on 'ere,' I says to the feller that was with me; 'I'm goin' for'ard a minute.'

"'Arf a minute, an' I was in my old bunk; an' there was the cache all right, just like I left it."

He paused dramatically; I supposed it was for histrionic effect, but it lasted so long that I said, "And so I suppose you sent the ring to the girl after all?"

"Oh! 'er!" he said, with an air of surprise, "I've forgot 'er name and all about 'er, only that she 'ad a brother in one o' them monkey-boats of ELDER DEMPSTER'S—'e 'ad the biggest thirst I ever struck."

"But the ring?" I said. "I suppose it was there all right?"

He stopped his pipe down with his thumb, with an enigmatical expression.

"That's where the bloomin' coincidence come in," he said; "it weren't."

C.F.S.

Colonel (to private told off to act as caddie). "NOW I HOPE YOU KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT IT. THE LAST MAN I HAD PUT ME RIGHT OFF. HAVE YOU EVER HANDLED CLUBS BEFORE?"

Private. "NOT SINCE I PLAYED IN THE AMATEUR CHAMPIONSHIP, SIR." (Colonel is put off again.)

"Miss ——, the World-renounced Teacher of Dancing."—Southern Standard.

Another victim of the War.

Major-General (addressing the men before practising an attack behind the lines). "I WANT YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A REHEARSAL, AND THE REAL THING. THERE ARE THREE ESSENTIAL DIFFERENCES: FIRST, THE ABSENCE OF THE ENEMY. NOW (turning to the Regimental Sergeant-Major) WHAT IS THE SECOND DIFFERENCE?"

Sergeant-Major. "THE ABSENCE OF THE GENERAL, SIR."

TO TOWSER.

"A landslide in Monmouthshire threatens to close the natural course of the River Ebbw, seriously interfering with its ffllww."—Star.

It certainly sounds rather diverting.

From a list of gramophone records:—

"Nothing could seem easier in the wide world than the emission of the cascade of notes that falls from the mouth of the horn—which might indeed be Tetrazzini's own mouth."

"The diameter of my own gramophone horn is eighteen inches," writes the sender of the extract.

"THE ROAD TO VICTORY."

GERMANY. "ARE WE NEARLY THERE, ALL-HIGHEST?"

ALL-HIGHEST. "YES; WE'RE GETTING NEAR THE END NOW."

"'AVE YOU 'EARD ABOUT THESE 'ERE NEW INVISIBLE ZEPPELINS THEY'RE MAKIN'?"

"YES. BUT I DON'T RECKON WE SHALL SEE MANY OF 'EM OVER 'ERE."

TAXIS AND TALK.

Conversation in the streets of London has never been easy; not, at any rate, until the small hours, when the best of it is done. But it becomes even more complex when one of the talkers is pressed for time and wants a taxi, and disengaged taxis are as rare as new jokes in a revue.

Let the following dialogue prove it. I leave open the question whether or not I have reported the real terms of our conversation, merely reminding you that two men together, removed from the frivolity of women, tend, even in the street and when the thermometer is below freezing-point, to a high seriousness rare when the sexes are mingled.

Imagine us facing a wind from the east composed of steel filings and all uncharity. We are somewhere in Chelsea, and for some reason or other, or none at all, I am accompanying him.

He (looking at his watch). I've got to be at Grosvenor Gardens by half-past one and there's not a taxi anywhere. We must walk fast and perhaps we'll meet one. Dash this War anyhow. (He said, as a matter of fact, "damn," but I am getting so tired of that word, in print that I shall employ alternatives every time. Someone really must institute a close season for "damns" or they won't any longer be funny on the