* * * * *

ECCLESIASTICAL INTELLIGENCE.

    “Mr. Zangwill (the Chief Rabbi) also spoke.”—­Daily News.

Following the appointment (recently announced by Mr. Punch) of Mr. H.G.  WELLS as Chaplain to the Forces.

* * * * *

From a cattle-auction advertisement:—­

    “NOTE.—­Pigs and Calves are requested to be forward by 11
    o’clock.”—­Kirkendbrightshire Advertiser.

Vive la politesse!

* * * * *

    “The hereditary privilege of remaining covered in the presence
    of the Monarch was granted by Henry VIII. to John Forester of
    Watling Street, in 1570.”—­Observer.

We wonder what GOOD QUEEN BESS thought about this posthumous interference on the part of her papa.

* * * * *

From Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL’S latest novel:—­

“It was, indeed, something of an achievement to get on terms of confidence with those alien children ... many of whom had acquired a precocious suspicion of Greeks bearing gifts.  That sense of caveat donor was perhaps their most pathetic characteristic.”

Timeo Danaos et dona accipientes!  Which may be roughly rendered:  “I suspect TINO, even when he’s in receipt of a subsidy.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “WELL.  IT’S TIME WE WERE OFF.  BUT—­PARDON ME, MRS. GOLDBERG—­DO YOU THINK YOU OUGHT TO WEAR SO MANY PEARLS AT AN ECONOMY MEETING?”

“ALL RIGHT.  I WON’T IF YOU THINK NOT.  BUT AS A MATTER OF FACT THEY ARE AN ECONOMY.  YOU SEE, MY HUSBAND IS PUTTIN’ HIS MONEY IN PEARLS TO SAVE INCOME-TAX.”]

* * * * *

LAVENDER.

  I’m tickled by a pansy, wot’s called an ’Appy Thought;
  I’m gone on yaller “Glories” of the proper smelly sort;
  And once I ’eld gerani-ums was grander than the rest,
  But now I likes the lavender, the simple-lookin’ lavender,
      A little bit o’ lavender the best.

  My mate ’e’d been a gardener; ’is roses wasn’t beat;
  ’Is marrers was a marvel and ’is strorberries a treat;
  But w’en ’e leave ‘is corliflow’rs an’ lettuce to enlist,
  ’E said it was the lavender, ‘is blinkin’ bit o’ lavender,
      A silly patch o’ lavender ’e missed.

  In France I used to foller ’im to gather up the bits;
  ’E “’adn’t ‘eard” o’ snipers and ’e “wasn’t ‘eedin’” Fritz;
  Till in a slip o’ garden by the Convent ’e was copped,
  And dahn among the lavender, the trodden sodden lavender,
      The bloody muddy lavender ’e dropped.

  A job it was to fix ’im up and do a double bunk,
  But ‘e was chattin’ casual while I was oozin’ funk;
  ‘E yarned abaht the bits o’ things ’e used to see at Kew,
  An’ told me of the lavender, the tidy lot of lavender,
      The leagues an’ leagues o’ lavender ’e grew.