_Wounded Australian._ "We're Anzacs, Madam." _Dear Old Silly._ "Really? How delightful! And do you both belong to this same tribe?"] * * * * * Another Impending Apology. "Pigs.--Live Stock Mem of Mark. No. 10.--Alderman ----." _Live Stock Journal._ * * * * * "God be with Lord Hardinge wherever he may be, whatever may be his sphere of service, for we fear we shall not look upon his like again." "It is in this atmosphere of hope and confidence that Lord Chelmsford takes up the mantle of the Viceroyalty."--_Times of India._ Not for the first time the attempt to welcome the coming and speed the parting guest in the same breath has failed to turn out quite happily. * * * * * "Evidence was given that the pig, which was introduced in a revue at the Metropolitan Music Hall, was kept at the back of the stage in a crate in which it could not turn or stretch itself ... Mr. Paul Taylor said he was glad the case had been ventilated." _The Times._ So, no doubt, was the pig. * * * * * [Illustration: _Instructor._ "Gunnery, gentlemen, is an exact mechanical science. Everything is done by rule----" _Ex-Actor._ "Then where does my personality come in, Sir?"] * * * * * FASHION-PLATE PATRIOTS. Since our ranks, Mr. _Punch_, you've seen fit to upbraid (These lines are to show that you're hard on us), When you hear the defence of the fashion-plate maid I'm perfectly certain you'll pardon us; Though our heels and our hose and our frills and our frocks, Regardless of taste and expense, Your notion of war-time economy shocks; We're doing our bit, in a sense. Now take, for example, Irene and me; She's thin and I'm rather--voluminous; Our skirts, full and frilly, just cover the knee, And our hose-play discourages gloominess; We've a bent for a boot with a soul-stirring spat, Gilt-buttoned and stubbily toed, And a top-gallant plume on a tip-tilted hat When we're ripe for the Park and the road. The public each week, Mr. _Punch_, you impress With your cool-headed wit and ability, So I wonder you've not had the gumption to guess There's method in our imbecility; Read on, and your premature chiding deplore, For our merciful mission, in brief, Is to brighten the tragical drama of war By providing the comic relief. * * * * * If I were like a man I know and _Billing_ were my name, I wouldn't waste my precious time in striving after fame; I'd let it come to me unsought, unstruggled for, and then I'd just go on existing as a perfect specimen.