"Moreover," continued the old dame, "report saith that with him went his leman, who, having some art in necromancy, transformed her beauty to the semblance of a witch and provided her own dowry by the sale, to certain addle-pated wenches, of charms for which her lover himself prepared the market." "But--his fever?" an impetuous voice broke in. "Cozening, no doubt. Of course the tale may be but idle babble; still, if true, one would admit that such credulous fools got no more than they deserved." She ceased, well satisfied. "I fancy," observed the Lady Yolande coldly, "that I hear our lords returning." And in the eloquent silence a score of fair young minds slowly assimilated the profound truth (as fresh to-day as eight hundred years ago) that Satan finds some mischief still for the impecunious demobilised. * * * * * TO JESSIE (_"one of the Zoo's most popular elephants," now deceased_). Jessie of the melting eye, Wreathed trunk and horny tegum- Ent, whom I have joyed to ply With the fugitive mince-pie And the seasonable legume, Youth has left me; fortune too Flounts my efforts to annex it; Still, I occupy the view, Bored but loath to leave, while you Make the inevitable exit. Ne'er again for blissful rides Shall our shouting offspring clamber Up your broad and beetling sides; Ne'er again, when eventide's Coming turns the skies to amber And the fluting blackbirds call, Poised above a bale of fodder In your well-appointed stall Will you muse upon it all, Patient introspective plodder. Once, an anxious mother's care, Day by day you roamed the jungle, Felt the sunshine, sniffed the air; Life, methinks, was passing fair; But of that no mortal tongue'll Tell. Perhaps you never thought If it bored you or enraptured Till the wily hunter caught You and all your friends and brought Home to England, bound and captured. Jessie, fairest of your race, Now you're gone and few will miss you; There will come to take your place Creatures less replete with grace; Elephants of grosser tissue Will intrigue the public sight; That, old girl, 's the common attitude. Still, these few poor lines I write May preserve your memory bright, Since the pen is dipped in gratitude. ALGOL. * * * * * [Illustration: MORE ADVENTURES OF A POST-WAR SPORTSMAN. _P.-W.S._ (_having struggled over many ploughed fields_). "NOW THEN, MY LAD, FETCH 'IM OVER 'ERE AND I'LL GIVE YOU A TANNER." _Bucolic Profiteer._ "NOA, YE DOAN'T! GIVE OI TEN BOB OR OI LETS HE GO AGAIN."] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. (_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)