His obiter dicta on life and the law
  Set our ribald young folk in a frequent guffaw;
  But the elders repose an implicit belief
  In so splendid a product of beer and of beef.

  He’s the strongest and solidest man in the place,
  Nothing—­short of mad cattle—­can quicken his pace;
  His moustache would do credit to any dragoon,
  And his voice is as deep as a double bassoon.

  His complexion is perfect, his uniform neat,
  He rivets all eyes as he stalks down the street;
  And I doubt if his critics will ever complain
  Of his being a little deficient in brain.

  For he’s more than a man; he’s a part of the map;
  His going would cause a deplorable gap;
  And the village would suffer as heavy a slump
  As it would from the loss of the old parish pump.

* * * * *

A HAPPY JUXTAPOSITION.

    “CHEAPER MATCHES. | FRESH LIGHT ON THE KAISER’S PLOTS.”

    Daily Mirror.

From the report of a Royal investiture:—­

    “The first officer to mount the dais was Major ——­, who wore
    the broad-brimmed slouch hat of the Austrian Infantry.”

    North China Daily News.

A souvenir, of course.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  SUPPLY AND DEMAND.]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Mother (to maid, who has offered Marjorie some jam). “OH NO, THANK YOU, NOT WITH THE FIRST PIECE.”

Marjorie. “BUT, MUMMY, I HAVE GIVEN UP HAVING A FIRST PIECE NOW—­WAR ECONOMY.”]

* * * * *

THE TRENCH CODE.

Ah! with what awe, what infantile impatience,
We eyed the artifice when issued out,
And racked our brains about the Regulations,
And tried to think we had them free from doubt! 
As Rome’s old Fathers, reverently leaning
In secret cellars o’er the Sibyl’s strain,
Beyond the fact that several pars
Had something vague to do with Mars,
Failed, as a rule, to find the smallest meaning,
But told the plebs the oracle was plain.

So did we study it, ourselves deceiving,
In hope to say, “We have no rations here,”
Or, “Please, Brigade, this regiment wants relieving,”
And “Thank you for the bombs—­but why no beer?”
And wondered always, with a hint of presage,
Since never word emerged as it was planned,
If it was Hermes, Lord of Craft,
Compiled the code, or someone daft,
So that no mortal could compose a message
Which anybody else could understand.