There was an exuberant flapper Who made people anxious to slap her; She uttered loud squeals And she smoked at all meals; Now she's married an elderly sapper. There was a mild don who was muddy In mind and complexion by study; Now he flies fast and far, With a cross and a bar, And his face and his language are ruddy. * * * * * "BRITISH FRONT REINFORCED. "BY PERCIVAL PHILLIPS." _Daily Paper_. Intrepid fellows, our war correspondents. What a pity there are so few of them! * * * * * "A long, keen dagger will be supplied to every American infantryman going to France. This weapon will be fitted into one of the fighting men's leggings when he goes into action, so he will have something to fall back on should his bayonet fail."--_Canadian Paper_. If he's going to fall back on it, we hope the sharp end won't be at the top. * * * * * [Illustration: _The Sub_. "I SAY, SERGEANT-MAJOR, DO YOU REALISE THAT THAT CHAP WITH THE BARROW IS A MEMBER OF AN ARCHÆOLOGICAL SOCIETY?" _The Sergeant-Major_. "WELL, SIR, 'E MAY BE WHAT YOU SAY. PERSONALLY I'VE ALWAYS FOUND 'IM QUIET AND WELL-BE'AVED."] * * * * * THE CLYDE-BUILT CLIPPER. [Many of the fast-sailing clippers which were making fine passages in the Australian wool trade in the 'seventies and onwards were laid up or turned into hulks before the War. Recently, however, several have been re-fitted for sea and are once more doing good service.] A ship there was, and she went to sea (Away O, my Clyde-built clipper!) In eighteen hundred and seventy-three, Fine in the lines and keen in the bow, The way they've forgotten to build 'em now: Lofty masted and heavily sparred, With stunsail booms to every yard, And flying kites both high and low To catch the wands when they did blow (And away, my Clyde-built clipper!). Fastest ship on the Colonies run-- (Away O, my racing clipper!) That was her when her time begun; Sixteen knots she could easily do, And thirteen knots on a bowline too; She could show her heels to anything made With sky-sails set in a favouring trade, Or when she was running her easting down From London River to Hobart Town (And away, my racing clipper!). Old shellbacks knew her near and far (Away O, my old-time clipper!) From Circular Quay to Mersey Bar, And many a thundering lie they told About her runs in the days of old; But the time did come and the time did go, And she grew old as we all must grow, And the most of her gear was carried away When caught aback in a gale one day (And away, my old-time clipper!).