Richard. How sad!  But thanks to you, dear Mamma, we know better.  When Papa comes in to tea I will ask him when he thinks I shall be old enough to read all the books that have ever been written about KING ALFRED. I want to know everything about him.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Mother (to curate). “AND DO YOU REALLY PRAY FOR YOUR ENEMIES?”

Ethel (overhearing). “I DO, MUMMY.”

Curate. “AND WHAT DO YOU SAY IN YOUR PRAYER, MY CHILD?”

Ethel. “I PRAY THAT THEY MAY BE BEATEN.”]

* * * * *

IL FLAUTO MAGICO.

    “The Lord Mayor formally declared the aerodrome opened, and turned
    on the flute diverting the waters of the Cardinal Wolsey river
    underground.”—­Evening News.

* * * * *

From an interview with Lord ROBERT CECIL, as reported by The Manchester Guardian:—­

    “It is literally true of the British soldier that he is tans peur
    et tans rapproche.”

This perhaps explains some recent reflections on the linguistic accomplishments of our Foreign Office.

* * * * *

MARIANA IN WAR-TIME.

  This tedious and important War
  Has altered much that went before,
  But did you hear about the change
  At Mariana’s Moated Grange? 
  You all of you will recollect
  The gross condition of neglect
  In which the place appeared to be,
  And Mariana’s apathy,
  Her idleness, her want of tone,
  Her—­well, her absence of backbone. 
  Her relatives, no doubt, had tried
  To single out the brighter side,
  Had scolded her about the moss
  And only made her extra cross.

  But when the War had really come
  At once the place began to hum,
  And Mariana’s, bless her heart! 
  She threw herself into the part
  Of cooking for the V.A.D. 
  And wholly lost her lethargy. 
  She sent her gardeners off pell-mell
  (They hadn’t kept the gardens well),
  And got a lady-gardener in
  Who didn’t cost her half the tin,
  And who, before she’d been a day,
  Had scraped the blackest moss away. 
  She put a jolly little boat
  For wounded soldiers on the moat;
  Her relatives were bound to own
  How practical the girl had grown. 
  She often said, “I feel more cheery,
  I doubt if I can stick this dreary
  Old grange again when peace is rife;
  You really couldn’t call it life.”

  But something infinitely more
  Than just a European War
  Would have been requisite to part
  Romance from Mariana’s heart;
  Once more she felt within her stir
  The dawn of une affaire de coeur;
  In other words, I must confess
  She found her thoughts were centred less
  On that young man who never came
  And more on Captain What’s-his-name,
  Who’d left his other leg in France
  And was a model of romance.