“Some there be too fond o’ Parson to let that ‘appen.  Me an’ my wife be sendin’ few of ours to London ev’ry week or so.  So in due season we shall be free to go to Parson an’ ’elp ‘im through wi’ ’is, same as ’e wants us to.  I ‘ears as others is doin’ some’at the same as us—­fear is as too many’ll tumble to the idea, which is why I’d ’ave you keep it fro’ goin’ further, George.”

“Silent as th’ grave I’ll be.  So you’re givin’ your ’taters ’way to please Parson?  Yet I do allus say as ‘taters what a man grows wi’ sweat of ‘is own brow do beat all others in t’ eatin’.”

“That may be; but us can’t afford to be so mighty pernickerty in time o’ war.  Nor we ain’t givin’ nothin ‘way in manner o’ speakin’.  Fair market price they gives for ’em in London.  So it be somethin’ in ’and in these ‘ard times as well as savin’ Parson from a bitter disappointment what ’e ain’t done nothin’ to deserve, so far as I can see.”

* * * * *

“Two organ grinders, aged 23 and 16, were taken to Charing Cross Hospital to-day with bad injuries and severe shock, the result of a barrel organ getting out of control in Rosebery-avenue.”—­Evening Paper.

They should try a less dangerous instrument next time.

* * * * *

“‘Seed potatoes’ means potatoes grown in Scotland or Ireland in the year 1917, or grown in England or Wales in the year 1917 from seed grown in Scotland or Ireland in the year 1916, which will pass through a riddle having a 1-5/8-in. mesh, and will not pass through a riddle having a 1-5/8-in. mesh.”—­Journal of the Board of Agriculture.

We ourselves cannot get through any riddle of this kind.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Sergeant (instructing squad of volunteers in physical drill). “THIS ’ERE HEXERCISE IS INTENDED TO ’ARDEN THE MUSCLES OF THE STUMMICK AND MAKE IT HIMPERVIOUS TO GERMAN BULLETS HIN CASE OF HINVASION.”]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(By Mr, Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks.)

It is difficult within the ordinary limits of a review in these columns to say all that one feels or even to express adequately one’s gratitude after reading the two volumes of Lord MORLEY’S generous and delightful Recollections (MACMILLAN).  I seem to have been sitting with him in a large and comfortable library while the great Viscount rolled me out his mind, now breaking out into a glowing eulogy of GEORGE MEREDITH, JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN or LESLIE STEPHEN, or again dashing off with a few firm and skilful strokes a portrait of JOHN MILL or HERBERT SPENCER, or some other intellectual giant of that nineteenth century which Lord MORLEY nobly defends and of which he himself was grande decus columenque.  The book is crammed with passages that arouse and maintain pleasure