A cadet _Howitzer_ is a small, wholly original newspaper, full of everything in general; grinds, burlesques, sharp hints and comments, with bits of ridiculous fact as well; free as air, and sometimes as breezy. Verses to the cadet girl, verses _at_ her, as well as touching the stringent professor, and the unpopular drill. Grievances painted in high colours, and jokes about cadets that are as merciless as they are many. Scene: Riding hall. Lieut. B.: "Mr. H., let go that horse's mane, sir!" Cadet H. "I--I--I'm afraid he'll fall down if I do, Lieutenant." "Why is T. like necessity?" "Because he knows no Law." "A first-class horse--the Spanish pony." "Mabel, what became of that West Pointer you were engaged to?" "O, he turned out to be a disappointer." Scene: Section room. Cadet L.: "Stucco is made by mixing gypsum with a large solution." Instructor: "Large solution of what?" Cadet: "The text does not state, sir. It just says it is mixed with a solution of size." Scene: Section room. Professor: "Now, gentlemen, the Indians made signs of natural and living objects their language. For instance, if they wished to represent the Little Horn River they drew a little horn; and if they wished to represent the Big Horn River, they drew a big horn." Cadet C.: "Professor, how did they represent the Little Big Horn?" Such, and such like, keen-worded trifles; a line, or a page long; often very bright, seldom complimentary, but always most impartial in their bestowal of hits. Miranda: "I think Mr. W. is the most absent-minded cadet I know." Jenny: "How so, dear?" Miranda: "Why, last night he took the waltz position when we were just sitting still on the Hotel piazza!" "For sale: We have on hand a large edition of C.'s 'Art of Dismounting'; the most complete work of its kind. Also K.'s treatise on 'The Tanbark; as I have found it.'" So goes the _Howitzer_; and the audience are kindly told that at the end of the explosion the members of the medical department will pass in and out among the seats, administering "three pills, three times a day," to each of the wounded. "Warranted to cure." I might give sharper-pointed details; but things that pass with the saying, in an evening frolic, might jar or rasp if written down in cold black and white. At the time (to their good sense be it spoken), no one laughs more readily than the sufferers themselves. And in spite of the local colour, which is confusing to a stranger, the jokes do very much explain themselves. As when the Irish schoolmaster, counting up his boys, suddenly demands: "Where, thin, is Tommy L.?" and a make-believe urchin cries out: "Plase, sor, he's puttin' on the shtamps on that last letter to Philadelphy!" the shout from the Corps makes it easy to guess what sort of hands will open the letter.