So it is no use waylaying the paper-hanger on the chance of getting a
free meal.

* * * * *

ANSWER TO CORRESPONDENT.

_"Anti-Reprisal."_--If you are out walking, and enemy aeroplanes are
dropping bombs on your side of the street, it is advisable to cross over
to the other side. Never shake your umbrella at the enemy 'planes. A
taxi-driver might think you were signalling to him.

* * * * *

Some of our street urchins are quite bucking up in their education. The
other day a small boy called out to a Frenchman, "Pourquoi n'etes-vous
pas en bleu? _Slackeur!_"

* * * * *

"Unique Old-World Cottage (big), about 30 min. door to West End,
yet rural seclusion; frequent express trains, last 12 p.m.;
nothing like it so close town; suit antique lover."

_Observer_.

This should make a beautiful retreat for an elderly _Lothario's_
declining years.

* * * * *

"The Basement Tea Room is near the Boot Dept., where Afternoon
Teas at moderate prices are obtainable."--_Advt. in Evening
Paper_.

Very _a propos--des bottes_.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Governess_. "WELL, MOLLIE, WHAT ARE LITTLE GIRLS MADE
OF?"

_Mollie_. "'SUGAR AND SPICE AND ALL THAT'S NICE.'"

_Governess_. "AND WHAT ARE LITTLE BOYS MADE OF?"

_Mollie_. "'SNIPS AND SNAILS AND PUPPY DOGS' TAILS.' I TOLD BOBBIE THAT
YESTERDAY, AND HE COULD _HARDLY_ BELIEVE IT."]

* * * * *

THE BOMBER GIPSY.

Come, let me tell the oft-told tale again
Of that strange Tyneside grenadier we had,
Whom none could quell or decently constrain,
For he was turbulent and sometimes bad,
Yet, stout of heart, he dearly loved to fight,
And spoke his fellows on a gusty night
In some high barn, where, huddled in the straw,
They watched the cheap wicks gutter on the shelf,
How he was irked with discipline and law,
And would fare forth to battle by himself.

This said, he left them and returned no more;
But whispers passed from Vimy to Verdun,
Where'er the fields ran thickliest with gore,
Of some stray bomber that belonged to none,
But none more fierce or flung a fairer bomb,
Who ran unscathed the gamut of the Somme
And followed Freyberg up the Beaucourt mile
With uncouth cries and streaming muddy hair;
But afte