"In view of the serious shortage of female help, the United Boards of Trade of Western Ontaria have been discussing proposals to encourage the immigration of young women from Great Britain."--_Morning Paper_. And have apparently feminized the Province in advance. * * * * * "If the Archdeacon of Coventry is correct in stating, as he did in Convocation, that the word 'tush' found in the Psalter means 'bosh,' it must in this sense be what the classical dons call a 'hapslegomenon'." --_Evening Standard_. Which, again, must be what the classical undergraduates call a "slipsus languae." * * * * * [Illustration: THE IRREMOVABLES. TURKEY (_to his old patron in Holland_). "SO, WE'RE BOTH REMAINING, WHAT?" VOICE FROM THE OTHER END. "YES, BUT _YOU_'VE GOT TO BEHAVE."] * * * * * [Illustration: _Angry Father (of the Old School)._ "I SHALL CUT YOU OFF WITH A SHILLING!" _The Prodigal._ "NOT ONE OF THE NEW NICKEL THINGS, I HOPE, FATHER?"] * * * * * THE COWARD. Cecilia was knitting by the fire. "What on earth have you two been doing?" she asked as we came in. "John looks as if he'd been in a boiler explosion." "Hardly that," I said. "We've been playing with Chris--haven't we, John?" John gasped. "No, we haven't," he said. "On the contrary, _they_ have been playing with _me_, Cecilia." "Well, it's all the same thing, isn't it?" said Cecilia. "Anyhow, I heard _you_ making a most frightful row." "Of course I was making a row. So would you make a row if people suddenly mistook you for a Teddy Bear or something and started bunging you about the room." "I haven't the least idea what you're talking about," said Cecilia, "but I think you're being intensely vulgar." "Vulgar! 'Vulgar,' she says." He laughed bitterly. "You'd be vulgar too if you'd had that great hulking brute" (he pointed at me) "sitting on the small of your back, and a hooligan of a boy--" Cecilia sat up and took notice. "Hooligan!" she said, "Hooligan! Who's a Hooligan?" "Sh! sister," I murmured. "You'll strain the epiglottis." John turned on me savagely. "You keep quiet. It isn't your epi--epi--what you said--and, anyway, can't I even have a quiet row with my own wife without--" "John, calm yourself," said Cecilia crushingly. "Alan, tell me what you've been doing." "Yes," muttered John, "tell her." He subsided into an armchair. "Well," I said, "you see, Christopher and I were up in the nursery and getting on quite all right when John butted in--" "I simply opened--" "John, keep quiet," said his wife. "Well, Alan?"