There are lots of girls answering this description, but the difficulty is that most of them are too shy to admit it.

* * * * *

    “M.  Clemenceau ... speaks English with rare perfection,
    having spent years in the United States.”—­Daily Paper.

    “M.  Clemenceau, speaking in excellent English, said
    ‘Yes.’”—­Sunday Paper.

What he really said, of course, was “Yep.”

* * * * *

QUESTION AND ANSWER.

  “What are you, Sir?” the Counsel roared. 
  The timid witness said, “My Lord,
  A Season-ticket holder I
  Where London’s southern suburbs lie.” 
  “Tut, tut,” his Lordship made demur,
  “He meant what is your business, Sir.” 
  The witness sighed and shook his head,
  “I get no time for that,” he said.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  SERVICE EVOLUTION.  BUD.  BLOSSOM.  FRUIT.]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Guest (who has cut the cloth).  “BILLIARDS REQUIRE CONSTANT PRACTICE.”]

* * * * *

ANOTHER CRISIS.

(BY A FUTILITY RABBIT KEEPER.)

  There is a rabbit in the pansy bed,
    There is a burrow underneath the wall,
  There is a rabbit everywhere you tread,
    To-day I heard a rabbit in the hall,
      The same that sits at evening in my shoes
      And sings his usefulness, or simply chews;
      There is no corner sacred to the Muse—­
    And how shall man demobilise them all?

  Far back, when England was devoid of food,
    Men bade me breed the coney and I bought
  Timber and wire-entanglements and hewed
    Fair roomy palaces of pine-wood wrought,
      Wherein our first-bought sedulously gnawed
      And every night escaped and ran abroad;
      Yet she was lovely and we named her Maud,
    And if she ate the primulas, ’twas nought.

  The months rolled onward and she multiplied,
    And all her progeny resembled her;
  They ate the daffodils; they seldom died;
    And no one thought of them as provender;
      The children fed them weekly for a treat,
      And my wife said, “The little things—­how sweet! 
      If you imagine I can ever eat
    A rabbit called Persephone, you err.”

  Yet famine might have hardened that proud breast,
    Only that victory removed the threat;
  And now, if e’er I venture to suggest
    That it is time that some of them were ate,
      That Maud is pivotal and costing pounds,
      And how the garden is a mass of mounds,
      She answers me, on military grounds,
    “Peace is not come.  We cannot eat them yet.”