So here your Hun, denouncing this condition Of his uncleanly city's upper crust, Flatly declines to have his earthly vision Clogged with material dust, Yet, all unconscious of the draught he's taking, Swallows the stuff in pharisaic wise With which his rulers have for years been making A dustbin of his eyes. * * * * * DAYLIGHT SAYING. A NURSERY VIEW. Last Sunday morning an hour was lost. The children had been discussing the question beforehand. "Where will it go?" asked one. "I suppose the fairies will take it," said Joyce. "Perhaps it will go behind the clock," said another. "Well, I'll tell you what I'd like to do," said Joyce deliberately. "I'd like to get up in the middle of the night, when the hour is going to be lost, and put on my dressing-gown without waking Nannie, and go out into the garden and see for myself how they lose it. It's sure to be about somewhere." "You couldn't," said one of the others. "Nannies always sleep so that they wake up at once if you move. You'd never get up without her knowing." "Well, why do they want to lose it?" asked Joyce, realising that the last argument was unanswerable and so darting off on to a new train of thought altogether. "Because they'll save a lot of other hours that way. And then, you see, if we get up earlier we shan't have to pay the pennies for gas and electric light, and all those pennies can go to help Daddy win the War." "Yes, but where will the hour be gone?" And so we came back to the beginning again. There, was a long pause. "Well," concluded Joyce, on a note of finality, "it's a very good plan anyway." That settled it. * * * * * "MR. BIRRELL'S REBELLION REVELATIONS." _"Westminster Gazette" Contents Bill._ But in justice to the late CHIEF SECRETARY it should be said that the Sinn Feiners also had a hand in it. * * * * * [Illustration: _P.C. O'Leary._ "MOVE ON THERE, AND DON'T BE OBSTHRUCTING THE THOROUGHFARE!" _Interested Spectator._ "WOT 'ARM AM I DOIN' OF?" _P.C. O'Leary._ "SURE IF EVERY WAN WOS TO STAND IN THE WAN PLACE, HOW WOULD THE REST GO BY?"] * * * * * THE QUARTERMASTER. A WORD OF ADVICE TO NEW OFFICERS. How delicate must be the young man's dealings With those who hold the regimental reins; How sensitive he finds the Major's feelings, How constantly the Adjutant complains; Yet any youth of reasonable phlegm Should be at ease with some at least of them, But, mind you, there is only one Q.M., And he, I think, requires the greatest pains.