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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

FAIR WEAR AND TEAR. In a short time now we shall have to return this flat to its proper tenants and arrive at some assessment of the damage done to their effects. With regard to the other rooms, even the room which Richard and Priscilla condescend to use as a nursery, I shall accept the owners' estimate cheerfully enough, I think; but the case of the drawing-room furniture is different. About the nursery I have only heard vague rumours, but in... more...

29th December, 1920. CHARIVARIA. No newspapers were published on Saturday, Sunday or Monday. We did not begrudge them their holiday, but we do think The Daily Mail might have issued occasional bulletins respecting the weather at Thanet, as we consider three days is too long to keep their readers in suspense. The most popular indoor game this winter seems to be Battledore-and-Juttlecock. A woman informed a London magistrate last... more...

THE GRASSHOPPER. The Animal Kingdom may be divided into creatures which one can feed and creatures which one cannot feed. Animals which one cannot feed are nearly always unsatisfactory; and the grasshopper is no exception. Anyone who has tried feeding a grasshopper will agree with me. Yet he is one of the most interesting of British creatures. The Encyclopædia Britannica is as terse and simple as ever about him. "Grasshoppers," it says,... more...

THE END OF THE JUBILEE. I've been to the Abbey, the Naval Review, The Maske at Gray's Inn and the Institute too; In fact I feel just like the Wandering Jew, Or other historical rover: I've turned day into night and the night into day, In a regular rollicking Jubilee way, And now I can truly and thankfully say, I'm uncommonly glad that it's over. I've been to a number of Jubilee balls, And I'm really worn out by the parties and... more...

AUGUST 20, 1887. THE PLEASANT TRAVELLER'S CONVERSATION-BOOK. (To be translated into French, German, and Italian, for the benefit of Foreigners.)In the Train. Continental Railways are disgracefully mismanaged.   This train does not travel at anything like the rate of our expresses. The "Flying Scotchman" travels at 50, 100, or 150 (according to fancy) miles the hour. I object to smoking; also wish all the windows to be opened or... more...