Christian peace and friendship reign once more in Ballybun; but any visitor who desires to see the beauties of Spagnoletti’s famous masterpiece (what McAroon calls his “Anna Dryomeny”) without the washing to serve as a veil must come by night and bring his own matches.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  A MINISTERIAL ATTITUDE.

Wife (to amateur politician).  “NAH THEN—­WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?  IN THE ‘OUSE O’ COMMONS?”]

* * * * *

SO LONG.

  All coiled down, and it’s time for us to go,
  Every sail’s furled in a smart harbour stow,
  Another ship for us an’ for her another crew;
  An’ so long, sailorman.  Good luck to you!

  Fun an’ friends I wish you till the pay’s all gone,
  Pleasure while you spend it an’ content when it’s done,
  An’ a chest that’s not empty when you go back to sea,
  An’ a better ship than she’s been an’ a truer pal than me.

  A good berth I wish you in a ship that’s well-found,
  With a decent crowd forrard an’ her gear all sound,
  Spars a man can trust to when it comes on to blow,
  An’ no bo’sun bawlin’ when it’s your watch below.

  A good Trade I wish you an’ a fair landfall,
  Neither fog nor iceberg, nor long calm nor squall,
  A pleasant port to come to when the work’s all through... 
  An’ so long, sailorman.  Good luck to you!

  C.F.S.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE NEW POOR.

“GOOD MORNING, MADAM.  I DEAL IN CAST-OFF CLOTHING.”

“OH, HOW LUCKY!  DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE ANYTHING THAT WOULD SUIT MY HUSBAND?”]

* * * * *

THE SMUGGLER.

(With the British Army in France.)

“If I am to be a bold bad smuggler, old scream,” said Percival, packing pyjamas and parcels into his bag, “I demand the proper costume and accessories of the craft.  No self-respecting smuggler can be expected to run a cargo in a British warm and field-boots.”

“Of course, my swaggering buccaneer, if you want to do it in the grand manner,” answered Frederick, “I’ll arrange for the saucy little cutter, the sequestered cove an’ the hard-riding exciseman with a cocked hat and cutlass.  But the simpler if less picturesque way is to dump your bag on the counter at the Customs House and be taken with a fit of sneezing when the Grand Inquisitor asks you if you have anything to declare.”

“Whereupon he’ll hand me a quinine tablet and, when I show signs of convalescence, repeat the question in a loud voice.  And if I don’t know the correct answer I’ll find myself meditating in Portland or Pentonville.  That’s what I’m exposing myself to by obliging corrupt an’ unscrupulous friends,” continued Percival bitterly.

“Hang it!” expostulated Frederick, “the potty little bottle of scent I’m asking you to deliver to my cousin Julia won’t get you more than a seven-days’ stretch.  And you’ve got fourteen days’ leave.”