_From G. Sheridan Smith, in answer. A telegram._ Men and munitions comedy fourteen weeks ago kindly wire reply paid. _Reply to above. A telegram._ No trace comedy entitled fourteen weeks suggest inquire post-office. _Reply to above_. Name of comedy men and munitions reply paid urgent. _Reply to above._ Your play returned last week. _Reply to above._ Nothing arrived here please look again. _From Basil Vyne-Petherington to G. Sheridan Smith._ Dear Sir,--In returning herewith your blank-verse tragedy, _Hadrian_, I am desired by Sir James Benfield to thank you for kindly allowing him the opportunity of reading it. Faithfully yours, BASIL VYNE-PETHERINGTON, Secretary. _From Buskin Browne to G. Sheridan Smith._ Dear old Boy,--The A.S.M. told me to-day that our backers won't look at farce, though the chief simply loves yours. So I'm afraid we can only say better luck next time. Yours disappointed, B.B. _From Basil Vyne-Petherington to G. Sheridan Smith, five weeks later._ Dear Sir,--Sir James Benfield has been interested to learn that you have written a comedy of topical interest, called (he understands) _The Munitioneer_. Should you care to forward it for his consideration he would be pleased to read it, and, if suitable, to arrange for its production at this theatre. Faithfully yours, BASIL VYNE-PETHERINGTON, Secretary. _From G. Sheridan Smith, in reply. A telegram._ Where did you get a name like that? _From Basil Vyne-Petherington, in final answer, a month later._ Sir,--I am requested by Sir James Benfield to state that he has been compelled to make a rule never to send his autograph to strangers. Yours faithfully, BASIL VYNE-PETHERINGTON, Secretary. * * * * * WHITE MAGIC. Blind folk see the fairies, Oh, better far than we, Who miss the shining of their wings Because our eyes are filled with things We do not wish to see. They need not seek enchantment From solemn printed books, For all about them as they go The fairies flutter to and fro With smiling, friendly looks. Deaf folk hear the fairies However soft their song; 'Tis we who lose the honey sound Amid the clamour all around That beats the whole day long. But they with gentle faces Sit quietly apart; What room have they for sorrowing While fairy minstrels sit and sing Close to their listening heart? R.F. * * * * * Extract from a French account of the tanks in action in the battle for Cambrai:-- "Les chars d'assaut curent aussi leur cri de guerre. Peu avant l'attaque, le long de leur ligne courut un message répétant, en le modifiant légèrement, celui de Nelson à Trafalgar: "'L'Angleterre compte que chaque tank fera aujourd'hui son devoir sacré.'"--_Havas_. We had often wondered what the French was for "Do your damnedest!" Now we know. * * * * * [Illustration: GETTING AWAY FROM IT.