d._

DEAR MOIRA,--I am sorry not to have written for such a long time. I
have been so extremely busy.

You see, when Emma has had her two hours free daily, her
hour-and-a-half off for dinner, with half-an-hour for other meals,
every evening out as well as two afternoons a week, you would be
surprised what little leisure is left to her for the housework.

She gets in what she can, of course, and I do the rest. Doing the
rest, by the way, takes up a great deal of my time. But I generally
have an hour free in the evenings.

Your brave DODO.

_Puddleford_.

DEAR MOIRA,--I am glad to say Emma has gone and I am putting my name
down at a registry-office in the usual way. It's too much of a strain
having "conference" girls in the home.

Who was it said that if we are to allow the working classes to get the
upper hand it was nothing short of encouraging Bolshevism in the home?
Anyhow, I think he--or perhaps it was she--must be right.

I must close rather hastily. I have just heard a terrific crash in the
kitchen; I'm afraid Harry has dropped something on his foot _again_.

Your long-suffering DODO.

* * * * *

"Mr. ----, like a fatherly hen, hovered over all, satisfying
himself that nothing had been omitted that could detract from
their comfort."--_Egyptian Mail._

We cannot imagine any hen, however unsexed, behaving like that.

* * * * *

RHYMES OF RANK.

Vice-Admirals command a base;
Their forms blend dignity with grace.
You never see the smallest trace
Of levity upon the face
Of one who wears a Vice's lace.
For Admirals to romp and race
Or frolic in a public place
Is held to be a great disgrace;
I do not think a single case
Of this has happened at our base.

The Commodore, the Commodore
Is very popular ashore;
He can relate an endless store
Of yarns which scarcely ever bore
Till they are told three times or more.
The ladies young and old adore
This man who bathed in Teuton gore
And practically won the War;
But once, a fact I much deplore,
A General was heard to snore
While seated near the Commodore.

The Captain dwells aloof, alone;
He has a cabin of his own;
And should the smallest nose be blown,
Though softly and with dulcet tone,
In earshot of this sacred zone
The very ship herself would groan.
Yes, Captains (though but flesh and bone
Like little snotties,