plenty, according to the Generals. Every
time we move from one place to another we gain, it seems, an
overwhelming triumph and cause to fly every one who is opposed to us.
Twice already your Majesty has announced that before the leaves fell
from the trees there would be peace, and our brave soldiers would return
safely to their homes; but, alas, it has not so happened, and the
dreadful fighting still goes on, and many thousands of our women lose
their fathers, their husbands, and their sons. With every victory (as
they call it) peace, which should be nearer at hand, seems to retire
further and further away, and only sorrow and wretchedness come close to
us. And that is not all. Our food, like everything else we have to buy,
is so dear that we women find it above all things difficult to provide
ourselves with what we need for our daily life, and the worst of it,
they say, has not yet come. I could understand that if we had been
defeated; but we have been ever victorious and yet we are in want. It is
useless for Pastor Hassmann to tell us on Sundays that we must endure to
the end. We are prepared to do what we can, but we think, too, that
since we have been so magnificently victorious we should have peace
quickly, so that we may all once more try to have some happiness in this
world.

I remain, in the deepest devotion,

Your loyal, KUNEGUNDE TINTENKLECKS.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S POTTED FILMS. THE DOMESTIC DRAMA.

WHAT A LITTLE CHILD CAN DO.

[Illustration: "MUMMY, WHERE DOES DADDY GO EVERY NIGHT AFTER DINNER?"]

[Illustration: ALAS! HE GOES TO THE ELYSIAN CLUB--NUMBER 301A, SOHO
SQUARE.]

[Illustration: "HULLO, DADDY! I'SE COME TO SEE 'OO."]

[Illustration: THE CLUB IS SURROUNDED BY THE POLICE.]

[Illustration: "WE ARE THE CARETAKER'S LITTLE CHILDREN."]

[Illustration: WHAT A LITTLE CHILD CAN DO.]

* * * * *

[Illustration: "WOT'S COME OVER YOUNG GINGER?"

"OW! THERE'S NO TORKIN' TO 'IM SINCE 'IS BRUVVER TOOK UP WIV LORD
DURBY."]

* * * * *

MEDITATIONS OF MARCUS O'REILLY.

LUCY.

We called her Lucy because she came from the country and "dwelt on a
wide moor." We never knew her real name.

She came like a ray of sunlight into our dull sordid town once a week
with immaculate white apron, wearing a cap of an older, honester world,
carrying a basket of delicious country butter made up in appetising
rol