All the rest?  Well, not quite all; For perhaps you may recall How, when night was falling fast, A reverberating blast Far away was dimly heard Which, the sailormen averred, Was the Germans who had strayed In amongst the mines we laid.

  They were wrong.  The fighting over,
  Johnny’s ship returned to Dover,
  And the sound they heard afar
  Was the jocund voice of Carr
  Singing fit to burst his torso,
  Like the song-thrush (only more so).

* * * * *

    “ROYAL ARMY MEDICAL CORPS FUND.—­At the Savoy Hotel, on June 11, at
    8 p.m.  Service dress—­khaki with trousers—­or evening dress, with
    miniatures.”—­Times.

The price of clothes was bound to lead to something of this sort.

* * * * *

From an article on “The Representative Man":—­

“Gladstone and John Bright alike came out of Lancashire.  How natural to fmgeine etther of those startling ogposites proclaiming with entire conviction, that when he samped himself he foundthimself to be a ‘Typical Englishman.’  The diversity of types however does not help us much.”—­Indian Paper.

True, we find it most confusing.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  IN THE SUBSCRIPTION LISTS.

SAINT GEORGE COLLECTS FOR MERRIE ENGLAND.]

* * * * *

THE PUFF UNIVERSAL.

    ["A Father,” writing in The Times of June 10th, protests
    vigorously against the cult of “powdered noses.”]

  When the deadly sky-rover
  Came frequently over
    And London was darkened at night,
  Girls powdered their noses
  (Or so one supposes)
    As lamp-posts were painted with white;
  But now when full moons
  Bring no bombs or maroons,
    I ask is it proper or right?

  Amanda’s complexion
  Will challenge inspection—­
    ’Tis healthy and rosy and fine;
  But she says that if powder
  Were never allowed her
    Her nose would infallibly shine. 
  Did Victorian Flossie
  Or Gladys, when glossy
    Of nose, to such methods incline? 
  No, they patiently scrubbed it,
  Rough-towelled and rubbed it
    Until it was brought into line.

  We have long been acquainted
  With ladies who painted
    To mimic a juvenile mien;
  But I’d ban sans compassion
  The powdering fashion
    When practised by sweet seventeen;
  And I wish that wise mothers
  And sensible brothers
    Would let their abhorrence be seen.

  I’m only “a father,”
  Old-fashioned and rather
    Deficient in stiffness of spine,
  So, feeling unequal
  To facing the sequel,
    My name I’m unwilling to sign;
  For the call for more powder
  Grows stronger and louder
    From every daughter of mine,
  And any restriction
  Of puffs or nose-friction
    Would end in a general “shine.”