The Egregius Professor of Ancient History at Giggleswick University will shortly take up his duties as Editor of Chestnuts, the new comic weekly.

Professor Ernest Grubb, who for many years has adorned the Chair of Entomology at Durdleham, is about to enter the dramatic sphere as stage-manager to a well-known troupe of performing insects.

Another recruit to Stage enterprise is Professor Seymour Legge, who has been appointed Chief Investigator to the Beauty Chorus Providers’ Corporation.  Mr. Legge was formerly Professor of Comparative Anatomy at Ballycorp.

* * * * *

SATURDAYS.

  Now has the soljer handed in his pack,
    And “Peace on earth, goodwill to all” been sung;
  I’ve got a pension and my ole job back—­
    Me, with my right leg gawn and half a lung;
  But, Lord!  I’d give my bit o’ buckshee pay
    And my gratuity in honest Brads
  To go down to the field nex’ Saturday
    And have a game o’ football with the lads.

  It’s Saturdays as does it.  In the week
    It’s not too bad; there’s cinemas and things;
  But I gets up against it, so to speak,
    When half-day-off comes round again and brings
  The smell o’ mud an’ grass an’ sweating men
    Back to my mind—­there’s no denying it;
  There ain’t much comfort tellin’ myself then,
    “Thank Gawd, I went toot sweet an’ did my bit!”

  Oh, yes, I knows I’m lucky, more or less;
    There’s some pore blokes back there who played the game
  Until they heard the whistle go, I guess,
    For Time an’ Time eternal.  All the same
  It makes me proper down at heart and sick
    To see the lads go laughing off to play;
  I’d sell my bloomin’ soul to have a kick—­
    But what’s the good of talkin’, anyway?

* * * * *

“If we were suddenly to be deprived of the fast underground train, and presented with a sparse service of steam trains in sulphurous tunnels, the result on our tempers and the rate of our travelling would be—­ well, electric!”—­Pall Mall Gazette.

We have tried to think of a less appropriate word than “electric,” but have failed miserably.

* * * * *

THE RIDING LESSON.

Phillida arrived up to time with her suit-case, a riding-crop and a large copy of D’AULNOY’S Fairy Tales.  She was not very communicative as we drove out, and I sought to draw her.  You never, by the way, talk down to Phillida.  Personally, I don’t believe in talking down to any child; but to employ this method with Phillida is to court disaster.

“Pleasant journey?” I inquired casually, flicking Rex’s ear.

“’M,” responded Phillida in the manner of a child sucking sweets.  Phillida was not sucking sweets, and I accepted my snub.  We drove on for a bit in silence.  Phillida removed her hat, and her bobbed hair went all round her head like a brown busby.  I looked round and was embarrassed to find the straight grey eyes fixed on my face, the expression in them almost rapturous.