Most of England's wives and daughters Play a noble part, In the very deepest waters Never losing heart; Danger and privation braving, Nursing, helping, toiling, slaving, Thinking vastly more of saving Than of looking smart. Highly-paid officials slate us, Dwelling on the ills Which infallibly await us In our empty tills; But these frenzied fair ones, furious in the quest of the luxurious, Still pursue a most injurious Cult of frocks and frills. True, our Ministerial teachers Fail us in the fight, For the practice of the preachers Sins against the light; Still "Two Wrongs"--for so the sages Crystallize the lore of ages Gathered at successive stages-- "Do not make a Right." Birds of Paradise are grateful Under skies serene; But the human type is hateful On a tragic scene; When the outlook's drear and cloudy _Punch_ would rather see you dowdy Than extravagant and rowdy In your dress and mien. True simplicity is tasteful; Think before you spend; Woeful want attends the wasteful In the bitter end; You who, when the world is mourning, All remonstrance lightly scorning, Only think of self-adorning, Sadden _Punch_, your friend. * * * * * Let Sleeping Birds Lie. "Someone had said it was 'far better to have the birds driven over one than to have to wake them up.'"--_Scottish Paper._ * * * * * "The Council of the Poetry Society has confirmed the appointment of Mr. Galloway Kyle as acting editor of the 'Poultry Review.'" Now that official action has been taken we may expect an increase in the number of lays. * * * * * [Illustration: _Exhilarated Visitor_ (_leaving Club_). "The feller who caught that fish's dem liar."] * * * * * EYE-WASH. (_A Military Episode in Two Scenes_.) Scene I.--_The outskirts of a wood. Time, during an inspection of our Battalion "at its duties."_ Second-Lieutenant Wood _and his platoon are erecting a wire entanglement. To them enter_ Second-Lieutenant Brown _in great excitement_. S.-L. _Brown_. I say---- S.-L. Wood. Run away, dear. No time for you. Brass hats expected in large numbers. S.-L. B. I've lost my platoon. S.-L. W. Have you looked in _all_ your pockets, Freddy? S.-L. B. I sent it up under the Sergeant, and he must have mistaken the place, strafe him! And I told the Adjutant I'd be the other side of this wood, doing Visual Training, when the General came round. S.-L. W. (_impressed at last_). My hat, you're in for it! Look out, here they come. Second-Lieutenant Brown _fades into the landscape_.