HISTORY OF A JOKE.

BEFORE THE DAWN OF HISTORY IT WAS A UNIVERSAL FAVORITE.

THE EGYPTIANS LOVED IT.

THE ASSYRIANS NEVER GREW TIRED OF IT.

THE GREEKS GRINNED AT IT.

THE ROMANS REVELLED IN IT.

HENGIST OFTEN TOLD IT TO HORSA.

IT WAS RELISHED BY THE SAXONS.

THE NORMANS KNEW IT WELL.

IT NEVER LOST ITS FRESHNESS THROUGH THE MIDDLE AGES.

HENRY VIII. MADE HIS REPUTATION BY IT.

CHARLES II. REGALED HIS COURT WITH IT.

IN THE GEORGIAN ERA IT REMAINED UNDIMMED.

IT WAS POPULAR IN THE SIXTIES.

AND ONLY LAST WEEK IT WAS THE HIT OF ALL THE NEWEST REVUES.

THE NEW DEMOCRACY.

Telegraph Girl (at last finding addressee after marching down the room, shouting, "Bullock! Bullock! Anybody here name o' Bullock?"—contemplatively, as she awaits answer). "UMPH! NOT MUCH LIKE A BULLOCK, ARE YER?"

IN MEMORY OF DORA.

(A joyous anticipation.)

An Unhappy Christmas.

"A number of persons have booked dooms for Yuletide."—Scottish Paper.

THE BROTHER SERVICE.

MR. PUNCH, DEAR SIR,—I am still with the Q.M.A.A.C.'s at what used to be called the Front. But do not imagine I am cut off from news. Papers from home pour in by every mail. I read articles written by People Who Know, and speeches of politicians to female electors, and that is how I have learned that it is we Women of England who have won the War.

Yet out here one cannot help noticing that the War was not waged entirely by the lovelier sex. And so I am writing to ask you to say a word or two about the work of the Brother Service, the less conspicuous branches of our army, the men who hauled big guns about, who stood in trenches, who looked after ammunition, or who killed mules to provide us with pressed beef. Little bits of the great machinery—hangers-on of the great Women's Army Corps—yes, but without the humble hairpin the whole coiffure falls to the ground.

I have never been a pessimist or a scaremonger, but without some of these men I don't believe we women would have won the War at all!

They ought to be encouraged, Mr. Punch. Could you not start a Muscle Competition for the men who helped the women win the War? Something like the Beauty Competitions for us other warriors? Why not offer prizes to the Tommy with the biggest biceps, the Subaltern with the thickest calf, and the Brigadier with the finest abdominal development?

One is so afraid that at the next European crisis the War Office, having learned its history from picture papers, will simply mobilise the women and forget all about the men. Those absurd machine guns with their wobbly legs really need a man's touch. Besides, it would be so jolly dull without them.

No, the men really helped, and we ought not to forget it.

I hope that in years to come, when little voices in the firelight (that's a pretty touch—who says the Army has made us unfeminine?) beseech me, "Tell us again how you won the War, Great-grandma," I shall retain sufficient perspective to reply, "Granny didn't do it all alone, darlings; there were a lot of men who helped too."

Yours