* *

BALLADE OF APPROACHING BALDNESS.

I'm back in civil life, all brawn and chest,
Lungs made of leather, heart as right as rain;
I still could dine off bully-beef with zest;
I've never had a scratch or stitch or sprain;
Life seems to throb in every single vein.
Yet I'm a whited sepulchre, in brief;
I've one foot in the grave, I'm on the wane,
I'm heading for the sere and yellow leaf.

From Mons to Jericho I've borne my crest
And back from Jericho to Mons again;
I've sampled smells in Araby the Blest
Would burst a boiler or corrode a drain;
The Blankshires have a port that raises Cain--
I've messed with them and never come to grief;
And yet I'm dashing like a non-stop train
Full steam into the sere and yellow leaf.

It caught me hard this morning when I dressed
And read the mirror's verdict. Ah, the pain
Is gnawing like a canker at my breast,
Is beating like a hammer in my brain;
I must speak out or break beneath the strain.
_I'm going bald on top_. O cruel reef
Where youthful hopes lie wrecked! O dismal lane
Whose end is but the sere and yellow leaf!

ENVOI.

Prince (Mr. Punch)! on Armageddon's plain
My love-locks fell a prey to Time, the thief.
Regrets are useless, unguents are in vain;
Only remains the sere and yellow leaf.

* * * * *

THE COMMERCIAL TOUCH.

"Presiding at the concert given in connection with the ---- Art
Club's annual exhibition of oil and water-colours, Mr. ----
congratulated the club on the quality of its paintings, which, he
thought, were remarkably cheap when cognisance was taken of the
present high prices of materials."--_Provincial Paper_.

This critic has, as the Art jargon puts it, "a nice feeling for values."

* * * * *

"HOW I DIFFER FROM MY MOTHER."

By A Modern Woman.

'_Women differ by the width of Heaven from what their mothers
were_.'--MR. JUSTICE DARLING.

"I do not smoke and I do not wear bare-back dresses, but I agree with
Mr. Justice Darling--there is the width of Heaven between my mother
and I."--_Evening News_.

Let's hope so, in the matter of grammar.

* * * * *

HUMOUR'S LABOUR LOST.

_Lochtermachty, N.B. May 29th, 1919._

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--My father and I have fallen out over the question
of your