“Francesca,” I said, “how can you allude so flippantly to the tragedies which are inseparable from the possession of Buff Orpingtons?  In the morning a young bird struts about in his pride, resolved to live his life fearlessly and to salute the dawn at any and every hour before the break of day.  Then something happens:  a gardener, a family man not naturally ruthless, comes upon the scene; there is a short but terrible struggle; a neck (not the gardener’s) is wrung, and there is chicken for dinner.”

“Don’t move me,” she said, “to tears, or I shall have to countermand your egg.  Besides, I don’t think I could ever make a real friend of a fowl.  They’ve got such silly ways and their eyes are so beady.”

“Their ways are not sillier nor are their eyes beadier than our Mrs. Burwell’s, yet she is honoured as a pillar of propriety, while they—­no matter; I hope the chicken when its moment comes will be tender and succulent.”

“Hark!” said Francesca.

“Yes,” I said, “another egg has come into the world, and there’s Frederick rushing round like a mad thing with a basket, to find himself once more too late.  Never mind,” I said, “I can have two boiled eggs to-night with my chop,—­I mean cutlet.”

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “and you can have all the rissoles.”

R.C.L.

* * * * *

ON PROMOTION TO FIELD RANK.

  I remember a day when I felt quite tall
    Because of a gift of five whole shillings;
  I was Johnson major then, I recall,
    And didn’t I swank and put on frillings!

  Well, we know that children are parents of men;
    And, now that I’m getting an ancient stager,
  Here am I pleased with a crown again,
    And signing myself as Johnson, Major.

* * * * *

    “Experienced General disengaged 1st March, one lady; no washing; would
    take England.”—­Irish Times.

The advertiser should wire to KAISER, Potsdam.

* * * * *

    “During the night an enemy raiding party in the neighbourhood of
    Gueudecourt was driven off by our baggage before reaching our
    line.”—­Continental Daily Mail.

There is no end to our warlike inventions.  First the Tanks, and now the Trunks.

* * * * *

“The Tigris, immediately above Kut, runs South-East for about four miles.  Then there is a sharp bend, and its course is almost due South for about the same distance.  Then against the stream it goes due North for about the same distance.”—­Glasgow Citizen.

With the river behaving in this unnatural fashion General MAUDE deserves all the greater credit for his success.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  She (referring to host).  “YOU KNOW, THERE’S SOMETHING RATHER NICE ABOUT MR. THOMKINS-SMITH.”