When the fighting is finally over,

And victory smiles on our land,

And we 're living in comfort and clover,

We must take our religion in hand;

We must make it heroic and German,

With "Fatherland-love" as its fount;

We must reconcile War with the Sermon

Once preached on the Mount.

"Miss —— has a sweet voice.... Perhaps her greatest appeal was simplicity and an entire lack of effectiveness."

"Journal," Meriden, Conn.

We have singers just like that in the old country, too.

"Lieutenant —— is reported wounded by the War Office."—Liverpool Daily Post.

He is not the only one who has been hurt by this agency.

"Wanted immediately for Boys' Industrial School (temporarily and possibly permanently), an All-round Tanner."—Natal Mercury.

There is evidently a good deal of leathering to be done.

From Jack London's A Son of the Sun:—

"She had been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights."

Somewhere north of the Arctic Circle, we presume.

UNCHARTED SEAS.

He boarded the 'bus just as it was leaving Piccadilly Circus. "Full ahtside," chanted the conductor, so the A.B. squeezed into a totally inadequate space between a girl of sixteen and an elderly and benevolent-looking lady. Squaring himself forward, he placed a hand like a boxing-glove on either knee and glanced genially up and down the 'bus. He was a large man, dark and hairy, and it was quite easy to associate him with pigtails, tar and cutlasses. After the first impression there came to one a sense of something odd and un-nautical. Then one became suddenly aware that, instead of the regulation Navy cap, he was wearing a rough woollen tam-o'-shanter, which hung coyly over one ear.

A thin man in a top-hat was the first to notice it.

"Still pretty cold in the North Sea?" he ventured, with an eye upon the tam-o'-shanter.

"So I've 'eard," the sailor replied guardedly; "but this 'ere," he touched his headgear, "ain't an Arctic brow-mitten. I got this from a friend, 'avin' lost me own little 'at jest after the second torpedo was fired."

"Gracious!" ejaculated the elderly lady, and the occupants of the 'bus became magnetised to attention.

"Now that's extremely interesting," exclaimed the thin man with a nervous movement of his hand; "could you tell us the name of the ship?"

"Can't say as I can, Sir," was the discouraging reply.

"Of course not, of course not," spluttered a testy old gentleman in white spats; "a very injudicious question in a public conveyance." He glared at the thin man with intention.

"Sort o' fancy name she