So many watering-places claim CANUTE as their own that he may be expected to be multiplied exceedingly in the approaching Peace revels; but from more than one Pastoral Letter it may be gathered that the Episcopal Bench is very wisely in favour of the King’s retirement from the margin of the ocean before his shoes are actually wet.  It is held that in these days of leather-shortage and the need for economy no risks should be run with footwear.

Other laudable efforts in the direction of economy are to be made, again through the earnest solicitude of the Establishment, in connection with the impersonation of Sir WALTER RALEIGH and KING JOHN.  With the purpose of saving Sir WALTER’S cloak from stain and possible injury the puddle at QUEEN ELIZABETH’S feet will be only a painted one, while, owing to the exorbitant price of laundry-work at the moment, it has been arranged that only a few of KING JOHN’S more negligible articles shall be consigned to the Wash.

* * * * *

    HUN DUPLICITY IN PARIS.

    “Count von Brockdorff-Rantzau replied simply, pointing to
    Herr Dandsbery and saying:  ’I present to you Herr
    Landsberg.’”—­The Star.

* * * * *

HOME FATIGUES.

  How oft I tried by smart intrigue
    To do the British Army,
  And dodge each rightly-termed Fatigue
    Which nearly drove me barmy. 
  In vain!  Whoever else they missed
  My name was always on the list.

  And so, while other minds were set
    On smashing Jerry Bosch up
  With rifle, bomb and bayonet,
    I chiefly learned to wash-up,
  To peel potatoes by the score,
  Sweep out a room and scrub the floor.

  Thus, now that I have left the ranks,
    The plain unvarnished fact is
  That through those three rough years, and thanks
    To very frequent practice,
  I, who was once a nascent snob,
  Am master of the menial’s job.

  To-day I count this no disgrace
    When “maids” have gone to blazes,
  But take our late Eliza’s place
    And win my lady’s praises,
  As she declares in grateful mood
  The Army did me worlds of good.

* * * * *

THE MUD LARKS.

“So,” said Albert Edward, “I clapped him on the back and said, ’You were at Geelong College in 1910, and your name’s Cazenove, isn’t it?’”

“To which he made reply, ’My name’s Jones and I never heard of Geewhizz,’ and knocked you down and trod on you for your dashed familiarity,” said the Babe.

“Nothing of the sort.  He was delighted to meet me again—­de-lighted.  He’s coming to munch with us tomorrow evening, by the way, so you might sport the tablecloth for once, William old dear, and tell the cook to put it across Og, the fatted capon, and generally strive to live down your reputation as the worst Mess President the world has ever seen.  You will, I know—­for my sake.”