brightly—he is very bright and bird-like in the mornings—"the ones the padre thought were Russian fire-guards. Can't we get them? They aren't ours, but then they aren't anybody's—they've been there a year, the old woman told me."

"Where's the Orderly Officer?" (He was there with a mouthful of toast.) "Take the mess limber and fetch 'em back if the Heavy Group Artillery will let you—they're in there now, aren't they?"

"And if you're g-going into the town g-get some fish for dinner," said the Brigade Major; "everlasting ration beef makes my s-stammer worse."

"Why?" said the General.

"Indigestion—nerves, Sir; I can hardly talk over the telephone at all after dinner."

"Good heavens!" said the General; "bring a turbot."

"Fish!" said the B.M. at dinner. "Bong!"

"I brought the vanes, Sir."

"Have any trouble?"

"No, Sir. I saw the A.D.C., and said we had 'left them behind,' which was true, you know, Sir." (The O.O. for once felt himself the centre of interest and desired to improve the occasion). "We did 'leave them behind,' so it wasn't a lie exactly ..."

"I don't care if it was," said the General; "you've got 'em, that's the main thing."

"Where will you have one put, Sir?"

"In the fields," said the B.M.

"Not too low," said the Captain.

"Or too high," said Signals.

"Or too far away," said the attached officer.

"Well, now you know," said the General, "pass the chutney."

They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly dug-in.

"Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning.

"——!" said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the vernacular). "Where's our vane?"

"It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I—"

"We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went—General, Brigade Major (enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright and birdlike), and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle.

"North is—there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this is pointing—due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O.

"Paralysed," said the B.M.

"Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain.

"It's stiff!" said the General; "wants-oil" (pause); "wants oil!" and the O.O. slid away, returning at once with oil (salad, bottle, one).

"Now pour it over the top—top, boy, top!"

A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a handkerchief.

"Making a salad of you?" said the General. "Ha! ha!"

The B.M. smiled a smile (sickly, one).

"That's better!" The General spun it round. "What's it say now? East!"

"Better wait," said the B.M., "it'll change its mind in a minute."

"It's going!" cried the General excitedly. "There! Well, I'm—West!"

"The padre was right—it must be a fireguard, after all," said the Staff Captain.

"Or a s-sundial," muttered the B.M.

I believe the meteorological report was finally entered as: "Wind light to moderate (to strong), varying from East to West (via North and South)."

"Of course," said the General kindly to the O.O., "it's not quite perpendicular, it's a bit too low; wants a stronger prop, wires are a bit slack, the vane itself wants looking to, and the whole thing is in rather a bad position, but otherwise it's all right—quite all right."

"Yes, Sir," said the O.O.

"And there's too much oil," added the General, as he moved off.

"There is," said the B.M., discovering another blob on his shiny boots, "and on m-me!"

The Staff were unaccountably late. The O.O. breakfasted alone. For three days he had been the despair of the small and perspiring body of pioneers, who towards the end had fled at the mere sight of him. But at last the vane was working.

"Well," said the General when he came in, "how's the wind, expert?"

"N.N.E.," said the O.O. proudly. (It was the first thing he had done since he came on the Brigade three weeks before, and he was pleased at the interest the Staff had taken in his little achievement.) "I've had the pioneers working on it, and we've got it up another four feet, Sir, tightened the pole, and wired it on to the supports on every side. It's quite perpendicular now. I've marked out the points of the compass on it, and fixed up a little arrangement for gauging the strength of the wind—that flap thing, you know, Sir—"

"Yes, yes," said the General, who seemed to have lost his first keenness, "I'm glad it's working all right. By the way, we shall be moving from here to-morrow; the division's going back."

The O.O. drained the teapot in silence, and was glad it was strong and bitter.

AT OUR COMPANY SMOKER.

The Major (sings). "AND WE DIDN'T CARE A BUTTON IF THE ODDS WERE ON THE FOE TEN—TWENTY—THIRTY—FORTY—"

Colonel (roused from surreptitious snooze). "AS YOU WERE!—NUMBER!"

Result of the Blockade.

Notice on a railway bookstall:—

"MEN AROUND THE KAISER.
MUCH REDUCED."

"On the pier a man was arrested who declared excitedly that he was Frederick Hohenzollern, the Kaiser's nephew, but he appeared quite harmless."—Daily News.

Obviously an impostor.

"The khaki-clad boys were as merry as a party of undergraduates celebrating some joyous event at the college tuck-shop."—Yorkshire Herald.

What memories of the Junior Common Room are recalled by this artless phrase.

The Super-Submarine.

"The Lyman M. Law was stopped by a gunshot fired by a submarine, which boarded the American boat, took the names of all on board, and then authorised the continuation of the voyage."—Evening News.

Experiences of Mr. GERARD'S party:—

"Our first surprise on reaching Paris was to find taxi-cabs, and taxi-cubs with pneumatic tyres."—Scots Paper.

We suggest that our M.F.H.'s should import a few of these in time for next season's cubbing. They give an excellent run for the money—a mile for eightpence or so.

THE MISSING LEADER.