unending,

Good advice with censure blending?

A Work of Supererogation.

"At an interval in the evening some carols were sung by members of our G.F.S., and a collection was taken on behalf of a fund for providing Huns for our soldiers."—Parish Magazine.

INFORMATION WANTED.

No one can answer the question, and I have not the pluck—being a law-abiding citizen—to try for myself. But I do so want to know. I ask everyone. I ask my partners at dinner (when any dinner comes my way). I ask casual acquaintances. I would ask the officials themselves, only they are so preoccupied. But the words certainly set up a very engrossing problem, and upon this problem many minor problems depend, clustering round it like chickens round the maternal hen. But I should be quite content with an answer only to the hen; the rest could wait. Yet there is an inter-dependence between them that cannot be overlooked. For example, did someone once do it and meet with such a calamity that everyone else had to be warned? Or is it merely that the authorities dislike us to be comfy? Or is it thought that the public might get so much attracted by the habit as to convert the place into a house where a dance is in progress? I wish I knew these things.

Will not some Member ask for information in the House, and then—arising out of this question—get all the other subsidiary facts? We are told so many things that don't matter, such as the enormous number of Ministers in the new Government, which was formed, if I remember rightly, as a protest against too large a Cabinet; such as the colossal genius of each and every performer in Mr. COCHRANE'S theatrical companies; such as the best place in Oxford Street to contract the shopping habit; such as the breaks made day by day all through the War by billiard champions; such as the departure of Mr. G.B. SHAW on his bewildering and, one would think, totally unnecessary visit to the Front and his return from that experience; such as—but enough. I am told by the informative Press all these and more things, but no one tells me the one thing I want to know.

Perhaps YOU can.

I want to know why we may not sit on the Tube moving staircases, and I want to know what would happen if we did.

What to do with Our Dogs.

"FOR SALE.—Pure Bred Irish Terrier Dog, right thing to wear now. Seamless, comfortable. All Wool."—Bedford Daily Circular.

"Bread embroideries encircle the figure."—Glasgow Citizen.

An appropriate adornment for the bread basket, no doubt, but too extravagant in these times.

BUNNY'S LITTLE BIT.

W.H.O.

PROBLEMS FOR PÉTROLEUSES.

The Metropolitan Commissioner of Police having decided to sanction women taxicab drivers, we understand that all applicants for licences will be required to pass a severe examination in "knowledge of London." As, however, this will be concerned mainly with localities and quickest routes, we venture to suggest to the examiners a few supplementary questions of a more general character:—

(I.) How far should a cab-wheel revolving at fifteen miles an hour, be able to fling a pint of London mud?

(II.) Has a pedestrian any right to cross a road? and, if so, how much?

(III.) With three toots of an ordinary motor-horn indicate the following:—(a) contempt, (b) rage, (c) homicidal mania.

(IV.) Under what circumstances, if any, should the words "Thank you" be employed?

(V.) Having been engaged at 11.35 P.M. to drive an elderly gentleman, wearing a fur-coat, to Golder's Green, you are tendered the legal fare plus twopence. Express, within ladylike limits, your appreciation of this generosity.

(VI.) On subsequently discovering the same gentleman to be a member of the Petrol Control Committee, revise your answer accordingly.

(VII.) Sketch, within ten sheets of MS., your idea of a becoming and serviceable uniform for a lady-driver.

(VIII.) Who said, and in what connection—

(IX.) At the top of St. James's Street you are hailed simultaneously by two spinster ladies with hand luggage, wishing to be driven to Euston, and by a single unencumbered gentleman whose destination is the Savoy Grill. Well?

(X.) At what hour do performances at the London theatres end, and which do you consider the best places of concealment in which to secrete yourself at that time?

(XI.) What would be your correct procedure on receiving a simple direction to "The Palace" from—