hem
should, Mr. Punch holds, be done. A practical and very simple way
of adding to their happiness and well-being is to contribute a mite
to the funds of the Girls' Friendly Society, an organisation with
the finest traditions, which is doing its best to build rest and
recreation huts all over England, for the purpose of conserving the
health and spirits of our great feminine army. A moment's thought will
show how vitally and nationally important such help is. Contributions
should be sent to the Secretary, War Emergency Committee, Girls'
Friendly Society, 39, Victoria Street, S.W.1.

* * * * *

MY AUNT MATILDA.

"It's too bad," said Francesca, "it really is. It'll spoil Christmas."

"The question is," I said, "that this House do accept my Aunt
Matilda's invitation of herself to stay in it for an uncertain period
at or about Christmas. I think the Ayes have it."

"The Noes have it," shouted Francesca.

"Francesca," I said, "it's no use struggling, and you know it. We've
got to have Aunt Matilda, and there's an end of it."

"There isn't an end of it at all. It's only just beginning, and it'll
go on getting worse and worse."

"You do not seem to realise," I said, "what the possession of an aunt
like Aunt Matilda means. She is like all the aunts you've ever read
about in novels, only more so. She's so true to type that you can
hardly believe in her existence. To be related to her is to have a
Stake in the Country and to be part of the British Constitution, which
she ardently believes in without knowing anything about it. She's been
a widow for fifteen years, and--"

"Poor old thing," said Francesca, "so she has."

"--for fifteen solitary years she has battled against the world,
and managed her business affairs extraordinarily well; and yet she
believes that women are perfect fools, and pities them from the bottom
of her heart for being women."

"As far as I'm concerned," said Francesca, "she may pity all the other
women if she'll only not pity me. If I have a headache she not only
pities me, but despises me as a weakling utterly unfitted to manage a
household. No, my dear, I can't face it. Your Aunt Matilda's too much
for me."

"I admit," I said, "that she's a good deal."

"And of course she'll bring her maid."

"And her pug."

"Whose name is 'MacLachlan,' and you mustn't call him 'Mac' because
it's disrespectful."

"And the children won't be allowed to shout about the hou