TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, hyphenation, and ligature usage have been retained.

PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. CL.

April 26, 1916.

CHARIVARIA.

General Villa, in pursuit of whom a United States army has already penetrated four hundred miles into Mexico, is alleged to have died. It is not considered likely, however, that he will escape as easily as all that.

"Germans net the Sound," says a recent issue of a contemporary. We don't know what profit they will get out of it, but we ourselves in these hard times are only too glad to net anything.

Bags of coffee taken from a Norwegian steamer and destined for German consumption have been found to contain rubber. Once more the immeasurable superiority of the German chemist as a deviser of synthetic substitutes for ordinary household commodities is clearly illustrated. What a contrast to our own scientists, whose use of this most valuable food substitute has never gone far beyond an occasional fowl or beefsteak.

It has been suggested that in honour of the tercentenary of Shakspeare's birth Barclay's brewery should be replaced by a new theatre, a replica of the old Globe Theatre, whose site it is supposed to occupy; and Mr. Reginald McKenna is understood to have stated that it is quite immaterial to him.

"Horseflesh is on sale in the West End," says The Daily Telegraph, "and the public analyst at Westminster reports having examined a smoked horseflesh sausage and found it genuine." It is only fair to our readers, however, to point out that the method of testing sausages now in vogue, i.e. with a stethoscope, is only useful for ascertaining the identity of the animal (if any) contained therein, and is valueless in the case of sausages that are filled with sawdust, india-rubber shavings, horsehair and other vegetables.

Wandsworth Borough has refused the offer of a horse trough on the ground that there are not enough horses to use it. But there are always plenty of shirkers.

Colonel Churchill was reported on Tuesday last as having been seen entering the side door of No. 11, Downing Street. It was, of course, the critical stage door.

The Austrian Government has issued an appeal for dogs "for sanitary purposes." The valuable properties of the dog for sterilising sausage casings have long been a secret of the Teuton.

Commercial Candour.

"Real Harris Hand-Knitted Socks, 1s. 6d.: worth 2s. 6d.; unwearable."—Scotch Paper.

Shopkeeper. "Yes, I want a good useful lad to be partly indoors and partly outdoors."

Applicant. "And what becomes of me when the door slams?"

A Chance for the Illiterate.

"Wanted, a good, all-round Gardener; illegible."—Provincial Paper.

"Gardener.—Wanted at once, clever experienced man with good knowledge of toms., cucs., mums., &c., to work up small nursery."

Provincial Paper.

One with a knowledge of nursery language preferred.

"Manchester, Eng. The election of directors of the Manchester Chamber of Commerce resulted in the return of eighteen out of twenty-two directors who are definitely committed to the policy of no free trade with the 60th Canadian Battalion."

Victoria Colonist (B.C.).

We hope the battalion will not retaliate by refusing protection to Manchester, Eng.

THE CURSE OF BABEL.

Let me tell you about the Baronne de Blanqueville and her grandson.

The Baronne is a Belgian lady who came to England in the early days of the refugee movement, and established herself here in our village.

With her came her younger daughter and Lou-lou, the infant son of an elder daughter, who had for some reason to be left behind in Belgium.

Lou-lou was a year old when, with his grandmother and his aunt, he settled in England as an émigré. He was then inarticulate; now he has gained the use of his tongue.

He has had a little English nursemaid to attend on him, and he has become a familiar object in many English families of the neighbourhood.

In fact, he has had a very English bringing up, and now that he is more than two years old and can talk, he insists on talking English with volubility and understanding it with completeness.

I may mention, by the way, that someone has taught him some expressions unusual in so young a mouth. The other day I met him in his perambulator. He said, "I take the air. I'm damn comfable;" whereupon the nursemaid blushed and chid him.

That, however, is not the point—at any rate, not the whole of it.

What I wish to make clear is this: the Baronne neither speaks nor understands English, whereas Lou-lou speaks a great deal of English and no French at all. He rejects that language with a violent shake of his curly head. He stamps his small foot and tells his adoring grandmother to speak English or leave him alone.

Thus a gulf has begun to yawn between the Baronne and her beloved Lou-lou. Communications are all but broken off. Lou-lou's aunt is in better case, for she is slowly acquiring English; but the Baronne, I think, will never learn any English.

What is to be done?

"The rage for flower-trimming is nothing short of an obeisance."—Evening Paper.

In spite of the War we still bow to the decrees of fashion.

THE JOY TAX.

[By one who is prepared to accept it like a patriot without further protest.]

Now Spring comes laughing down the sky

To see her buds all busy hatching;

With tender green the woods are gay,

And birds, as is their April way,

Chirp merrily on the bough, and I

Chirp, too, because it's catching.

Full many a joy I must eschew

And to the tempter's voice "No! No!" say;

With taxes laid on all delights

Must miss, with other mirthful sights,

On Monday next my annual view

Of England's Art Exposé.

I must forgo (and bear the worst

With what I can of noble calm) a

Pure bliss from which I only part

With horrid pain about the heart—

I mean the humour unrehearsed

Of serious British drama.

But, thank the Lord, I need not miss

The birds that in their leafy nook coo;

Young Spring is mine to taste at large,

The Ministry has made no charge

For earth that warms to April's kiss;

They haven't taxed the cuckoo!

O.S.

A VOLUNTEER CASUALTY.

We were "standing easy" prior to the assault on the undefended heights of Spanker's Hill when the voice of the platoon-commander disturbed our thoughts of home and loved ones, and particularly of our Sunday dinners, which would be very much out of season before we could get at them.

"Number 4," he said, in a tone that thrilled us to the bottom twist of our puttees, "these Body-Snatchers (thus coarsely he alluded to the Ambulance Section) have been following us all day and haven't had a single casualty so far. That is why, in the coming advance, I shall be wounded. Sergeant, you will take over the command, should the worst befall. Smith and Williams, as you are both big and heavy, you'd better be knocked out too."

It was with mingled feelings that I heard my name mentioned. In the first place, a feeling of annoyance was engendered at having my proportions thus publicly referred to. But other, and I trust worthier, thoughts came to me, and, turning to my neighbour, I gave him a few last messages of a suitably moving nature to be delivered to my friends. The kind-hearted fellow was deeply affected, and in a voice broken by emotion offered to take charge of my loose change, and asked for my watch as a keepsake. I thanked him with tears in my eyes, but said that the burial party would forward all my valuables to my relations.

Our conversation was interrupted by the command "Platoon—'SHUN. To the left, to six paces, ex-TEND." By an oversight the preliminary formation usually adopted as a precaution against artillery had been omitted, and in a moment we were advancing up the hill in open order.

Scarcely had we started when our officer, the pride of the platoon, threw up his hands and fell. A moment later, chancing on a piece of tempting grass, I decided to lie down, and with a choking gurgle collapsed. As I lay on my back in an appropriate attitude (copied from the cinema) I wondered when the stretcher-party would appear, for the grass was damp and the April wind was chilly; but it was not long before a bright boy, rather over than under military age, ran up and, after a brief glance at me, began to signal with great vigour. He meant well, and out of consideration for his feelings I restrained a desire to tell him that he was creating a beastly draught. However, I asked him if he had any brandy, and, on receiving an answer in the negative, groaned deeply.

"Are you very bad?" he asked.

"No," I replied; "but if I lie here much longer I'll catch cold. Tell your people to hurry up."

When the stretcher-party arrived they decided that I had been shot in the chest, and, to get at the wound, began to remove my garments, till arrested by some virile language thrown off from the part affected. Then they began to carry me towards the gate of the park, despite the fact that the stretcher had been meant to hold someone about six inches shorter than I. Almost immediately the rear man, tripping on a root, fell on top of me, and the front man, being brought to a sudden stop, sat on my feet. When we had sorted ourselves out, and I had stopped talking, more from lack of breath than of matter, we resumed our journey.

After a matter of some three hundred yards the bearers began to feel tired, and, suddenly rolling me off the stretcher, they informed me that I was discharged as cured. Thus rapidly does a soldier of the Volunteers recover. It speaks volumes not only for their high state of physical condition but for the resilience of their moral.

Intelligent Anticipation.

"Bucharest, 8.—The 'Universul' has opened a list of subscriptions in favour of the widows and victims of the coming Austro-Roumanian war."—Balkan News.

"'Where Angels fear to Tread' at the —— Picture Theatre."—Hastings Observer.

The management doesn't mind so long as the fools rush in.

"The Smyth-Pigotts are the owners of Brockley Court and Brockley Hall, near Congresbury, a pretty village which—like Majoribanks—is pronounced Coomesbury."—Daily Sketch.

Just as, according to the old story, Cholmondeley is pronounced Marjoribanks.

"Monster Carnival! In aid of Returned Soldiers' Association. Novel Attractions!!! Realistic Egyptian Pillage, just as our soldiers saw it. Egyptian goods can be purchased here."—Adelaide Register.

We hope this does not mean that our gallant Anzacs have been spoiling the Egyptians.

"A lady would like to let her beautifully furnished House or part, or three or four paying guests; from £2 10s. each."

Bournemouth Daily Echo.

We have heard of paying guests whom their hosts would have been glad to part with at an even lower figure.

"Notice.—Found, a Broadwood Piano. Apply, Barrack Warden, No. 1, Barrack Store, —— Barracks."—Aldershot Command Orders.

We think some recent criticism of Army administration is undeserved. Care is evidently taken in regard to even little things carelessly left about by the soldier.

"When the election does come there will be no need to ask these useless M.P.'s to resign. They can be kicked out, and there are plenty of workmen in the country who are ready to lend a hand at the kicking. The genuine Labour M.P. is known now, so also is the impostor, who, like the party hack, hails from nowhere."

Letter in "The Times."

We suppose the manual kick, as described above, is the non-party hack.

SERBIA COMES AGAIN.

The Bulgar. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD."

THE WATCH DOGS.

XXXVIII.

My dear Charles,—One of these days I will tell you the more intimate history of the Corps to which I have the honour to belong, and this will give you some cause for mirth. Its members are of all sorts, ages and origins, and they have had between them some odd experiences since that first day when, parading hastily in Kensington Gardens, they wished they hadn't been quite so glib, in their anxiety to get to war, about professing full knowledge of the ways and wiles of the motor bicycle. One at least of them paid the price of inexactitude then and there; he still shudders to think how, put to the test, he unintentionally left the Park for a no less fashionable but much more crowded thoroughfare, to arrive eventually, in the prone position, in a byway of Piccadilly, where small fragments of the machine may still be collected by industrious seekers of curios.

Another, whom the low cunning of the Criminal Bar enabled to avoid the immediate test, paid the full price, with compound interest, later on. Casual observers of the retreat, had there been any, would have become familiar with the sight of him bringing up the rear—a very poor last. To see him arrive, perspiring, over the brow of a hill, with his faithful motor at his side, was to know that the Huns were at the bottom of it. On one occasion they even beat him in the day's march, but were too kind or too blind to seize their advantage. As usual he was taking his obsession along with him, though, if he had but known, he might have got it to do the work by the simple formality of turning the petrol tap from OFF to ON. His was ever a curious life, from the first moment of his joining the Army in tails, a bowler hat, and a large sword wrapped in a homely newspaper. But the inward fun of it all is not for the present, Charles; our clear old friends, the Exigencies, forbidding.

I am reminded of it all by having just crossed with one of the later-joined members. He came fresh from the line to a Head-quarters, and he was walking about in a lane, working off some of his awe of his new surroundings, when he was overtaken by a car containing a General, who stopped and asked him what he was. So imposing was the account he gave of himself that it was said to him, "No doubt, then, you'll know the way to ——," a village at the back of beyond, where a division was lying at rest. In the Army, at any rate at a Head-quarters, we all know everything. So he said, "No doubt, Sir," hoping, if the worst came to the worst, to give some vague directions and not to be present when they were found wanting. But it was his bad luck to have struck one of the more affable Generals. Could he spare the time to come along and direct the driver?

So on to the box he got (it was a closed car) and, with the General's eye always upon his back, he did his best as guide, a task for which his previous career of stockbroker had ill qualified him. The first thing to happen was that the car, proceeding down a narrow lane, got well into the middle of a battalion on the march, which, when the car was firmly jammed amongst the transport, ceased to be on the march, and took a generous ten minutes' halt.... The second thing to happen was a level crossing; which, as they approached it, changed its mind about being a road and became a railway. A nice long train duly arrived, and (this needs no exaggeration) stayed there, with a few restless movements, for twenty minutes by the clock.... The third thing to happen was that he lost himself (and the General); the fourth was the falling of dusk, and the fifth a ploughed field, with which my friend, alighting, had to confess that he was not so intimately acquainted as he could have wished.

THE TRENCH TOUCH.

Warrior in bunker (to caddie, who is seeing if the course is clear). "Keep down, you fool!"

Had there been a scene, he could, he says, have endured the worst bravely, standing to attention and taking it as it came. Not so, however; his was the wrong sort of General for the purpose. As does the partner at the dance, over whose priceless gown you have upset the indelible ice, he said it didn't matter. He said he'd give the division a miss, and return whence they had come. This they began to do, when they had got the car out of the ploughed field, and this they went on doing until the sixth thing happened, which was a burst tyre.

Again, had there been a scene, my man could have explained that this wasn't his fault; but no one said it was his fault. Equally it was never openly alleged that he was to blame for the driver's not being prepared with a spare wheel ready for use. But his embarrassment was such that my man was grateful to heaven for reminding him at this juncture of the existence of R.F.C. Head-quarters, about a kilometre away. He said he'd run and borrow a wheel off them, and before the General could say him nay he'd started.... He ran all the way, and burst, panting, into the officers' mess, where he had the misfortune to strike another itinerant General.

It never rains but it pours, and the area seemed to be infested with Generals of quite the wrong sort. He couldn't have hit upon a more kind and genial and inappropriate one than this. No, he wouldn't allow a word of apology or explanation from this exhausted lieutenant until the latter had rested and refreshed himself with a cup of tea. No, not out of that pot; it had been standing too long. Tea which had stood should not be drunk, for reasons detailed at length. No doubt the Colonel, whose guest he was, would order some more to be made. It would take two minutes—it did take twenty. No, no; there was nothing to say and nothing need be said. It was this General's particular wish that he should be at peace and make himself at home. Let him make his explanations and apologies later.

Whatever you would have done, my overwhelmed friend temporized. He was just edging the conversation round to the other General, waiting alone in the dark wet road, when the General in the nice warm room rose to go, commanding my friend not to disturb himself on that account. Being a man of some years he was a slow goer; being a General, he was not to be interrupted in his going....

I don't know exactly how it all ended, nor, you may not be surprised to learn, does my friend, though he is always expecting to hear.

There was also on our boat a subaltern, coming to France for the first time. He wanted me to tell him all about it. How well I know these subalterns who want to know all about it. I was one myself once. Does he ask you what it's like in the mud? Does he listen if you give him details of bloodshed? Does he inquire about the food, the washing facilities, parapet or parados; what a time-fuse does when its time has expired, or even as to the use and abuse of the entrenching tool? No, he's for war only, and there's only one question in war: Do you or do you not need a Sam Browne belt in the trenches?

It is an old question; there is no solution. I told him that some say one thing and some say another, and, as both are authorities with whom you are not in a position to argue, the only way to get out of the difficulty is to keep out of the trenches.

Yours ever, Henry.

OUR AMAZON CORPS "STANDING EASY."

From a hotel advertisement:—

"Excellent Cuisine. Separate Stables."

West-Country Paper.

The Wise King must have had a presentiment of this arrangement when he wrote: "Better a dinner of herbs, where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith."

"The Premier (Sir Alexander Peacock) said that many years ago, when the world rang with the atrocities of Turks, Rev. Dr. Parker startled the whole world when, in a fiery address on those awful atrocities which were visited on the Christians, he cried, 'Dod damn the Sultan.' Now, when they heard of the cruelties and indescribable sufferings which had been visited upon the innocent people in order to satisfy the ideas of one man they could say, 'Kod damn the Kaiser.' (Great cheers)."—Sydney Daily Telegraph.

Strong language for a Premier! But the printer has done his best to tone it down.

NURSERY RHYMES OF LONDON TOWN.

VIII.—Orchard Street.

The fruit hangs ripe, the fruit hangs sweet,

High and low in my Orchard Street,

Apples and pears, cherries and plums,

Something for everyone who comes.

If you're a Pedlar

I'll give you a medlar;

If you're a Prince

I'll give you a quince;

If you're a Queen,

A nectarine;

If you're the King

Take anything,

Apricots, mulberries, melons or red and white

Currants like rubies and pearls on a string!

Little girls each

Shall have a peach,

Boys shall have grapes that hang just out of reach—

Nothing's to pay, whatever you eat

Of the fruit that grows in my Orchard Street.

"USEFL. hlp. ckng. no wshg. fam. 2."

Morning Paper.

Th. is rl. wd. plp. ecnmy.

A NIGHT OUT WITH A ZEPPELIN.

By Karl Von Weekend
(hyphenated neutral).
(Concluded.)

Beneath us—beneath, in a manner of speaking, the iron heel of the all-conquering Fatherland—lay perfidious England. I, as a mere layman, had, of course, not the vaguest idea as to precisely what vital portion of the doomed island was immediately below us. Not so my host, the Captain Sigismund von Münchhausen, who suddenly snapped together the stethoscope through which he had been gazing and rapped out a monosyllabic order down the speaking tube at his right hand.

"We are now," he said, turning courteously to me, "diametrically above the entrenched camp of Little Tillingham-under-Hill." A fearful crash sounded from the depths below and a voice muttered something through the speaking tube. "A hit!" cried the Captain without emotion. "Ober-Leutnant von Dachswurst reports that the Arsenal, three munitions factories and two infant schools are in flames. Ah! Now we have reached Birmingham!" Another crash rent the abysm. "Now Glasgow!" A third terrific explosion was audible.

"But," I cried, "we can't have got from Birmingham to Glasgow in thirty-five seconds." For a moment the Captain's eyes flashed angrily. He clenched his feet, and, remembering the horrible fate of the seasick sailor, I crouched against the bulwark. With an effort, however, the man mastered himself. I was relieved to see an enigmatic smile overspread his countenance.

"It is plain," he said, in the voice of one patiently rebuking a child, "that you do not know what a German airship can do. Ah! ha! There goes Bristol!" he added, as further detonations smote upon our ears.

And so the hideous carnage proceeded. Grasmere, Aberystwith, Stratford-on-Avon, Freshwater Bay and the Lizard—with dreadful precision these teeming hives of English industry were laid waste, incinerated, scattered to the winds in fine impalpable dust. I thought sadly of the brave men in khaki that were being cut off by the thousand in their prime (for the gallant Captain had taken the utmost precaution not to drop any of his bombs in the neighbourhood of non-combatants). But, after all, I mused, they will soon be replaced by intelligent Germans, a blessing that civilization will not be slow to appreciate.

At this moment the Captain approached me with an object in his hand. "You neutrals," he said, "have been deceived before now by the ridiculous reports disseminated by our enemies as to the results of these raids. But here is the proof." He then explained to me that to every Zeppelin was attached a large sinker or plummet, which was covered with grease and lowered from a drum to a few yards above the spot where the bomb was destined to fall. To this plummet adhered fragments of various objects, animate or other, which the explosion of the missile hurled into the air. Such a fragment the Captain was now extending for my observation. I admitted that to my uninitiated eye it closely resembled a portion of the outer surface of a cow or some kindred animal. "You are indeed ignorant," said my host, smiling in the same enigmatic way. "The object is undoubtedly a fragment of the propeller shaft of a large vessel, which satisfies me that at Swanage, where our last bomb was dropped, a portion of the High Seas Fleet was anchored. And as a matter of fact," he added, producing a small dark object from his pocket, "here is a part of Sir John Jellicoe's necktie. Notice how precisely it tallies with the descriptions furnished by our secret agents, one of whom is actually engaged about the Admiral's person disguised as a pastry-cook."

Here, then, was the proof. One could not doubt the evidence of one's senses. But mine had been subjected to an unusual test that night, and when the Captain, well satisfied with his night's work, courteously invited me to have another glass of schnapps with him I accepted with alacrity. The glass was hardly at my lips when an orderly announced that we were at anchor in the shed. Thanking the brave Captain for the most wonderful experience of a not uninteresting lifetime, I hurried away to my hotel and fell into a deep slumber. When I awoke late that afternoon my manservant placed in my hand the last edition of the London Times. It stated that there had been a Zeppelin raid, and that 19 civilians, three cows, four churches, two rows of cottages, one omnibus, and no soldiers had been destroyed.

I smiled—enigmatically.

"Socialist Working Man, aged 25, would welcome companionship of Socialist exempted conscientious objector, chiefly for week-end cycling; or athletic lady holding similar views would suit, residing North Kent area."

Socialist Paper.

It would be much better for him to meet an athletic lady not holding similar views.

THE OCC. POET'S APOLOGIA.

Where the moon's unmitigated crescent,

Sailing through the amethystine deeps,

With a smile sardonic and senescent

Down upon our Armageddon peeps;

Thither, drawn by sympathy ecstatic,

Like a shooting star my spirit flies

From the company of gross, lymphatic

Souls entangled by terrestrial ties.

Where the sombre azimuths are booming,

Flecked with argent elemental foam,

And the stately colocynths are blooming

In a salicylic monochrome;

There, transported on pellucid pinions,

Sick of common sense I seek repose,

Far from the disconsolate dominions

Tainted by the tyranny of prose.

O'er the whole translunar gamut ranging.

There my astral body slides and skims,

Choriambic melodies exchanging

With the apolaustic cherubims;

Weaving in a polyphonic pattern

Harmonies that mock at clefs and bars;

Toying with the shining rings of Saturn,

Throwing star-dust in the eyes of Mars.

There, suspended in a sumptuous limbo,

Like a happier version of the boy

Drawn by Mr. Blackwood in his Jimbo,

I shall taste of bliss without alloy;

Other minstrels may indulge in fighting,

I myself cannot so far forget

As to shun the raptures of inditing

Occ. verse for the Bestspinster Gazette.

For our "Glimpses of the Obvious":

"An interesting feature in the prone trees was that they all fell in one direction, showing the direction from which the blast came."

Morning Paper.

"So soft and loose was the earth that the trench walls had to be rivetted."

Daily Sketch.

A very curious treatment. Personally we always use a safety-pin.

"Inquiries are being received at Lloyds for insurance to pay total loss in case of peace being declared during the present war."

Montreal Gazette.

We ourselves should take our chance of this contingency.

"The total import value of matches is less than £1,000,000 per annum, and if £2,000,000 is to be collected, it will make matches 6d. or even more per dozen."—Daily Chronicle.

Mr. McKenna surely cannot have realized this.

MR. PUNCH'S POTTED FILMS. THE SENTIMENTAL DRAMA.

The above squad, containing an ex-contortionist, has just received the following instruction:—"At the command 'Backward bend,' place the hands on the hips and bend back as far as possible."

MORE EYE-WASH.

Whene'er I see some high brass-hatted man

Inspect the Depôt with his ribboned train,

When all seems spick and absolutely span

And no man spits and nothing gives him pain,

I think what blissful ignorance is theirs

Who only see us on inspection days,

And wonder, could they catch us unawares,

Would they be still so eloquent of praise?

They think the soldiers are a cleanly type,

For all their brass is bright with elbow-fat,

Burnished their bayonets and oiled their hyp;

Do they suppose they always look like that?

They see the quarters beautiful and gay,

Yet never realise, with all their lore,

Those bright new beds were issued yesterday

And will to-morrow be returned to store.

They doubtless say, "Was ever drill so deft?

Were ever rifles so precisely sloped?

Observe that section change direction left

So much, much better than the best we hoped;"

But little know with what grim enterprise

For week on week that clever-looking crew

Have practised up for their especial eyes

The sole manœuvre they can safely do.

And I could tell where many a canker gnaws

Within the walls they fancy free from sin;

I know how officers infringe their laws,

I know the corners where the men climb in;

I know who broke the woodland fence to bits

And what platoon attacked the Shirley cow,

While the dull Staff, for all their frantic chits,

Know not the truth of that distressing row.

These are the things I think they should be taught,

But, since I know what ages must elapse,

What forms be filled, what signatures be sought,

Ere I have speech with such exalted chaps,

I here announce that they are much misled,

That they should see us when we think them far,

Should steal upon us, all unheralded,

And find what frauds, what awful frauds we are.

"I was astonished that not a Londoner raised a cheer for the fine Bankers' Battalion of the Fusiliers which marched through the City to-day. We are really absurdly shy."

"Quex Junior" in "Evening News," April 15.

"The older comrades, who are keeping banks going in the absence of the younger patriots, turned out to cheer their comrades."

"Evening News," same date.

The older bankers, we must presume, are all from the provinces, and not so shy.

THE CHAMPION OF THE SMALLER NATIONS.

Imperial Pachyderm. "OUR HEART GOES OUT TO THESE POOR LITTLE UNPROTECTED EGGS. THEY WANT MOTHERING. WE WILL SIT ON THEM." [Does so.]

[With Mr. Punch's apologies to a noble animal.]

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

Colonel Churchill (arriving post-haste at the House of Commons from the Front, on April 18), "Come I too late for the Premier's statement?"