The cry has gone up that Mr. Hughes Must Come Back from Australia, and Mr. Swift MacNeill has been rewarded for his pertinacity by extracting a promise from Mr. Asquith that he will purge the Peerage of its enemy Dukes. Better still is the solemn assurance of the Premier that the Government are taking steps to discover the identity of all those who are in any way responsible for the judicial murder of Captain Fryatt--the worst instance of calculated atrocity against non-combatants since the murder of Nurse Cavell. The education of our New Armies is full of strange and noble surprises. Now it is an ex-shop boy converted into an R.H.A. driver. Or again it is a Tommy learning to appreciate the heroism of a French peasant woman: 'Er bloke's out scrappin' with the rest, Pushin' a bay'net in Argonne; She wears 'is photo on 'er breast, "_Mon Jean_," she sez--the French for John. She 'ears the guns boom night an' day; She sees the shrapnel burstin' black; The sweaty columns march away, The stretchers bringin' of 'em back. She ain't got no war-leggin's on; 'Er picture's never in the Press, Out scoutin'. She finds breeks "_no bon_," An' carries on in last year's dress. At dawn she tows a spotty cow To graze upon the village green; She plods for miles be'ind a plough, An' takes our washin' in between. She tills a patch o' spuds besides, An' burnt like copper in the sun, She tosses 'ay all day, then rides The 'orse 'ome when the job is done. The times is 'ard--I got me woes, With blistered feet an' this an' that, An' she's got 'ers, the good Lord knows, Although she never chews the fat. But when the Boche 'as gulped 'is pill, An' crawled 'ome to 'is bloomin' Spree, We'll go upon the bust, we will, Madame an' Monsieur Jean an' me. Or once more it is the young officer shaving himself in a captured German dug-out before an old looking-glass looted from a _château_ by a dead German, and apologising to its rightful owner: Madame, at the end of this long campaign, When France comes into her own again In the setting where only she can shine, As you in your mirror of rare design-- Forgive me, who dare In a German lair To shave in your mirror at Pozières. Then there are "lonely soldiers" in India, envious of their more fortunate comrades in Flanders, and soldiers quite the reverse of lonely during their well-earned leave. [Illustration: THE CAPTAIN: "Your brother is doing splendidly in the Battalion. Before long he'll be our best man." THE SISTER: "Oh, Reginald! Really, this is so very sudden."] The education of those on the Home Front is also proceeding. There are some maids who announce the approach of Zeppelins as if they were ordinary visitors. There are others who politely decline to exchange a seat at an attic window for the security of the basement. [Illustration: