Assistant.  I dunno, Mum.  You take ’im to see the Board of Agriculture. They’ll give you an opinion on ’im. (To Staff Officer who approaches) Sorry, Sir, but our stock of muzzles—­

Staff Officer. All I want is a new leather band for this wrist-watch.  Got one?

Assistant (with joy). Thank ’eaven I ’ave!  Gaw bless the Army!

F.A.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Helen’s elder Sister. “YOU KNOW, ALL THE STARS ARE WORLDS LIKE OURS.”

Helen. “WELL, I SHOULDN’T LIKE TO LIVE ON ONE—­IT WOULD BE SO HORRID WHEN IT TWINKLED.”]

* * * * *

THE REVOLT.

  There is a cupboard underneath the stair
    Where moth and rust hold undisputed sway,
  And here is hid my old civilian wear,
    And my wife sits and plays with it all day,
  Since Peace is imminent and, I’m advised,
  Even the bard may be demobilised.

  She is a woman who was clearly born
    To be the monarch of a helpless male;
  And when she says, “This overcoat is torn,”
    “These flannel trousers are beyond the pale,”
  “You can’t be seen in any of those shirts,”
  I acquiesce, but, goodness, how it hurts.

  For they are rich with memories of Peace,
    The soiled habiliments my lady loathes. 
  I do not long for trousers with a crease;
    I do not want another crowd of clothes—­
  Particularly as you have to pay
  Seventeen guineas for a suit to-day.

  We are but worms, we husbands; yet ’tis said,
    When the sad worm lies broken and at bay,
  There comes a moment when the thing sees red,
    And one such moment has occurred to-day;
  “Look at this hat,” I said, “this old top-hat;
  I will not wear another one like that.

  “This is the hat I purchased in the High,
    Still crude and young and ignorant of sin;
  I wooed you in this hat—­I don’t know why;
    This is the hat that I was married in;
  In it I walked on Sunday through the parks,
  And even then the people made remarks.

  “Now it is dead—­the last of all its line—­
    Nothing like this shall mar the poet’s Peace;
  What have the nations fought for, wet and fine,
    If not that ancient tyrannies should cease? 
  What use the Crowns of Europe coming croppers
  If we are still to be the slaves of ‘toppers’?

  “It speaks to me of many an ancient sore—­
    Of calls and cards and Sunday afternoon;
  Of hideous wanderings from door to door
    And choking necks and patent-leather shoon;
  ‘The War is won,’ as Mr. ASQUITH said,
  And all these evils are or should be dead.

  “It moves me not that other men with wives
    Have fall’n already in the old abyss,
  Have let their women ruin all their lives
    And ordered new atrocities like this. 
  President WILSON will have missed success
  If other men determine how I dress.