At the unveiling of the statue to its founder by the S.I.D.R.I. (Society for Insisting on the Divine Right of Iconoclasts) it is understood that several conversions were effected through the conduct of a band of youthful enthusiasts who, faithful to their principles and unable to restrain their zeal for the cause, rushed at the newly-revealed masterpiece and smashed it to atoms. The S.F.S. (Society for the Formation of Societies) and the S.F.S.F.S. (Society for the Formation of Societies for the Formation of Societies) are both doing splendid work. * * * * * Illustration: _Petty Officer of Patrol._ "HELLO, YOU. WHAT'S YOUR SHIP?" _Sailor (returning from revelry)._ "'OW LONG 'AVE YOU BEEN BLIND? IT'S WROTE PLAIN ENOUGH ON MY CAP, AIN'T IT?" * * * * * THE BROKERS. From a poster:-- "NEW KING'S CAPITAL INVESTED BY REBELS." In something safe, we hope. * * * * * COMMERCIAL CANDOUR. Notice in a gramophone shop window:-- "JUST SUITABLE FOR THE RIVER." * * * * * Illustration: _New Proprietor of Public-house (that levies a fine for every swear-word_). "'ERE, BILL, THAT'S A PENNY YOU OWE TO THE PARSON'S SWEAR-BOX." _Bill._ "I'D BETTER DO WHAT I DONE AFORE--PUT A 'ARF-CROWN IN AND 'AVE A SEASON-TICKET." * * * * * THE SMILE OF THE SEA-KINGS. (_A reflection on the recent Amateur Golf Championship at Sandwich suggested by a study of the illustrated papers._) They swung with the accurate grace of the clockwork at Greenwich; Their brassies unswervingly held to the line of the pegs; Their chip-shots came down on the greens and mistook them for spinach, And stopped like poached eggs; Not theirs the desire for the sandpit, not theirs the inadequate legs. Or if over they failed to lie moribund, dauntless the heroes Stooped down to impossible putts for a half or a win, Stooped down in voluminous knickers and all sorts of queer hose And stuffed the ball in, Like American packers of pig-meat, hard home to the floor of the tin. These things I admired; but I wondered still more when the mighty, The mystical thumpers of pills by the marge of the spray, Having somehow offended Poseidon or else Aphrodite, Got chucked from the fray, Passed forth till they left Mr. JENKINS sole lord of the hazardous bay. When the ultimate putt was holed out in each notable duel How grandly they took it, remarking "I think (or I guess) That the right man has conquered," not shouting that Fortune was cruel, Not murmuring, "Bless!" What a glory illumined their features when snapped by the popular Press!