"At a camp in Essex New Zealand troops joined with the local school children in the celebrations. The men paraded and the New Zealand flag was saluted. Afterwards there was a march past; the National Anthem, Kipling's 'Recessional,' and 'Lest we Forget' were sung."--_The Times._ Mr. KIPLING seems to have got an encore. * * * * * [Illustration: HELD!] * * * * * A REGRETTABLE INCIDENT. Anne was standing in the hall looking like nothing on earth. One of the reasons why I gave in to Anne and married her was because of her repose. She can look more tragic than BERNHARDT, but she never makes a noise. In moments of domestic stress, as when the six hens we had purchased contributed one egg and that in the next garden (date of birth unknown), Anne assumes a plaintive smile that leaves the English language at the post. When the cook, who wears a frayed ulster ornamented with regimental badges ranging from the Royal Scots to the Brixton Cyclists, looked on the wine and went further, Anne did not blurt out crudities. Having shut the kitchen-door behind her, she simply entered the hall and walked smoothly to the plate where any persons who call may leave cards. Already she had soothed the house; and in that splendid silence, that pursuit of the commonplace, she had not merely calmed my dread of the scene that accompanies a cab and a constable, but had carolled, as it were, to Ethel the nursery-maid tilted over the second floor banisters that all was well, or nearly so. Having stared gravely at a dusty card, which we all knew by heart, Anne turned her face and, raising her eyebrows about an eighth of an inch, shrugged her shoulders very slightly and passed on. But on the present occasion there was, so far as I was aware, no domestic friction--we had boiled the hens--and I was, I admit, at a loss. "Come, Herbert," said Anne gently. Then I knew that we were bankrupt--I mean, of course, more bankrupt. I knew that the Government, having crouched in leash, had sprung with a snarl upon the married man of forty-five. We seated ourselves in Anne's room just as persons do upon the stage, Anne, leaning against the shutter, stared dreamily out of the window. "Tell me," I said. Anne is a great artist. She dabbed at her cheeks--but lightly, as though scorned a tear--smiled bravely at me with moist eyes, and, walking to the mantelpiece, adjusted a Dresden shepherdess. "You have heard me speak of the Ruritanian Relief Fund," she said in a splendid off-hand tone. "Frequently," I responded, but not impatiently. "It was, you remember, the only possible fund when dear Lady Rogerson heard about the War. All the other allied countries had been snapped up--there seemed for a while no chance, no hope. Lady Rogerson was so brave. She said to me at the time, 'My dear we will not give in--we have as much right as anyone else to hold meetings and ask for money.'"