n the Bench.

* * * * *

"A Republic is derported to have been declared at Zagazig. In
Cairo stdikes have added to the difficulties of the public, the
latest being one by the cabddivers. Crowds ottempted to storm
the Government printing works, but were dispersed by the
military."--_Daily Paper_.

Not, however, until they had worked some havoc among the type.

* * * * *

THE MUD LARKS.

I was motoring homewards across the old line. A ghost-peopled dusk was
crawling over the devastation and desolation that is Vimy, and in the
distance the bare bones of St. Eloy loomed like a spectre skeleton
against the frosty after-glow. We hummed past Thelus cross-roads,
dipped downhill and, _hey presto_! all of a sudden I was in China.
(No, not Neuville-St.-Vaast; China, China, place where they eat
birds'-nests and puppy-dogs' tails.) There were coolies from some
salvage company all over the place, perched on heaps of broken
masonry, squatting along the ditch side, banked ten-deep in the
road--tall villainous-looking devils, very intently watching
something. I pulled up, partly to avoid killing them and partly to see
what it was all about.

It was an open-air theatre. They had built it on the ruins of an
_estaminet_, roofed it over with odds and ends of tin and tarpaulin,
and the play was on. There was the orchestra against the back-cloth,
rendering selections from popular Pekin revues on the drum, cymbal and
one-stringed fiddle. There were the actors apparelled in the gorgeous
costumes of old Cathay strutting mechanically through their parts, the
female impersonators squeaking in shrill falsetto and putting in a lot
of subtle fan-work. And there was the ubiquitous property-man drifting
in and out among the performers, setting his fantastic house in order.
We were actually within a mile of the Vimy Ridge, but we might have
been away on the sunny side of Suez, deep within the mysterious heart
of Canton City.

"Good as a three-ring circus, ain't it?" said an English voice at my
side; "most of their plays run on for nine months or so, but this
particular show only lasts six weeks, the merest curtain-raiser."

I turned towards the speaker and looked full upon the beak nose, cleft
cheek and bristling red moustache of an old friend. "Good Lord, The
Beachcomber!" I breathed. He started, peered at me and growled,
"Captain Dawnay-Devenish, if it's all