LETTERS TO PEOPLE I DON'T KNOW. (No answers required, thank you.) To Count Brockdorff-Rantzau, Head of the German Peace Delegation. The enthralling volume, entitled Preliminary Terms of Peace, on which your attention is being engrossed at the present moment, is said to be of the same length as A Tale of Two Cities. In other respects there is little resemblance traceable between the two works. A more striking likeness is to be found between the... more...

THE MUD LARKS. Yesterday morning, a freckled child, dripping oil and perspiration and clad in a sort of canvas dressing-gown, stumbled into "Remounts" (or "Demounts," as we should more properly call ourselves nowadays) and presented me with a slip of paper which entitled him, the bearer, to immediate demobilisation on pivotal grounds. I handed it back to him, explaining that he had come to the wrong shop—unless he were a horse, of course.... more...

THE SPOIL-SPORT. Mr. Phillybag was demobilised. The Day had come. For months he had dreamed of the possibility—had imagined the joy and alacrity with which he would doff his cap, tunic and trousers, service dress, one each, and resume the decent broadcloth of a successful City solicitor. Strangely enough, however, once he was actually demobilised he found himself in no hurry to lose the garb which showed that he, Mr. Phillybag, had helped,... more...

HOW TO CURE THE BOSCH. "Yes, I seen a good bit o' the Bosch, one way and another, before he got me in the leg," said Corporal Digweed. "Eighteen months I had with 'im spiteful, and four months with 'im tame. Meaning by that four months guarding German prisoners." "And what do you think of him at the end of it?" I asked. Digweed leant back with a heavily judicial air. "Some o' these Peace blighters seem to think he's a little angel, basin'... more...

DUSTBIN. He dropped in to tea, quite casually; forced an entry through the mud wall of our barn, in fact. No, he wouldn't sit down—expected to be leaving in a few minutes; but he didn't mind if he did have a sardine, and helped himself to the tinful. Yes, a bit of bully, thanks, wouldn't be amiss; and a nice piece of coal; cockchafers very good too when, as now, in season; and, for savoury, a little nibble with a yard of tarred string and... more...

GEMS FROM THE JUNIORS. The following articles have been written by a little band of patriots who, without any hope of gain or self-aggrandisement, have poured forth of their store of wisdom and experience for the instruction, comfort and encouragement of their fellow-countrymen:— THE BRITISH NAVY. We are all very proud of the Navy. It is the largest in the world and all the men in it are very brave, and kind too I expeck. ALFRED THE... more...

A NATIONAL SKY-SCRAPER. I have been often asked why the Government, foreseeing the inevitable increase of Departments, had not the elementary imagination to build a colossal sky-scraper to accommodate them all. The objections to such an act of apparently obvious intelligence may be briefly enumerated. (1) With such a landmark whoever had business to conduct with a Government Department would know where to find it, for which reason alone the... more...

A PLAY OF FEATURES. [Being Sir GEORGE ALEXANDER'S production of The Attack at the St. James's.] SCENE—Alexandre Mérital's house. ACT I. Daniel Mérital. My father is a wonderful man. Leader of the Social Party in the Chamber of Deputies, noted among his colleagues for his absolute integrity, supported by the millionaire newspaper proprietor, Frépeau, whose motives, between ourselves, are not altogether... more...

A FAREWELL TOUR. This is positively Chum's last appearance in print—for his own sake no less than for yours. He is conceited enough as it is, but if once he got to know that people are always writing about him in the papers his swagger would be unbearable. However, I have said good-bye to him now; I have no longer any rights in him. Yesterday I saw him off to his new home, and when we meet again it will be on a different footing. "Is that... more...

NOT GOING AWAY FOR THE HOLIDAYS. Cookson Gaze, Q.C. Because MARIA votes Eastbourne vulgar, and the girls (sorry now I sent them to that finishing-school at Clapham) laugh so consumedly whenever I open my mouth to address a native if we go to Trouville or Dinard. C. Jumper. Because the Governor thinks three days in the year enough for anybody. Eastend Dr. Because that fiver will just give little SALLY the breath of sea-air she wants, and... more...