mous lecture on the defects of English
education. But for Parliamentary sagacity _in excelsis_ commend us to
Mr. McCallum Scott. He is seriously perturbed about the shortage of
sausage-skins and, in spite of the bland assurance of Mr. Harcourt that
supplies are ample, is alleged to be planning a fresh campaign with the
assistance of Mr. Hogge. Another shortage has given rise to no anxiety, but
rather the reverse. In a police court it was recently stated that there are
no longer any tramps in England. Evidently the appeal of that stirring old
song, "Tramp! tramp! tramp! the boys are marching," has not been without
its effect.

[Illustration: CONJURER (unconscious of the approach of hostile aircraft):
"Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, I want you to watch me closely."]

Yet another endurable shortage is reported from the seaside, where an old
sailor on the local sea front has been lamenting the spiritual starvation
brought about by the war. "Why," he said, "for the first time for twenty
years we ain't got no performing fleas down here." And performers, when
they do come, are not always successful in riveting the attention of their
audience.

_August, 1916_.

The third year of the War opens well for the Allies; so well that the
Kaiser has again issued a statement denying that he is responsible for it.
The Big Push on the Somme goes on steadily, thanks to fine leadership, the
steadfast heroism of the New Armies, and the loyal co-operation of the
munition-workers at home, who have deferred their holiday rather than
hamper their brothers in the trenches by a lessened output.

Here one fact may suffice as a sample. The weekly consumption of high
explosives by the Army is now between eleven and twelve thousand times as
much as it was in September, 1914. Yet when a lieutenant is asked to state
what it is really like being along with the B.E.F. when it is in its
pushful mood, he sedulously eschews heroics, and will not commit himself to
saying more than that it's all right--that he doesn't think there is any
cause for anxiety. "We seem to have ceased to have sensations out here. It
is a matter of business; the only question is how long is it going to take
to complete." So, too, with the Tommies. "Wonderful," declares the man in
the ranks to persistent seekers after thrilling descriptions of war. "You
never see the like. Across in them trenches there was real soda-water in
bottles." To return to our lieutenant, he "simply can't