The Major’s batman devoted the following day to the construction of a species of retiring-room at one end of the hut, wherein the modest members of the mess might bathe and splash at ease.  The remainder of the servants went out armed and returned with (1) a zinc bath, (2) a stove, (3) a cuckoo clock, (4) a large mirror, (5) a warming-pan.  “Once let us make a home for ourselves,” we said, “and our energies will be free to finish the War.”  We devoted every cunning worker in the battery to this great end.  Drill was abandoned, stables forgotten.  We installed bookshelves, bootjacks, a sideboard, hat racks, a dumb waiter, a stand for the gramophone and a roll-top desk for the Major.  The walls were tapestried with canvas, hung with pictures, scalps, and the various decorations won by members of the mess.  The original building, disreputable and hateful, was hidden and forgotten.

And then the C.C. called again, and, after a minute and admiring inspection of our abode, informed us that to his bitter sorrow he had to turn us out; umteen battalions of infantry were coming in and had to be accommodated—­this being an infantry camp....

That night, as I walked about in the rain, I looked in at the open door of our lost home.  Two N.C.O.’s were sitting over our stove, lost, lonely in the elongated emptiness; longing, I knew, to be with their comrades bellowing in an adjacent hut.  And so I understood and knew at length how Camp Commandants manage the maintenance and improvement of their domain.  I devote myself now to warning the simple-hearted gunner against unfurnished huts and the hospitality of Camp Commandants.  And some day I hope to be in a position to lend that particular C.C. another horse.

* * * * *

PUNCH’S ROLL OF HONOUR.

We deeply regret to learn that Lieutenant GEORGE L. BROWN, Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, who contributed sketches to Punch before the War, has died of wounds.

We are very glad to say that Captain A.W.  LLOYD, Royal Fusiliers, is making a good recovery from the severe wound which he received in East Africa.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  She.  “OH, WAS THAT A BOMB?”

He.  “YES, I THINK IT WAS.  BUT IF IT WAS AS NEAR AS IT SOUNDED IT WOULD HAVE BEEN VERY MUCH LOUDER.”]

* * * * *

MARGARINE.

A HOUSEKEEPER’S PALINODE.

  MARGARINE—­the prefix “oleo-”
    Latterly has been effaced,
  Though no doubt in many a folio
    Of the grocer’s ledger traced—­

  Once I arrogantly rated
    You below the cheapest lard;
  Once your “g” enunciated,
    With pedantic rigour, hard.

  How your elements were blended
    Naught I knew; but wild surmise
  Hinted horrors that offended
    Squeamish and fastidious eyes.

  Now this view, unjust, unfounded,
    I recant with deep remorse,
  Knowing you are not compounded
    From the carcase of the horse.