TO A DACHSHUND.

    [About the precise nationality of whose remote progenitor—­whether
    Danish, Flemish, or British through the old English Turnspit—­the
    writer will not stay to argue.]

  My faithful Peter, mount upon my knee,
    And shame me with the patience of your eyes,
  Till I for divers patriots that be
      Humbly apologise.

  Not for the street-boy—­him you had for years
    And, knowing, make allowance for his ways,
  If hoots of ignorance and stones and jeers
      Martyr your latter days;

  But for such shoddy patriots as join
    The street-boy’s manners to a petty mind,
  And dealing little in true-minted coin
      Tender the baser kind.

  For instance, Smith (till lately Gruendelhorn),
    Who meets you with your mistress all alone,
  And growls a “German beast” with senseless scorn
      In a (still) guttural tone.

  And Jones, who owes his mansion to the War
    And loves to drown great luncheons in champagne,
  But who, to prove he loves his England more,
      Strikes at you with his cane.

  The while Miss Podsnap, who in dogs can brook
    No name that smacks of Teuton, snatches up,
  Lest you contaminate it with a look,
      Her Pomeranian pup.

  Forgive them, Pete!  We are not all well-bred,
    Not all so wise, so sensible as you;
  Not all our sires, for generations dead,
      To British homes were true.

  Yet, prizing steadfast love and fealty, some
    The gulf of their deficiencies may span,
  And learn of you the virtues that become
      An English gentleman.

* * * * *

We wish Russia wouldn’t wash her dirty LENIN in public.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  DAVID IN RHONDDALAND.

DAVID.  “I’M OFTEN AWAY FROM HOME.  HOW DO I GET SUGAR?”

THE MAD GROCER.  “YOU DON’T; YOU FILL UP A FORM.”

DAVID.  “BUT I HAVE FILLED UP A FORM.”

THE MAD GROCER.  “THEN YOU FILL UP ANOTHER FORM.”]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Friend (to Cinema Commissionaire, who has received notice).  “I’M SERPRISED YOU’RE LEAVIN’.  I THOUGHT YOU WAS A FIXTURE ’ERE.”

Commissionaire. “IS ANYBODY A FIXTURE IN THESE TIMES?  LOOK AT THE TSAR OF RUSSIA, TINO, TIRPITZ, AND THE REST OF ’EM.”]

* * * * *

MILLIE AND THE “KAYSER.”

Millie is a “daily help.”  Who it is that she helps—­whether herself or her employer—­I am not in a position to say, for I am only temporarily a lodger in the house where Millie helps, and she doesn’t help me much.  But to-day I have made her hear and understand one whole sentence.  It is the first time during the six days that we have known each other that I have conveyed anything to her except by graphic gesticulation and grimace.