"SIR EDWARD CARSON ON THE ADMIRALTY'S NEW FIGHTING POLICY. 'IT CAN AND WILL BE DEFEATED.'"--_Headlines in_ "_The Daily Chronicle_." * * * * * From an official circular relating to the British Industries Fair:-- "Information regarding the best means of reaching the Fair from all parts of London will be obtainable at the Fair, but will not be available before the opening day." You must get there first, if you want to be told how to get there. * * * * * [Illustration: _The Vicar_ (_to Mrs. Bloggs, who has been describing the insulting behaviour of the lady next door_). "WELL, WELL, IT MUST BE MOST UNPLEASANT BEING SHOUTED AT OVER THE WALL, BUT I SUPPOSE THE BEST THING IS TO TAKE NO NOTICE." _Mrs. Bloggs_. "THAT'S WHAT I SHOULD LIKE TO DO, SIR. BUT O' COURSE I 'AS TO GIVE 'ER A ANSWER BACK NOW AND AGAIN--JUST TO KEEP THE PEACE, LIKE."] * * * * * THE ACTING BOMBARDIER. When JOOLIUS CÆSAR took 'is guns along the pavvy road An' strafed the bloomin' 'eathens on the Rhine, The men 'oo did 'is dirty work an' bore the 'eavy load Was the men 'ose job did correspond to mine. When NAP. dug in 'is swossung-kangs be'ind the ugly Fosse And made the Prooshians sweat their souls with fear, The men 'oo 'elped 'im most of all to slip it well across Was the men with actin' rank o' bombardier. Oh, the Colonel strafes the Old Man, an' 'e strafes the Capting too, Then to the subs the 'eavy language flows; They comes an' calls their Numbers One an inefficient crew An' down it comes to junior N.C.O.'s; An' then the B.S.M. chips in an' gives 'em 'oly 'ell, An' the full edition's poured into the ear Of the man that's got to be ubeek (an' you be--blest as well), The man with actin' rank o' bombardier. Or, if there's nothin' doin' of a winter afternoon, The Old Man's at 'eadquarters 'avin' tea, The section subs is feedin' up with oysters in Bethoon, The Capting's snorin' out at the O.P.; The Sergeant-Major's cleaned 'is teeth an' gone a prommynard, The N.C.O.s is somewhere drinkin' beer, An' the man they've left to work an' drill an' grouse an' mount the guard Is of course your 'umble actin' bombardier. Oh, I'm the man that takes fatigues for bringin' stores at night, Conductin' G.S. wagons in the snow, An' I'm the man that scrounges round to keep the 'ome fires bright ("An' don't you bloomin' well be pinched, you know"); An' I'm the man that lashes F.P.1.'s up to the gun, An' acts the nursemaid 'alf the ruddy day; An' fifty other little jobs that ain't exactly fun Accompany one stripe (without the pay).