Well, I took off my hat to him—I couldn't resist it. Never have I been more thrilled at the thought of the indomitable spirit of our race. No difference!

I questioned him further, but he evinced all the admirable and impenetrable reticence of the Service in war-time.

Deeply moved by these experiences I next accosted a brawny stoker covered with the grime of his calling. "The life seems to suit you all right," I cried, and slapped him on the back. The result was noteworthy. He made absolutely no reply of any sort but spat over the side.

And finally I must tell the story of the trawler and the mine. We all heard it, and most of the best people are telling it. It reveals better than anything perhaps the spiritual depths. It was related by an officer who had taken charge of our party and who actually showed us a photograph of the mine in question in a little museum of relics he had established on the quay, which contained also a part of a chronometer, said to be German, and a loaf of potato bread, captured and brought home under conditions that will make a stirring story after the War. The mine had been towed in by a fisherman who had flung a rope round its horns. "Cool hand, that fisherman," the narrator concluded. (It is only fair to say that in some versions given to the public the expression is set down as "Offhand chap" or "Careless old card," but I believe these to be incorrect.) "He said it must be safe enough for he had towed it for fourteen miles." (There has been some little discrepancy as to the mileage also, one sensational writer in the Yellow Press even putting it as high as nineteen.)

A wonderful week! It is folly to draw great conclusions from a hasty visit. All the same this is my considered message to the British Public—Trust the Trawlers.

Bis.

S.O.S.

"We may indeed say with another meaning, Sos monumentum requiras circumspice."—The Builder.

Hun Candour.

From a description of Czernowitz in the Berliner Tageblatt:—

"Since Saturday evening everyone wanted to go away, Christian, Jew, German."

"An Edmonton barber, who was given temporary exemption, stated that he had tried a female assistant, but she took half-an-hour to shave one man."—Evening Paper.

As the result, we suspect, of too much "chin-wagging."

The following letter was received from a Chinese store-keeper, in response to an order for benzine:—

"Madam,—Very sorry we have no Benzine, but we have Ground Cloves, Nutmegs, Cinnamon and Ginger. Hoping to be excused for the trouble."

Victims of the petrol-census may be glad to know of these substitutes.

"Wanted good Navies. Several months work. 7d.—Apply Ganger, Northampton."

We suspect "Ganger, Northampton," to be a nom de guerre for "Admiral of the Atlantic, Wilhelmshaven," who is notoriously hard up both for ships and money.

"The evidence of the police was to the effect that about 400 people marched in procession through Dame Street and Westmoreland Street, followed by a crowd of 2,000 girls, who led the processionists."

Daily Mirror.

There is precedent for this in higher circles, where leaders have been known to follow the crowd.

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

Paris. "WE'VE DECIDED TO KEEP THE APPLE FOR OURSELVES."

Germania. "THEN WHAT DO I GET?"

Paris. "THE PIP!"

TESTING THE HUSH.

You do it by dropping a pin at the supreme moment before a great soprano's opening note.

KITCHEN RHYMES.

The Crowning Art.

Too Many Cooks?

Higher Education.

Loss and Gain.

Fireless Cookery.

A Dietetic Tragedy.

Before the War.

During the War.

"To-day we hear that the elevation to the Peerage of Mr. H. J. Tennant, M.P. for Berwickshire, is certain. We hope the tile he assumes will be a local one."