trol Leader.

* * *

_Imperial Studios, Yarmouth._

Sir,--Hearing that your troops are thinking of visiting the above town,
we should be glad to take you, in small or large groups. We understand
that your excursion will be only a half-day one, but we have facilities
for the immediate development of negatives.

Yours obediently,
GEORGE GELATINE JONES.

* * *

WARNING! TO THE KAISER.

_From the Huntsman of the Bungay Foxhounds._

Send your men over if you like. Let them turn their guns on all our
ancient buildings, destroy crops, blow up bridges; but MIND, if one of
your Huns raises a rifle to any Norfolk or Suffolk fox, there will be
trouble of a serious kind.

* * * * *

Illustration: KILLED!

[With _Mr. Punch's_ compliments to General BOTHA.]

* * * * *

Illustration: _Old Lady_ (_to District Visitor_). "DID YOU HEAR A
STRANGE NOISE THIS MORNING, MISS, AT ABOUT FOUR O'CLOCK? I THOUGHT IT
WAS ONE OF THEM AIREOPLANES; AND MY NEIGHBOUR WAS SO SURE IT WAS ONE HE
WENT DOWN AND LET HIS DOG LOOSE."

* * * * *

MINOR WAR GAINS.

The year that is stormily ending
Has brought us full measure of grief,
And yet we must thank it for sending
At times unexpected relief;
These boons are not felt in the trenches
Or make our home burdens less hard;
They're not a bonanza, but merit a stanza
Or two from the doggerel bard.

The names of musicians and mummers
No longer are loud on our lips;
By the side of our buglers and drummers
CARUSO endures an eclipse;
And the legions of freaks and of faddists
Who hailed him with rapturous awe,
O wonder of wonders, are finding out blunders,
And worse, in the writings of SHAW!

Good BEGBIE, no longer upraising
His plea for the "uplift" of Hodge,
Has ceased for a season from praising
LLOYD GEORGE and Sir OLIVER LODGE;
And there hasn't been much in the papers
About the next novel from CAINE
(No doubt he's in Flanders, the guest of commanders
Who reverence infinite brain).

JOHN WARD has forgiven the Curragh
(The Curragh's forgotten JOHN WARD);
No longer he cries "Wurra Wurra!"
At sight of an officer's sword;
MACDONALD, the terror of tigers,
Sits silent and meek as a mouse,
And the great VON KEIRHARDI is curiously tardy
In "voicing" his spleen in the House.

The scre