Oyez, Oyez, Oyez! Anyone finding three children of the Open answering to the description of our friends the enemy, and returning them, dead or alive, to our little fortress, will he handsomely and gratefully rewarded. PATLANDER. * * * * * [Illustration: _Earnest Lady_. "OF COURSE I UNDERSTAND MEN MUST DRINK WHILE DOING SUCH HOT AND HEAVY WORK. BUT MUST IT BE BEER? CAN'T THEY DRINK WATER?" _Mechanic_. "YES, LADY, THEY CAN DRINK WATER, BUT (_confidentially_) IT MAKES 'EM SO GIDDY."] * * * * * "Boy, to heat at hearth and to strike occasionally."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph_. A case for the N.S.P.C.C. * * * * * Appended to a quotation from _The Globe_ on German intrigues with the Vatican:-- "[NOTE: The above is obviously from the pen of Mr. L.J. Maxse, the editor of the _National Review_, who, as recently announced, has become associated with the editorial direction of the Pope.]"--_Manchester Evening Chronicle_. In pursuance of this arrangement His Holiness will in future take the style of _Pontifex Maxsemus_. * * * * * JOURNALISTIC CANDOUR. "M. Kerensky has announced that all leaders of the revolt will be tried by court-martial, and has indicated that a determined end will be put to the present state of affairs by the most drastic means. Add Russian Fudge matter. utikwtStdheto"--_Adelaide Register_. We have lately read a good deal of "Russian Fudge matter." * * * * * "PROMENADE CONCERTS, QUEEN'S HALL. Sir Henry J. Wood, Conductor. Mondays--Wagner. ----?----?--?---- Tuesdays--Russian. cymfwypo---- Wednesdays--Symphony. cmfwypemfwvfg Thursdays--Popular. cmfwypemfwycppwf Fridays--Beethoven. cmfwypemfwyy Saturdays--Popular. cmfwypemf----" _The Star_. A sporting effort to reproduce the effect of the barrage _obbligato_. * * * * * [Illustration: _Footpad_. "I HEAR A CYCLIST COMING. I'LL UPSET HIS BIKE, AND THEN--" BUT IT WAS MR. TUBER-CAINE, THE ALLOTMENT ENTHUSIAST, RETURNING FROM HIS LABOURS.] * * * * * TO AN INFANT GNU. Thomas (that may not be thine actual name But it will serve as well as any other), There be coarse souls to whom all flesh is game, Who do not hail thee as a new-born brother But merely as a thing at which to aim Their fratricidal guns; they simply smother The sense, which I for one cannot eschew, Of soul relationship 'twixt man and gnu.