Prac.  Pas. But how about our Army?

Theo.  Pas. A farce!  An expensive farce.  We have no Regulars, the Militia exists only on paper, and the Volunteers are valueless.

Prac.  Pas. Then why not have a Conscription—­that would bring up our Army with a run?

Theo.  Pas. A Conscription!  My dear Sir, the nation wouldn’t think of such a thing!  No, not for a single moment!

Prac.  Pas. (after a pause).  Well, what is to be done?

Theo.  Pas. (promptly).  Nothing, except to write to the papers and submit to our fate.

Prac.  Pas. Is there any objection to the construction of the Channel Tunnel?

Theo.  Pas. (carelessly).  None in the least—­but why do you ask?

Prac.  Pas. Because, if in the case of war, the entire French nation pours into England;—­as you say it will?

Theo.  Pas. Certainly.

Prac.  Pas. The best thing we can do is to utilise the Tunnel, pour into France, and stay there!  It will be only changing sides!

    [Conversation interrupted by whistle, and consequent rattle
    and darkness.

* * * * *

THE SPHINX AND THE STICK.

A SONG WHEREIN IS SUGGESTED A SUITABLE SUBJECT FOR AN IBSENITE TRAGEDY.

[Sir JAMES CRICHTON-BROWNE thinks that “the reserve and suppression of emotional movement which is observed in English people” will probably result in all the women becoming sphinxes, and all the men sticks.]

  “Oh! do wag your head!” said the Sphinx to the Stick. 
  “I can’t,” he replied, “or I would, darling, quick! 
  If you’ll only indulge in a shrug and some winks,
  You’ll perhaps set me off,” said the Stick to the Sphinx. 
  “Nay, long ‘inhibition,’” the Sphinx made reply,
  “Has imparted rigidity, love, to my eye.” 
  “‘Emotional movement’ no longer is mine,”
  Sighed the Stick to the Sphinx; “though I greatly incline
  To a dig in your ribs, or a slap on your back
  (As a sign of my love), all my muscles are slack. 
  My poor ‘motor-centres’ are all out of gear,
  And I can’t even ‘chuck’ your soft chin, sweet, I fear. 
  I’m sure such a stolid inflexible ‘stick’ you’ll hate,
  But, though I adore you, I cannot gesticulate—­”
  “My case is as bad,” sighed the Sphinx to the Stick,
  “For I cannot ’bridle’—­no more than a brick.” 
  Said the Stick to the Sphinx, “Ah, we once knew what love meant! 
  But, thanks to the loss of ‘emotional movement,’
  We can’t give it ‘graceful and chastened expression,’
  And so it seems slipping fast out of possession. 
  Heigho! we had far better die, darling, quick! 
  Since you are a Sphinx, love, and I’m but a Stick!”

* * * * *