* * * * *

THE VENGEANCE.

  I never liked the man at Number Nine,
    But now my breast is bursting with its wrongs,
  For when we had a few old friends to dine
    And crowned our feasting with some gentle songs,
  Instead of simply drinking in the glamour,
  The charm of it, he had the cheek to hammer
    The party-wall with pokers and with tongs.

  Ah, me! that Art should suffer such disdain! 
    But what can one expect in time of war? 
  Mayhap our minstre’sy had given pain
    To some tired patriot in bed next-door—­
  Some weary soul that all day fashions fuses,
  To whom his sleep is more than all the Muses—­
    And so, for England’s sake we sang no more.

  No longer now the hideous truth is hid: 
    The man is nothing but a Pacifist;
  And, what is worse, he draws four hundred quid
    For representing views which don’t exist,
  Although in Parliament, without his poker,
  I’m glad to see they would not hear the croaker,
    But when he talked they only howled and hissed.

  And now all Hammersmith with zeal prepares
    To make a night of it when next we sing;
  We shall not waste our soft romantic airs,
    But the glad street with warlike strains shall ring
  Of blood and armaments and Fritz’s whacking,
  And he shall hammer till the walls are cracking,
    And the whole suburb joins us in “The King.”

  A.P.H.

* * * * *

ONE OF THE CANNIBAL ISLANDS?

“The unfrequented coral harbour was an ideal spot for this operation.  The 60 odd men and women on the Seeadler were landed, and the natives, avid for change of diet, welcomed them.”—­The Times.

* * * * *

    “A distinctive uniform will be given the new Air Service when
    the old is worn out, Major Baird announces.”—­Daily Mail.

An officer in the R.F.C. writes to say that the old Air Service has no intention of wearing out.

* * * * *

    “The coroner said people would be wise to carry electric torches
    or newspapers, and ladies should wear something white—­a pocket
    handkerchief would be better than nothing.”—­Sunday Observer.

Certainly “better than nothing,” but a newspaper would make a more showy costume.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE NEW LANGUAGE. Tommy (to inquisitive French children).  “NAH, THEN, ALLEY TOOT SWEET, AN’ THE TOOTER THE SWEETER!”]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(BY MR. PUNCH’S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS.)