en; he shifted his head a little and continued:--

"DEAR WIFE,--If you could see my shoulder dressed of a morning you
would laugh. They cuts out little pieces of lint like a picture puzzle
to fit the places, and I've got a regular map of Blighty all down my
arm; but that's not so bad as my back, which I cannot see and which
the wound is as long--"

I blotted the sheet and turned over, and Private Brown eyed the space
left for further cheerful communications.

"Shall I leave this for you to finish?" I suggested, thinking of
tender messages difficult to dictate. "Your fingers may be better
after tea, or perhaps to-morrow morning."

"That's all right, Miss. There's nothing more to put except my name,
if you'll just say, "Good-bye, dear wife, hoping this finds you well
as it leaves me at present."

* * * * *

FAIR WARNING.

"A POPULAR CONCERT WILL BE HELL IN THE PORTEOUS HALL, On
Friday, 2nd November."--_Scotch Paper_.

* * * * *

CURRAGH MEETING.

Judea . . . . . . . . . . . E.M. Quirke 1
Elfterion . . . . . . . . . . . M. Wing 2
Tut Ttlddddddrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr aY
Tut Tut . . . . . . . . . . . . J. Dines 3

_Provincial Paper_.

From which it is to be inferred
The angry printer backed the third.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "WELL, UPON MY WORD! AFTER ALL THE TROUBLE I HAD TO GET
A QUARTER OF A POUND OF BUTTER, THE COOK'S SENT UP MARGARINE. I SHOULD
HATE THE MAIDS TO GO SHORT, BUT I _DO_ THINK WE OUGHT TO _SHARE_
THINGS."]

* * * * *

THE ULTIMATE OUTRAGE.

I had a favourite shirt for many moons,
Soft, silken, soothing and of tenderest tone,
Gossamer-light withal. The Subs., my peers,
Envied the garment, ransacking the land
To find a shirt its equal--all in vain.
For, when we tired of shooting at the Hun
And other Batteries clamoured for their share
And we resigned positions at the front
To dally for a space behind the line,
To shed my war-worn vesture I was wont--
The G.S. boots, the puttees and the pants
That mock at cut and mar the neatest leg,
The battle-jacket with its elbows patched
And bands of leather, round its hard-used cuffs,
And, worst of all, the fuggy flannel shirt,
Rough and uncouth, that suffocates the soul;
And in their stead I donned habiliments
Cadets might dream of--serges with a waist,
An