mangrove swamp, where he suffered great inconvenience from the gigantic frogs(Rana Guppyi) which infest this region, and was only rescued with great difficulty by a punitive expedition—conducted by Sir Pompey Boldero—when on the eve of being sacrificed to the gastronomic exigencies of his captors.

But this happily is all ancient history now. The Solomon Islanders for several years have been confirmed vegetarians, and the pronounced modification in their mesocephalic skulls and the improvement of their facial angle afford the surest guarantee against any relapse. Furthermore the instruction in music which they received from Mr. Bamberger has exerted a profoundly mollifying effect on their manners. Mr. Clutton Brock has pronounced them to be the most artistic of all the Papuans. Their paintings show a remarkable affinity to the style of Picasso and Matisse. Their choral singing is the glory of the South Pacific.

Prince Ongtong and his party, who made the journey by long sea in a flotilla of catamarans and sampans, arrived at Southampton on Saturday, where they were met by perhaps the most representative and influential gathering of public men ever seen in our times. The procession to the Town Hall was headed by Lord READING, Lord SYDENHAM, Mr. BOTTOMLEY, Mr. HOGGE, Sir LEO CHIOZZA MONEY, Mr. SMILLIE and Mr. EUSTACE MILES. Then followed Prince Ongtong and his choir, superbly gowned in their flowing sarongs, wearing their long Papuan pampooties and followed in turn by a group of instrumentalists playing on conchs, nose-flutes and a species ofmouth-organ closely resembling the jew's-harp, but much larger and more penetrating in its quality. The crowds in the street were enormous; hundreds of strong women fainted, and the casualties are estimated at upwards of five thousand.

The proceedings in the Town Hall were brief but most impressive. After the freedom of Southampton had been conferred on the Prince by the Mayor, in a gold casket, Lord READING in a touching speech announced, amid tempestuous cheers, that the Government had resolved to signalise Prince Ongtong's services by conferring on him a dukedom and a grant of two million pounds.

Continuing, Lord READING said that the Solomon Islands had always appealed to him with peculiar magic. He believed that they were the authentic seat of King SOLOMON'S Mines, in spite of the rival claims of Africa put forward by Sir RIDER HAGGARD.

The Prince, who acknowledged the honour in fluent Melanesian, was understood to say that he had only done his duty, that he was speechless with gratitude and that he would always regard Lord READING as a brother. Arecherchévegetarian luncheon was then served, after which Lord ROTHERMERE presented each member of the choir with a cheque for ten thousand pounds, and Mr. SMILLIE invited them to give evidence before the Coal Commission.

The Prince and party were anxious to proceed by special train to London, where rooms had been engaged for them at the Grand Palestine Hotel, but, on leaving the Town Hall, were surrounded by the crowd, which had now swelled to nearly a million and fought for the privilege of escorting the visitors to the station with such desperate enthusiasm that at a late hour on Saturday night no traces of Prince Ongtong or any of his choir could be discovered. This is all the more to be regretted as arrangements had been made for a competition between the Solomon Islanders and the Czecho-Slovakian singers, at which Lord ASKWITH had undertaken to adjudicate. All hope however of tracing the missing party has not yet been given up, and a wireless message received at Marconi House on Sunday night states that the Ringwood police had arrested a partially-clad foreigner in the neighbourhood of the Rufus-stone.

A GENERAL STRIKE ON DERBY DAYA GENERAL STRIKE ON DERBY DAY.FROM OUR GALLERY OF INCONCEIVABLE HORRORS.

"For Sale, Hupmobile Car (1916 model), saloon body, self starter, electric light, lory on ground floor, 3 bedrooms, bathroom seater, with 2 extra chairs."—Provincial Paper.

"Mr. —— is forty-six and a man of business. He is chairman of the City Lands Committee, and a member of the Corporation. These things are not good training for championship lawn-tennis."—Evening Paper.

This applies more especially, of course, to the Corporation.

"The Duchess still looks quite a girl, and so does the Duke, particularly now that he has shaved off his tiny moustache."—Weekly Paper.

The Duke's motto: "Put me among the girls."

Trench-foot, shell-shock and the other well-known by-products of war on the Western Front always got the bulk of medical notice, while our rarer Macedonian efforts remained neglected. My friend McTurtle has nervous prostration, with violent paroxysms at the mention of leave or demobilization, and the medical profession can only classify him as "N. Y. D., or Not Yet Diagnosed (malignant)."

McTurtle is a Staff-officer. A famous Atlantic liner dumped him at Salonica in 1915, and when the first infantrymen panted through the town in search of non-existent billets McTurtle was to be seen in the window of a villa giving bird-seed to his canary. At Salonica it is not considered good form to ask openly what a Staff-officer's job is, but he allowed friends to gather that he had an indirect connection with that fine old regiment, the Macedonian Labour Corps.

After some time (about three decorations and a mention in despatches, as McTurtle measured time) the overland leave route was opened, and the far-reaching shadow of war plunged suddenly across McTurtle's unlikely threshold. He was called upon, like many another harmless Staff-officer, to give up his simple comforts and to face hardship and suffering for a scrap of paper (authorising him to travel to Manchester). At first McTurtle was content to let the younger men of the Base make a stand against the aggression of the front line. Being the only support of an aged Colonel and no mere youth, he left it to the reckless A.P.M.'s, the dashing Camp Commandants and the carefree dare-devil Field-Cashiers to repel the infantry and gunners. But his conscience was uneasy, and indeed his apparent lack of proper feeling was commented upon by others. Once an A.D.C. handed him a white feather in the Rue Venizelos.

At length it became obvious that the Base was losing ground. The infantry and gunners, outnumbering the Staff by at least two to one, were gaining positions on each leave-party. The issue was trembling in the balance, and McTurtle answered the call. With set lips he sought the nearest orderly-room sergeant.

Before a week was out the night saw a train creeping through the gloom towards Athens and McTurtle sitting wakeful amongst four snoring infantrymen. He thought piously of the time when the Staff should reach such a pitch of organization that it would be needless—nay, impossible—for infantry to continue to exist. Towards dawn he fell into a doze, and when he waked it was light. He lowered what had been the window and looked out.

McTurtle hates heights, and in his cloistered Salonica life he had never realised that the trains of Greece ran about like mice upon a cornice. Four hundred precipitous feet yawned beneath his horrified eyes, and at his first involuntary gasp the teeth he owed to art and not to nature left him and swooped like a hawk upon a distant flock of sheep. The shepherd, a simple rustic unfamiliar with modern dentistry, endeavoured to sell them subsequently to a Y.M.C.A. archaeologist as genuine antiques.

At that moment the train stopped. McTurtle thought that his loss had been noticed, but as he made his way to the kit-truck for some more teeth he discovered that a landslide barred the way. The train backed cautiously for ten minutes and stopped again. Another landslide. The leave-party remained stationary for thirty hours, eating the rations thoughtfully provided for such a contingency.

In due course McTurtle found himself on the front seat of a motor lorry breasting the spurs of Mt. Parnassus. The dizziness of his path was invisible to him, for in a Grecian summer you can see nothing out of motor vehicles but dust.

But when the lorry reached the summit of the pass the sea-breeze from the Gulf of Corinth cleared the air and he saw for the first time the peaks on one side and the gulfs on the other, with the road writhing down canyons and gorges like a demoniac corkscrew.

"Fine view, Sir," remarked the driver.

McTurtle gulped assent. "Bit dangerous, 'o course," continued the driver chattily. "There was a steam roller went over the edge just 'ere three days ago. Nice young fellow as drove it. Beg pardon, Sir? Oh, I thought you spoke.

"Yes, 'e went too near the edge and it gave like. No nearer than we 'as to go, o' course: you watch while we pass this French-man.... There was a lad took a lorry over three weeks ago. 'Ad an attack of fever while 'e was driving and went unconscious. 'Ave you 'ad malaria, Sir? I get it something cruel meself. Comes on sudden like.

"Blimey, you 've got a touch coming on now, 'aven't you?"

At Itea, on the Gulf of Corinth, the party was ordered to return owing to a German offensive in France. McTurtle went back under chloroform. A week later it made another attempt, but was stopped by the Austrian offensive in Italy. McTurtle went back under morphia. At the third attempt it got through, but without McTurtle.

His nerve is gone, and he is marooned at Salonica. He cannot face the overland route, and he cannot get home all the way by sea just yet. In spite of all his endeavours he cannot become a naturalised Greek and stay there, because of linguistic difficulties.

But what he wants to know is, why can't the medical authorities recognise "leave-shock" as a disease and send him home by hospital ship?

AN' YER ACTCHERLY MEAN TER SAY THEM BOOTS COST FIFTEEN SHILLIN'?First Girl. "AN' YER ACTCHERLY MEAN TER SAY THEM BOOTS COST FIFTEEN SHILLIN'?"Second Girl. "AH, BUT THEY'RE WORF IT—THEY SQUEAK!"

First Girl. "AN' YER ACTCHERLY MEAN TER SAY THEM BOOTS COST FIFTEEN SHILLIN'?"

Second Girl. "AH, BUT THEY'RE WORF IT—THEY SQUEAK!"

"The King has awarded a Knight Commandership of the Bath to Lieutenant-Colonel ——, C.B., in charging customers excessive prices for milk by giving short measure."—Provincial Paper.

We should have thought the Pump would been more suitable than the Bath.

SPREAD OF THE 'DAZZLE' CULT.SPREAD OF THE "DAZZLE" CULT.

A threat was recently made by the representatives of the miners that industrial action would be taken unless the Government at once withdrew all troops from Russia and abandoned conscription. There has been, it appears, an unfortunate misunderstanding as to the exact meaning of the term "industrial action." On Sunday a meeting of protest against the miners' proposal was held under the auspices of The United Brotherhood of Worshipful Lead-Swingers and Affiliated Trades. Violent attacks were made by several speakers upon the Miners' leaders, and serious disruption in the Labour World seemed imminent. But when it was authoritatively explained that "industrial action," instead of meaning work, as was supposed, was a euphemistic term for striking, harmony reigned once more. It was, however, unanimously resolved that in future the expression "industrial inaction" be always used in such connection, as "action" was a word repugnant to all right-thinking Lead-Swingers, and, anyhow, calculated in such a context to give rise to confusion of thought.

A Trades Union has recently been formed to further the interests and raise the status of all who are in receipt of Government unemployment pay. It is hoped eventually to obtain a charter, and thus give professional standing to those employed in receiving such pay. In the meantime, however, the Union is working on orthodox labour lines, and arrangements are practically completed for calling a national strike of unemployed to compel the Authorities to increase the amount of the grant by one hundred per cent. In the event of a strike each member of the Union will formally week by week refuse to accept his or her money, and it is believed that the Government will quickly be brought to its knees. No special steps are to be taken against traitors to the cause who accept work. The social ostracism thereby incurred is felt to be a sufficient deterrent.

A regrettable impasse has been reached in the dispute between The Amalgamated Society of Trades Union Leaders and the Trades Unions. Mr. Blogg, speaking for the Leaders' society, stated, on leaving the Conference last night, that the outlook was black. Unless the rank and file of the Unions were prepared to meet the Leaders' demands a strike was certain. He shrank from imagining what was likely to happen if the Trades Unions were left leaderless. The responsibility, however, did not rest with the Leaders. They had made every possible concession. A four-hours' day and a salary of one thousand pounds per annum was the minimum which would be considered.

Comrade Snooks informed our representative that he was conducting negotiations on behalf of the employers, that is to say the ordinary members of the Trades Unions. He stated with a full sense of responsibility that if the Leaders went on strike all the resources of the Unions would be employed against them. On the whole the Leaders had good berths—easy work and high pay. Their demands were becoming absolutely unreasonable and must be opposed. Their methods of enforcing their demands too were to be deprecated. Only the preceding evening one of the Trades Union Loaders had become abusive and broken one of his (Comrade Snooks') windows. That sort of thing was disgusting, and in the interests of decency and order must be put down. In case of need police protection would be applied for.

"When HAWKER came swooping from the West."

Dark jewel from the zone of Erebus!What son of Dis first dragged thee from thy lairTo be a twofold benison to usPoor mortals shivering in the upper airWhen Phoebus nose-dives in his solar busBeneath the waves and goes to shine elsewhere?Or if some monstrous progeny of TellusFound thou wast Power and made the high gods jealousI do not know (I've lost my Lemprière),Nor if the fate that thereupon befell usWas for each load of coal two loads of care;Yet oft I wonder if beyond the StyxThe price of thee is three pounds ten and six.Sun worshipper am I, and serve the godsOf stream and meadow and the flowery lea,Of winding woodways where the loosestrife nodsIn summer and in spring the anemone,And thymy sheep-paths where the ploughboy plodsHome to his frugal but sufficient tea.Not for a crown, grim coal, would I pursue theeIn subterranean passages and hew theeMid poisonous fumes and draughts of tepid tea.Yet were I all undone should I eschew thee;Someone, in short, must dig thee up for me;And, if he deems it worth a pound a day,Well, who am I to say the fellow nay?The sailor heaves on Biscay's restless bay;His breeks are tarry but his heart is kind;The farmer grouses all the livelong dayHowe'er with untaxed oof his jeans are lined;The shop-assistant works for paltry pay,Though of all manners his are most refined;But all of them can quaff the undefiledSweet air of heaven and gaze with thankful eyelidOn azure skies and feel the unfettered wind,Or in the park on Sunday, in a high lid,Or through the equinoctials blowing blind,Or at cold milking-time when dawns are redAnd birds awake and I remain in bed.Not so the miner! Though his private lifeIs blameless and his soul is pure and brave;Although he gives his wages to his wifeAnd spanks his children when they don't behave;Though rather than incur industrial strifeHe takes the cash and lets the Bolshy rave,He is condemned to toil in mines and galleries,Nourished inside with insufficient calories,A sordid mineral's uncomplaining slave,Till the rheumatics get him and his pallor isSo marked he hardly dares to wash and shave.And shall I grudge the man sufficient pelfFor toil I'd rather die than do myself?Ah, there's the rub! I fain would see him blestWith ample quarters and sufficient food,A spacious close wherein to take his rest,Hats for his wife and bootlets for his brood.But, now the Powers have granted his request,Too well I know what course will be pursuedBy certain merchants who "enjoy" my custom:They'll put the price of coal up, you can trust 'em,Till I by want am utterly oppressedAnd my finances, howso I adjust 'em,To my complete insolvency attest.Five pounds a ton they'll charge—I know their game—Saying, "Of course the miner is to blame."Nay, let me clasp the honest fellow's hand,Saying, "O miner, here is one who sharesYour just desire to make this lovely landA fit abode for heroes and their heirsBy ousting Plunder's profiteering band,Who take the cash and leave us all the cares.Oh, if we twain together might conspire,Would we not grasp them by the scruff and fireCoal merchants, barons, dukes and millionaires,And run the business to our hearts' desire,Paying no dividends on watered shares;Blessing State ownership and State control,You for high wages, I for cheaper coal."ALGOL.

Dark jewel from the zone of Erebus!

What son of Dis first dragged thee from thy lair

To be a twofold benison to us

Poor mortals shivering in the upper air

When Phoebus nose-dives in his solar bus

Beneath the waves and goes to shine elsewhere?

Or if some monstrous progeny of Tellus

Found thou wast Power and made the high gods jealous

I do not know (I've lost my Lemprière),

Nor if the fate that thereupon befell us

Was for each load of coal two loads of care;

Yet oft I wonder if beyond the Styx

The price of thee is three pounds ten and six.

Sun worshipper am I, and serve the godsOf stream and meadow and the flowery lea,Of winding woodways where the loosestrife nodsIn summer and in spring the anemone,And thymy sheep-paths where the ploughboy plodsHome to his frugal but sufficient tea.Not for a crown, grim coal, would I pursue theeIn subterranean passages and hew theeMid poisonous fumes and draughts of tepid tea.Yet were I all undone should I eschew thee;Someone, in short, must dig thee up for me;And, if he deems it worth a pound a day,Well, who am I to say the fellow nay?

Sun worshipper am I, and serve the gods

Of stream and meadow and the flowery lea,

Of winding woodways where the loosestrife nods

In summer and in spring the anemone,

And thymy sheep-paths where the ploughboy plods

Home to his frugal but sufficient tea.

Not for a crown, grim coal, would I pursue thee

In subterranean passages and hew thee

Mid poisonous fumes and draughts of tepid tea.

Yet were I all undone should I eschew thee;

Someone, in short, must dig thee up for me;

And, if he deems it worth a pound a day,

Well, who am I to say the fellow nay?

The sailor heaves on Biscay's restless bay;His breeks are tarry but his heart is kind;The farmer grouses all the livelong dayHowe'er with untaxed oof his jeans are lined;The shop-assistant works for paltry pay,Though of all manners his are most refined;But all of them can quaff the undefiledSweet air of heaven and gaze with thankful eyelidOn azure skies and feel the unfettered wind,Or in the park on Sunday, in a high lid,Or through the equinoctials blowing blind,Or at cold milking-time when dawns are redAnd birds awake and I remain in bed.

The sailor heaves on Biscay's restless bay;

His breeks are tarry but his heart is kind;

The farmer grouses all the livelong day

Howe'er with untaxed oof his jeans are lined;

The shop-assistant works for paltry pay,

Though of all manners his are most refined;

But all of them can quaff the undefiled

Sweet air of heaven and gaze with thankful eyelid

On azure skies and feel the unfettered wind,

Or in the park on Sunday, in a high lid,

Or through the equinoctials blowing blind,

Or at cold milking-time when dawns are red

And birds awake and I remain in bed.

Not so the miner! Though his private lifeIs blameless and his soul is pure and brave;Although he gives his wages to his wifeAnd spanks his children when they don't behave;Though rather than incur industrial strifeHe takes the cash and lets the Bolshy rave,He is condemned to toil in mines and galleries,Nourished inside with insufficient calories,A sordid mineral's uncomplaining slave,Till the rheumatics get him and his pallor isSo marked he hardly dares to wash and shave.And shall I grudge the man sufficient pelfFor toil I'd rather die than do myself?

Not so the miner! Though his private life

Is blameless and his soul is pure and brave;

Although he gives his wages to his wife

And spanks his children when they don't behave;

Though rather than incur industrial strife

He takes the cash and lets the Bolshy rave,

He is condemned to toil in mines and galleries,

Nourished inside with insufficient calories,

A sordid mineral's uncomplaining slave,

Till the rheumatics get him and his pallor is

So marked he hardly dares to wash and shave.

And shall I grudge the man sufficient pelf

For toil I'd rather die than do myself?

Ah, there's the rub! I fain would see him blestWith ample quarters and sufficient food,A spacious close wherein to take his rest,Hats for his wife and bootlets for his brood.But, now the Powers have granted his request,Too well I know what course will be pursuedBy certain merchants who "enjoy" my custom:They'll put the price of coal up, you can trust 'em,Till I by want am utterly oppressedAnd my finances, howso I adjust 'em,To my complete insolvency attest.Five pounds a ton they'll charge—I know their game—Saying, "Of course the miner is to blame."

Ah, there's the rub! I fain would see him blest

With ample quarters and sufficient food,

A spacious close wherein to take his rest,

Hats for his wife and bootlets for his brood.

But, now the Powers have granted his request,

Too well I know what course will be pursued

By certain merchants who "enjoy" my custom:

They'll put the price of coal up, you can trust 'em,

Till I by want am utterly oppressed

And my finances, howso I adjust 'em,

To my complete insolvency attest.

Five pounds a ton they'll charge—I know their game—

Saying, "Of course the miner is to blame."

Nay, let me clasp the honest fellow's hand,Saying, "O miner, here is one who sharesYour just desire to make this lovely landA fit abode for heroes and their heirsBy ousting Plunder's profiteering band,Who take the cash and leave us all the cares.Oh, if we twain together might conspire,Would we not grasp them by the scruff and fireCoal merchants, barons, dukes and millionaires,And run the business to our hearts' desire,Paying no dividends on watered shares;Blessing State ownership and State control,You for high wages, I for cheaper coal."

Nay, let me clasp the honest fellow's hand,

Saying, "O miner, here is one who shares

Your just desire to make this lovely land

A fit abode for heroes and their heirs

By ousting Plunder's profiteering band,

Who take the cash and leave us all the cares.

Oh, if we twain together might conspire,

Would we not grasp them by the scruff and fire

Coal merchants, barons, dukes and millionaires,

And run the business to our hearts' desire,

Paying no dividends on watered shares;

Blessing State ownership and State control,

You for high wages, I for cheaper coal."

ALGOL.

A great budget of correspondence from all parts of the country has reached Mr. Punch concerning the suggestions put forward by famous golfers with the view of modifying the predominant influence exercised by putting in golf. A crisis is rapidly being reached and Government intervention may be invoked any day.

Mr. Ludwig Shyster, of the North Boreland Golf Club, suggests that the tin in the hole should be highly magnetized and the ball coated with a metallic substance so that it might be attracted into the hole. Golf, he contends, is a recreation, and the true aim of golf legislation should be to make the game easier, not more difficult; to attract the largest possible number of players and so to keep up the green-fees and pay a decent salary to secretaries and professionals.

Hanusch Kozelik, the famous Czecho-Slovakian amateur, who has recently done some wonderful rounds at Broadstairs, cordially supports GEORGE DUNCAN'S advocacy of a larger hole. He sees no reason why it should not be three feet in diameter, provided the greens were reduced to eight feet square and surrounded with a barbed-wire entanglement.

Lord HALSBURY, who took to golf when he was over eighty and has only recently given it up, writes: "The bigger the better 'ole."

On the other hand, Dr. Scroggie Park, of Kilspindie, strongly advocates the abolition of the hole altogether and the substitution of a bell, as in the old form of croquet. But, as he wisely adds, variety, not cast-iron uniformity should be our aim. The principle of self-determination should in his opinion be conceded to all properly constituted golf clubs.

Lord BIRKENHEAD is all for maintaining thestatus quoin regard to holes and greens, but takes up a strong attitude on the improvement of the water-supply. In this respect golf-architecture has hitherto been sadly to seek. There should, he says, be at least one bathroom for every twenty members.

We are obliged to hold over for the present the views expressed on this burning question by Dame MELBA, Madame KARSAVINA and Madame DESTINNOVA.

"A departure from the bridal custom frequently noted since the war, of having man bridesmaids, is being made by Lady Diano Manners."—Provincial Paper.

We had not previously noted this custom, but are glad that Lady DIANO—whose name also is new to us—is dispensing with it.

An ex-Waac domestic named Mary AnnTook a place with a strict vegetarian;He cautioned her, too,That beer was taboo,But she simply replied,"Ça ne fait rien. "

An ex-Waac domestic named Mary Ann

Took a place with a strict vegetarian;

He cautioned her, too,

That beer was taboo,

But she simply replied,"Ça ne fait rien. "

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO BY WAY OF PEACE CELEBRATION?He. "WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO BY WAY OF PEACE CELEBRATION?"She. "MY DEAR BOY, WHATCANONE DO, EXCEPT JUST CARRY ON?"

She. "MY DEAR BOY, WHATCANONE DO, EXCEPT JUST CARRY ON?"

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

Mr. Standfast(HODDER AND STOUGHTON) is the third book of the super-spy trilogy that Colonel JOHN BUCHAN has given us, as a kind of supplement to his more official record of the War. We have the same hero,Hannay, as inGreenmantleandThe Thirty-Nine Steps, the same group of associates, reinforced for purposes of love-interest by a young and attractive female, and the same arch-Hun, now identified as theGraf von Schwabing. Also the affair pursues much the same hide-and-seek course that gave the former adventures their deserved popularity. I entirely decline even to sketch the manifold vicissitudes ofHannay(now a General), tracking and being tracked, captive and captor, ranging the habitable and non-habitable globe, always (with a fine disregard for the requirements of book-making) convinced that the next chapter will be the last. Three criticisms I cannot avoid. To begin with, Colonel BUCHAN is really becoming too lavish with his coincidences. Secondly, I found it odd that the spy-hunters, after employing so many ruses and so much camouflage that one might say they almost refused to recognise their own reflections in a mirror, should proceed to the opposite extreme and arrange all their plans, with engaging frankness, over the telephone. Finally, the tale, though full of admirable disconnected moments, does not carry one along sufficiently quickly.General Hannaywas, I thought, too apt to interpolate lengthy reminiscences of active service, just when I wanted to get on with the matter in hand. Pace in such affairs is everything, and my complaint is that, though the hunt had yielded some capital sport, its end found me with my pulse rather disappointingly calm.

As was to be expected, one of the signs of the times in literature, not of one country but of all, is a grim change in its attitude towards war. The era of pomp and circumstance, as of genial make-believe, is gone by; more and more are our writers beginning to give us militarism stripped of romance, a grisly but (I suppose) useful picture. I have nowhere found it more horrible than in a story calledThe Secret Battle(METHUEN), written by Mr. A.P. HERBERT, whose initials are familiar toPunchreaders under work of a lighter texture. This is an intimate study, inspired throughout by a cold fury of purpose that can be felt on every page, of the destruction of a young man's spirit in the insensate machinery of modern war. There is no other plot, no side issues, no relief. From the introduction ofHarry Penrose, fresh from Oxford, embarking like a gallant gentleman upon the adventure of arms, to the tragedy that blotted him out of a scheme that had misused and ruined him, the record moves with a dreadful singleness of intent. Sometimes, one at least hopes, the shadows may have been artificially darkened. It seems even to-day hardly credible that events should conspire to such futility of error. But as a story with a purpose, not, in spite of the publisher's description, a novel,The Secret Battlecertainly deserves the epithet "striking." It is a blow from the shoulder.

The worst of quotations is that either their staleness is tedious or their unfamiliarity irritates. Mr. S.G. TALLENTYRE has at least one, generally of the latter sort, and oftener half-a-dozen, on every page ofLove Laughs Last(BLACKWOOD), or, at any rate, that is one's first impression of the book; while the second is that the number of characters is not much less. It follows that in trying to identify all the persons to whom he may or may not have been introduced in the previous pages, and all the phrases in inverted commas he has certainly seen somewhere else sometime, the truly diligent reader will be kept faithfully at his task—a pleasant one possibly, but just a thought too much like hard work to be quite entertaining in a novel. Apart from all this and an occasional obscure sentence there is nothing much to grumble at in a story that tells howDavid, the sailor, unlearned in the ways of ladies, became engaged for insufficient reasons to oneTheo, only to fall promptly in love with another, certainly much nicer, calledNancy; and how still a third,Sally, with various other people, intent on rescuing him from his dilemma, made a most unscrupulous and indeed most improbable conspiracy against number one, who was unpopular. One can't help feeling that they were all, including the author, a bit hard onTheo, whose philanthropic notions were really too good for the amount of sense allotted her to work them out with. Most of the rest of them would have nothing to do with raising the masses, but, after the comfortable fashion of early nineteenth-century days, were content to let well alone at eight shillings a week. Perhaps it was this restful attitude that decided the publishers to claim for this volume the distinctive quality of "charm."

After a considerable interval, Mr. ARNOLD LUNN has followedThe Harrovianswith another school story,Loose Ends(HUTCHINSON). This, however, is a tale not so much about boys as about masters, the real hero being notMaurice Leigh(with whose adventures school-novelists of an earlier day would solely have concerned themselves), the pleasantly undistinguished lad who enters Hornborough in the first chapter and leaves it in the last, butQuirk, the young and energetic master, whose efforts to vitalize the very dry bones of Hornborough education hardly meet the success that they deserve. Concerning this I am bound to add that I found some difficulty in accepting Mr. LUNN'S picture as quite fair to an average public school in the early twentieth century. That its authorities should have been so violently perturbed by a proposal to teach SHAKSPEARE histrionically, or by the spectacle of boys enjoying modern poetry, surely supposes conditions almost incredibly archaic. This, however, does nothing to detract from the admirably-drawn figure ofQuirkhimself, bursting with energy, enthusiasm and intolerance, overcoming passive resistance on the part of the boys, only to be shipwrecked upon the cast-iron prejudice of the staff. That his apotheosis should have been translation to Rugby, where he finds "the beaks much easier to get on with," perhaps shows that Mr. LUNN does not intend those of Hornborough as wholly typical of the most abused race in fiction. For the rest, the boy characters of the book are presented with a quiet realism very refreshing after some recent "sensational revelations." Mr. LUNN'S boys, alike in their speech and outlook, are admirably observed; indeed the persons of the tale struck me throughout as being better than its rather out-of-date happenings.

My landlady assures me thatHis Daughter(COLLINS) is a "lovely story," and I think it only right that Mr. GOUVERNEUR MORRIS should have the benefit of her criticism, since my own is distinctly less favourable. Mr. MORRIS showed signs at one time of being able to write a first-class novel of adventure, but he abandoned this field for a more lucrative appeal to the Great American Bosom, whose taste, if I may say so without endangering the League of Nations, is more in harmony with my landlady's than with mine. His latest hero is one of those magnificent fellows whom no woman can resist—or so they tell him. Anyway he is irresistible enough to have two daughters, one born in lawful wedlock, the other—of whose existence he is unaware for a long time—in Paris. Which of the daughters is the one referred to in the title is not clear, nor does it really seem to matter, since one of them dies, and he undertakes, while in the throes of remorse, not to make himself known to the other. Meanwhile the War has happened along and given everyone who needed it an opportunity of redeeming his Past, and, as the hero is getting old and has had a nasty crash in an aeroplane, it seems possible that an era of comparative continence has really set in. At this juncture we part with him—I without a pang; my landlady, I well know, with a sigh for his lost irresistibility.

Barry Dunbar, the heroic padre of Mr. RALPH CONNOR'S story,The Sky Pilot of No Man's Land(HODDER AND STOUGHTON), hailed from Canada and went to France with the Canadians. Endowed with superb physical beauty and considerable musical gifts he started, you might think, with fortune in his favour. But at the outset he was a tactless young man and had a good deal to learn before he was in any way competent to teach. Mr. RALPH CONNOR has described with skill and great sincerity the horrors of the War in the earlier days; but for me he has spoilt both his story and the effect of it by his extreme sentimentality. He is persistently concerned to raise a lump in my throat. I readily believe that he was actuated by the highest motive in trying to show us how responsive the Canadians were when their spiritual needs were attended to by a man of courage and understanding. But I dislike an excess of emotional spasms, and in these Mr. CONNOR has indulged so freely that his book can only be for other tastes than mine.

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