e introduced their remarkable instrument or weapon,
described as The Clinchophone. No home is complete without it.

It is supplied with little oil bath, B.S.A. fittings and kick start.

A child can set it in motion, but nothing on earth will stop it until
its object is achieved and there is peace with honour.

Installed in a neighbourhood bristling with pianos, amateur singers,
gramophones, and other grind boxes it saves its cost in doctors'
bills.

It is fatal at fifty yards, and there has been nothing like it since
the "Tanks." It can do almost everything except stop before its time.

Read the following testimonials:--

"GENTLEMEN,--While the grand piano next door was playing last
evening I pressed the button of The Clinchophone. The piano
immediately sat back on its haunches, gibbered and then fell
on the player."

"DEAR SIR,--At the first trial of my new Clinchophone my
neighbour's gramophone rushed out of the house and has not been
heard of since."

"SAVED" says: "Last night the _basso profondo_ two doors away
started singing, 'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep.' He sang two
bars and then crawled round to my house on his hands and knees and
collapsed on the doorstep with the word 'Kamerad!' on his lips."

* * * * *

OUR STYLISTS.

"The look from his eyes, the ashen colour of his face, the passion
in his voice, mute though it was, frightened and bewildered
her."--_Story in "Home Notes."_

* * * * *

[Illustration: "DEARIE ME, NOW, I SHOULDN'T HA' THOUGHT THEY GIVES YOU
ENOUGH MONEY IN THE ARMY TO FILL ALL THEM THERE LITTLE PURSES."]

* * * * *

PATROLS.

The Scout Officer soliloquises:--

The lights begin to leap along the lines,
Leap up and hang and swoop and sputter out;
A bullet hits a wiring-post and whines;
_I wish to Heaven that I was not a Scout!_

Time was (in Dorsetshire) I loved the trade;
Far other is this battle in the waste,
Wherein, each night, though not of course afraid,
I wriggle round with ill-concealed distaste,

Where who can say what menace is not nigh,
What ambushed foe, what unexploded crump,
And the glad worm, aspiring to the sky,
Emerges suddenly and makes you jump.

Where either all is still, so still one feels
That something huge must presently explode,
And back, far back