on beside those of the
Treaties so gloriously deleted by our brothers of the Imperial Army.

I have the honour to be, Sir, etc., etc.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _First Urchin (to Captain who has just bought a new
motor-horn)._ "CARRY YER PARCEL, COLONEL?"

_Second ditto (in a hoarse whisper)._ "GARN! CAN'T YER SEE 'E'S A
BUGLER?"]

* * * * *

"Note.--A kilometre is, roughly, five-fifths of a
mile."--_Newcastle Evening Chronicle._

The Press Bureau, while not objecting....

* * * * *

VICTORINE.

Victorine, our new general, is a Belgian refugee. She was naturally
somewhat broken in spirit on first entering our establishment, but as
the days went by she became happier, and so enterprising and
ingratiating that we hastened to smother in its infancy a shameful
doubt as to whether or not we had introduced into our sympathetic
bosoms a potential viper. Morning, noon and night there was continuous
scrubbing, polishing and beeswaxing; at all moments one was meeting a
pink and breathless Victorine, and the house echoed to an interminable
stream of information in the French tongue.

At mealtime, the verdict having been duly pronounced on each
successive dish, Victorine would stand by while we ate, and unburden
herself confidentially. 'Mon mari' (Jean Baptiste, a co-refugee who
had searched all London for a place as _valet de chambre_) was lightly
touched upon. Belgium was described in glowing terms, a land of
wonders we had not dreamt of.

"Miss will not believe me, but when first we arrive in England all the
world cries, 'Oh! regard then the little sheep!' For Mademoiselle must
know that in Belgium the sheep are high and big as that" (Victorine
sketches in the air the dimensions of a good-sized donkey). "Monsieur
mocks himself of me? Monsieur should visit my _pays_ where dwell the
sheep of a bigness and a fatness to rejoice the heart, and whose wool
is of a softness incredible; Monsieur would not then smile thus in his
beard." Victorine assumes an attitude of virtuous indignation,
disturbed by the ringing of the telephone bell.

"I save myself," she murmurs.

Through the half-open door we hear as usual only scraps of dialogue,
all on one side, and very unsatisfying.

"Alloa! J'ecoute! Madame, je ne parle que le francais--hein?" Long
pause. "Alloa! Alloa!" Victorine rattles the instrument impatiently.
"Ah! ca