he never makes sufficient allowance for coffee. No one has told him that the arms of our service battalion are an estaminet couchant in a field sodden.
Anon we study billeting. There is in the North of France a crazy old farmhouse full of tumultuous children and their mother. It has, I believe, been condemned as a billet by all the sanitary authorities in France. The accommodation is an antique barn with a leaky roof above, a cesspool underneath, and the four winds of heaven raging between. We visit by parties. The party arrives at the farmhouse and knocks timidly. The door sways open, and four or so children hurl themselves upon the leader's puttees, demanding souvenirs. Madame appears capaciously from a cookery-pervaded interior.
"What is it that it is?"
Has she, we ask, place for some soldiers?
"But yes," says Madame (contrary to the custom, but she knows well how safe she is). "See you! It is by here!"
We go by there and see, while Madame tells us of her sons at the war—only five, fortunately—their names, ranks, localities, ages, and prospects. We appreciate; we admire; and, when her vocabulary, even at the killing pace she subjects it to, outlasts ours, we fall back on sympathetic grunts that sound as if we were learning German or sickening for diphtheria. Arrived at the barn we mark and measure duly, and find to our surprise that it would still—as on our last visit—hold sixty-four men if it would hold any (without chains we fear it wouldn't). Then we relieve the lady by assuring her that we already have the offer of an even better billet elsewhere; and she beams more maternally than ever and announces that coffee is now served; and we for our part realize that even War has its beautiful moments.
Smart Staff Work.
The following Divisional Order gives us some idea of the rapidity of movement of the Staff of our New Armies:—
"Divisional Headquarters will move on the 20th. The Divisional Office will close at Cholderton at 12 noon that day and open at Blackdown Barracks at the same hour."
Fifty miles in no time!
Journalistic Candour.
"Spend 5/- to do what it costs the Germans thousands"
The Germans are spending thousands of pounds on the prosecution of a campaign of falsehoods in our Colonies and abroad. If you will send us бs. we will arrange to post for three months to any address in Canada the Overseas Edition of the Daily Sketch."
Advt. in "Manchester Evening Chronicle."
THE WAR CURE.
A BREAD-AND-BUTTER POSTCARD.
Dear Mr. Punch,—Might not the excellent idea of the Field Service Postcard be more extensively used? I would suggest the following as likely to fulfil a long-felt want of the weekend visitor.
Yours truly, One who likes Things Done for Him.
[Nothing is to be written on this except the date and the signature of the sender. Words not required may be erased. If anything is added the postcard will be destroyed.]
I am quite well/ill.
I have arrived safely.
I have lost my luggage.
I will come again first opportunity/next month/next year/never.
I have enjoyed/bored myself awfully.
I have left behind my tooth brush/my hot-water bottle/my umbrella/my knitting.
Signature only———
Date———
More Impending Apologies.
"The postponement of his Excellency's departure, owing most probably to the state of the weather, has caused great disappointment."—Limerick Chronicle.
"Great enthusiasm was manifested at Dublin on the occasion of the departure of Lord and Lady Aberdeen."—Scotsman.
An Adaptable Fruit.
"Pineapple (Whole).
Per large tin 0/81⁄2; 6 tins 4/2; doz. 8/3
When sliced, these Pines make delicious Apple Fritters."—Stores' Catalogue.
One cannot altogether regret having trodden on a hornets' nest, for the reason that the hornets themselves have raised so many interesting new points."
Manchester Guardian.
It is a little way hornets have, but their points are not often taken so philosophically.
